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illyrian-dreamer · 1 year ago

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Our girl – Part 7

Azriel x Cassian x fem reader

Summary: Azriel and Cassian go feral trying to find you.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Violence, torture

<<< Part 6

Cassian was pacing, the roar in his mind loud enough to miss Feyre winnow into the room, her arm wrapped around an elderly fae, his bark-like skin unmistakable.

“Finbark,” Tamlin greeted, moving to help the male into a seat as he leant into his walking staff. Finbark had aged during the war, and it was clear the long distance winnow from Spring to Summer was not easy to endure in his condition.

Azriel kept close to Cassian, but unlike his mate, his rage had fixed him to an icy steel. Arms folded at his chest, he was beyond pleasentries, unable to greet Finbark as Tamlin had. Not while his mate was still missing, not when he wasn't sure who or how many he’d kill to find you.

The marbled room before him was filled with anxious tension. Tarquin had opened his home, with promise that his recruits had a lead on Y/N’s location. Finbark, Tamlin, Cassian, Feyre, Rhys, even Helion had come to support his friend. And while Mor and Amren worked with Azriel’s spies at the border, the rest of them were here, readying themselves for the essential intel to start scouting for his mate.

It was almost impossible to resist the urge to take to Autumn skies, to start ripping the heads of any guard or spy or missionary who served in Beron’s court. That instinct was outweighed by only one thing - Y/N’s safety. Start slitting throats, and Beron could easily follow the trail of blood back to them, and punish you for it. Especially in the ruthless, unforgiving manner that itched at both their limbs. It was better to wait for this lead - both he and Cassian had agreed. Better to know where to start the carnage before they set they world ablaze.

Excruciating minutes had turned to hours, and both Cassian and Azriel were at their wits end.

“Where is it, Tarquin?” Cassian gritted, his gaze an other-worldy darkness, unbound magic as bright as rubies twining his limbs. “You promised a lead.”

Tarquin’s face was a gruelling seriousness, one that Feyre herself had never seen. “Calm yourself, friend. It is coming.”

But that wasn't nearly enough to satisfy Cassian’s urge, so he turned from the male, driving his fist into a marble pillar, the thunderous smack silencing the room. Feyre threw Tarquin a sorry look.

A maid entered then, hurrying to deliver a letter to her High Lord on a silver platter, before fleeing on quick feet – a wise move.

Tarquin swallowed thickly while reading, not a breath shared amongst the rest of the room.

“We have the name of the Inn, and the last known sighting of Y/N.”

Azriel’s voice was deadly. “We already knew that.”

He had snatched the letter before Tarquin could respond. He scanned it with quick eyes before raising them to Cassian. “This is different. Her last known sighting was underground.”

Cassian’s eyes fluttered with rage. Naturally, Beron had chosen a concealed, subterranean lair to cloak his cruelty, making it even more challenging to locate his mate.

“It says here the entrance to the dungeons are glamoured, and are bound to an ancient magic.”

All eyes were on Rhys then. “Not even my magic can unbind that,” he said disappointedly, the tremble in his hands returning once more. Beron was a slimy bitch, and the thought of sinking his talons into his neck danced around in his mind.

“Then how the hell are we to find her?” Tamlin urged.

“Hounds,” Azriel answered, looking over the letter once more. “Provided here are coordinates, where a pack will be provided to us for the search.”

“What in the Mother?” Rhys frowned, running a hand over his face.

“Who wrote that letter, Azriel?” Feyre asked, a knowing itch scratching at her brain.

“It’s signed from Eris Vanserra.”

There were a few drawn breaths, and then silence.

“It is a trap,” Helion said plainly.

“Perhaps,” Feyre countered. “Perhaps not.”

“A trap would not be so wiling, so exposed,” Tamlin added. “I believe it is true.” He cast a look at Feyre, who nodded in agreement.

“And we are to risk everything on assumption alone?” Helion countered the male. “When was the last time a Vanserra was celebrated for telling the truth?”

Cassian wasn't listening to their exchange, the General’s mind ticking as a strategy formed – for this was as good as war.

“Soldiers,” he said with a distant look, eyes finding his mate. “We need soldiers.” Be it a trap, he didn't care, between he, Azriel and the others, nor Eris’s or his phonies stood a chance.

