#hes higher fae

[skep-eroni]

This is the only way I can see Crewel having the highest attack in the whole game (so far.)

[acrosstimeandspace]

first few days of summer break has NOT been good actually very stressed. i need hugs

[kalicofox]

Tim Summons the Ghost King

Tim sighed, looking down at the sigils and circles chalked onto the floor in one of the unused bedrooms. Alfred was going to kill them, but if it made Dick believe him, then it'd be worth it.

"Tim, this isn't necess—" "Yes it is." Tim interrupted, glancing up from the book he was referencing to glare at Dick.

The man looked tired, and drawn. Grief had carved lines into his face that weren't there before.

"Dick. If you won't believe me, then maybe you'll believe this."

And he started to read, the unfamiliar words tripping heavily off of his tongue.

At first, nothing happened, and Dick opened his mouth to say something, only for Tim to glare him into silence.

Any hint of wanting to speak vanished when the sigils lit up, one by one, in a bright, eerie green.

Ice-blue fire flared up around the circle itself, and Tim finished the chant with the being's Name. This was it. His last hope.

If the Ghost King couldn't tell him that Bruce wasn't dead, then…

He shook the thought away, glaring stubbornly past flames and into the circle where a dark form was slowly fading into sight.

Black hair. He noticed that first, followed by blue eyes, and he couldn't help his knee jerk snort of amusement. Adoption bait.

But… this ritual was supposed to summon the ghost king. This was some random kid. What the hell'd he done wrong?!

But… maybe it was some kind of trick…? Maybe ghosts were like fae, and it was a trick to get him to let it out of the circle…

Tim's eyes narrowed, and he took one half step forward, staying carefully clear of the lines.

"What the hell?" The kid muttered, looking around a little wildly at the circle and the sigils. "What is this, some kinda seance type thing? I thought Sam said those were bullshit…?"

"Ghost King." Tim said, and bright blue eyes snapped to his, and the kid paled sharply.

"Ah hah hah hah… I don't know what you're talking about?" The reply was weak, and Tim scoffed internally.

"Ghost King, I have summoned you for a question. In return, I will owe you a favor that will not involve the deaths of anyone currently living."

The kid blinked. "Um… cool? I don't know what you're talking about, but I can try to answer a question, I guess…"

Tim nodded sharply as the flames flared a little higher. "Is Bruce Wayne dead?"

The kid's eyes flashed green, and the word seemed to slip out of his mouth before he could think. "No."

Tim's eyes flicked over to Dick, triumph on his face.

Dick was staring, pale faced and wide-eyed at the kid, then at Tim.

"How in the hell did I know that?" the kid muttered to himself, looking confused. "Who the hell is Bruce Wayne?"

"He could be lying." Dick croaked, and the kid's head snapped up, and he scowled.

"I'm not lying! I don't know who the hell you're talking about, but whoever it is, he's not dead! Go on, ask me someone else, someone you know is dead for sure!"

"Fine." Dick snapped. "Is Elvis dead?"

"No."

[theveryworstthing]

SpaceDancer's request for parasitic roses and Camille Alexander's request for unicorn fops created Angelique.

i now present my newest Charming Little Freak ✨

Angelique is one of those beings that isn't cleanly classified as a fae or a demon. he/it/whatever (roses are perfect plants and so it mostly goes by the pronouns common for the additional sex of his host body in human society because they couldn't care less) is a Rampant. a type of sapient parasitic rose that, over time, transforms the body of their host from a simple quadruped beast to bipedal humanoid (kinda) monster. every Rampant seems to mold themselves into unique forms, and designs often carry over if they somehow manage to get "uprooted" without dying and have to start over with a new flesh body. if Rampants stay rooted then they're borderline immortal even though their hosts are...dead? it's unclear. the Rampant certainly carries memories of what it was like being an animal and their flesh and blood is altered, but alive. the body keeps the score whether they like it or not. but the beast itself, its mind, dies quickly after a Rampant takes root. either from the trauma from becoming a Flowerbed or from the Rampant purposefully putting a thorn through its brain. whether fae or demon, Rampants take. they do not possess. they do not imprison.

Angelique currently lives in a small dying village, spending his time checking in on the aging population as a kind of town housemaid/caretaker and tending to his flower shop/apothecary. most people would say that having a creature like him around isn't a great idea, but this eldritch horror has basically been adopted by every lonely old person in town so good luck getting rid of him.

Fun Facts:

he loves nice soft clothes, meat (blood sausage is his favorite), and (in spite of his goth everything all the time) sunlight.

buzzing sounds make him flustered while prolonged exposure to cut grass smells and cold weather make him anxious.

he's an scary good climber and will forgo a door if he knows someone is on a higher floor of a building and he sees an open window.

always well hydrated. carries around a flask of water at all times and likes to sit outside naked when it rains.

he has many little leafy assistants which are also just him. he's like an octopus. the people in the community assign them all little names and give them unique decorations and he thinks it's really cute.

what is he getting out of staying in this village? none of your business.

he's currently in a weird situationship with 2 local gravekeepers from rival graveyards/religions and the recently widowed agnostic town doctor. everyone in this polycule hates everyone else but him. he's also friends with benefits with my character Brooke, who finds all of this hilarious and is eager to hear about the latest disaster every time he passes through town.

[evilminji]

I woke up to this thought? And it made me smile~

Wrong way Au?

It's EASY to fly from point A to point B. Linear. Just on long, no traffic, straight line. And if you get lost? Go higher! There you are! But "normal" reporter families with Totally Human genetics can't exactly DO that.

Plus? It's part of the whole Americana thing!

Childhood.

Gotta do a road trip, see weird road side attractions, camp and hike a bit. Go somewhere other then the farm for once. Soooo~ everyone into the car! Yes, you too, Kon.

And don't look at Lois, kids. She hates this idea as much as you do. But it's for Dad. So we're doing it. Get in the car. Some times loving people means "suuuure, honey! I TOTALLY want to sit in an uncomfortable car for hours for your nostalgic dream trip!", so get comfy.

Problem is? He either can't navigate for SHIT (unlikely) or this patch of nowhere? Possibly haunted? Cursed? Fuckey. Very, very Reality Fuckey. Far more likely, honestly. They THINK that was the a same barn the passed four times now... but it looks... wrong? Off. Worse each time, in ways that are hard to place.

Where the FUCK are they Clark?

According to the GPS?

Here.

(You are Here. You are Here. You are He-)

Oh, THAT'S not cursed! She fucking KNEW they shouldn't have left the city. FUCK the countryside. She likes ONE(1) small town and it's where her in-laws live, THANK YOU VERY MUCH! If they die, she swear to GOD-!!!

Then Jon points to colorful tents up the road. A mix of the kind you buy at big box stores and Ren fairs. Balloons. What the fuuuuuck? "Fenton Family Reunion"?

Was... was that THERE a second ago?

Clark's very deliberate Not Too Tight Grip Of Panic ™ on the steering wheel? Confirms that No Honey, it was not. Kon points out? That eventually they ARE going to run out of gas. They should stop.

Words can not express how little the Kents want to do that. They have KIDS to protect. This feels "magical fuckery" to them. AKA? One of the few things Kryptonians very much CAN NOT handle.

And luck getting ahold of anybody back there kids? No? Emergency lines too?

Fuck ™.

Okay! Guess we're stopping! Stay behind us.

They park.

There are campers and trucks, modified tanks and trackers. A few horses grazing side by side with an honest to God moose and two mules. A Llama. Someone's anchored a dirigible. A boat with spindly chicken footed legs, like it's the house of baba yaga's sea faring love child. The name Fenton is slapped on everything. Peoples faces.

Grinning.

Everything grinning.

As they get closer, the racket gets louder. Crashes and smashes. Roaring laughter. Explosions. The screech of metal failing and the whine of energy overclocked. Fatty meats cooking. Spices from around the globe. Radios and instruments, at least one of which violently cuts off in a smash.

They pass an almost violently balloon choked arch, into chaos.

Grinning giants, everywhere. Every color, every shade, every race imaginable. The spectrum of humanity laid bare. Made large. Grinning, Grinning, Grinning. Crashing into each other, against, through. Smashing and laughing, as everything breaks around them. Titans.

Darting underfoot, children. Fast with wild eyes. Mad grins and fae laughs. Wives and husband's, partners and friends, dancing in and out of the chaos. Just as destructive. Perhaps MORE so. Grabbing meals from grills, laughing and joking, tossing children into the fray, all as they effortless hold conversations of their own.

Like a Dionysian revelry, all madness and joy.

Then they are noticed.

"Cousin!"

One of them booms. Locking eyes on Clark. He doesn't even have time to move, doesn't realize until too late, in all the chaos, that the man meant HIM. A running start is followed by a brutal, full body, flying tackle. Clark is taken skidding to the ground and into a headlock.

"LETS WRASTLE~!!"

He watches in helpless confusion as, with high-pitched war cries, a pair of twins jump Jon. They are wearing war paint. Krypto already taken out by a glowing green dog, now confused and wrestling off to the side. Lois has whipped out her tazer. Kon between her and who ever comes next.

By the time he wrestle his "cousin" off of him, he's lost sight of them both.

Dives into the fray.

Magic be damned, that's his FAMILY!

It... It's the most fun he's had in years. That any of them have. He finds Lois in a breathless, screaming, debate/fistfight with her new best friend. Samantha "call me Sam Or ELSE" Manson-Fouley-Fenton. Kon is in the mud pit, wrestling other teenagers in some sort of battle Royale. Jon? Has become king of the ferals. The other parents are impressed.

His years of Damian wrangling finally paying dividends, apparently.

By the time Clark FINALLY tracks down Krypto, there is already crowd and it apparently six heel turns deep into the WWE Grand Saga of the Fenton Pet's League. Krypto, what the hell. No. No you may NOT "form one last alliance against my sworn wrestling enemy, to prove the true meaning of Christmas!" It's the middle of SUMMER!

Clark... Clark is so tired.

He's also a Fenton now. Yes, he KNOWS that's not how anything works. YOU try explaining that! He's on the call list and card list. It's like the Addams family out here! They just... just DECIDED him and his family were related! They've apparently DONE THAT BEFORE!

They leave with directions, fudge, more leftovers then anyone could possibly eat, and a massive new extended family. One that honestly? The Justice League SHOULD have known about. The sheer destructive chaos they get up too? EVERYONE should be aware of them. It seems impossible NOT to be! But? According to THEM, it's a "family thing". Reality tries to ignore them for "it's own sanity"? What???

So yeah.... no more road trips.

How was YOUR weekend?

@hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @lolottes @babbling-babull @dcxdpdabbles @hypewinter @mutable-manifestation

[akunya]

“a humans touch.”

pairings: malleus draconia x m!reader

summary: you’re curious about malleus’s horns, so he lets you touch them.

tw: frottage (?), dubious consent, touching, implied age diff., size diff, etc. sfw.

notes: some food after a year.. thank you so much for all of the messages you’ve left me in the meantime. i can’t express how happy they’ve made me.

this is sfw, but i promise next fic will be filthy. enjoy!

“can i.. touch them?”

malleus’s head cocks to the side a little, a bit puzzled over your request. you and him were just lounging around the diasomnia dorm until you spoke up, breaking him out of his reading session.

“touch.. what exactly?” the fae questioned as he watched you moved closer to him, until you were staring at the top of his head. “oh, my horns? is that what you want to touch, child of man?” he couldn’t help but chuckle, closing his book and putting it on the coffee table. you nodded silently. sometimes, you were too adorable (in his eyes) for your own good.

“sorry if it’s a weird thing to ask! they just look so.. intriguing?” your voice trailed, trying to find the right words to describe his horns without offending the prince. “we don’t have many fae or dragons where im from.” malleus smiled fondly. he nodded before leaning down. he was much taller than you, with your little form barely reaching his torso — and he adored it that way. it added onto your undeniable cuteness.

“i don’t mind. i trust that you’ll be gentle with them. touch as much as you like, y/n.” his deep voice made you feel warm, nodding as you sat up straight, a tad guilty that he was straining his neck to appease you.

and so, you started your little examination. your fingers lightly grazed upon the tips of his horns, slowly rubbing up and down. malleus gulped. his brow furrowed for a split second. not wanting to comment on your actions, his fangs digging into his lips to keep quiet. his horns weren’t extremely sensitive, but they did have feeling, and every time you touched — it sent a shiver down his spine.

however, you were too engrossed in his strange anatomy to care. mumbling to yourself, you let your hands travel further down his horns, paying attention to the little crevices and ridges on the sides. “amazing. it almost feels like scales, in a way. it’s a bit.. leathery..?” nails delightfully scraped the faes horns.

he hummed happily, almost purring at the special attention from the boy he liked. other than you shuffling on the couch to reach higher, the room was quiet — except for malleus’s little huffs every now and then. your fingers kept traveling lower, until you gently caressed the skin where his horns had grown from. careful hands followed the scales, eyes widening at the plethora of little ridges that adorned his forehead. “these were here all along..?”

“are you surprised, little human?” the fae chuckled, looking up at you. his cat-like pupils bore into your own, bright green irises making him all the more enticing. it was amazing how other worldly he was: you couldn’t believe that this wasn’t a dream. even with hair slightly disheveled, malleus still carried a powerful yet dreamlike aura to him. the dorm leader looked as if he stepped right out of a fairy tale.

“a little. i wasnt expecting them to be on your forehead, too.” malleus felt the corners of his lips curve into a smile, and before you knew it, he pulled you onto his lap. you gasped in surprise, his strong arms wrapping around your waist and moving you as if you were a feather, until you straddled him properly and looked down towards him. your face was red as the older man chuckled.

“you got to touch wherever you wanted, so surely you’d let me do the same to you, hm?” he laughed at your stuttering, speechless as his hands went lower. claws dug into the thick of your thighs before traveling back up, a careful index finger lightly traced around your crotch. he was teasing you on purpose. malleus would give you everything, but that didn’t mean he disliked being mischevious every once in a while, especially when your reactions were priceless.

“m-malleus—“ you tried to speak up, eyes scrunching shut when sharp nails circled around your crotch again. you were a toy in his hands, and that idea seemed to only spur you on even more. shaky breaths left your lips as he continued to rake and touch your frail frame.

soft lips grazed the shell of your ear before parting to speak. “sshhh, little human. you don’t want anyone to hear us, do you? some diasomnia students might still be around..” malleus chuckled, leaving a small kiss before nuzzling into your neck.

his body hunched over yours, as if he was caging you in his arms as much as he could. a hefty sigh made the fae relax, you scent letting him unwind.

on the contrary, the close proximity only made you feel even more antsy. never have you been this close to the dorm leader. what started as innocent curiosity led to something much more interesting, with you having no choice but to stay still and let him explore your own human body.

“i don’t want to waste any time, so behave, okay? let me really see how a human reacts to touch.”

[dark-moonlust]

Caught Between the Fae

This is a Patreon commission I finished yesterday. The commissioner chose to remain anonymous. I hope you enjoy this small story! It was so enjoyable to write and it's super steamy, too! I love every part of it 🖤

Pairing: 2 fae males (Nestor, Quin) x f!human (Layla)

Summary: Layla is a photographer in her mid-30s. During her exhibition event, two fae males, Nestor and Quinn, are drawn to one of her paintings and her beauty. They recognize her as their mate and quarrel over who will get Layla and her artwork. Finally, they decide to share her as she belongs to them both. They claim her as their mate and go into a mating rage, driving deep inside her and marking her with their cum.

Warnings: minors don’t interact, 18+!!, fingering, oral(female+male receiving), kinky talk, a little bondage, big 🍆, fae magic to fit, p in v sex, anal, double penetratiοn, lots of 💦.

Tonight was her big night. 

Layla took yet another deep breath and strolled through the art gallery. Her heart thundered with excitement and a little fear. That night, her photography was the star of the show. All her pieces were there for all to see and judge. She truly hoped the people would admire and grasp the feelings and meanings behind each photo. Her work was her pride and joy.

As she walked the sleek gallery, the room was a whirl of positive reviews and the clinking of champagne glasses. The people liked her work! Feeling her anxiety lessen, she smiled, soaking in the energy as she mingled with the guests. She let herself enjoy the vibes, her soft curvy frame moving gracefully through the crowd, her fiery red hair catching the light, making her green eyes gleam with pride. 

Taking a short break, she stood near the center of the room and tried to calm her raging heart. The gallery was a big hit and a dream come true! She still couldn’t believe it. She wanted to jump and laugh out of joy. As she scanned the faces of the audience, her gaze stopped on two striking men in front of her favorite piece: a photo of a moonlit beach at night. They were boldly gazing at her piece and then her way. 

A jolt traveled through her. Their gazes practically saw through her. 

Tall and towering, they were both, with pointy ears and supernatural auras exuding such intense power that caused her whole body to come alive and warm up as if licked by fire.

They were fae... what otherwordly beauty.

The one on the left had close-cropped blonde hair, deep purple eyes, and although he wore a sleek black suit, she could see his neck and hands, which were filled with tattoos that surely filled the rest of his body. The other male beside him was all dark and sensual mischief. He had long, curly, dark hair and ice-blue eyes that sparkled with a devil-may-care attitude.

They were attracting the eyes of everyone in the room; their presence electrifying.

From across the room, Nestor, the King of the Court of Nightmares, stood in front of Layla’s photo, his deep purple eyes drawn to every detail of the mounted piece. The gallery lights cast the perfect light, illuminating the moonlight beach. His fingers tightened around his glass as he swirled the dark liquid inside. Beside him, Quinn admired the same photo, his ice-blue eyes attracted to the art and the artist herself. He was the Emperor of the Court of Chaos. 

“Stunning,” Nestor murmured in a low mumble, scanning the room, his gaze finding Layla and staying on her. “They shall be mine. Both the piece and the artist.”

Quinn chuckled, his eyes equally intent on the female. “You wish. You don’t have what it takes to appreciate them both.”

“And you do?” Nestor’s voice was higher than usual, turning heads. “Thinking too high of yourself, aren’t you?”

“This art piece belongs in my court, and little fireheart in my bed.”

“Fireheart…” Nestor whispered, his eyes tracing the fire-colored hair of his mate, the soft and curvy frame he hungered to have exposed beneath him. “I’ll never let you have them. She’s my fated one and the Queen of the Court of Nightmares.”

Quinn’s laugh was light and mocking. “I’ll bid whatever the hell you want. She’s my mate, the Empress of Chaos Court. She will be mine.”