Azriel nodded in agreement. “Rhys, call to the camps. We need Illyrians.”

Rhysand didn't hesitate. “How many?”

“Hundreds.”

Helion shifted uncomfortably. “How many males do you plan to storm Autumn with? Power is one thing, but bring an army with you? You’ll start a gods damned civil war, right here in Prythian. Over a girl.”

Even as a High Lord, Helion stood no hope against Azriel’s strength, not as those siphons that usually kept his strength at bay now consumed him, pulsing in his veins, igniting his eyes with brilliant blue.

Marble cracked as Azriel threw the him into a pillar, a snarl curled at his lips, canines inches away from his neck.

“If you think my girl isn't worth waging a war for, you’re wrong. I’ll watch the whole of Prythian burn if she is harmed, and then some.”

Helion glanced around desperately, searching for an ally. But between Cassian’s fuming glare, Feyre and Rhys’s cold as night, and Tamlin’s own chest panting, he came up short. Even Tarquin showed no remorse.

“Please,” Finbark croaked from where he sat, his hands shaking as they rested on his staff. “Please, time is against us, we mustn’t waste it.”

Azriel withdrew at that, fingers flexing as he fought against violent urges. Cassian moved, his hand closing over Azriel’s scarred one as blue mixed with red.

Tamlin eyed the interaction curiously, before finding the letter from Eris on the floor, reading it over himself.

“The letter accounts for two females held in the dungeons,” he stated, slightly confused.

Feyre blinked, her eyes fixed with Rhys as she paled even further. Forcing a breath, she moved those grey eyes to Helion. “When was the last time you saw the Lady of Autumn?”

Helion blinked, his brow then furrowing at Feyre’s suggestion. It had been longer than usual, he had counted the days. But he assumed she was keeping hidden, playing into their secret like she had always done. His hand intuitively found his chest then, rubbing at a gnawing ache, and panicked eyes found Feyre’s.

“Months,” he whispered, his chest tightening with every breath.

“That ache in your chest, friend. Has it not been a few months since you confided of your pain to me?” Feyre added.

Helion’s eyed widened. How could he have been so senseless?

Pain turned to fear turned to an all-consuming rage, and feral eyes found Azriel and Cassian.

“What was that you said of an army?”

————

The lethal point of that sword pierced through your clothing, its icy steel pricking at your skin, causing an immediate, searing pain. And oh gods, did it hurt.

Your body, attuned to the peril through the bond, convulsed within, as if desperate to break free from your chest cavity, urging you to fight, protect, or flee as far as the gods allowed. In your anguish, screams and sobs erupted, fuelled by the intense desire to kill Beron, to snap his neck with your bare hands for even daring to harm you and your mates. Yet, the harsh reality held you at his mercy.

“STOP! I BEG OF YOU!”

Beron’s attention snagged to that voice beyond your cell, the weapon stilling as it lay pierced within your chest, stuck at your left breast.

“Please, Beron, I beg of you. I’ll rid of Helion, I’ll stay by your side. For the sake of the Mother, do not hurt this girl!”

Beron’s lips curled into a sickening smirk. “How brave of you, Seraphina my love,” he toyed. “How brave you become when finally faced with consequence.”

You had only a few seconds, but you used it to the best of your ability, calling on your power, begging it to fill your veins and swarm your skin. Your anger was of no question, but you were weak, and were only met with a faint tingle at your fingertips.

Cold eyes found you again, and you whimpered.

Beron chuckled at the panic in your eyes. “Ah, sweet Y/N. Are you feigning fear, or do you really care for the bond?” He drawled closer. “Why would you have tossed them aside if you care for them so, hm?”

His eyes darkened as he grappled at the sword again. “Try not to move,” Beron gritted, teeth bared and he pushed with two hands now.

Your own howls and screams, Seraphina’s pleas and cries, Beron’s grunts as deadly power coursed through him – it was a hideous symphony of torture.

From deep within your chest cavity, death clashed with life, and so began the war within your heart.

————

Azriel, Cassian and Rhys flew overhead, circling the location where Eris instructed to meet, scanning for traps while Rhys’s magic worked to unravel any glamours.

Tamlin, Hellion and Feyre scouted from the ground, Tamlin in beast form, Feyre’s water wolves sniffing out the promised hounds.

They had left Tarquin to the border where the Illyrian army began to arrive, Mor and Amren with them. They would try to negotiate with Beron’s own armed forces while waiting on Cassian or Azriel’s word to strike.

Azriel spotted him first, ginger hair almost disguised amongst the matching tree tops. But it seemed the Autumn Princeling was true to his word, a litter of dogs leashed in his hand with enough apprehensiveness to be sensed from the skies .

Three thuds were sounded as the males landed, stalking toward Eris with violent determination - the kind that sent most running. He spun quickly at the rustle of leaves, gulping at the three water wolves and Tamlin now prowling towards him, Feyre and Helion a few paces behind.

“Where is she?” Cassian spoke, his voice harsh and quick.

“I don't know,” Eris replied, his own face grave. One of his hounds whined, and others pulled at their leads, desperate to start scouting.

Cassian and Azriel shared a growl, unsatisfied with the answer.

“No tricks Eris,” Rhys warned. “It wouldn't end well for you or your court.” And he meant it, because as he spoke, Mor sent images of the Illyrian soldiers now in formation at the borders of Summer and Spring, ready for their word, ready to tear the land apart to find you.

“I am true to my word,” Eris replied, pulling slightly at the band of leather leashes in his hands. “I have trained these hounds in secret, since I first suspected of my father’s conspiring.”

“What you wrote of your mother, is it true?” Helion asked, voice desperate as an array of curved weapons and twining knives glinted in the sun – so unique to his own court.

Eris nodded morbidly, tears pricking at his waterlines. “I have let this go on for too long.”

No one offered him any comfort.

“And what do you get out of this, Eris? What is it you want in return?” Feyre had to ask, the lesson’s Alis had taught her all those years ago ringing through her ears. Make no bargain, help no one without knowing what the price might be.

“This is beyond my own desires. My mother hasn't been seen in months, I suspect Beron has taken her. If she’s there, is she is… alive,” Eris had to pause and swallow before he could continue. “See that she is returned safely, and I will make it worth your while.”

Looks were exchanged, before Rhysand nodded. “Will you be joining us?”

Eris’s eyes dropped, shameful shoulders slumping. “If he finds out I helped you, he’ll hurt me in unimaginable ways.”

“You coward,” Hellion spat, pushing past to grab at the Princeling. “You’ve known for months, Seraphina is down there, she–”

An outburst of agonising roars pierced through the forest, Azriel and Cassian falling to their knees, red and blue winking as they clutched at their hearts.

“WHAT? What is it?” Feyre panicked, forcing Azriel up by his shoulders, scanning him over with wild eyes.

Rhys was on Cassian, in his mind, digging frantically. “I don't know, I can't see past-”

Their screams intensified, their wings flexing and twitching with pain. Cassian howled as he clutched at the grass, and Azriel swore, barely holding himself up.

“The-the bond!” he gasped. “Make it stop!”

Eyes were on Eris then, and he looked back, bewildered. “I don’t- I don't know what he’s doing! I don't know anything!”

As quickly as it had begun, the pain left their bodies, leaving the males sagged and trembling on the ground.

“We must move quickly,” Hellion murmured, eyeing Eris with distaste once more.

Eris was already unleashing the hounds who began to kick and whine, desperate for their command.

“Please,” he begged to Helion, his voice a mere whisper. “Please, bring her back.”

Cassian and Azriel had recovered quickly, forcing themselves to stand. They shared a quick nod, ensuring that the other was alright, flexing their wings and readying to take the skies once more. Whatever was happening, time was against them.

“Seek,” Eris commanded with a wavering voice, and the pack leapt into a sprint.

Azriel, Cassian and Rhysand launched to the sky, Tamlin heeding the hounds on all fours, and Feyre on Helion’s pegasus – an army of their own.

Together, they would find them, or die trying.

————

You were loosing sense of reality, delirious with pain. You begged for it to stop, and then prayed for it to stay, to know that your bond wasn't dead, not yet.

You were in and out of consciousness, your body blinking awake as Beron cut at that tether ever so slowly, not allowing you weaken or lay unconsciousness for too long. No, he wouldn't grant you that peace - he needed you alive, to withstand the torture, to survive, so his Seraphina could serve as his slave, mateless and obedient for the rest of her days.