“You? I don’t think so. I want her and that piece, and I’ll have them,” Nestor stated, his voice hard with authority. “You’d better wet your dick elsewhere.”

Quinn’s lips curled at his words. “I’ll wet my dick inside her, in every warm little place inside her.” The Emperor of Chaos stared at his mate, their gazes meeting and holding. She was gorgeous. In every way. Her red hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders, and her green eyes sparkled with passion. He wanted her. He’d never back down. 

“She is mine.” Nestor’s eyes flicked to the other fae. “The moment I saw her, I knew she was my fated one.”

“And you think I didn’t feel the same?” Quinn spat back, with a hint of annoyance. Long moments passed before he added, “Perhaps there’s a reason we both recognize her so strongly.”

Nestor narrowed his eyes at him. “What are you implying?”

“Fate doesn’t make mistakes,” Quinn answered. “She belongs to both of us.”

“This makes sense…” Nestor trailed off, clearly considering the proposal. 

Quinn chuckled warmly. “Finally, we agree on something. So, what do we do about it?”

“We claim her. Every part of her.”

It was that moment when Layla decided to approach them. She closed in on them, and they immediately framed her luscious body with their possessive, towering bodies on both sides. Layla felt hot all over, her frame shivering from the intensity of their aura and their mere height. The dynamic between the two fae made her belly clench with arousal and for a few seconds she felt such an intense magnetic pull towards them that she could barely contain it.

“Gentlemen… I am Layla, the artist behind these photographs. I’m honored by your interest, and I couldn’t help but notice your tension… is there a problem?”

“Good evening, Layla,” Nestor greeted with a sultry drawl. “I am Nestor, King of the Court of Nightmares. Your work is extraordinary, I must have it.”

Quinn grinned and stepped closer to her, his ice-blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “I am Quinn, Emperor of the Court of Chaos. Our problem is that we both desire this piece of art, though not as much as we desire you.”

Nestor shifted closer to her right side, his scent enveloping her. “You should visit my court, Layla, and be the crown jewel of my kingdom. Choose me, fireheart.”

“Fireheart?” Layla muttered, a little taken by the nickname and the intensity in his eyes. 

Quinn hummed and let his towering form nearly envelop her left side. “We feel a connection to you, little one. A bond that cannot be ignored.”

Layla didn’t know whether to laugh or blush at their bold statements. The gallery suddenly buzzed with whispers and speculations as all eyes turned toward the three of them. Both fae males had surrounded her, and her cheeks felt hot, as did the rest of her body. Her pussy was also wet, aching with a need she couldn’t barely ignore. They weren’t just interested in her art—they wanted her. 

She took a deep breath, her heart pounding.

How could she refuse the King of Nightmares and Emperor of Chos without offending them?

“Gentlemen,” she finally said, her voice wavering, “I’m afraid the artist—meaning myself—is not available for such… arrangement. However, the art piece is. I am sure we can find a way to resolve this without—”

“Without what?” Nestor’s eyes darkened. “Without accepting the connection you are feeling?"

Layla opened her mouth to reply, but Quinn cut her off. “Don’t deny it, fireheart. You feel it too. The mating bond, the desire.”

Layla bit her lip and unconsciously rubbed her thighs together. Liquid warmth pooled in her core. “I… I don’t think this is appropriate.”

“Yet your pussy is wet and aching for us,” Quinn whispered against her ear, his breath warm. “And it’s not going away unless we take care of you.”

“Accept us, little mate,” Nestor said, sending shivers down her spine. “We can feel your need. You want us. Both.“

“I—I…” Layla stuttered wordlessly, her eyes flicking between the two fae. She felt such longing and undeniable attraction for them. But how could she just give in?

“You are ours, fireheart. Ours to claim in ways neither of us could do alone,” Quinn nodded, his ice-blue eyes intense.

“B-b-both of you…” Layla muttered, her body tightening pleasurably at the mere thought of those two fae belonging to her. 

“Hmm,” both men growled, their eyes caressing her face and red hair. 

Layla nodded slowly, listening to her heart which was screaming for them. Immediately, Fae magic surrounded her, stealing her breath away. The gallery blurred and melted away, replaced by a lavish bedroom filled with rich fabrics and flickering candles. Nestor and Quinn embraced her from both sides, their hands exploring her heated body. 

Nestor scented her neck, his fingers tangling in her loose hair as if he couldn’t have enough of her. Quinn kissed her shoulders over the straps of her dress, each lingering touch leaving trails of delightful warmth and heat. When their gazes locked on hers, she felt hypnotized by the mating bond between them. It was real; they belonged to her, and she ached with need, desperate to be touched by them. 

“Yes, fireheart,” Quinn rasped, sliding down the straps of her dress. “You are our mate, and you will be filled by us both.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Nestor said, unzipping the back of her dress, his fingers warm against her skin. “Do you agree, sweetheart? Do you want this?”

“Hmmm… I want you,” Layla breathed, adrenaline pumping in her heart. 

Quinn’s hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. “Good girl,” he murmured, his icy eyes bearing into her emerald ones. They were enchanting, hypnotizing. “Now, let us show you what it means to be ours.”

Layla didn’t realize how quickly they scooped her up and propped her on the plush bed. They divested her of her clothing skillfully. Quinn peeled away her dress while Nestor unclasped her bra, moaning low as her breasts spilled free. He cupped them in his big palms and pushed them up to his hot mouth, suckling each pouting nipple. Quinn knelt at her half-closed thighs and gently removed her panties and shoes. Seeing how she hesitated once she was fully exposed to them, Quinn’s long fingers trailed down her belly, then lower, teasing the sensitive skin between her thighs.

“Open for us, little one,” Quinn said, his voice a seductive promise. “We’re going to fuck you deep, make you feel so good.”

Layla shyly opened her legs and suddenly both men were between them, each one securing a leg over their muscular thighs, their hands making sure she was fully open to their eyes. Using their magic, they removed their clothes, leaving her to gape at the two fae males, so big and powerful—in every way. 

Nestor had a sculpted body covered in tattoos. His eyes were warm and inviting, his stomach taut, his thighs firm and in between... his cock stood proud, looking utterly inhumane. It was thick and very long, pulsing, its length surrounded by protruding veins. Quinn was no less captivating. He was just as tall, his stance emphasizing the force of his thighs and the raw power of his well-muscled body. His eyes swirled with blue ice as he pumped his rigid cock. It was deliciously curved and textured with ridges, a little thicker than Nestor’s but not as long. 

Having both of them… Layla felt the dark desire, the intensity overflowing. The need. The craving. She wanted them. Wanted them more than anything in her life. 

“Fuuuuck, our mate’s even more beautiful than I imagined,” Nestor growled. She looked so pretty and tiny in contrast to their raging bodies. Flushed face, nipples out, pussy exposed. He wanted to debauch her. 

“Show us your pretty cunt, fireheart,” Quinn demanded softly. “Open those pretty lips nicely for your mates.”

Dazed by desire, Layla reached down and did as told. She opened her outer folds with two fingers, showing off her slit and the bud of her clit. Both men growled ferociously and stared for a few seconds. 

“That’s it,” Nestor growled, bending to lick a thick stripe up her pussy. “So wet already for your mates.”

Layla gasped, all sane thoughts fleeing. 

Quinn also leaned down to taste her pussy, kissing her throbbing clit. She saw stars. 

“She is ready for her mates,” Quinn said with a smirk. “You’re going to take every inch of us, aren’t you, fireheart?”

Layla whimpered, her voice and body trembling. “Yes… Please…”

The two males smiled. 

Nestor toyed with her pussy lips and Quinn rubbed her needy clit. Layla whimpered and struggled to arch off the bed. She squirmed restlessly, but their hold on her thighs was too secure, allowing no movement as their fingers probed and rubbed her pussy to their liking. She melted under their touch, her heart pulsing with the intensity of their bond.

“Such a sweet wet cunt," Quinn marveled, gathering her slick and rolling it between two fingers.

“Love your nipples, sweetheart,” Nestor drawled, moving to suckle one tit then the other, his tongue swirling around the hardened buds. 

“Pl… ease,” she sighed, her body feverish with need. “Need you. Need you so much it hurts!”

"Hurts?“ Quinn said in a mischievous tone as he rubbed her clit round and round while thrusting a thick finger inside her. Layla cried out and Nestor claimed her lips, swallowing her moans. 

“Hurts so good, hm, sweetheart?” Nestor drawled as their lips brushed, their tongues mating. 

“Yesss, please, more please… hmnnn...”

No sooner had she said that than Quinn was tasting her mouth, kissing her possessively and deeply. His tongue licked into her mouth then his tongue danced with hers. 

“What do you need, fireheart?”

Oh, how she adored the way they called her nicknames. She wanted to be theirs forever and get lost in their warmth and affection. 

“Want you so much. I’m so empty…”

“Our mate needs to be filled,” Nestor said to the other fae. “But first she will cum for us.”

Quinn agreed in a low chuckle and finger-fucked her while Nestor pressed his thumb against her clit, rubbing over and over. Driving her higher and higher until she exploded, bliss and pleasure overtaking her until she couldn’t think or talk. Layla quivered and while she rode her orgasm, Nestor suckled her lower lip. Quinn moved to her breasts, his mouth nursing her aching nipples. Captive in their hold, she arched into their touch, drawn-out moans escaping her.

She was still dizzy from her orgasm when they shifted. Nestor sneaked between her thighs, slapping his heavy cock against her glistening pussy. The sound was wet and squelching, her pussy fluttering with the need to be filled. Quinn kneeled next to her head, his cock pulsing in the air, the tip leaking precum. Layla licked her lips, hungry to taste him. 

“Open,” Quinn commanded softly, “wet my dick, mate.”

Layla obeyed, her lips parting to take him in. Smiling mischievously, Quinn thrust his hips gently, his leaking cock stretching her mouth wide and filling it up. At the same time, Nestor entered her pussy, his girth spreading her cunt and filling her up inch by delectable inch. 

“Mhppphhh!” Layla gasped and gurgled around the cock in her mouth, her pussy filled to the limit by Nestor. Quinn gripped her fiery hair, guiding her head to keep sucking him. She was so full… Quinn’s shaft kissed her throat while Nestor’s cock kissed her cervix. 

“That’s it… fuck, you’re perfect,” Nestor groaned, watching her pussy suck him in. 

“Is it good, fireheart? Being fucked from both ends?” Quinn pulled his cock out of her mouth with a wet pop, his cock coated in her saliva. 

“Hmnn! Want more!”

With a proud moan, Quinn shoved his cock back into her hot mouth, going deeper and fucking down her throat. Nestor watched the lewd sight with pride. Their pretty mate struggled a little, but she took Quinn’s cock like the queen she was, hollowing her cheeks and clenching her pretty throat. She stroked his balls, cradling them in her small hands, her eyes rolling back with each thrust from both of them. 

Groaning, Nestor pounded deep into her cunt, making her pretty tits bounce with each sharp thrust. He kneaded her mounds, his thumbs pinching her nipples, causing her to gag and whimper around a mouthful of cock, her breathing heavy. Gods, she was so pretty like this, trapped between them, their cocks spearing her back and forth. 

A few calculated thrusts, and she came explosively, her body shuddering. Once she rode the waves of pleasure, the fae changed positions again, with Nestor fucking her mouth and Quinn taking her pussy. The dual sensations were overwhelming, liquid pleasure coursing through her veins as they filled her relentlessly. The room echoed with the rhythmic slaps of skin against skin and her muffled moans as she took fae cock. 

“Such a good mate for us,” Quinn said with pride. Her lips were swollen, her pussy drenched with her release. “Now it’s time to take our seed, hm?”

“Hmp, yes… want your cum,” Layla said in a seductive purr. 

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” Nestor drawled. “Ready to take us both in your soaked cunt and tight little ass?“

“Hmm, gonna take you both,” Layla nodded, seeing the pride and desire on their handsome faces. “Need to feel you inside me.”

In a flurry of motion, they repositioned themselves so that Layla was straddling Nestor, her raw breasts rubbing against his muscled chest. Quinn kneeled behind her, his strong hands spreading her asscheeks, his thumbs teasing around the tight, puckered hole. Such a cute little hole. Layla whimpered when Nestor gripped her hips and guided her down onto his throbbing dick while Quinn thrust a magically lubed finger into her ass. 

Layla groaned, desperation and desire in her green eyes. 

Quinn kissed her spine. “Relax your pretty asshole and take my fingers, fireheart.”

Layla clutched Nestor’s shoulders and tried to relax while Quinn squeezed a second oiled finger into her ass, the thick intrusions making her gasp and shut her eyes tightly. The combination of Nestor filling her pussy and Quinn’s fingers in her ass was strange. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly at their mercy. 

“So damn tight," Nestor muttered against her moaning lips, his shaft buried in the heat of her cunt. 

Quinn added a third finger in her ass, pumped, and curled them inside her before replacing them with the head of his cock. The broad head spread her tight hole, forcing its way inside. Layla trembled at the dual invasion— they were so deep, stretching her wide around their inhuman girths. She glanced down at where they were joined, and with shock, she realized just how much more they had to go. Only a third of their shafts were inside her, and that both thrilled and scared her. 

Nestor’s voice broke through her haze. “You can do this, sweetheart.”

“You’re so big…” Layla whined. She was human, could she really take them both? 

“Deep breaths, mate,” Quinn advised gently. “Take a little more of us, hmm?” 

“Feels strange…” Layla looked at them for guidance, her cheeks flushed, her eyes worried. She could feel their dicks rubbing inside her, and she took deep breaths that were mixed with cries of pain and pleasure. 

“Let’s stroke your little clit,” Nestor murmured, his thumb stroking her bud, sending pulses of warmth all over her body. “Yesss, that feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Hmm! Moree!”

“Such a good little mate,” Nestor cooed and proved his point by pulling out of her wet cunt then slamming more inches inside.

“Our mate needed a cock up her cunt and ass so badly,” Quinn growled as he worked deeper into her ass. 

“You will take us, mate. Again and again until you reek of our cum. Our magic protects you. Relax your holes,” Quinn ordered in her ear. 

Blindsided by the fullness of their penetration, Layla said yes in a series of raspy moans. Their fae magic infused her fully, empowering her and building her arousal. Before long, she’d taken the full lengths of their cocks. The fullness, the heat, the stretch— she was overwhelmed but in no pain. She curled between their powerful bodies, and when they started fucking her in earnest, she cried out, her nails digging into their flesh. 

“Look at you,” Nestor growled, his purple eyes dark with lust. “So beautiful riding our dicks.”

“You’re perfect like this, fireheart,” Quinn whispered, his hands fondling her asscheeks. “So tight, so hot.”

Hands grabbed and fondled her as they pounded her, their cocks owning her depths. When Nestor’s cock left her pussy, Quinn plunged into her ass. Layla tried to get more friction only to have their strong hands restrain her. Nestor grasped her tits while Quinn secured her wrists with magical silken ropes, carefully tying her arms behind her back. The silk felt like a caress, soft and slightly loose.

She didn’t complain; she only trembled between them, her watery eyes begging them to claim her. 

“If this is too much for you, fireheart, say “red” and we will stop. I promise you. Understood?”

“Yesss,” Layla nodded fervently. “Now… just fuck me.”

“Easy, sweetheart,” Nestor said, his hands gripping her thighs. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Layla was too far gone to think straight. “C-can’t! Want more!” 

“It’s the mating bond. She is human, and it’s affecting her. Our magic is also making everything stronger,” Nestor explained to the other fae. 

“Such a needy little mate,” Quinn rasped and pressed a harsh kiss to her mouth. “Bound and begging for us.”

Nestor grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You think you can handle us, huh? Think you can keep up with us?”

“Hmn… I can handle it,” Layla panted as they impaled her on their stiff cocks. 

Nestor chuckled from under her, his fingers pinching her nipples. “Is that so? Well, let’s see how long you can keep that attitude.” 

The two males exchanged glances before they resumed pounding into her. Nestor lifted her a few inches, then lowered her back down onto his cock. Quinn thrust his hips, fucking her ass in full thrusts that reached deep into her guts. They were both too thick, too hard, and too long, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

It went on and on; their stamina seemed endless, their cocks so impossibly hard and swollen with the need to cum. The scent of desire hung heavily in the air and she came again with uncontrollable, shuddering contractions, her holes clenching hard around their massive girths. The males followed right after her, their muscled bodies shuddering, roars ringing out as she felt something burst inside her. Massive wings sprouted from their backs as their seed filled her up, loads and loads of it, forcing little aftershocks of ecstasy. 

But they were far from done. 

They switched places, Nestor claiming her now stretched asshole while Quinn filled up her pussy. Their wings curled around her as they slammed inside her, and Layla lost herself in the mating bond, quaking between them, her arms securely bound, her holes fluttering around their shafts. She could only whimper and utter their names, begging them to stop, then begging them to never stop and make her cum.

“Remember your safe word, mate,” Quinn reminded her roughly. “If it’s too much say "red" and we will stop.”

“Would you like us to stop fucking your naughty holes?” Nestor’s fingers curled around her nape, his hips snapping repeatedly into hers. 

“Nnn—nooo!” Layla whined, her body tense as she balanced on the edge of pleasure. 

Quinn growled his approval. “That’s good, fireheart, because we’re not going to.”

The bed creaked, obscene moans echoing with every move they made. Her fae mates fucked her powerfully, thrusting to the hilt again and again, deep and tirelessly. Quinn devoured her lips with his kisses, his hands cupping her tits and pinching her sore nipples. Nestor growled from behind her, his broad chest pressing against her back as he claimed her ass and flicked her clit with his thumb. 

They were primal and fully affected by the need to claim her, and she loved it—she loved them and how they fucked her, it was unlike anything she had imagined.

Layla’s moans rang out when she came again, sobs of pleasure escaping her kiss-swollen mouth. She trembled as a pleasure bomb went off in her center. It was too much, but it was divine, every nerve was alight. They joined her soon after, pulsing up inside her and releasing spurt after spurt of their cum. She was already filled with them, but the second load overflowed from her, dribbling down her thighs. 

Layla didn’t know for how long it went on. 

They untied the silk ropes and took her again and again, lifting her off the bed, sandwiching her between their aroused bodies and feeding her their cocks in every position imaginable. Their wings flapped powerfully, and when Layla touched them, her mates went into a mating rage, driving deep inside her, claiming her, owning her. 