“Stay with me now,” he gritted, slowly, oh so mind-numbingly slowly, forcing the rapier deeper into your chest, the bond whipping and lashing as magic clashed within, demanding warmth, demanding life.

Your throat strained as you tried to scream, to exert just some of the pain that coursed through you – but no sound came out, your voice long lost amongst your cries and screams hours ago.

Beron had assured you he was not trying to be cruel – that this careful extraction, and no matter how painful, he’d ensure you’d survive. Then you can die, for all I care - he had claimed.

As you thrashed, your mind flashed with memories of your mates, as if the bond or cauldron itself was showing you what was worth fighting for. Azriel and Cassian - each more handsome than the other. One of them wild, emotional, passionate and heated, the other a perfect match of icy calm, selfless, unyielding and determined.

And you were a part of them, their anchor, the vessel where red met blue. You were what made them whole. And both of them flawed - oh so flawed. But their love was undeniable, unconditional, stubborn and powerful. You could see that now. You wanted them, you needed them, and if Beron was to break this bond, you did not want the life that awaited you.

So you fought with the little energy you had left, forging the bond to a weapon of sorts, sweat trickling as you writhed and grunted, your heart an open battlefield.

Beron let out a frustrated roar, his rapier met with another bout of resistance, your bond swelling to provide a wall of magic he would again need to pierce. But it was draining him too – of magic, of whatever part of himself he had given to create such a tool. His son, Lucien, oh gods – but what else?

Lips curled with distaste, he pulled his hands back, wiping the sweat from his brow, wiping those sinful hands on his pants. “Let’s take a break, shall we?”

Flashes then, more memories. Tree tops, red ones, and distant yelping. You could not see them, but you knew that sound, heavy leathery skin flapping, pushing air under muscle. Your mates - the rhythm of their wings a lullaby. These weren't memories – they were visions. Your mates were coming for you - you only prayed they would find you in time.

You hadn’t realised you had faded out of consciousness yet again, your head lolling before Beron grabbed you by the chin, forcing to wake. “Ah ah Y/N,” he grinned darkly. “Don’t give up on me now.”

Your only response was a whimper, an attempt of a beg left hoarse and unheard as Beron took aim of the weapon, ever so cruelly forcing it deeper into your heart chamber.

—————

The auburn tree tops of the Autumn forest did little to soften either Azriel or Cassian’s landing. Their hands ripped at their leathers, clawing for their chest, to stop the phantom pain that carried through the earth somewhere below.

Feyre and Rhys halted their search, sprinting to help the males, scanning them inside and out for the third time in the past few hours.

Cassian held a palm up before Feyre could haul him to his feet, sweat trickling down his face as he panted, resting on hands and knees as the cuts from the branches were quick to heal.

Rhys had just about eased the pain from Azriel’s mind, but there was no point, as it had disappeared as quickly as it did the other times.

With a firm hand still pressed to Azriel’s chest, Rhys threw a panicked look around him. “I don't have enough magic to shield you and search for Y/N at the same time.”

Azriel shook his head. “Do not–,” he panted. “– for one second, spend your magic on us.”

Rhys’s face was grave, but he gave a small nod.

Up ahead, a collection of yelps sounded, Eris’s hounds now excited and frantic.

“Come quick,” Hellion called, the hounds leaping over one another, pawing and whining at the ground, his pegasus flaring it’s nose, wings tussling anxiously.

The group inspected the spot littered with dried leaves, a repetitive stretch of ground indifferent to any other area they had passed.

“There doesn't appear to be anything here,” Feyre murmured, running her hand through the dirt. “It’s just ground.”

“Do we dig?” Rhysand offered as Tamlin neared, pawing at the ground with bear-like claws.

But instinct had taken over the males that were doubled over not moments before. Their eyes matched in brightness, their hearts panting in their chest. Everything about this spot, chanted to them – yes, yes, yes.

They met each others gaze then, nostrils flaring.

“I feel it too,” Helion said to them with a pointed nod, his own chest heaving.

Azriel raised a scarred fist, shadows twining with raw, flowing power as he plowed a fist to the ground.

And was met with a thud.

Casting a quick look back at Cassian who nodded for him to continue, Azriel threw another punch, and another, until the ground beneath them fell through, leaves and dirt that had once been now disappeared as the glamour was broken through. Instead, an entrance was revealed, a ladder leading into the dark and damp depths of Beron’s hidden lair.

Cassian didn't wait to jump straight through the hole, landing on fists and knees with a powerful thud.

The passageway led both left and right, an ominous dripping could be heard in the distance, the only light offered by Cassian’s magic and the opening above.

Before could Azriel leap in, Feyre grabbed his arm.

“We need to keep searching for other entrances, ones that might get us closer to Y/N.”

Azriel nodded wordlessly, quickly meeting the eyes of the rest of the party.

“Be smart,” Rhysand warned. It would be hard advice to adhere to, each of them knew.

Azriel didn't wait to watch the rest of the group leave, Feyre and Rhysand in one direction, Tamlin and Hellion the other. He jumped just as Cassian had, following that thrumming, beating instinct, the frayed and weathered tether calling faintly from within.

Cassian nodded in one direction, Azriel agreeing to the other. They would split up to find you - it was the only way.

“Be safe,” Azriel grumbled.

“You too,” the War General replied, his voice predatory and lacking warmth.

Without their siphons, Azriel and Cassian’s magic was tempered, raw, unbound and wild. It twitched at their wings and hissed at their skin, because even it understood it was finally time to start paying some dues.

“We’re coming baby,” Cassian muttered under his breath, before the both of them turned their heels, picking up into a jog.

————

The first guards Azriel encountered hadn't so much as drawn their next breath before he snapped both their necks. And the next two after that.

Despite Rhys’s advice, he wasn’t being smart at all. He should question them, use his shadows to choke out any answers of how to get to Y/N that much faster. But there was a fierceness in him, one that moved his limbs and fuelled his breath before he could consider rationale. He hoped it had a purpose, that predatory instinct.

Azriel had reached the next clearing within minutes – a storeroom of sorts, guards armed, their weapons glowing in the light of the torches aflame at the walls.

Three of them died instantly, blue magic seeping through their nostrils and mouth, planting death from the inside out. The fourth was restrained by shadows, Truthteller firm against his throat as his body was pulled flush against Azriel, canines at his ear.

“Where is she?” he hissed.`

“You’re too late,” the guard gulped, wise enough to not fight and risk pushing himself further into the blade.

Azriel’s unsatisfied growl rippled through the room, contents in storeroom rattling.

“It’s true. Even if you reach her soon, you–”

A final breath was knocked from his chest as the satisfying crunch of a broken neck filled the room, Azriel letting his lifeless body fall to the floor. He had told him what he needed to know – he was getting closer. That was good enough for him.

Azriel moved through the storeroom like a shadow, his eyes scanning for the way forward. His instincts screamed at him, urging him to find her quickly, to silence the haunting calls that echoed in his mind.

As he advanced through the next passage, he caught a glimpse of movement behind a stack of crates. Azriel's senses heightened, and he summoned his shadows, enveloping himself in an inky cloak. He moved silently, like a wraith, closing in on the source of the disturbance.

A hushed conversation reached his ears. Guards were discussing a secret passage that led deeper into the dungeon, a hidden route that only the elite were privy to. Hazel eyes flecked with blue darkened with a mixture of determination and desperation.

Without warning, Azriel emerged from the shadows, Truthteller in hand, its blade shimmering with an ethereal light. The guards startled, their eyes widening as they faced the deadly Shadowsinger. Azriel didn't waste time with words. Just like the others, he used his shadows to incapacitate them, rendering them helpless on the cold stone floor.

His gaze focused on the guard who seemed to be the most knowledgeable. Azriel's eyes locked onto his with an intensity that sent shivers down the guard's spine.

"Where is the passage? Tell me, and I might spare your life," Azriel demanded, his voice low and threatening.

The guard hesitated, conflicting fear etched across his face. The seconds stretched agonisingly, the tension in the room palpable. Finally, with a defeated sigh, the guard revealed the secret of the hidden passage, his words a reluctant admission that pointed Azriel in the right direction.

Azriel sheathed Truthteller, leaving the guard to choke on his shadows instead. He vanished into the darkness, unflinching at the choking sounds he left behind. He’d find Beron’s men in hell, and kill them there too.

The calls in his mind grew louder, a symphony of urgency that spurred him onward.