As the sun began to rise, their frenzied mating finally came to an end. 

They collapsed on the bed, the covers tattered and smeared with signs of their primitive coupling. Layla’s mates enveloped her, spooning her from front to back, their bodies entwined with hers, their cocks still hard inside her due to the suction of her cunt and ass. She was sated and exhausted, feeling a sense of belonging she had never known before. 

They took turns kissing her, softly, lovingly, whispering sweet nothings while gazing at her with an impossibly soft, oh-so-soft expression on their faces. Their seed had marked her as theirs; the mate of the Nightmare and Chaos Courts.

“Who do you belong to, little mate?” Nestor asked, kissing the side of her neck.

“You,” Layla breathed. “Both of you.”

Nestor growled and gazed at her possessively. She belonged wholly to them. And they to her. She was filled to the brim with their seed, her holes stretched taut around their shafts. It was the ultimate claiming. "So beautiful. You did so well, fireheart.”

“Stunning.” Quinn brushed a few sweaty hair strands from her face and kissed her fluttering eyelashes. “You were so good for us, mate. Our beautiful Queen and Empress.”

“Yes,” Nestor agreed proudly. “We shall unite our courts and give our mate everything.”

“Hmmm,” Quinn hummed against her chest, his voice a sultry whisper against her lips. “Do you like being filled by your King and Emperor, fireheart?” 

“Yes,” Layla answered, her heart brimming with affection for them. “I love it. I love you both.”

Nestor hummed from behind her, kissing her softly. “We love you more. You’re ours, sweetheart. Forever.”

That night, they’d claimed more than a masterpiece. 

They’d claimed their soulmate. 

[solbaby7]

I love the blurb bar idea and I loved the pina colada one, how about a neat gin n tonic with a salt rim?

[ forced proximity: “you can’t seriously be insinuating that i should sit on your lap.” + smut + az ]

guys i got carried away 🫣🤭 but at least it’s finished and has minimal spelling errors 🤍🩷

-> BLURB BAR <-

To put it quite frankly, you and Azriel didn’t really get along.

It seemed almost easy for everyone else in the Inner Circle to latch onto him; to gravitate towards him and all his shadowy mysteriousness—but not you. Between his victim complex, lack of self-control and the inability to properly communicate his feelings like a normal person, you’d lost your patience for him long ago.

Maybe that’s why you laugh right in Rhysand’s face after he lays down the guidelines for your temporary deployment to the Steppes. Everything sounds perfectly normal up until the end when Rhysand’s lips form the words, “—and you’ll be going with Azriel; he’s already been briefed.”

“Very funny,” Shoulders shake through your laughter, tickled from the joke. “But, you don’t have to go to such lengths just to make me laugh Rhys.”

Your grin fades comically fast and the deep frown that takes it place doesn’t falter long after you’ve left the High Lord’s office and scrounged back to your own chambers to pack. Every move is mechanical, clothes being folded and stuffed away a little rougher than necessary as you try not to think about having to spend seven whole days holed up in a creaky cabin with some brooding bat.

To be fair, Azriel seems no happier than you about the situation, his signature brood securely in place when you meet on the balcony at the witching hour with bag in hand. “Come—let’s get this over with.”

You refrain from commenting on his attitude; hold yourself back from snapping when he snatches your duffle from your grasp just to watch it disappear in a puff of sentient shadow. They’d almost be cute—Azriel’s shadows—if they weren’t so fucking useless. Capable of procuring intel and acting as camouflage but can’t manage to hold two fae long enough to get them to the Illyrian mountains.

No, instead you were subjected to this. Close contact and his fucking hands holding onto your body as he flies on a route you’re unfamiliar with. You eye his wings cautiously, trying to be subtle when you peek over the strong line of his shoulder but being this close? He can feel every beat of your heart against your sternum. Every squirm and twitch of a limb as you try to find a more comfortable place to put your arm. “Will you stop moving?”

“I can’t help it,” Hips shift once more, one leg hitching just a little higher on his hip. “Your fucking daggers keep poking me.”

Azriel tenses up, muscles locking and suddenly you’re being moved how he pleases—both legs wrapped around his waist and a firm forearm clasped around the base of your spine. “Stay.” His voice is rougher than your used to, his blunt nails biting into the sliver of skin exposed to the elements. “Don’t move, we’re almost there.”

That was a lie—it would take hours to make it to the Steppes but the gruff command is surprisingly easy to follow. And while you’ll never verbally admit it, the secure bracketing of his arms around your body was more of a comfort than a nuisance. It’s all too easy to ease into his grasp, allowing sleep to take over until the journeys over and you swear you can feel him cradle you in closer, his nose ghosting over the crown of your head.

He makes absolutely no comment on it when you finally arrive with your hair ruffled, clothes crinkled and the imprint of Azriel’s syphon on your cheek other than a chuffed out, “You snore.”

Instinct screams at you to make some snappy comment back but reason doesn’t allow it to be voiced—not here. Here, you and Azriel would have to appear as a united front, for the males raised in this terrain were bred to sniff out any and all weaknesses to exploit. Only here do you allow the hand that permanently glues itself to the dip of your back, pushing you past rabid animals swollen with pride and snarling with hatred.

Slurs are spat from their lips but Azriel doesn’t pay them any mind, so you don’t either.

He walks through the camps as if he owns them, spine straight and shoulders square. Strong wings stand proudly behind him, shadows guarding your flank until the unforgiving chill is replaced by the stuffy warmth of a mess hall. It’s cramped—a little dirty and smells like a mixture of male and tobacco but either way you’re given a warm meal and fresh water to drink.

The vulgar comments grow more frequent, mutterings of their unwanted appreciation towards your body so sickening that your appetite threatens to scurry away. “They’re disgusting.” You scoff, setting down your tray of food, one hand curled around the chair.

It doesn’t give. Azriel’s boot curled around the leg holds it in place. Arched brows furrow at him, nose scrunching under the effort it takes not to kick him in his shin but there’s something about his body language that make you stop. “They’ll keep doing that shit if they think you’re free game.” Every syllable is clipped; laced with a wildness you’re unfamiliar with—almost as if he’s insinuating that it’s your fault that such brutish males were salivating at the sight of you. Darkness cloaks the hazel tones of his eyes when he meets your own and you nearly miss the gesture he makes.

One hand patting twice at his lap.

“Absolutely not.” Azriel’s boot shoves the seat away completely when you make a move to sit down on it once more. He settles deeper in his own, thick thighs manspreading as deft hands adjust the positioning of his holsters, guiding sharpened weapons away from the area of space he frees up for you. “You can’t seriously be insinuating that I should sit on your lap?”

“I’m not insinuating anything, this is me telling you—sit down.”

You pray he doesn’t see the blush that burns against your cheeks when you take a seat in his lap, his hands resting along the sides of your hips. He keeps eating as if nothing is new. As if he doesn’t realize the way his touch has you squirming against solid muscle through thick leathers, legs subconsciously parting to make more room for the wandering fingers that slide down your thighs, digging into sensitive inner thighs. “What are you doing?” You ask, barely able to grab at the food before you with the way your hands shake.

“I’m sending a message.”

Breath catches when you feel Azriel’s thigh flex between your legs, pressing against your sex in such a way that you’re certain it’s impossible that he hadn’t felt the way you clench in response. “What kind of message?”

“The kind that says someone already owns you.” People are looking, that much you know—can feel their eyes tracking every move. Azriel’s hand splayed over your stomach, his head tucked in the curve of your shoulder as his free hand spies its way through your breeches. There’s a pause, one where you’re time to push him away, to declare that this was entirely too far and smack him clear across his face.

That doesn’t happen. Your legs only part further, making more room for needy fingers to shove past your panties.

It’s a foolish decision, you can feel it the second you make it. As if you’d just unconsciously confirmed the ridiculous notion that you were one of Azriel’s possessions. To do as he pleased. To sit there splayed out across his lap like some puppet and allow him to take the reins and show off all your tricks until you’re boneless and drooling.

He’s too good with his hands. Too slick with the sly filth he mutters into your ear as he fondles at your clit under the table, pressing firm circles into the bundle of nerves until you’re panting like a bitch in heat.

You barely remember how much you hate him when he touches you like this. Until the orgasm fades and your consciousness clears and even though the way you lean into the dip of his neck appears like some typical lovers embrace—bystanders fail to hear the sharp way you sneer, “Tell anyone about this ever and I’ll fucking kill you.”

[marlair]

Hello hello! Can you write twisted wonderland perfect + lilia if that's not to much– with gn reader similar to frieren?? (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

i’ll choose a life where my hand never leaves yours

syn. wise old elf, basically.

gn!yuu + frieren!yuu , no use of y/n, you’re referred to as yuu.

book 7 spoilers . not proofread

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

as someone who works hard to make sure his magic meets expectations and above, seeing you flawlessly just do and perform spells perfectly makes you someone he’s willing to admire.

(though your somewhat lazy nature confuses him a tad.)

he is someone who rushes things, especially before his overblot.

when the parties need to be perfect, when your students need to be exemplary, and when you need to be a perfect example, it’s hard not to rush things.

you, being a long-lived elf, having lived longer than even diasomnia’s vice housewarden, know very well that taking it slow helps. a lot.

“Riddle,” you start, reaching down and resting your hand on his shoulder. The tension rushing through the redheads body lessens when your hand finds its way to him, and he- subtly but clear to your eyes, leans into your touch and slightly melts into his chair.

Riddle turns his head and looks down to meet your eyes, putting his hand on yours on his shoulder, tugging it down gently and intertwining your fingers. “Mh?” He hummed, a bit too preoccupied with all the papers on his table.

He had the Heartslabyul students’ grade reports, the plans for the unbirthday party coming up, letters from his mother, letters from che’nya, a half-written request to the headmaster for funding for further unbirthday parties, and—

“Take it easy,” you say, rubbing small circles onto the back of his hand, and the thoughts about all the work he had to do, even if only for a moment, rushed out of his mind with a sigh.

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

you probably remind him of malleus- it doesn’t mean he hates you, he just.. feels some mild dislike for you sometimes.

in what situation would you two even encounter each other?

probably in the botanical garden, actually.

or somewhere outside, which is most likely where he is, considering he isn’t in classes.. at all, basically.

he’d appreciate how slow you take life in.

it’s calming, he doesn’t know how or why.

it just feels nice to be around you, he guesses.

“Ugh!” Leona groans, immediately sitting up from his laying position on the ground of the botanical garden. 

Who the *🐭* stepped on his tail?

By pure instinct, he took a sniff of the air, and—

It wasn’t a smell he recognized. Some parts of it were familiar to him, but he didn’t recognize even the species of this audacious person.

… What the *🐭*

He looked up to see someone who didn’t look a day above 14 or so, but also happened to have a trait common with fae folk- pointed ears.

So, it’s some fae who decided to step on his tail and not look where they were going, huh?

He’d deal with this promptly.

(After getting terribly humbled by your magical prowess, he’s decided that no, he did not deal with it promptly.)

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

best believe he is desperate for your magic.

he sees you use a spell that only Lilia Vanrouge himself can vaguely recognize, and he realizes your knowledge is something he needs.

you can never know too much, isn’t that true?

(you’d like to disagree.)

a subtle sharing of your wisdom teaches him that there is much he doesn’t know, but also much he’d better not know.

just like riddle, azul struggles with pacing his, well, life.

tell him to take it easy. there’s no rush, especially considering you both have higher lifespans than regular humans.

what do jade and floyd think about you?

…

it’s for the better that you don’t know.

KALIM AL-ASIM

now that i’m writing this, i realize that a lot of the housewardens can’t give theirself a break.

is kalim one of those housewardens?

.. i guess we’ll never know.

it’s not that he’s stressing himself out, he’s just a bit.. energetic.

again, again, you calm him down.

slowly, slightly. but as time passes, the change becomes obvious.

in more ways than one.

“.. Oh my Sevens?” Jamil lets out with a gasp, looking at..

Looking at the Kalim Al-Asim… sweeping the floor. After a party. Half of the room was clean. And Jamil hadn’t even gotten his broom out.

Is this what Cater meant when he said he ‘experienced culture shock’?. Because, oh, boy, Jamil is shocked.

“Kalim-” He didn���t even get to finish the sentence he wanted to say. ‘Kalim, who told you to do this?’. Yeah, Jamil would sometimes daydream about Kalim doing all the work, but it’s not like he actually expected Kalim to do work.

Kalim, grinning as if he didn’t just rock Jamil’s world, said, “Yuu told me that hard work after relaxation and vice versa is the best! I’m doing hard work! It’s fun!”

Fun? Jamil incredulously thinks before getting his wrist grabbed by Kalim.

Did Kalim only think it was fun because he hadn’t done it before? Yes. Is it fun? To Kalim! And that’s enough!

VIL SCHOENHEIT

imagine being able to look so incredibly young when you’re much older than even Leona, the oldest student disregarding the fae, hah.

haha.

is vil jealous?

…

yeah.

forever youth, and even heightened magical prowess. vil thought he’d gotten used to it with the fae, but finding out there was yet another species similar?

it kind of lowkey makes his blood boil. why isn’t it him that gets to be born like that?

anyways. vil’s someone who, finally, knows how to pace himself.

so, you can finally show another side of yourself.

the lazy side of you.

okay, lazy is a strong word.

It was a well known fact to all that Vil Schoenheit had a good morning routine. The first step was to wake up early.

He usually woke up at around 5:00, 5:25 if he was feeling a bit tired. Maybe even 5:30 if he was feeling bold.

Today, he woke up at 6:00. 

Six in the morning. Much later than usual. The only question he has right now is how? His body clock had already been adjusted to waking up at 5:00, it’d been like that for a long time.

He, sitting up on his bed, looks beside him to see the small frame of another person, still asleep and long hair askew.

Oh, he thinks briefly, that’s why.

IDIA SHROUD

genuinely, i’m so sorry.

he has knowledge of elves, which surprised you greatly. and when you asked where he found out..

what is an ‘ahn-eh-mei’ supposed to be? why did shroud like it so much? and how is it, aside from old scriptures created by fae that may no longer even be alive, have some of the only mentions of elves you’ve seen at all in this world?

you knew the elf race was dwindling and may even go extinct, but darn.

when you asked him to show you what those cute little cartoons showed elves as..

for some reason, his face- and hair!- went pink.

.. huh. weird.

i mean, it can’t be that bad. right?

‘Oh my,’ you think internally, ‘it is that bad.’. Idia, hair and face pink, holds his phone and points the screen in your direction. On it’s screen displays a.. big.. breasted, blonde haired, in- in such scandalous clothing.. a woman like that.

And she had pointed ears, just like yours. A bit smaller than yours, though.

Is this really what people in this realm think of elves? It’s.. Well, you can’t speak for all elves, you barely even know if more elves exist even in your own realm, but.. uh.

What you saw on the screen was a.. really interesting interpretation!

You don’t even know any person this… lustful, in your own realm. And you especially don’t know any elves like that. It’s.. Odd.

MALLEUS DRACONIA

he is shocked. his world is shaken, he’s trembling in his boots, even.

someone older than even lilia.. really? truly? 

the moment he makes it onto ramshackle the first time you’d arrived, he’d sensed a familiar presence.

familiar not in the sense that he knew the person behind it, but familiar as in it felt like someone old, wise.

it felt like a presence he’d felt before he hatched in the egg.

he wanted to rush to that presence, but..

he didn’t want to scare you. especially not when your.. essence..? your essence made him want to lay his head on your lap, or cry on your shoulder, or share a cake with you knowing he wasn’t alone.

not when your presence felt like a lullaby he remembers only vaguely.

LILIA VANROUGE

he is this emoji: 😱.

if he’s old, then what are you? a relic?

the him from the past might’ve felt threatened, concerned what someone of your age would want with him and his people.

now? of course, he’s still concerned at what you’d want with his family, but when he sees you talking calmly with his sons- even befriending malleus, he starts to appreciate you.

he kind of wanted to cry in joy after he saw malleus in the courtyard, having lunch with a friend!

he’d.. also.. sigh, appreciate you teaching him spells. 😔..

he simply has to know the spell that makes a field of flowers! imagine the sleeping spots that silver would get to have!

[writingforatwistedworld]

Self-aware au

Written before the English release!

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, Jp-version spoiler(!!!), death, description of war, unhealthy mindset, religion, obsessive themes, unhealthy family dynamics

General! Lilia Vanrouge/(Platonic) Maleanor Draconia/(Platonic) Knight of Dawn-Yandere headcanons

Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce? Lilia Vanrouge 1.0. The more cold, hard and ready to behead the next human version of the usual Lilia (also known as the Lilia Vanrouge 2.0 model)

Lilia back then was “rough” and I am being nice calling him that

Back then, Lilia was surrounded by loss and a lot of Faes getting everything they ever owned ripped away from them

Of course this impacts him (I mean he is strolling through battlefield after battlefield so of course it does)

Lilia wasn't always such a devoted follower

Yes, he did believe in the Overseer, aka you, but only after witnessing the brutality that came with him being a general did he turn into a follower with such drastic views

After all, if there was no higher meaning to all this violence, to all this loss and despair, what was even the point of it all?

You became his moral, mental and also a bit of a physical crutch for him

Whenever he felt like he was this close to just giving up, he thought about you and that this was part of your greater plan (totally not part of some valley church propaganda)

After witnessing that human hiding behind the Knight of Dawn in all his haughtiness and cruelty, he finally set out on his quest not only to make the humans leave his beloved home but also to make them into loyal believers of the Overseer

But sadly, everything was for nought and Lilia had to go into hiding

The only thing keeping him going was his believe in you having a greater plan

A few hundred years later and Lilia finally found out what that supposed plan of yours was

Laying in that cold, lonely crib was the child of his old, now deceased enemy

Taking the child, now called Silver, in he learned the joy of a family, the boy giving him more joy than anything ever before in his life

Finally, he had found peace. Of course he did. This was your plan all along, right? You must have ordered those three fairies to make his beloved son survive until now, right?

You were, after all, a kind deity. There was no way this was all just a war happening because of greed. Because if this truly was just events happening after events then...

Lilia never finished that thought

The great ruler of the night fae, mighty and powerful sorceress who could fell an entire nation in one swoop if she wanted to was despite her cruel and aloof outside appearance a pretty devoted follower since the beginning

Despite being a Fae, she was feared just like her unborn son due to her powers (and being more or less being on the same level as a nuclear bomb but hey, I doubt that anyone of us would stand next to one of those, right?)