As he moved through the hidden corridors, Azriel couldn't shake the fear that clawed at his heart. Time was running out, and he couldn't afford to lose you to the darkness that threatened to consume them all.

————

Cassian’s rage was brewing by the second.

He was yet to encounter anything but the unyielding, endless passageways of Beron’s underground labyrinth. He wanted to find men - to start killing, to save his fucking mate. Hell, he’d even take a torch of light at this stage.

But the only hint of life was his own breathing, ruby red magic providing much needed light. Damp air clung to his skin, and the distant echoes of his hurried footsteps reverberated off the cold, stone walls. The calls of his mate, distant yet urgent, fueled the fire within him.

It was that other worldly sense - the one that revealed itself along with the bond - that stopped in in his tracks, his breath synching.

Ears pricking to an off-shooting passage way, the unmistakable sound of a slither made his stomach coil.

It was instinct to finger at his sword, to press his palm into the leathery wrap at its hilt, ready for anyone, or anything.

An ominous wind blew through the tunnels, blowing the loosened strands of Cassian’s forward. Whatever was coming for him, it was big.

It’s scent caught him then – the unmistakable smell of a wyrm, a putrid mixture of rot and dampness. He’d only encountered one in his lifetime, on a dare with friends. The fight was easy then, Cassian had lured it from it’s burrow, and had easily defeated the creature thanks to his ability to fly, striking from above. But in here it was different - he barely fit in these tunnels, there was not enough room to even flex his wings. The wyrm itself would take the width of these paths, leaving no room to avert or dodge.

The ground trembled beneath him, a warning sign the wyrm was closing in. He could feel the creature's presence, a malevolent force that sought to consume him. The faint echoes of its slithering were louder now, and Cassian knew he had to act swiftly.

Drawing his weapon, a gleaming blade infused with the power of his siphons, Cassian pressed his back against the cold stone wall. The wyrm, blind but relentless, relied on scent and sound to track its prey. Cassian suppressed his breath again, minimising any trace that might give him away. He was stealthily still, wings tucked close to his powerful frame.

The wyrm entered the tunnel, its massive body undulating as it sensed the air, circular rows of rotten teeth bared as it’s forked tongue flickered, tasting his presence as it inched closer and closer…

With a swift movement, Cassian launched himself from the wall, a set of throwing knives set straight for the wyrm's mouth. The creature howled and thrashed as one landed its mark, lodging in its throat, the other clanging against its teeth. As it began thrashing, rocks and soot fell from around, the structure of the tunnel rumbling with impact. Cassian knew he’d be lucky to not be smothered by the damn labyrinth itself.

He’d have to kill the wyrm quickly for either of you to make it out alive. So the creature was as good as dead.

Without a second thought, Cassian launched through the air, narrowly avoiding the snapping jaws of the wyrm. The creature's writhed with blind rage as Cassian grabbed at it's large fangs, forcing it's hideous mouth open.

His mind reeled as toxins belched from the wyrms belly, the heat of certain death within swarming around him. But his muscles pulsed, and clarity was a blessed treat as he heard the calls of his mate echo through in his mind. He would not die – not until you were safe.

Cassian roared as he forced the wyrm's jaw that much wider, one strong arm bearing its might as he used the other to unsheathe his sword, facing it upwards within the creature’s mouth.

In a daring maneuver, Cassian leapt back from the wyrm, its mouth snapping shut followed by a piercing howl. Cassian’s blade shot right through the roof of its mouth, pointing right through its flaring nostrils. As the wyrm thrashed in pain, Cassian drew his longsword, raking a vertical line down the exposed neck and belly, gutting the creature instantly.

There was no time to observe the beast any closer, to wipe the tacky black blood that covered his face and hands or even catch his breath.

With a heaving chest, Cassian pressed forward, following the calls of his mate that echoed louder then before.

————

Azriel’s roar of frustration sounded through the narrow passageway behind him.

Another door, and likely another room of guards that lead to fucking nowhere. He was desperate, magic lashing violently from him, the blue almost fully overtaken the hazel in his eyes.

He didn't bother with stealth, kicking through the iron door, bursting it open with a large bang as it flew from rusty hinges.

The sight before him was a curious thing.

A wide spanning room, and to his right, almost fifty guards, all of them armed. He blinked across him, and in front of an identical door was Cassian, chest heaving, splattered in some form of ink, red shining from beneath.