So it is no surprise that she turned to something, someone, to feel less alone

Especially after her husband disappeared did she wish for some sort of sign that she was not alone

And oh boy, did religious propaganda from the high church take that loneliness away

When her beloved son, although in an egg, was born, she visited your altar daily, thanking you for her child being healthy

(This could also be the reason why Malleus is the way he is but I am just a writer and not some all-knowing God so idk, just a theory)

She definitely has "taken care" *cough*totallynotproblematicforarulertobeinfluencedbyreligion*cough* of Fae that were non-believers

How dare their sinful ways dirty your holy image?

See? Totally not problematic

At first she only tried to protect her subjects after the humans attacked and took over parts of her kingdom

But after a while she started to have another goal

What if she shared your splendor with those little useless invaders?

Humans were most definitely vile but you were able to unite so many different kinds of Fae in your name under the Draconia name

So why not also unite those humans in your name in a peace treaty?

Such a kind God you were! Allowing for peace in your name!

And, well, if violence and destruction was needed to make those beings understand and surrender, then that shall be what they get

Besides, she was only honoring her husbands wish to get closer to the humans so who was she to selfishly aim for another goal?

The Knight of Dawn (long name, I know) did not always believe in you

Heck, the poor guy probably never heard of you until he fought the Fae

But if the humans from back then didn't really know about you, then how did he find out about and why did he start to see you as his God?

On this part, I would say, he and Lilia were eerily similair

Both were pushed into a war neither liked, so of course he was also in a very unstable situation which made him, like Lilia, search for something to hold on to

The three Fairies had mentioned before when he was still training to become as strong as he was now, mentioning a kind deity who accepted all, who loved unconditionally

Back then he only thought of you as one of the many deities that were prayed to back then

But once the war started and he saw your churches and cathedrals for the first time, his opinion slowly started to shift until he saw you as the highest being possible

I mean, all of us would if we lost all stability over night, having only destroyed buildings and a half-standing church in front of us

He hated the plundering of your sacred placed even before he became a believer, having the opinion that it was just a cultural difference between the two kinds

This led to him kneeling at the cracked altars of many of your churches, asking for forgiveness, hoping that you would understand that he didn't have another choice

What he would do to witness one of your sermons…

And when he was lonely enough, he imagined you watching down on him from up above

Just like a... a parent

You see where I am going with this?

So when he was facing the Queen he only hoped for your forgiveness, hoping that his loving family member would forgive his gravest sin, him killing a mother

And he found salvation, in letting that child and the retainer escape

Perhaps you could forgive him now

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Twenty-One

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Character death and canon typical violence/graphic descriptions.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

It was the sound and smell that really got to you. The crackle of bones snapping and the stretching of skin and the slick squelch of new flesh as it grew into place. The scent of burning curtains and couch stuffing and meat so thick in the air Emerie could only lean over and vomit into the fireplace. 

Through the smoke and the haze you saw barbs sprout from Vassa’s skin like needles before splitting down the middle to reveal sickly red feathers. Putrid flowers crawling their way through the dirt. 

She fell to the ground, convulsing with pain and anguish as she transformed.  

“VASSA!” Lucien roared. He threw his arm over his face, magic bursting forth in a protective shield around you and Azriel. His russet eyes reflected the flames that licked at his skin and hair, fighting and absorbing the power that flashed throughout the room. 

From the corner of your eye you saw Feyre use her own spark of Autumn’s magic. The flames took on the shape of wolves and threw themselves over Mor, Gwyn, Emerie, and Elain in a protective huddle. 

Vassa’s screams thinned out into one long screech and the beating of her wings sent another wave of heat through the room.

Azriel pressed you further against the ground as she took off, flying so close overhead that the sweat frying your skin evaporated and the tips of Azriel’s hair singed off. 

Cassian swore, drawing out the short sword he always kept on him as he shielded Ione’s body from the worst of the initial blast, wings out and glaring siphon red in the shape of shield.

Vassa sank her claws into his back, latching onto leather armour and ripping him off the old woman. Her wings took up the length of the room, trailing ribbons of blue and scarlet fire as she finally descended on her prize. 

Ione was no stranger to death. She did not fear it as some might have expected her to. She’d seen friends and family ruthlessly murdered. Experienced loss of a kind that the fae could not comprehend with their long lives. Maybe that was the reason she fought so little when Vassa’s talons closed over her arms and lifted her into the air. 

Rhysand roared, night triumphant rumbling over the floors like an earthquake as darkness spilled from his hands.

But he was too late. 

Vassa crashed through the window with Ione in tow. Glass and fragments of the supporting wall crumbled down in a chorus of cries that tore through your spine as shadows swarmed overhead. Reaching, reaching, reaching after the firebird and the woman she carried higher and higher up into the sky. 

Cassian rolled to his feet, leaping after them with a furious beat of his wings that sent shards of glass skittering over the floor and dust flying into your eyes. 

Azriel scrambled to his feet, hauling you up with him. You dragged your nails over his arms, blinking through smoke-filled eyes as you coughed. 

All around you the House was burning. 

“Are you ok?!” He shook you, hands coming up to your face. He was split between two choices — stay with you, or go get Ione. 

“Go. Go! I’m fine,” you rasped, lifting your sleeve up to your nose and mouth as your eyes streamed with tears. Azriel hesitated, hearing your hacking coughs even as you pushed him towards the gaping wound of the House. Cassian continued to shrink into the distance, red light searing past Vassa’s feathers as she desperately dodged his attacks. 

He wouldn’t go for a killing blow. Not when she was carrying such precious cargo. 

“Just go! If Koschei gets his hands on Ione, we’re all dead!” You erupted in another fit of coughs.

Fuck.

“Stay with Lucien,” Azriel said.

“Yes, yes. Now go!” You gave him one final shove.

Azriel swore beneath his breath, turned, and raced towards the window with his wings ready to unfurl before disappearing in a flurry of smoke. 

Misunderstanding — that was what made Shadowsingers so dangerous. Not their silence. Not the tendrils of darkness they commanded, but how little anyone knew of them and where they came from.

Illyrians, by nature, couldn’t winnow. It was one of the simple, unexplainable facts of their world. As immutable as gravity. As intrinsic as the magic that flowed through their land like a bottomless sea. And despite all the rules Azriel had broken, and would break, in his life — all the contradictions he flirted with like it was a game — he was, first and foremost, an Illyrian.

He did not winnow. 

Winnowing was simple.

Winnowing happened when you folded the fabric of the world in half like a piece of paper and stretched that fabric thin enough to pass through. It was instantaneous. One moment you had both feet planted in one place, the next moment in another. 

What Azriel did was wholly different. 

Because when he “winnowed,” he actually went somewhere else first. 

When he was running away from you, he was moving towards an opening only he could see. A black, flickering spot that grew and grew and grew until it swallowed him whole and he felt himself fall into a different realm. 

The sounds of shouting and feet trampling over glass disappeared with a whisper and he dove into the silence, feeling shadows slip over him like water. 

When he’d first shadow-traveled, it had been an accident. He’d been young and desperate to escape the cramped confines of his bed in the Windhaven barracks. He would never miss his time spent in the cellar, but at least there it had been quiet. At least there he could commune with his shadows in private. Accommodations in the Windhaven barracks were a poor imitation of horse stables — tiny bedrooms lined up with just enough space for growing wings and walls that didn’t reach the ceiling. Boys would peer over the walls at him like an animal on display, throwing food and boasting their strong wings while his lay on the floor like crumpled paper. 

To this day he didn’t quite know where he went when he shadow-traveled. All he knew was that in this world of black sand, cracked rock, and perpetual music, beings roamed free that answered to him and only him. Creatures both same and different to the shadows he commanded in Prythian. They crowded around him, welcoming him home and blocking out the background hums of someone’s sweet singing as the light of three moons cast their silvery net over the Shadowsinger.

The plan is working.

Why have you left her behind? 

The firebird is nearing the edges of your borders. 

Your mate is safe. She remains by her brother’s side.

He listened to their reports, gliding through the still air and watching as a familiar light opened up ahead of him. A fourth moon that wasn’t a moon at all, but a light back home. Through the opening he saw a blue sky raked with fire as Vassa turned onto her back, careening through the air like a firework and opening her mouth wide. 

She’s endowed with new powers. Be cautious, Shadowsinger.

Your brother is on your left. 

What had felt like minutes flying through this darkness vanished into nothing. The time he’d spent in this realm never passed on Prythian. To anyone watching him, they’d think he disappeared from the House and reappeared here, hundreds of feet above the earth.

But things were better this way. When he traveled with his shadows, he had time to gather his thoughts and anticipate the fight ahead.

Quick! Get the warlord.

And he had help.

NOW!

Azriel shattered the boundaries of the world in an explosion of shadow, careening into Cassian’s side and knocking him off course just as Vassa spit out a ball of flame. Azriel heard Cassian’s shout in his ear as they tumbled through the air together in a tangle of wings. He felt the heat that had come close to scorching his back.

I am not that little boy. Not anymore. Azriel promised himself

The warlord grasped the harness hidden in the back of Azriel’s armor just between the shoulder blades, using the momentum of their fall to throw him back towards Vassa. 

The Sidra glowed beneath him, the mouth of the river stretching wide as it prepared to feed the sea. Another mile, and the protections surrounding Velaris would fall away. Who knew what would happen to Ione and Vassa then? 

Azriel saw the distance between them narrow. Vassa’s body could only be propped up by so much magic. Feathers continued to strip themselves from her body, curling inwards as they fell like paper left too close to a flame. 

Ione flailed in Vassa’s clutches, iron cane still held tightly in her hand as she twisted and turned at the mercy of Vassa’s frantic flight maneuvers. 

The firebird squawked in panic when she felt the first cold licks of Azriel’s shadows creep up her wings. They hissed and smarted upon first contact with her fiery feathers, before eating away at her magic like ravenous beasts. 

But she also understood hunger. It was hunger that had driven her to take Ione. It was hunger that had forced her to turn. Hunger for the kind of magic that only Koschei could grant her when she was back in his malignant embrace.

To Azriel’s horror, Vassa twisted in the air and flung Ione down with a shriek. 

The old woman’s face twisted in shock, her scream choked by wind as her stomach flew into her throat and the burning pressure in her arms gave way to freefall. 

Azriel didn’t hesitate. He dove down, reaching out with two scarred hands.

For one brief moment they were falling together. 

Ione saw the firebird change direction and aim right at Azriel, slipping into the blindspots of his vision. Ione looked him dead in the eye and gave the faintest nod. 

Azriel tucked his wings in close and veered off course at the last second, rolling with the impact of Vassa’s wing slamming into his side and feeling the burn when his leathers caught fire.

Somewhere in the wind, Cassian roared. 

Vassa caught Ione and fled beyond the borders of Velaris.

And Azriel fell.

And fell. 

And fell.

A comet.

And disappeared into the ocean. 

Feyre stood in the center of the House, hands raised and eyes alight as fires leapt up the walls and swallowed the curtains. With one fell swoosh they vanished, wind rushing in through the battered side of the House and sweeping away the ash and smoke until the air tasted clean again.

She raised a trembling hand and with one decisive snap of her fingers the worst of the damage vanished, leaving behind the skeletal remains of their once lovely living room. 

“Mor.” The High Lady rasped. 

The blonde female stood to attention, cheeks stained grey, and brown eyes flaring with rage. People liked to think she was just a pretty face — a diplomat or a soothing presence. But right now, she was out for blood and she could smell it coming in the air. 

“Go tell Helion and the others. We meet at Thesan’s as planned.” 

Mor nodded and grabbed Emerie’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze as the Illyrian shook off the worst of her sickness. Her stomach, now empty, twisted. Mor kissed Emerie’s dark hair, whispering promises that they’d see each other again soon. Then it was only a matter of folding the universe in half and stepping into Helion’s palace to the sight of two dozen golden warriors. 

Emerie blinked and her wife was gone.

Rhys stood by the staircase with Gwyn, touching the crown of her head and showing her his most treasured prize. Beneath the fabric of her priestess robes, a new bargain tattoo was being written onto the skin of her ribs. Until their parents’ safe return, Gwyn would protect Nyx and Velaria with her life. No force, natural or otherwise, would keep her from her goal, and those that sought to harm her charges would meet their end on her blade. 

In the privacy of her room she donned the armour of the Valkyries and knelt down at the small altar carved into the wall. She touched the smooth white stone at the center and prayed to the Mother for strength and protection and health. She lit a red candle and dripped the wax onto the blade of her sword and polished it clean, reciting her prayers beneath her breath. 

What seeks to break me will fail. I am a protector. I have always been a protector. And that is what I will always be. It is written in my blood and in my bones, but where I was strong in my spirit, I am now strong in my body.

She stood with her sword in her hands.

I am the rock against which the surf crashes.

Tucked away in a cabin in the Illyrian Steppes, Nyx stood in front of his wooden soldier, practice sword clutched in his hand as he danced around the immobile warrior with a crease in his brow identical to Feyre’s. Every so often he would look over his shoulder at the female sitting on the floor, searching her silver eyes for that hint of pride she hid so well. 

Velaria lay in the crook of her arm, soft fingers tangled in the layers of gold and jewels that hung heavy from her slim, straight neck. Her eyes narrowed as she saw beyond the confines of the cabin into Rhysand’s mind. 

It’s happened hasn’t it? She asked knowingly. 

Yes.

And which one will you be sending to the children and I, boy?

Gwyn.

A good choice. I like that one.

Rhysand smiled tightly, feeling that knot in his chest loosen. No matter what happened, his children would be protected. They’d survive. 

As if sensing what the High Lord needed, Amren looked down at the child swaddled in her arms, allowing Rhysand the relief of seeing his children even if he couldn’t be there to hold them himself. 

Nyx, ever the precocious child, stopped his play-fighting and looked towards his aunt. 

He was still young but greatness hovered over his shoulder like a vulture ready to descend upon his innocence the moment he came of age. It frightened Rhysand to no end. 

Please, keep them safe.

Amren’s mind flickered with something like indignation and she clutched Velaria closer to her chest. It wasn’t maternal instinct that drove her, but something else. Something more feral and possessive. 

I have protected you and your family for centuries. I have killed for you and I died for you when I had far more to lose than just this mortal body. Do you truly believe I will fail you now?

No, Amren. No I do not. 

You raced up the steps after Lucien, smoke settling into your lungs as you wheezed and tried keeping up with his long, frantic strides. Vassa’s bloody footprints and a trail of burnt blue-orange feathers marked her descent. 

“JURIAN!” 

Lucien called his friend’s name the whole way up, praying to the gods that he’d hear a response. The air cleared the higher you went through the House until finally you stood at the base of the attic steps. 

The door stared down from above. Neatly closed. Unassuming. Vassa had shut it calmly before walking down. Or maybe she just couldn’t bear to look at the scene she’d left behind. 

Lucien burst through the silent, unblinking door and stopped dead in his tracks.

The first thing you saw from around his shoulder was the mangled remnants of the birdcage. Its side had been ripped open like ribs, cushion stuffing and blanket fragments spewing out. Claw marks decorated the walls and you detected the cling of iron in the air through your burning nostrils.

“Lucien?” Your voice shook.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t move past the edges of the room. 

When you went to move around his frame, he gripped your arm and covered the way. 

Jurian’s body lay sprawled on the floor, blood pooling in a neat circle around him like he’d been blotted out with a red pen. His right arm was in tatters and three long gashes split him from the temple to his hip. His pearly white winked cruelly. The hazy afternoon sun settled on the dust in the air. 

He must have gotten too close to Vassa not realizing that she was too far gone for even him to help. Maybe she’d done it intentionally as a means of escape, thinking that Jurian was her jailor. But maybe it had all been an accident. The wrong turn of her talons as the pain of her transformation took over. 

The method did not matter. Nor did the reason. 

Because Jurian was dead. 

Lucien crumbled to his knees, sinking into the carpet and feeling nothing and you…

It took everything within you not to scream. You pressed down on the feeling. Down. Down. Down. Burying it deep beneath layers of willpower and practice. 

You walked over to the windows, feeling hatred at the sun for shining down with its yellow light, and ripped the curtains off their rings with a metallic clang. 

Jurian looked up at the ceiling with glistening eyes. Somehow, even in death, there was the faintest hint of a smile on his face — proud, mischievous, and a little wild. A sign of the charismatic general he’d been by Vassa’s side and long before then. You covered that smile carefully, ignoring the squelch of your shoes when you stepped into the circle of blood. 

Something in Lucien cracked open when the curtain fell into place.

He finally screamed. Hands and knees braced on the floor. Face twisted in pain. 

You clapped your hands over your ears, tears streaming down your cheeks as you willed the sound to stop. 

“Lucien—” Elain skidded to halt at the doorway, the mass of pink fabric around her waist swishing once then falling still. She looked at the outline of Jurian. She looked at you. Then she fell to her knees, pulling Lucien’s body into her lap and whispering his name. The initial silence stretching across the bond had terrified her. Hearing him scream and the heartbreak that followed after had sent her running. 

Lucien collapsed against her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in the flesh of her stomach. She cradled his head in one arm, the other splayed over his back as he wept.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped through her own tears. “I’m so so sorry, Lucien.”

He cried. 

And cried. 

And cried. 

You and Elain heard the shouting from downstairs as a collection of Cassian’s most trusted Valkyries and Illyrian warriors assembled on the lawn. Emerie stood among them, her seconds helping to tie the leather straps of her armour into place as she barked orders left and right. 

Elain looked towards you. The fight to come left no time for grief. Not even Lucien was exempt from that. 

You moved in front of your brother, blocking the sight of the curtains on the floor.

“Lucien,” you begged. Your brother’s bloodshot eye looked at you from the crook of Elain’s arm. “We need to get ready. We need to go.” 

“I can’t… I can’t just leave him. I can’t leave him to rot in this room. I can’t—” 

“I’ll take care of him,” Elain promised. She looked down at her mate. “You can trust me with him, Lucien.” 

He said nothing, but together you and Elain helped him up to his feet, and Elain — beautiful, lovely Elain — stood on the tips of her feet to kiss her mate’s tear-stained cheek. She tasted the salt on her tongue and felt the burning of unshed tears in her own eyes. 

“I’ll bury him somewhere calm in a bed of marigold and poppy.” Fiery, resilient flowers to remind Jurian of the woman he had loved. “And when you and Vassa return we will have a proper goodbye. I promise.”

He took a deep, trembling breath and whispered, “Thank you, Elain.” 

You let him lean against you, let him bury his face in your hair to escape the smell of blood and death, and walked with him downstairs. 

After you and Lucien were gone and Elain stood alone in the presence of the dead, she rolled up her pale pink sleeves, tied off the length of her dress and prepared for a new garden. 

Azriel was soaking wet and aching as he flew up to the House of Wind. Salt stripped his hair of moisture and the strands dried hard and tacky against his scalp. 

“Did you need to make such a dramatic exit?” Cassian snapped when they landed on the balcony. “I thought she’d killed you.”

Azriel moved through the House without even looking, charred leather flaking off his shoulders and floating to the ground as he walked. His wings were sore and tender from the heat, along with his ribs and shoulder from when Vassa had first barreled into him and then when he’d landed in the Sidra. 

“We needed to make it look real, remember?” Azriel answered smoothly.

It had always been part of the plan to let Vassa take Ione if she attempted it, but they couldn’t let her go without a fight or Koschei would find it suspicious. Even so, Azriel hated to admit that he’d been distracted thinking about you. If he’d been any slower today he might have lost his wings. 

“Well you did your job too well.” Cassian growled. 

Azriel dipped into his room, quickly stripping out of his clothes and donning new leathers before he and Cassian set off once again deep into the mountain.

They stopped in front of a grey wood door, and Azriel knocked twice. Paused. Knocked thrice. Paused. Then knocked twelve times. 

Ione — the real Ione — opened the door.

Feyre had inherited many gifts from the seven High Lords of Prythian — her healing touch, her water wolves, her mastery over flame and light and dark. But one of her least used gifts had been glamouring people from her Court… until now.

It had taken her half a dozen portraits to familiarize herself with every subtle valley and curve of Ione’s face, and double the number of attempts before she’d successfully woven Nesta’s features into a perfect copy. You’d swooped in for the final steps, using your knowledge and magic to dampen Nesta’s magical signature until even Cassian couldn’t tell when it was Nesta or Ione standing in front of him without relying on the mating bond.

“Has it happened?” The old woman asked gravely, pulling her shawl tight around her shoulders.

Azriel nodded. “Vassa took the bait.” 

As they spoke, the mortal queen was carrying a disguised Nesta to the Continent where she’d be a hidden weapon in enemy territory. Koschei wouldn’t even know he’d been delivered the wrong prize. 

At least that was the hope.

They brought Ione down to the House, and Azriel forced the woman into a brisk walk, weaving through the small collection of fae in search of you. You stood by Feyre and Rhysand close to the river, one arm kept tight around Lucien’s and a new satchel slung over your back. You kept glancing over at your brother, watching as he did what he could to compose himself. 

“Y/n.” 

One small word spoken from his lips and your eyes were latching onto him. There was a question in his eyes as he looked first at your pale face, and then at Lucien. The trembling of your hands and the shake of your head was all he needed. 

Jurian was gone. 

Azriel swallowed, stopping in front of the male he’d once hated so unfairly and feeling shame. “Lucien, I’m so—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll rip your tongue out,” Lucien seethed, his eyes flat and hard as stone. The despair had given away to fury before Jurian’s body was even cold and suddenly Lucien was itching to be on the Continent. To feel Koschei’s blood on his hands. 

It wasn’t too late to save Vassa. It wasn’t too late to get his friend back. 

“You can feel pity for me when this is over.” 

There were only a dozen fae crowded around Feyre and Rhysand, but you could feel every wave of power that rippled off their skin, the electricity they shot into the air as they bounced on the pads of their feet and loosened their muscles. 

You found yourself pressed between Azriel and Lucien, the Shadowsinger’s hand balanced on the small of your back. Ione stood in front of you, your hand laid protectively on her shoulder, and a Valkyrie stood behind. She had her corn yellow hair braided around her head in a crown of gold, and stretching out from the slits in her armor fluttered the black and orange wings of a butterfly.

“Techaria,” she introduced herself with a smile and a handshake. “I’ve been assigned to you and Ione.” 

Techaria never left your side, standing firmly at your back after Rhysand winnowed you all to the Dawn Court and the crowd swelled to nearly a hundred. 

You were miles away from the Dawn Palace — the ocean at your front and a sea of frost-tinged grasses at your back. The air buzzed with excitement and dread and no small amount of bloodlust. 

You caught glimpses of the shimmering High Lord of Dawn and the hawk-winged peregryn soldier who held his hand as he dispensed final healing touches. He would not be among the seven High Lords and High Ladies leaving for the Continent. 

The High Lord and High Lady of Winter stood glistening like a pair of crystalline figures beside one of the coast’s watchtowers. White-haired warriors of frost and starshine bobbed around like snowfall and you struggled not to tremble in the presence of the three armored polar bears among their ranks. Eris’s males were similarly easy to spot with their burnished copper armour and their battle hounds hovering at their shoulders. Azriel stepped in between you and one of the beasts, froth pouring from between razor sharp teeth as it growled in your direction for staring too long.

A Summer soldier shoved past, earning himself a glower from Techaria and Azriel as he grabbed another female and drew her into one last passionate kiss. The seashell necklaces they wore clattered as they met, evidence of the dozens of battles they’d survived together. 

It wasn’t an uncommon sight as the crowd quickly split apart at the orders of their High Lords and High Ladies, coalescing into pre-determined divisions that sometimes asked mated pairs to separate. In foreign territory against a mysterious god, communications through their bonds would be indispensable. 

You saw an Autumn Court male — one of the High Lord’s brothers by the name of Castor — break away from his group. He ran towards a willowy Spring nymph two divisions over and slipped a ring into their pocket. 

Their blue eyes blew open in surprise, cries of protest smothered by a firm kiss before he whispered, “I have my High Lord’s blessing. When this is over, I’ll propose to you properly, but you’ll keep this safe in the meantime, won’t you?” 

The nymph sputtered, then nodded when words failed them. Just as quickly as he had come, Castor sprinted back to his men and his division disappeared before your eyes. They were the first to winnow to the Continent.

Lucien folded you into a back-breaking hug. “Stay safe.” Your brother commanded. You heard the tightness in his voice. He’d be staying with Feyre and Rhysand to lead one of the main charges alongside Eris and Tarquin. “I can’t lose you as well.”  

“I’ll come back so long as you do.” 

You squeezed him hard enough to crack ribs, but Lucien wished it had lasted longer. He dove into the parting wave of bodies and vanished. 

You felt your throat tighten as you turned to face the goodbye you’d been dreading the most. 

“Az, I—” 

He silenced you with a kiss, sliding his tongue over your lips for one last taste. He didn’t want to say goodbye. He refused to accept the possibility that you wouldn’t return to each other.

He pulled away so quickly your head spun. 

“I’ll be with the second division,” he breathed out, “Near the southwest corner, not even a mile away from you.” The map flashed in your mind with all its little figurines spread out like a chess game. “Remember what we talked about?” 

If things go wrong, find me so I can protect you. And so if anything happens, we won’t be alone. I want you to promise me.

You nodded fervently. 

Someone in the crowd was calling his name. Maybe Cassian? You couldn’t pay attention to anything other than the hazel eyes burning into you. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but suddenly his brother was there grabbing his arm and hauling him away towards the second division. Red and blue siphons flashed in the grey light and then the pair were gone. 

The crowd thinned as more groups began winnowing away to the Continent. One second there. The next second, gone.

“We need to go, my Lady,” Techaria said gently, but firmly. She’d given you both your privacy and a few precious seconds, but that time was over now. 

You nodded, not able to look away from the empty space Azriel had occupied. 

“He’ll be fine, girl,” Ione said, taking Techaria’s hand. She wore thin, chainmail armour enchanted to feel weightless and a glamoured veil over her features. You caught glimpses of her true face out of the corner of your eyes, but direct eye contact and her face blurred and warped into something unnatural. 

“I know,” you whispered. 

Your stomach dropped when you realized you never did say goodbye to Azriel.

You felt Techaria’s calloused palm slide into yours and then you were gone.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

Yeah guys, RIP Jurian. As I said in a previous post, one of my qualms with SJM is that she doesn't let characters stay dead. I want y'all to know, Jurian is gone. Sorry............ he wasn't even in the story for very long and didn't do much but I'm going to miss him.

[b00kdiary]

Can we please get an Eris x Plus size reader!!! I know he would be feral and you would write him so good >3

I will take ANYTHING for him!!! I trust you completely x

Fire Night | Eris Vanserra

Eris X Plus size Reader

It’s Fire Night and High Lord Eris has to complete the Great Rite. He finds Y/N – he finds his maiden.

Warning: Mature themes (18+), swearing, creepy Fae dude, and smut.

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

"Nervous?" Lucien teased from beside me, the moonlight and stars above beaming down on his tawny skin and the pleased smile he wore.

"High Lords don't get nervous, little brother," I smirked, winking at him as he scoffed, unimpressed by my sure response.

But even my own arrogance couldn't hide the fire I felt simmering in my veins, the intensity getting stronger and stronger as the moon neared its apex. Mud and grass ground under my feet as we moved through the field, the wind blowing a cool breeze that ran over my short hair, my loose slacks, and my painted bare chest.

As if the earth itself was in anticipation of what was to come.

We stopped at the foot of the field, the slight downhill slope allowing us to see the broad scope of just how many of my people gathered tonight. Hordes of males and females – dancing, drinking, partying. They vibrated with anticipation too.

For Fire Night had come at long last.

It was my first as High Lord. For weeks we had been preparing for the Great Rite, for the moment where all the magic would be funnelled from me into the earth, to the soil and trees, to my court to feed it, to flourish it.

It had been all we had talked about for several months, yet now that it was here, it all felt surreal. I could smell the burning log fires, the clouds of soot misting the night air. I could see my people thrum with excitement and arousal, keen to find a pretty stranger to escape into the darkness with.

But most importantly, I felt my power within me, like a beast rearing its head. I felt it sharpening, honing, as a predator would before the ultimate hunt for prey.

"Has anyone caught your eye yet?" Lucien asked from beside me, metal eye ticking as he glanced sidelong at me. If he felt my restlessness, he did not comment on it. "There are many beautiful females here tonight, Eris. How will you choose your maiden?"

My Maiden. The female whom I would join with – mind, body, and soul for the magic within me to be released.

My senses felt acute now, narrowing the higher and higher the moon rose. My attention upon the females here tonight narrowed too. I felt many of their eyes on me, their attention on me, hoping to be chosen, to be given the honour of the Maiden tonight.

Lucien was right, there were dozens of beautiful females here, so many, and all different – tall, short, fair, dark, petite, curved, brunettes, blondes, redheads and –

My wandering gaze stopped, abruptly. And I could not look away, even if I wanted to.

For there, at the far end of the field, stood near hidden amongst a group of females I saw her. For a moment, the fire in me quelled, the noise around me silenced, and it seemed even the breeze fell still.

For her.

She with that bright smile and those glowing doe eyes. She with luscious hair and skin that seemed kissed by the moonlight. She with that body – fuck, that body. Curves upon curves upon curves. A canvas of flesh that I desired to spend eternity exploring.

To touch and taste and pleasure.

"I don't choose," My voice was like gravel, deepening as I watched her plump lips part and her head tilt back with a laugh. A laugh I desperately wished I could hear. "I will just know who my maiden is."

That's what the Priestesses had told me – you will know, Eris, when you see her. You will feel her presence, you will scent her skin, you will hear the sound of her voice and you will know.

I grimaced as they spoke, biting my tongue to stop myself from smarting about how tradition usually came with little logic. But now, now I understood. Because looking at her, I knew.

Mine. That's what my magic hummed. That she was mine.

"It's beginning," Lucien muttered, twisting his braid from his shoulder to swing down his painted back. I watched her, something sparking in my chest as she giggled, marvelling at the moon slotting into its place high above. And then she began running toward the forest with the crowd.

Grinning brightly, her hair flowing behind her with the breeze of the wind. Her bare feet padded against the floor, her hand holding her skirt high enough to expose the soft flesh at her thighs. Incandescent, like a living star she disappeared with her friends into the trees.

The hunt had begun. I felt it in me, the near-painful heat of my fire within, the tension pulling tauter and tauter as if desperate to escape. Desperate to follow – to follow her, down that path and into the darkness beyond.

"I assume Elain is somewhere in the forest, waiting for you," I smirked at my brother, seeing something glint in his russet eye at the mention of the fair female. "Shouldn't you be off to find your mate?"

The fox hunting his fawn. I felt a mixture of pride and joy as my brother began chuckling, meandering down the hill in search of his wife at my teasing words.

"You have your maiden and I have mine," Lucien winked, his heart racing in his chest as he followed that bond, that invisible string toward his mate. "Good luck, Eris."

I laughed as Lucien moved toward the tree line, following the crowds of giddy, drunken Fae every single one of them in a hunt of their own. The drums quickened their beat, the rhythm marching in time to the pulse in me, that raging storm.

The moon was at its apex. The Great Rite had begun.

And as I stormed down the hill and into the forest's mouth, I too tugged on the invisible string within me, tugged on that insatiable power.

I knew it would take me straight to her.

***

"Sara? Maeve?" I called out again, looking aimlessly through the acres of forest and night. My voice died out in the wind, drowned by the noise of people and the beat of drums. "Guys?"

I groaned as I waded over branches and fallen trees, my Fae eyesight the only thing stopping me from cutting open my feet or falling onto my ass. I lifted my muddied skirt higher, exposing my thighs to the brash wind as I climbed over a huge tree root.

"Guys?" I tried again. I heard a feminine giggle, and I whipped to the right – a male and female rushed past me, kissing, and touching as they waded further into the forest. I shook my head at them, knowing they were one of many seeking refuge in another's arms tonight.

Fire Night, or the Great Rite as some called it was for all accounts and purposes a fuck fest. Simply a huge orgy.

Where the citizens of each court partied and drank and danced through the night, where they loosened their inhibitions and ran away with pretty strangers to engage in activities otherwise taboo. It was the one night where no one cared and no one judged, the one night where every intimacy was encouraged, every orgasm needed to fuel the harvest.

Only the High Lord had a true role tonight. To find his maiden, to join with her and through that release all the power within him back into the land. It was their intimacy that mattered the most tonight, their releases that would take us into a fruitful Spring season.

Sara and Maeve had laughed and scolded me for calling it a fuck fest, for diminishing such an old tradition. And yet, they had dragged me along tonight anyway. I was coaxed with music and dancing and alcohol, told that we would frolic through fields and bask in the moonlight and drink until we couldn't see.

And for a while, we had done exactly that.

We had sipped at the Fae wine until all I could taste was grape. We danced around the log fires with ribbons in our hair and the wind on our skin until our feet ached. We had enjoyed the lovely music, Sara flirting with the lute player, teasing him to come find her in the forest later.

And we had basked in the moonlight, frolicked through the forest, and laughed and laughed and laughed – until about ten minutes ago, when I had lost Sara and Meave in a flurry of people, my hand slipping free from theirs until I was carried away by a wave of the crowd in the opposite direction.

I was lost. And I had wandered far enough out into the forest that no one was here but me. I should have been panicked, should have been scared, but the Fae wine I had drank earlier quelled all those instincts, quelled them until nothing but the faint hum of inebriation remained.

"Not lost are you, darling?"

I jumped at the voice, the rough amusement breaking through the distant sound of music and the far-out litter of voices. I turned, my breath caught in my lungs and latched my eyes upon a male standing not two feet before me.

Dark hair, dark eyes, tall, built, attractive – and staring at me like he wondered what my blood would taste like coating his tongue.

"No, no," I shook my head, tightening my hold around my skirt, my instinct screaming at me that I may need to run. The male took a step forward, eyes darting to the exposed skin peeking under my skirt. "I was just looking for my friends."

"A pretty thing like you shouldn't be out here alone," He clucked his tongue. He stepped forward. I stepped back. He grinned and revulsion ran through me. "I can be your friend if you'd like. Take care of you."

I knew exactly how he would take care of me. Knew exactly what depravity was running through his mind as he stalked closer and closer to me. I shook my head again, the forest terrifyingly quiet now as I yielded step after step from him.

"I'm fine, thank you," My knuckles were white from how tightly I held my skirt. I eyed the clearing behind him, the path back to the people and fires and dancing. Back to safety. His dark eyes glinted like he knew he was the one obstacle in my path. "I should return to the festivities – "

"Oh, come on," His voice turned sharp, lethal and I felt bile twist in my stomach as his slender hand clamped around my wrist, tugging me toward him. I smelt the wine on his breath as he yanked me to his side. "We both know you're not here for the music and dancing."

"Let go," I breathed, trying to pull my arm free. He clamped down until it hurt. My wide eyes met his, tears in them as I tried to pull back. "I said – "

"Let go," A voice of a God seared through the air. Tinged with flames and violence. "She said let go."

The male holding me snarled quietly, his drunken gaze ripping from my terrified face to whoever dared interrupt behind him.

His hand was furiously holding me one second and then the next his fingers slipped free. I stumbled back, clutching my aching wrist to my chest and staring at that unnervingly still male as he stared ahead. He was so tall, so broad I couldn't see who was there, couldn't see what had made him so scared.

"I'm sorry," He whispered. His voice cracked. I think I smelt urine too. "I'm sorry, High-"

"Leave," That voice again, as if torn from the Cauldron itself. So much anger, so much death promised in just one word.

And with that command, that trembling weak male scurried away like the vermin he was. Tail between his legs, head bowed and eyes on the floor, so small now as he ran back toward the field. And as he shifted from my eyeline, I saw what, who had begot that fear.

"High Lord," I breathed, the air whooshing from my lungs at the sight of the male stood before me.

Tall, foreboding, broad – Glorious.

I traced his pale, moonlit skin his chest exposed and painted beautifully with intricate dark whorls, every strong hard inch of him. His hair had been cut short, the bright auburn locks like a beacon in the darkness, as were his eyes – amber, and I swore I saw flames simmering in them as he slowly stalked toward me.

The air went taut – as if time and space and life itself had paused at our meeting. And the sight of him, that beautiful, indomitable masculine strength had my body trembling the closer he got.

My back hit a massive tree behind me and suddenly, like a lamb before a lion, I was caged in, trapped. He stopped, so close I could smell the warm cinnamon, the tart apple and rich clove on his skin. I could feel the heat of the fire in his veins, could feel the sweet burn of his gaze as he traced his eyes over my face and body.