The stretch of leathery string pricked his ears, Beron's archers pulling tight on their bows as they aimed at males.

Cassian’s grin was feral as he met Azriel’s eye.

This was going to be fun.

————

Part 8>>>

AN: Hello lovely people!! I so hoped you enjoyed this next chapter, and the beginnings of feral Cazriel! Did you see Tamlin and Feyre agreeing together? 🥺 Also Eris is such a mumma's boyyyyy, I love it so much 😝 As always, thank you for your patience with this fic. I never expected the plot to be this intense, and it's taken a lot more brain power than I had expected haha! I hope I'm doing the story justice. I'm thinking we only have another 2 parts to this fic FYI, so very keen to wrap up this big finale as soon as I can. Comment to join either my general tag list or just the one for Our Girl. Thank you always for your support and kindness with this fic <3

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sapchat · 8 months ago

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Ways to add simple little details to Prythian in your stories!

For the Autumn Court this one is basic and many people use it: Males gift their fiancées, wives, mates fox kits as a symbol of their love and good luck with the relationship. To make it sadder, Beron never did this for Lady A, so when Eris found out about this tradition he got his mom one!

For the Dawn Court: Like how the night court Illyrians put the women down, what if the Dawn Court was the opposite and the Peregryn females would put the males down. In the real world male birds are held to a high standard for breeding, I feel like Peregryn instincts would cause this and it just gives more to a story than the females constantly being the abused. Also they’re stomach/side sleepers. I talk more about this below with the night court just to not repeat myself.

Day Court is full of bastards. You can NOT convince me that it isn’t. Helion is laying the fucking pipe like he’s discovered oil. And the reason I feel this is because of @florencemtrash ‘s story “The Shadow and the Inkbird” (also it’s really good go read it if you haven’t) where the MFC is Helions bastard, and meets Lucien and instantly realizes that they’re halfsiblings. And I was like ya know the Day Court is probably like Game of Thrones Dorne. Dorne is know for their bastards almost every persons name in that city is ‘Sand’ because they’re all bastards basically. So I just KNOW that Helion probably has other kids than just Lucien. And everyone in that court is fucking.

Summer Court has mermaids. It’s basic, it’s simple and it’s true. There’s mermaids.

Night Court, listen we already now a lot about the Nigh Court but this pertains to Illyrian’s so I feel it’s different. They’re stomach/side sleepers. They are. You can’t tell me that two massive wing sticking out of your back would allow you to lay on your back. It can’t be comfortable. Like have you ever tried sleeping with like a ponytail/claw clip in? It ain’t nice. Now imagine it with two that sit right beside your shoulder blades and the clips are like 3ft long? Idk how long the base would be but like probably pretty fucking long to allow actual flight capabilities. Also when they sleep on their side they just have their wings straight out, now like laying on one and the other out. They’ve got big ass beds for a reason spread out. (Cassian fully takes up a bed like star fish style just on his stomach. Nesta is sick of it.)

Spring Court, during the Spring Equinox the High Lord chooses someone to dress up and hand out spring gifts to family’s (usually kids). When Tamlin became High Lord he appointed himself to do so. During this time Tamlin also gives many of the less fortunate families something they can later use for the Tithe.

Winter Court puts on a celebration for the children called Three Kings Day. Family’s with children are welcomed to the castle(? Do they have castles…?) and the bakers leave a cake outside the doors of the family, inside the cakes (this is a real thing from Puerto Rico/France/Spain too btw, the cake is called la galette des rois (Kings Cake)) are toys/coins. Whichever children find them get to wear a crown for the day and called Kings/Queens (Kallias started the tradition that all kids get to do this, he’s a softy).

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lavenderandturpentine · 2 months ago

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Feyre: Do not provoke her.

Rhysand: Mhm…

*Rhysand preparing to piss Nesta off:

We all know what happens when his hands reach into those pockets 😂

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scorpioriesling · 2 months ago

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Too Hot to Handle - Episode 8

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Characters featured: Reader, Feyre, Morrigan, Nesta, Gwyn, Emerie, Amren, Cassian, Lucien, Eris, Tarquin, Rhysand, Helion, Azriel, & Tamlin

Warning(s): mostly VERY suggestive, but... ehm... light smut at the end. You're welcome. I suppose. (:

SR’s Note: Guys I know you’ve waited ages for this episode… don’t fret. I made this one juicy asf for you. Eat it up. (; Tags: @velarisdusk @lilah-asteria @starlightazriel @mellowmusings @paintedbyshadows @book-obsessed124 @kitsunetori @rcarbo1

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

"To say I am utterly disappointed in almost all of you would be the understatement of the century."