"Did he hurt you?" He asked, voice like warmed honey and tart berries. I sucked in a sharp breath when his large hand came forward, tucking my hair behind an arched ear, his fingers brushing my skin just barely. I felt that touch through my whole body.

"No, I'm fine," I whispered, the pine digging into my back. Something in me yearned to go closer to him, yearned to feed into his touch, but I fought it, let the cut of wood against my skin distract me. "Thank you, for your help High Lord."

He stepped closer and I had to crane my neck to meet his furious, wild eyes. His hand lingered on my cheek, burning burning burning. And then his other hand moved, rested against the tree beside my head, and he leaned in, so close I knew he could smell the sweet wine with every shaking breath I took.

"Do you know how I found you, My Lady?" He asked, quiet menace lacing his words. I smelt mint and cider on his breath. I nearly moaned at how good it smelt. He continued when I didn't reply. "I followed my power. Followed the scent of you, the sound of you followed every print you made in the ground."

"Why?" I could hear my heartbeat in my ears as he inched forward, his beautiful face lowering to mine until I could count the freckles across his cheeks, could see the embers crackling in his iris. My eyes fluttered when his nose brushed mine and sparks followed that touch.

"My magic wanted you; it chose you," He said, a growl rumbling through him as he traced his nose across my cheek, letting my scent invade his senses. "My maiden. Mine."

Maiden.

Maiden.

Maiden.

Mine.

There was a lump lodged in my throat as the realisation settled in me. That I had been chosen, that I was the maiden for the Great Rite tonight. Me.

Eris pulled back, dark lashes fluttering as he peered down at me, his aura addictive and dark, assessing each rise and fall of my chest. Calloused fingers cupped my jaw, his thumb brushing along the skin there, leaving fire and need in its wake.

That burning in me it was because of him. It was in response to him.

"Do you accept, My Lady?" He breathed, and the way he addressed me, was full of reverence, of awe. A match for the look in his eyes as he traced my face, languished down my body. "Will you be my maiden? Will you let me worship you tonight?"

Worship me. He wanted to worship me, not the other way around. A night that was for him, that revered his power and yet he spoke as if this ceremony was in fealty to me as if I were the Goddess he would bow before.

That hand languished down my jaw, down my neck, the touch appraising, stopping just at the top of my chest. His amber eyes dipped, darkening at the valley between my breasts, at the material that clung to the small peaks of my nipples.

Worship, that is what his eyes said. Veneration at the foot of my altar.

"Yes, High Lord," I whispered, every word as breathless as the last. His hand on my chest tightened, and the ache that spread through me became nearly unbearable. "Tonight, I am yours."

A tsunami of fire erupted in his eyes at my words and every inch of me was molten at that look. At the promise behind it.

"Then I am yours too, My Lady."

He's upon me before I can even appreciate his words, the oath behind them. And by the Mother, I could taste the fire on his lips, taste the flames burning in his sweet mouth.

My back hits the tree as Eris claims me, his lips moving against mine in a way that could only be described as hungry. Lips and teeth and tongue and spit, the kind of kiss that devoured, that did not leave even an inch of space.

I moaned at the feel of his mouth against mine, moaned more as he pressed his tall, strong body flush against me, letting me map out every muscled inch of him. He growls at the noises that slip from me and into him, one hand curling around the base of my throat and squeezing.

"Eris," I whimper, the breath catching in my lungs as his long fingers close around my windpipe just barely. He groans, like a man starved as I nibble at his lip.

"Say that again," He commands, voice like death incarnate. And every atom in me wants to obey, every atom in me lives to satisfy him.

"Eris," I plead his name again, my back arching against the wood as he begins kissing and biting furiously across my jaw and jugular, the hand at my throat keeping me rooted in place. "Eris, please – "

I cry out at the sound of fabric tearing and suddenly, I feel a cold breeze against my back and hips. More fabric rips and I whimper as Eris yanks my ruined dress from my body, savage as he exposes my naked form to him.

"Fuck," He curses roughly, eyes like Hel itself as he gazes down at my naked body, my dress a ruined heap on the floor behind us now. My body is alight as he traces every inch of me, his chest erratic as he takes in my bare breasts, my stomach and hips, the way I clench my thighs to satiate the ache between them.

"Look at you," He muses, smirking as he runs his hands down the sides of my body, nails scratching at my flesh, his pupils blown out with lust as he takes me in. "Like a blessing from the Mother herself." 

 I croon at the satisfied growl in every word, back bowing when his hands caress down my waist and hips, kneading the skin before settling over my ass. He groans as he fondles the flesh, canines nipping at the base of my throat.

“Eris!” I squeal when his hand claps against my ass cheek, the sound loud in the silence of the forest. He laughs, massaging the hot, aching spot and it’s almost embarrassing how wet I am, embarrassing how I can feel it dripping down my thighs. “Please, please Eris. Take me – “

“I will, my lady,” He mutters, the sound muffled as he circles his tongue around my nipple, teasing the sensitive buds. I lace my fingers into his short, silken hair and I feel him sink down, down, down, my body.

“High Lord?” My voice is shaking as I stare down at him. He’s on his knees before me, amber eyes peering up through long lashes at my naked, trembling body.

High Lord of the Autumn Court. On his knees before me.

“I’ll take you, sweet girl, don’t you worry,” He muses, and I’m not breathing as his hands come to my thick thighs, parting them and moaning at the wetness dripping from my core. His eyes flash to me, molten and cruel. “But a female as pretty as you has to come on my tongue before she can around my cock.”

He looked ravenous as he curled his large hand around my calf and lifted my leg to hook over his broad shoulder. I should have been embarrassed, mortified at the prospect of being naked in the middle of a forest, for anyone to stumble upon.

But as he neared the wet, aching spot between my legs, I didn’t care.

“Oh Gods,” I gasped at the first broad stroke of his tongue through my folds.  Eris growled, a purely satisfied, appraising sound and when he traced his tongue up from my wet hole and to my clit again, my head tilted back against the bark, and I moaned.

I was grateful for the drums and the music pounding through the air, glad for how far into the forest we were, glad that everyone else was preoccupied with their own partners tonight. Because as Eris’s tongue licked and sucked and flicked against my core, I couldn’t contain any of the noises that ripped from me.

Eris groaned, content and satiated, one hand sprawled across my thigh, the other holding down my flailing hip as he lapped his tongue over me again and again, tasting me in a way that had tears brimming in my eyes.

“Taste so sweet,” He muttered, lips plucking back from my swollen clit, the sound so lewd. He didn’t waste any time though, no, he slipped lower, and I whimpered into the night air as he shoved his hot tongue into me, fucking my tight walls furiously.

Eris was a male who took his females pleasure seriously, seemed to feed off it, and seemed to relish it. His tongue slipped in and out of me and his nose brushed my clit back and forth, stimulating two spots that made my body shake from the pleasure.

My climax approached me so fast, that fire that simmered in me from Eris’s presence stoked and suddenly I felt the flames kiss my whole body.

I cried out, his tongue buried in me and his nose toying with my clit, the sounds wet and filthy, his grumble of approval vibrating through me.

“Eris, Eris – “

Everything eclipsed my vision as my orgasm hit me, so hard I felt it rattle my very bones. My back bowed and my eyes rolled, tremors wrecking me as waves of release washed over me. I was moaning, near crying, my stomach and thighs clenching and unclenching as Eris’s tongue lapped and lapped at me.

I felt my release pulsing in the air around us, a living breathing thing. I swear the wind kissed me at the feeling as if nature itself was thanking me for the power I’d let free into the world.

I whined desperately, pushing at his head and writhing, trying to pull my sensitive clit free from his merciless mouth. He chuckled, lips plucking away and relenting. I sagged in relief, back pressed flush to the tree behind me.

“You look so beautiful,” Eris breathed and my heavy eyes blinked open meeting his. He looked beautiful – on his knees, sweat coating his skin, my wetness glistening over his mouth and nose. “I wonder how perfect you'll look coming around my cock.”

He smirked, looking like a Prince of Hel as his hand snaked up my sweating body and wrapped firmly around my throat. He tugged me down, his lips crashing against mine, letting me taste myself on his tongue. My hands fell to his broad, muscled chest and his arm snaked around my back, fingers digging into me.

One second, I was before him and then the next, he yanked me down and flipped me so that I lay on my back against the grass and mud.

I giggled, my heart thundering wildly in my chest as he braced his arms on either side of me, face hovering over mine. The smirk he wore was terrifying, a promise of ruination. I could feel the tension going taut between us, feel his power thrumming in anticipation.

“Are you ready, my lady?” Eris asked, wicked menace lacing every word. I whimpered as his nose brushed mine, one hand slipping between our bodies and pushing down his slacks. He hissed as his cock slipped free, his hand curling around himself and pumping.

“Yes, High Lord,” I whispered, satisfaction filling me when Eris snarled, that title on my lips more arousing than he could think possible. His nails dug into my flesh as he hooked my thigh around his muscled hip, and we both moaned when his tip brushed my centre.

He was big, thick, and long, I could feel it as he traced through my folds, coating himself in me. I curled one hand into his short hair, the other raked down his muscled arm, his skin scorching with intense heat, vibrating with power under my touch.

“Oh – “

He slipped his tip into me, and the stretch from just that one inch was enough to knock the air from my lungs. And then my back was arching against the soft ground, as he pushed in another inch and then another until my walls were burning and my thighs were shaking from the pressure.

“Look at me,” Eris commanded, his voice hissing through his clenched teeth. I blinked my eyes open, meeting a sea of blazing embers. Eris grinned as he maxed out in me, his hips brushing mine as he settled. “Good girl.”

“Er-Eris – “ I choke, my body spasming as he pulls his cock out to the tip, leaving me utterly bare before slamming his hips forward in one brutal thrust, forcing himself back into me until he hits my cervix.

He does that again and again. He pulls out and then he shoves it back in. Every last inch. And I scream for him, I clench around him, I let him ruin me.

My body trembles as Eris begins fucking into me, his hips rolling hard and deep, stretching my tight walls until all the pain vanishes and becomes a pure, euphoric pleasure. His pace is brutal, unforgiving, his hold on my body bruising as he forces me to adjust, forces me to take it.

“Just like that,” He praises the voice of a God, the voice of a High Lord, a male who was in complete control. His lips meet mine, teeth and spit, biting my lips and battling my tongue as he moves inside me.

It was like no other experience I’d ever had, like sleeping with no other male. I felt every stroke through my whole body, felt every brush of his tip in the spongey spot deep in me through my blood and veins. Was it because he was a High Lord? Was it because of the Great Rite? It had never felt this good before.

And Eris seemed to know it, he seemed to feel the same. The noises that came from the High Lord, the snarls and growls, the grumble of deep groans that reverberated into me as he sunk in at a different angle. The small whimpers and desperate moans as I kissed and suckled his lips, his jaw and neck.

His hips jolt into me, hard and deep and fast, hitting a spot that makes tears leak down my cheeks. Tears that Eris chuckles at, a sardonic sound before he gently licks them away. His kisses were soft, so at odds with how his cock fucked me raw.

“Eris,” My mouth gapes open as that familiar pool in me begins to fill. “Oh Gods, Eris I’m going to come – “

His hand wraps around my throat, squeezing in intervals around my windpipe, in tandem with how his cock drives into me. Stars start bursting through my gaze, I see his amber eyes, I see the moon shining above, and I feel my power gathering and gathering.

“Are you going to come, my lady?” He mocks, sweat beads coating his skin, melting our bodies together. I sob, the sound choking out of me from the lack of air. “Is the maiden going to make a mess of her High Lords cock?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” I cry out at his filthy words, my nails biting against his skin, against his scalp as the fire in me rages into a full-blown storm. Eris curses at how tightly I clench around him and his amber eyes light, like candles flickering to life.

The air turns still. The wind stops moving. Even the sound around us dies out. He hits that spot in me again and again, and the power between us is starting to tear apart.

“With me,” Eris snarls, pressing a wet kiss to my lips. His movements become erratic, desperate, and that last thread rips away and he groans. “Come with me, my lady.”

I scream his name, and flames engulf us both as he roars, his cock spasming and spilling his cum inside me. Black dots fill my vision, and all I can feel, all I become is fire – it explodes from us, from him, as release waves and waves and waves over us.

It's unlike any climax I’d ever felt before, my thighs clamping around his waist, my walls suffocating him inside me and both our bodies shaking from the aftermath. Power leaks from him, from me, and I can feel it seeping into the soil, into the trees, into the very air.

I force my eyes open, watching as Eris pants above me, one hand holding my throat, the other braced beside my head. A God, he looked like a God – moonlight beaming over his wet skin, amber eyes a tsunami of flames, his strong throat working as he groaned from the pleasure ringing from him.

The ultimate release, not just sexually, not just physically, but spiritually – he was feeding our land, feeding our Court.

“Fuck,” Eris curses, voice like gravel now. He collapses against my chest, burying his head into the crook of my neck as his orgasm fades, as the Great Rite is completed. I hold him to me, our heart beats pounding in tandem as we come down from our highs. “Fuck.”

I run my hand through the damp stands of his hair, kissing his cheek tenderly, feeling his cock still inside me, softening. His hands curl around my waist and thigh, not even an inch of space between us. It was just me and him, the moon above, the forest around and the wind kissing our skin.

The earth felt fuller somehow, everything felt stronger around us.

“Congratulations, High Lord,” I smiled, feeling Eris chuckle against my skin. He kisses the junction where my neck and shoulder meet. “You’ve completed your first Fire Night.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you, my maiden,” He nipped at my jaw as he raised his head, grinning at the giggle that escaped me. His amber eyes met mine, liquid gold in them and he smiled. “Only your sweet – “

His words stopped, abruptly. As if someone had torn the air from his lungs. As if someone had frozen all movement in his body.

“Eris, what – “

Amber eyes. Pale moonlit skin. Fire, fire, fire –

And then it clicks into place in me too. I feel it like the last piece of my soul.

“Mate,” Eris breathes, and his hands tighten over my flesh. Possessive. Needy. Claiming. “You’re my mate.”

-----------------------------------------------------------

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[kiame-sama]

I'm so happy that your getting into twisted wonderland. My personal favorite is Malleus while Riddle and Leona are a close second. Can you do yandere head canons for Malleus? I love reading head canons for him especially when it involves his draconic nature and Fae courting rituals. Have fun playing ☺.

- Fae are tricky, and Malleus is no exception to this notion. If anything this applies even more to Malleus because he is a prince of the Fae and he knows he has higher power/social standing among others because of it. Yandere Malleus would be even worse than most Fae beings.

- Malleus will likely be under the impression that his beloved is his fated mate and he will do everything in his Draconic Fae abilities to earn and keep his darling.

- It begins with his insistence to know his darling's name paired with refusal to give his own name. Among the Fae, names have direct power over the person it belongs to. So long as he has the name of his beloved, he has direct power over them.

- From learning his darling's name, Malleus will move on to the gift giving portion of this dance. To accept a gift from a Fae means you owe them something in return and typically it is of the Fae's choosing for what that something will be. Malleus will not cash in his favors for the gifts immediately, he will instead watch to see if his darling takes the first gifts and direct his behavior from there. The gifts start small but quickly increase in value once his darling accepts one of them.

- He is waiting for the moment his darling says "thank you" to him before the actually decides to seal the deal and make them his spouse. After all, you should know better than to ingratiate yourself to a member of the Fae like him.

[readychilledwine]

Small World Pt 2

Summary - After discovering you and Azriel share much more than a mating bond, your relationship grows stronger as tensions between you and your aunt seem to grow higher.

Warnings - implied emotional and mental abuse, second child syndrome in a not good way, we find out Nyx is an asshole, unrequited love, slight smut, use of daddy

A/n - a potentially cliff hanger ending because I haven't decided 100% how this ends

Peep Part 1 Here 💙

Azriel stared at the dress box sitting on Rhysand's desk and nicely folded Illyrian leathers. He couldn't remember the last time he had worn them. The last time he had used a siphon. The leathers were fitted for 7, something Azriel immediately knew would no longer work.

His powers after removing the precious stones had gone wild. His shadows were different now. They were more aware, able to span wider distances, and able to recruit more shadows into his network to join them.

He had spent 5 years alone meditating and learning even more control over them, over what they could do, over how deadly they actually could be.

7 siphons would not be enough.

And he didn't understand how Rhysand did not see that.

He finally spoke, gesturing to the box. "What is this?"

Rhys was settled in his chair, trying to maintain his composure as Cassian stood near the bookshelf to mediate if needed. "We're going to the Court of Nightmares. My daughter's engagement has spread like wildfire, and dear Keir wants to host a party in her honor."

A breathy chuckle left Azriel's lips before he could stop it. "So my fiancée will be dressed like a goddess while I am in leathers at a party to mock us?"

Cassian shifted slightly. "We've always worn leathers to Hewn City, Az. It's to honor our heritage." Rhys just inclined his head to Cassian and nodded. "Y/n wears leathers."

"She has never worn a single set in the 2 years we've been together. There isn't even a set in her closet."

"There's several sets in her closet here," Rhys said quietly. "All set up for pink siphons. 14 of them." Cassian and Azriel couldn't help their chuckles. "Imagine a blonde Illyrian with pink siphons, Azriel, its quite the sight." Rhys smiled fondly, eyes glimmering with pride despite everything. "She's-" he looked up, searching for the perfect word for his daughter. "She's my everything. And I've done a horrible job showing her that."

Azriel sucked in a deep breath. "I won't mediate this, Rhys. This is a you two thing. Not an us three thing."

Azriel knew now why you were estranged from your family. Nyx was their golden child. Constantly praised, admired, in the spotlight. He was, and still is, their reminder of how they had almost died to pass along their love. He could do no wrong, never be wrong, and was treated as such.

You, on the other hand, were the second child. The significantly younger one Nyx learned to plant blame on and watch as you were scolded and seen as "the problem" as you had told him you were now addressed as in Hewn City and Illyria. You had been raised by Ness more than Feyre and Rhys, passed off to them until your powers bloomed at 16, and suddenly your father found you interesting again. With a lack of a spymaster, he exploited you, forcing you to touch people and feel their emotions, when they lied, their stories. Forcing you to live trauma over and over of females clipped in the mountains, of tortured traitors in dungeons, of Nesta's dark phase.

You locked your powers so far away one day, so deep inside you that even you hardly could access them unless you actually wanted to. It had been just before your 18th birthday that happened. And then the fight that sealed the casket happened. Rhys had verbally lashed you. Attacked you for refusing to let him use your "one worth" to keeping his family and court safe.

Your father had said he saw you as useless, and everyone else just stood by watching.

Like they had with Nesta.

Only you were just a child. Not a head strong warrior, a goddess in fae form.

You packed the basics and spent the night on the streets in a dark alley.

Even if you and Rhys magically fixed things, even if you forgave but not forgot, Azriel would never. How you were raised, how you've been treated, it forever will taint his vision of Rhys, Feyre, and Nyx. The abuse they unleashed on you, they'd never make up for.

Rhys nodded, eyes glancing to the doorway as footsteps approached. "I would never ask you to fix my relationship with her when I need to fix my relationship with you as well. I just need you to know I love her. That she will always be my girl."

"You have an odd way of showing her your lo-"

The door opened, and you stepped in, immediately going to Azriel's side and eyeing the box. "Dad. Cassian." You opened the lid and nodded. "Well. At least it's sparkly."

Rhys cocked his head. "You don't like it?"

Azriel watched as you paused. The bond flared with conflicting emotions. Anger, hurt, longing. How long had it been since Rhys held you? Since he told you he loved you without you having to earn it. "No, I like it. I just know what this means. You never give me nice things unless Hewn City is involved." The last sentence trailed off quietly, and pain flooded the bond.

Rhys looked down, nodding as he scratched the stubble growing on his face. "I am sorry. I just-"

"Please don't. You never mean it." You grabbed the box. "I will wear it and find jewelry." You turned to Azriel. "Elain would like to speak with you. She said something about a garden you two planned together and how I'll never understand the love you two share. How it breaks bonds and shakes worlds."

The relationship between you and Azriel had been messy since dinner two weeks ago. You two had your first fight over, of course, Elain and her rekindled love, lust, whichever felt appropriate at the moment for Azriel. He ignored the constant letters, the random headache powders, the message coded flowers.

He had reached out to Lucien, asking the male what had happened. According to the new Lord of Day, Elain and he had tried for 5 years, but the damage had been done. Lucien didn't trust Elain, Elain spent most of their time comparing the two of them, and nothing Lucien gave her was enough. He had been the one to reject the bond, and after 7 years, he had found himself heavily involved in a relationship with a now fully fae Vassa and Jurian.

Rhys and Cassian both gave him gentle looks of concern as he held your hand, preventing you from walking away. He stared Rhys in the eyes, doing something he felt Rhysand had never done to prove a point. "I'd rather go home with you, so if you were planning on winnowing, we might as well go together." He picked you.

They watched as all tension left your body, as security eased into your face. "Then let's go home." Azriel grabbed the leathers, nodding to Rhys and Cassian before following you.

Azriel's elbow locked around your neck, hand squeezing your hip as he pinned you below him and continued taking you from behind. You both had no interest in heading to Hewn City, so you had distracted him, walking into your shared bedroom in just a pretty blue silk night gown offering to give your body to him for what he had done, the message he had sent.

You were supposed to be getting ready, but instead, Azriel was growling above you, pumping into you carelessly. Your toes curled at how deep he was hitting, at how good he felt, how good he felt every time. "So close," you whispered. "So fucking close-" You were moaning his name when the knock on the door came.

A shadow rushed to him, curling his ear as he paused. "It's Elain," he muttered. "She's relentless." You whined below him, hips wiggling to get friction back. "Baby,"

"Please," you begged. "It's been weeks, I've been so good, please, daddy."

Azriel felt his cock twitch at the use of the name. He'd longed for a moment to erase the memory of what happened, and you had just given it to him. He felt you moving your hips, doing the best you could while pinned to the mattress to fuck yourself on his cock.

You were his focus, the rest of the world melting away as he heard your moans turning into screams of his name. You sounded so pretty coming for him, crying for him, begging for more for less for everything as oversensitivity took over. You especially looked pretty dripping his seed when he pulled out of you. Once again, he had chosen you.

You two laid there, holding each other until claws came for both of you. Scratching angerly as your mental shields and causing you to bury your head into Azriel's chest. "We need to get ready unless you want him showing up here next," Azriel played with your hair, scratching your scalp lightly. "Let's see how many siphons I blow through."

After 2 sets of siphons being destroyed, you were currently dragging Azriel down the streets of Velaris and to your brother and father's tailor. You knew she'd be able to fit and dress him in seconds and that he'd look every bit handsome as he deserved. You were pissed when you saw he had been gifted Illyrian leathers and not a suit. Your father was out of touch with Azriel. With you.

"Helena," you smiled at the older female. "We need help."

Azriel felt stiff. Staring at the doors of Heen City as a shocked page boy ran to inform Rhys and Feyre of the late arrival. You two were about to upstage them in their own court. The guests of honor arriving late and being introduced after the Lord and his Lady.

You would have upstaged them by yourself anyway, though. Azriel admired you one more time. Rhys had picked well, though you both would never admit it. The dress had a see-through bodice of black lace and floral applicates with thin straps. It led to a satin skirt that was tight and then flared out to your hips. The left leg had a high slit, showing the toned beautiful skin Azriel was begging to cover in his kisses. You had picked a simple necklace, a single tear drop shaped sapphire with matching earring and a matching bracelet. Your ring sat on manicured nails painted a soft shade of pink to white coffin head tips. Heels graced your feet, the red underside flashing when you walked. "Gods, you are stunning," he finally whispered out in a hoarse voice.

"And all yours," you looked at him, adjusting the lapel of his jacket. "Forever." Your mask slipped on as the doors opened, a collective gasp ringing through the room over who was on your arm followed by whispers.

Azriel knew this song and dance, walking you into one thousand eyes staring and gawking. He hated seeing you like this as you were ushered to the dance floor. The first dance of the night had been delayed, and the fae were restless.

Once you were centered on the floor, you turned facing him, eyes cold and distant as you disassociated from this place. He placed a hand on your hip, leaving his other to his side where both of your sat.

It was unfair of Feyre and Rhysand to expect you to do this traditional waltz, but you followed Azriel's steps as the music began, that first note echoing in your bones and soul. Your parents had claimed your first dance with your mate. The first true dance you two would ever share, and it had to be done in front of hundreds of fae who spat your direction when the Lord and Lady were busy.

Azriel had decided he hated this side of you. He was studying you like a project. You were a different female down here. Cold, uncaring, forced into this role of the High Lord's daughter.

Did these fae know you took far too much creamer in your coffee?

That you were afraid of storms?

That you only ate fruit pastries because you found chocolate too bitter?

You were Rhysand through and through with that mask on. But inside, inside Azriel knew you carried the very light of what your grandfather built. You were a true dreamer, and you could rattle the very stars themselves if your father would just give you the chance.

If Rhysand would just believe in you.

Azriel decided in that moment what the answer to your happiness was. He'd take you tonight and you two would leave.

Fuck expectations.

Fuck the rules.

Fuck your family.

Azriel would pick you for the third time today, and you two would leave.

He just had to get you through this visit at Hewn City first, and as he watched Elain shatter a champagne flute in her hands, he knew that was going to be a mission all on its own.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish

Azriel-

@elle4404

Small World Taglist-

@amara-moonlight @iimichie @acourtofbatboydreams @justasillylittlegoofyguy @janesalvarerelochanarcheron @hungryforbatboys @sidthedollface2 @hunt1bryce

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

A Song of Ice & Shadow

Part 1

A/N: Hello everyone! I’m planning to write an Azriel x Archeron!half-sister reader series, possibly featuring a slow-burn romance and angst. I don’t know how many parts it’s going to have. It begins in ACOMAF chapter 24.

Summary: The eldest Archeron half-sister Y/n hates Fae kind, due to tragic past events. When she unexpectedly visits her sisters, she is met with the very race she hates.

Word count: 2.11K

Being the eldest sibling is not always easy. Y/n knew this firsthand, shouldering the weight of responsibility for her younger sisters from a young age. After their mother’s death, she made the difficult decision to leave her sisters behind and stay with her supposed biological father. It wasn’t because she didn’t share the same father as her sisters; in fact, he loved her like she was his own and never discriminated between them. For the first two years after their mothers death, she stayed with her family, but when her “father” lost his fortune, she knew leaving was the only option. It wasn’t just about lightening their burden by having one less mouth to feed; she also hoped by seeking out her biological father, she could find work and send money back to her family.

Surprisingly, her father welcomed her with open arms, a kindness that caught her off guard considering he had shown little interest in her when she was younger. Despite her initial skepticism, she didn’t question his motives, fearing he might kick her out. With cleverness and father’s help, she managed to pursue higher education, while working to make ends meet. Though her earnings were modest, she’d send whatever she could spare to her family, ensuring they had enough to survive. With Feyre’s help, there was always food on the table.

Y/n’s life was devoid of fun. Between studying, working, sleeping and occasional visits to her family, she had little time for socializing and friends. This isolation was entirely her choice; she distanced herself from others, earning a reputation as being cold, heartless, selfish, and arrogant to those who didn’t know her well. Yet, beneath this exterior, she harbored a deep love for her sisters and would sacrifice anything for their well-being, despite no longer showing them affection after their mother’s death. They understood her silent expressions of care, recognizing that actions spoke louder than words.

One thing everyone knew for certain is that y/n was stubborn. She held fast to her beliefs and opinions, regardless of external influences. Among her sisters, Netsa was the most like her and the one who admired her the most. The two shared the closest bond before she left, but make no mistake, if anyone Nesta feared and obeyed, it was Y/n, knowing she was not one to be crossed.

After Feyre left the mortal realm, her family’s fortune turned, and she finished her education. Consequently, her visits became less frequent, as she immersed herself into her work.

A smile appeared on y/n’s face at the thought of her sisters’ reactions to seeing her after a long time. She decided to surprise them with a spontaneous visit. Unbeknownst to her, another surprise awaited her inside the place she called home.

“Nesta, Elain, I’m home!” y/n announced as she opened the front door of their home.

“Are we expecting someone else?” Rhys whispered to Feyre.

“Nesta, why didn’t you tell me y/n was coming?” Feyre questioned, panic all over her face.

“I didn’t know. She usually sends word before she comes” Nesta claimed.

The conversation between the two sisters earned them a curious, yet worried look from the three males. Nesta stood from chair, hurrying to the door, but she was too late, y/n was now standing in the dining room, the smile dropping from her face and replaced by a shocked expression at the sight before her.

“What is going on?” y/n asked carefully and slowly.

“These are Feyre’s friends. We were not expecting you today” Elain replied.

“Y/n, it’s been a while. I’m so happy to see you” Feyre stood from her seat and hugged her sister, who was reluctant at first but returned the hug.

“You brought Fae-kind into our home?” it was more of a rhetorical question, but Feyre answered anyway.

“Y/n, this is Cassian” she inclined her head to the male with long hair “Azriel” she pointed to the male who y/n could’ve sworn was the most handsome man she’s even laid eyes on “and Rhysand, high lord of the Night Court” Feyre finished introducing.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you” Rhys said with a warm smile.

“I’m sure” y/n sneered, returning her gaze on her sisters “you still haven’t told me what’s going on and why the very same race we despise are now in our living room, dining with us” y/n tried making sense of the situation.

Feyre explained the situation, why they were here, what they needed from the sisters and the threat posed by Hybern.

“So the moment you became fae, you chose to forsake us?” this was all y/n could utter.

“I’d never do that. Me being fae doesn’t change that. It never will. You’ll always be my sister” Feyre assured her.

“If you did, you wouldn’t have brought THEM here. Hatred aside, do you have any idea of the danger you just put Nesta and Elain in?” Y/n turned her hand into a fist, her knuckles as white as they could be, trying to keep her temper in check.

“There was nowhere else to go” Feyre claimed.

“And you were alright with this?” Y/n turned to face her other sisters.

“I wasn’t, but Elain agreed” Nesta informed her.

“Feyre’s right, there-“ Cassian spoke.

“Who are you again?” Y/n glared at him “I’m too tired to deal with this now” she rubbed her temples and said to no one in specific “call me when they’re gone”.

“Uhm, they’re-“ before Nesta could finish the sentence, y/n was already gone “-going to stay for a while” she sighed.

“I take it, this is your eldest sister” Rhys asked.

“I told you she could be intense” Feyre replied.

“That’s one word for it” Cassian expressed and was met with a glare from Nesta.

—-

Thinking they had left, y/n descended the stairs, dressed in her nightgown and robe, seeking out a comforting cup of tea in the quiet atmosphere of midnight. Opening the backdoor leading to their garden, she leaned against the door frame, admiring the stars as she sipped her tea. She took a deep breath appreciating the tranquility and solitude the night provided. She could’ve sworn the shadows moved, but she dismissed it believing it was hallucinations caused by exhaustion from a long trip. Noticing a bright star in the sky, she lifted her cup up and uttered “cheers” a sad smile appearing on her face…

As she was locking the door, she glimpsed a figure in the shadows. This time, unable to dismiss what she saw, she called out “who’s there?”.

At first there was no response but she called out again “I know there’s someone here, so I suggest you come out” she demanded.

Azriel hesitated but complied “I apologize, I did not mean to disturb you”.

“What are you still doing here?” She covered herself with the robe, the gesture did not go unnoticed by Azriel.

“Your gracious sisters allowed us to stay here for a while” he informed her.

“Have they now?” she nodded, clearly displeased by the information she just received “how long are you planning on staying here?”.

“Not long. As soon as the letter is delivered, we’ll be out of your way, I give you my word” he politely said.

“Your word means nothing to me. And if you’re staying at someone’s house, do not sneak up on them” her words as cold as ice.

“I wasn-“ before Azriel could explain, she had left, making his jaw clench in frustration.

The following day, she went downstairs earlier to get some breakfast, but what was early for her, was late for others. Upon entering the kitchen, she found Rhys and Feyre engaged in a conversation with Elain, while Nesta and Cassian bickered over their tea. Azriel was standing in the corner and when he saw her enter, his whole body tensed, and Cassian and Nesta went still

“Good morning” Rhys greeted and was met with silence.

Y/n prepared her breakfast when Feyre approached her “how did you sleep?” Y/n just stared at her sister without saying a word. Once she was done preparing her food, she took it and left without acknowledging anyone’s existence. As Cassian and Nesta resumed their bickering, Azriel finally relaxed, prompting Rhys to speak again “not a good morning, I guess?” He joked.

“Oh believe me, this is a good morning. If you think this was something, then you really don’t want to see her angry” Feyre remarked.

“Is she always like this?” Cassian asked.

“Give her time. She doesn’t like strangers and she most definitely hates Fae-kind” Feyre reminded.

“Yeah, that was clear” Cassian said.

“You’re talking about her like she’s a bad person” Nesta defended.

“Nesta, you know that’s not what I meant” Feyre tried to explain.

“All I’ve seen you do since you got here is criticizing y/n. She’s done nothing wrong” Nesta reminded.

“I’m sorry, but you know how y/n can be”.

“How? All she did was ignore you all, instead of engaging in a pitty argument that would hit your weak spots, and last I’ve known, she does not owe any of you anything. If you’re going to stay in this house, then better respect their owners” Nesta expressed.

“Nesta!” Elain said, clearly displeased with her sister’s tone.

—-

“Can I come in?” Nesta asked permission to enter y/n’s room.

“What is it now?” Y/n opened the door.

“I wanted to spend some time with you”

“Don’t you have guests to entertain?” Y/n crossed her arms.

“Elain and Feyre can deal with them. I���d rather stay here with you”.

“Fiine” y/n rolled her eyes but allowed her sister into her room.

“They already have a bad impression of you” Nesta told her.

“When did I ever care about what people thought of me? Let alone, what male Fae thought of me” y/n chuckled “it bothered you, didn’t it?”.

“Of course it did. I wouldn’t allow anyone to speak badly of you”.

“They’re just words spoken by irrelevant people. When you acknowledge their words, you make them relevant. Remember Nesta, you decide who you give power over you”.

The next day, Feyre, Rhys and Azriel were absent from the kitchen when y/n arrived “oh, for fuck’s sake, how do you two find the energy to fight this early in the morning?” Y/n asked, clearly awoken by the sound of Cassian and Nesta arguing.

“It’s noon” Cassian corrected.

“Whatever. If you’re gonna argue, do it outside. Hearing your voice gives me headaches” y/n uttered.

“And here I thought my voice was soothing” he sarcastically said.

“Don’t. Just don’t!” Cassian’s attempt at humor was met with y/n’s annoyance.

“Rough night?” he asked.

“More like a rough couple of days. Some people clearly don’t know how to be good guests” Y/n started making herself a cup of coffee.

“Well, maybe that’s because some people don’t know how to be polite hosts” he snickered.

“You know what? You’re not worth my time, if you want to argue, you have Nesta. She apparently has the patience for it”.

“Y/n” Nesta called.

“What? You do love arguing” y/n reminded.

“Wow, the two of you in the same house as poor Elain and Feyre, how did they survive?”.

“By knowing when to speak and when to shut up” y/n glared at him, taking her coffee and leaving and he said something.

—-

“What now?” Y/n asked as Feyre called for her sisters “We can leave soon to mail our letter” informing them.

“And this concerns me how?” Y/n asked.

“I-I thought you’d like to go with us”.

“Why would I do that? No, thank you”… “wasn’t there one more of you?” Y/n asked, pretending to just have realized Azriel wasn’t present.

“He had to return early. We had an altercation this morning” Feyre explained.

“Altercation?” Y/n narrowed her eyes,

“It’s nothing”.

“If you’re trying to hide it, then it is something”.

“She was attacked” Rhys claimed.

“What? By whom? And you call THIS nothing?” Y/n started checking her sister for injuries and both males’ eyes widened in surprise.

“I’m fine. I’m not hurt”.

“Who attacked you?”.

“It’s rather a what. She was attacked by a creature called the Attor who was sent by the king of Hybern” Rhys informed her “don’t worry, Az is taking care of it”.

To his surprise, she only nodded.

“I changed my mind. I’m coming with you” y/n announced.

“Don’t tell me it’s because I was attacked” Feyre smirked.

“Oh, shut up!” Y/n nudged her with her shoulder.

[prythianpages]

Starstruck | Eris x Rhysand's Sister

series masterlist | summary: Eris finds out the truth of your powers and strikes a bargain with you.

word count: 3.9K

warnings: mentions of blood (from a nose bleed), vague mention of child abuse (there's a flashback of kid Eris, where he has a bruise on his cheek from Beron)

a/n: This takes place right after the events of Just A Girl but in Eris's POV.