Lana's voice was the last thing you wanted to hear this morning, though her lovely morning wake up calls were inevitable. Many members of the group failed to even sit up in their beds this morning -- you at least gave your host the decency of acting like you were paying attention, though your head was still throbbing from the amount of alcohol you'd consumed the night prior.

Your only comfort was Lucien's warm arms still wrapped around your waist, a feeling you never wished to escape from; his soft, sleepy breaths against his pillow confirmed that he definately was not paying attention to Lana this morning.

"In fact, I feel so embarassed by the actions of these individuals that I would like to replay the footage from last night caught on the security cameras for everyone to see."

You straighten, and catch Nesta's silvery stare from across the room. Surprisingly, or, maybe not -- Cassian is rubbing his eyes in bed next to her, not seeming to be fully awake yet either. Her eyes widen as Lana's cone projects an image onto the adjacent wall near the entryway; large enough so everyone is able to see.

"I don't think we should be back here," the soft, familiar female voice sounds as the video tape begins on the screen.

Your eyes widen, glancing to the bed across from yours where your friend flings the covers off of her, frantically shaking the male next to her to pay attention.

"Oh, come on -- no one is even back here," that cool, suave tone prods. The couple walks on, rounding the corner of the villa near the spot where you remembered finding Elain and Lucien in their... well, compromising, position. The footage is a bit grainy, and in black and white, but there is no doubt about who the two are. The audio is clear proof of that.

The girl chuckles, the stripes of her skirt swishing with each step she takes. He keeps walking, his hand guiding her on her lower back and inching lower as they slow to a stop near a dark corner.

"I feel so... sneaky," she giggles, and he smiles at her as the camera zooms in. You glance toward them again, her usually pale-freckled face tinged pink with embarassment.

"I bet there are no cameras back here," he says, his hand bracing against the wall and caging her in. She looks up at him, her hands lightly roaming over the planes of his exposed chest.

"Rhys... we have to have a green-"

"I don't care about a green light; I just want you, now," he says. She reaches up, and in an instant, their mouths are on one another. Audible gasps come from the group, and Feyre buries her head in her hands as the lewd sounds of soft groans and wet kisses are played aloud for the group to hear.

"Alright Lana, I think that's enough," Rhys says, his brows furrowed as he runs a hand over Feyre's shoulders. You look down, your palms clammy as you grab onto the top sheet. Lucien is slowly coming to, looking at you with a confused expression while he quietly takes in the scene around him.

You don't have the heart, or the courage to tell him what's happening.

"Had enough?" Lana pauses the clip. "So have I." She says, clearly irritated. "Your rule break cost the group $10,000. Right after I gave everyone gifts, too. How kind of you to repay me." Amren shakes her head from across the room, and you watch as Tarquin bites the inside of his cheek.

"Don't fret too much over it -- we're only just getting started." She continues. "Let's have a look at our next couple to violate my rules, shall we?"

The group watches with baited breath as the camera footage switches, this time panning to the shoreline. In the background, the tiki bar and dancing from the main group is seen, but in the front, well... another couple is seen. Alone. Laying in the sand.

This didn't look good.

"By the Cauldron," Tamlin whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Oh give me a break," Azriel snapped, and your brows rose as you squinted to make out the dark footage before you.

The camera zoomed in, catching the perfectly illuminated profile of the redheaded female giggling in the sand. Her dark haired counter part was delicately tracing his fingers up her exposed stomach -- the see through dress covered in M&Ms doing little to conceal her form.

"Tickles!" She squeaked, her fingers lacing through his before he pinned both of her wrists above her head in the sand. Her breath was coming out in short pants as he moved on top of her, his... excitement rather evident through the gold "foil" Twix shorts he was wearing.

"You have to know," he says quietly, sliding down toward the tops of her thighs where the short skirt of the dress ended. "