The ballroom falls into a stunned silence upon your dramatic exit, the heavy doors slamming shut behind you. Eris pauses, savoring the tension that now crackles in the air. His sharp eyes scan the room, settling on the gathered High Lords and Rhysand.

The firstborn to the Night Court’s lips are pressed tightly together but the occasional shake of his shoulders betrays him. It appears that High Lord Thesan shares the same sentiment, eyes sparkling with poorly concealed amusement. Eris’s gaze then finally lands on his father’s.

High Lord Beron’s face is flushed, his jaw tense in the heat of discussion with your father. His hands gesture wildly, each movement betraying his agitation and High Lord Orion surprisingly just takes it. There’s no apprehension on his face and no mouthing of apologetic words. In fact, High Lord Orion keeps his gaze on Beron but motions for the orchestra to continue playing, bringing life back into the ballroom. Eris’s mouth twitches as he fights to suppress his laughter, wishing his mother had been here to witness it too.

His father had it coming but never would Eris have thought it’d come from you.

He shifts his weight, the rich fabric of his attire whispering against the polished moonstone wall. He lets out a slow, measured breath and then, he counts to sixty. He casts one more glance at his father, before turning away, the ghost of a chuckle finally escaping his lips. He slips out the double doors with an unhurried grace, despite the sudden urge to see you.

Ever since he met you, Eris has been endlessly curious about you. His eyes found you at every event, attention always drawn to you. You were the first daughter to be born to a High Lord and given your older brother’s reputation, it left many–Eris, himself included–what role you would take on.

Would you carry on as emissary? Would you marry for power? Or would you fight for the title of Night Court heir as the sons of Spring and Autumn do? And if so, with what power? At least that question was answered tonight.

Words were seldom spoken amongst one another but Eris had meant to change that tonight. However, it seemed that every year, the demand for your attention only grew higher. Not only were you proving yourself to be a fae capable of great power and responsibility but also of remarkable beauty.

One of Spring’s sons–Heathen, or whatever his name was, Eris couldn’t bring himself to care–was your latest victim. He kept you occupied most of the night and despite your apparent disinterest, Eris found your interactions far too entertaining to save you from it.

**

Eris has frequented the Court of Nightmares but the Moonstone Palace? Not so much. It’s a beautiful maze of opalescent luster with long corridors. Sheer amethysts curtains flutter from the open windows and as he pauses, he picks up on a subtle jasmine scent. He follows it, allowing it to lead him to you.

He finds you in what appears to be a moon garden, surrounded by white peonies and cosmos. A stone arch rests in the middle, where a cascade of jasmine blooms alongside the weathered crevices. The flowers gleam faintly, reminiscent of the tiny stars scattered across the night sky above. You’re leant against the arch, head tilted upwards,  eyes closed and wings slightly curled in.

The moonlight kisses your skin, making you appear as delicate and radiant as the flowers that surround you.  You are like a sweet dream in a Court of Nightmares. Eris takes a step forward, his breath catching at the sight of you. He hesitates, noticing the furrow of your brows. Could you sense him?

But then, he sees something dark trickle down your nose.

Your eyes flutter open, a curse slipping from your lips as you instinctively pinch the bridge of your nose and lean forward. Eris is quick to act as he pulls a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his suit. The fabric is soft and embroidered with his initials in red thread—a detail you fail to notice in your distress.

Without hesitation, you take the handkerchief, pressing it to your nose to staunch the bleeding. “I’m in no mood to deal with the consequences of my actions right now. Save your lecture for tomorrow,” you groan out, your voice tinged with frustration and fatigue.

“Too bad,” Eris tuts. He rejoices in the reaction his voice stirs from you, watching as your body tenses, goosebumps rising on the exposed skin of your arms. “I had an entire speech planned.”

Eris watches with bated breath as you slowly lift your gaze. Your glare is instant and you're shoving the bloodied handkerchief at his chest, not caring if it stains his shirt.

“A thank you would suffice,” Eris says, biting back his amusement, letting the handkerchief fall to the ground. You don’t say anything, your eyes scanning his face in a wary manner.

“That stunt you pulled back there…,” Eris trails off, tilting his head towards the direction of the ballroom. He then gestures to your nose.  “Pretty reckless, if you ask me.”

You narrow your eyes, feeling the heat of his gaze and challenge in his words. “Did your father send you here to leave me a message? Pretty embarrassing not to confront me himself, if you ask me,” you finally bite back.

The gravel crunches softly under your heels as you turn away, desperate to put some distance between you both. Eris’s expression shifts, a flicker of determination crossing his face. He refuses to let you go so easily so he mirrors you, taking a step forward for every step you take away from him. 

 “Where are you going? To go retrieve those bastard watch dogs of yours? Don’t tell me you’re scared of me.”

You stop, your wings slightly flaring out behind you. His words strike a chord within you. Just as he expected them to. His gaze lingers on your wings longer than they should. He’s insulted those barbarian so called “brothers” of yours multiple instances for those same exact membranous appendages but on you…on you…he rather not finish that thought for he fears what other emotions they may bring forth.

Eris snaps out of his trance as you turn to face him. He finds himself the recipient of the same seething expression you gifted his father earlier in the ballroom. He should be scared. He can feel the great extent of your power coursing through your veins. How had he not sensed it before?

 Darkness begins to seep out from the velvet expanse of your wings as if your body can no longer contain the strong force itself. There’s a primal instinct warning him of danger, to run. Yet, his feet remain rooted to the ground, even as you walk back to him.

The garden seems to hold its breath, the night creatures lurking among the bushes and trees pausing their song to listen in. Their anticipation seeps into him too as he awaits your move. The skirt of your ballgown brushes against his shoes as you lean in and he’s suddenly overwhelmed with your scent.

 “What do you want?”

“To congratulate you,” Eris responds smoothly, his voice as casual as if he were discussing the weather, despite the flutter of his heart. He can only hope you don’t pick up on it. He feigns a nonchalant shrug, echoing the same mannerisms you displayed earlier. With deliberate steps, he crosses the space between you and you take another step back until the stone arch presses against your back.

Reaching over your side, Eris plucks a delicate white peony from the garden. The soft petals tremble in his grasp as he offers it to you, his hand extended in a gesture that should be innocuous, yet somehow feels laden with hidden meaning. 

But you don’t accept the flower.

So Eris moves closer, his fingers deftly tucking the small flower behind your ear. The gentle touch startles you, your breath hitching. He leans in toward your ear, his breath warm against your skin. The sensation sends a ripple through your wings and the sight stirring something deep inside him.

“Well done, my lady,” he whispers and he can hear the way your pulse quickens. The fire in his veins burns brighter, the heat of his presence becoming suffocating in its intensity. “For your role in establishing peace between the Spring Court and the rest of Prythian. Quite astonishing that High Lord Caldwell agreed to those unfair conditions so easily.”

The tension grows thicker and hotter, a silent battle of wills simmering between you. You can sense the danger in his proximity, the underlying threat in his words. And yet, despite the warning bells that should be ringing in your mind at his display of power, there's a part of you inexplicably drawn to the danger he brings.

Eris should’ve known better, finding his power being undermined. You’ve been trained to dance with danger and the unexpected all your life. The dark tendrils that hid within your wings fly out like leaves fluttering in the wind, teasing him with a chilling caress.

“What can I say? I’m pretty convincing.”

Your voice is surprisingly steady and Eris does not miss the retaliation for his threat in your tone. He lets out a thoughtful hum before pulling back. Amber eyes study your face carefully, catching the way your lips curl into a coy smile.

 “Or a master of emotional manipulation…”

“Me?” You say with a small laugh, pointing at yourself for added emphasis. “I’m just a girl.”

Eris raises a brow at you. His body straightens, hands crossing behind his back as he towers over your smaller frame. You raise an eyebrow back in challenge, not fazed at all.

“I doubt anyone will see you as just a girl after tonight,” Eris says, mocking your tone. “What would the High Lords think of you once they learn that the emissary of the Night Court is an empath? Surely, you know my father wouldn’t take that well…Nor would the Spring Court as they are among your victims.”

“Careful, Eris,” you say, voice smooth and rich. It’s the first time you’ve said his name and he can’t help but fall captive to it, allowing it to wrap around him with an enchanting warmth. It’s short lived as a cool caress teases at his throat. Your darkness. 

“It seems like you’re accusing me of something.”

You were no stranger to dancing with danger but Eris was no stranger to dancing with fire.

“Perhaps, I am.”

“Perhaps, you are confused.”

The dark tendrils lingering around his throat press harshly and his jaw tenses in response. Your gaze hardens, defiance flickering in the depths of your eyes and Eris feels his own emotions heighten. There's a thrill in the air, electric and charged. It tickles at his senses, his visions and thoughts threatening to become a blur.

 Ah, there she is, he thinks as he pushes against the wave. Eris's lips curl into a smug smile as a flash of shock crosses your features. Fleeting but unmistakable. Nonetheless he savors the moment, relishing the sight of your carefully crafted facade slipping.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you continue, despite the tumult of emotions swirling beneath the surface. 

The dark tendrils at his throat disappear into the shadows and Eris lets out an exhale, disguising it as a scoff. His hand reaches out, lifting your chin up to meet his gaze and you hold it.

“You can’t fool me, pretty girl.”

Your gaze softens, if only for a moment, and Eris takes advantage of it. “Did you think I’d forget?”

Realization dawns on you, spreading across your face as you remember the first time you met Eris. That was years ago. You were both children and you’re quick to push it away, not wanting to let the innocence of the memory distract you as he wants it to. 

“You’re right,” you tell him. “I can’t fool you but I can make you feel pain.”

Your hand grips his wrist, yanking his hand away from your face. Your gaze darkens once more, gaining your resolve back. You underestimated him and Eris recognizes he needs to act quick. You won’t make the same mistake again. 

“Pain so heavy, it’s suffocating,” you say and Eris struggles to push against the pressure threatening to invade his senses. He takes a step back.

Eris suppresses his wince, masking the growing pain. Something that he's learned to do, given his history with pain. His amber eyes sweep over you from head to toe, tracing every curve and contour with an intensity that he knows leaves a burning sensation in their wake by the way your eyebrows furrow.

 Finally, his eyes meet yours once more. “Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

Your carefully donned mask finally falls and your power releases its heavy hold on him. He feels like he can breathe again. 

“What do you want?” you demand once more. 

There’s apprehension in your tone and he doesn’t need your empath abilities to know the effect he had on you. Your emotions are written all over your face. it’s strange, the way it sends warmth to swell in his chest. 

“Money? Land in the Court of Nightmares?”

“My silence is going to cost you a lot more than that,” Eris laughs with a smirk.

“My hand in marriage?” You continue, the words tumbling from your lips with a bitter taste. The thought of binding yourself to him, of sacrificing your freedom for the sake of secrecy, fills you with a sense of dread.

His smirk transforms into something more sinister, more fox-like. It sends a shiver racing down your spine and you begin to fear his answer.

“How about a bargain? I know your court is quite fond of those.”

You raise a brow in question, a silent invitation for him to voice his desires. To lay his cards on the table and reveal the true extent of his demands. Eris’s amusement is palpable. He can feel the desperation radiating off of you and he revels in it. Such a powerful fae like yourself is at his mercy.

“My silence in exchange for a favor,” he finally says.

“What kind of favor?”

“Well, if I told you, it would ruin the fun,” he replies, voice dripping with mischief.

“You and I have different definitions of fun,” you retort, a cold edge creeping into your tone.

“Suit yourself then. I should return to my father, fill him in.” Eris says and he begins to walk away. One..two.., he counts silently in his head.

“Wait!” you call out, your hand reaching out to grasp his, fingers closing around him with a desperate urgency. Three. 

“As long as you help keep my secrets, I will owe you a favor.”

“As long as I keep my mouth shut about your empath abilities, you will owe me a favor,” Eris specifies, catching on to you easily. He resists the urge to turn around to face you.

With a deep exhale, you utter a single word: “Deal.”

A warmth begins to spread from the point where your hands meet, a sensation that starts as a gentle tingling before intensifying into a searing heat. Eris feels the strength of the bargain as it etches itself onto his skin.

Turning back to face you, Eris allows his gaze to fall down to the wrist you still hold. He lets you pull back the cuff of his sleeve along with his coat up to his elbow. A delicate vine winds its way across his skin, adorned with leaves and blossoms that mirror the jasmines of the night court.

A hiss escapes you. It has Eris lifting his gaze. He catches the fleeting moment of vulnerability that flashes across your features as your hand instinctively flies to the back of your neck. He doesn’t have to ask to know that the same design is etched onto the back of your neck.

Yet, he’s filled with the desire to see it. To brush your hair aside, to touch the softness of your skin as he traces the contour of the tattoo with his fingertips.

Instead, he watches as your eyes momentarily glaze over, your mind seeming to drift elsewhere before snapping back to the present with a blink. You release his wrist from your grip and take a step back, as if suddenly aware of the dangerous proximity between you two.

“I have to go.”

You bend down to pick up the bloody handkerchief that he had already forgotten about, clenching it tightly into your fist. And then, you’re walking away from him. He wonders if you sense his gaze lingering on your wings, because in the blink of an eye, they vanish.

“What a shame,” Eris calls out after you. “The fun was just about to get started!”

You pause. Turning your head, Eris catches a glimpse of a cynical smile and he thinks you may just come back to him. But then, you’re lifting one of your hands to flick him off and he can't help but smile.

A twinkle dances in your eyes, shimmering like the stars above. The very same one that left him starstruck all those years ago…

**

years ago...

Eris sits underneath an oak tree, basking in the sunlight that filters through the interwoven leaves of fiery oranges and deep reds. He cradles a small bundle of fur to his chest, gently stroking the velvety length of its ears with his thumb. He uses his free hand to bring a bottle of milk to the tiny pup, a furrow creasing his brow as he observes the animal’s reluctance to feed.

“You need to eat,” he murmurs softly in concern and then even more quietly, he says, “you need to live.”

The pup lets out a small whimper in response, its frail and thin body sagging against him. Tears begin to burn Eris’s eyes, blurring his vision. Eris had stumbled upon the pup a couple of days ago when riding in the forests of Autumn alongside his father. He had followed the cries and whimpers, despite his father telling him not to. The bloodhound pup was left alone to die, leaving Eris to conclude that it must’ve been the runt of its litter. He knew the small animal was sick the moment he picked him up, closer to death than life itself.

Yet, he still begged his father to keep it as he was filled with the sudden urge to protect it. “Fine,” his father had agreed with a disgruntled huff. “Perhaps, it is time you learn what the world does to such weak beings.”

But Eris was determined.

He spent hours in the library with the sick pup cradled in his arms, searching for remedies to help. Nothing seemed to be working but he refused to allow his determination to wave. He wanted to–no, he needed to prove his father wrong.

To prove that something weak can become strong.

“Your pup is sad. She misses her mother.”

Eris startles at the voice. He had been so lost in his thought he hadn’t noticed that someone approached him. He lifts his gaze, blinking at the bright sun until his vision clears. There’s a young girl standing in front of him. She looks to be around his age.

She steps forward, blocking the glare of the sun from his view and takes a closer look at his pup. Eris merely stares at her. He recognizes her as the girl who arrived at the forest house, clinging onto High Lord Orion’s leg. He had been in this same exact spot when she arrived earlier, the scene still painted very vividly in his mind. Because the way she had looked up at her father with such adoration and to have it reflected back as he looked down at her brought a dull ache to his chest.

“And you need a salve for that nasty bruise of yours,” the girl adds.

Eris’s hand instinctively reaches up to his cheek and winces. The bruise is still fresh. A gift from his father. “I don’t need anything. I’m fine,” he replies with a glare.

“You’re in pain but okay,” the girl merely shrugs. She then settles herself across from him and Eris’s scowl deepens. 

“What are you doing?”

“My name is y/n,” she tells him.

“I didn’t ask.”

The girl remains unfazed by his grumpy demeanor. In fact, she seems to make herself even more comfortable, the autumn leaves crunching as she crosses her legs.  “May I?” She asks, gesturing toward the pup.

Eris reluctantly hands the small creature toward her and he doesn’t know why but he feels himself relax, tense shoulders drooping. He watches as the pup nestles its nose comfortably into her neck, letting out a soft whine. The girl giggles and Eris’s eyes widen.

“How did you–”

“Does she have a name?” She interrupts him.

“No,” Eris frowns, regret settling in. He had been too focused on keeping her alive to even consider a name.

The girl reaches out for the bottle in his hand, shifting the pup in her arms to feed her. Once again, the pup refuses to feed. A thoughtful look crosses over the girl’s face. “I think she’s allergic to the milk you’re feeding her,” she says as she hands the pup back to Eris.

Eris glances down at the bloodhound, considering the girl’s words. Perhaps, he should try feeding her goat’s milk instead. His thumb absentmindedly brushes along the pup’s head, stroking over the top of the ear.

“She likes when you do that,” the girl speaks again.

“What are you? An animal whisperer?” Eris teases but there’s an underlying seriousness to his tone.

“Something like that.”

“y/n!”

The girl’s head turns at the sound of her name being called. It’s her father. She turns back to Eris. “I have to go,” she says as she stands up, dusting off the skirt of her dress. “You should give her a name, though. I think it'd make her happy.”

Eris finds himself nodding, mind already racing with ideas on what to name the small pup in his arms. He puts those thoughts on a hold as he realizes there’s something he should do. His mother did teach him some manners, after all.

“y/n!" He calls after the girl.

She stops, turning to look back at him. Her brows furrow in question.

“Thank you,” Eris finally says.

A smile graces the girl’s lips. It lights up her entire face, reaching her eyes and Eris swears he sees a twinkle dancing within the depth of them. It leaves him momentarily dazzled. How can a simple smile be so bright?

“You're welcome.”

And as Eris watches you run back to your father, a name for the pup comes to mind.

[series masterlist]

a/n: any guesses as to what Eris named his first hound? Also, I didn't know what type of hound Eris has in canon so I just went with a bloodhound since they're good at scenting. Tthe flicking off scene was 100% taken from this scene of Maxton Hall because I loved it too much. You can just tell that was the moment James started to fall for Ruby, if he wasn't already.

series taglist: @emy1-9, @lady-of-tearshed, @5onedirection5

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria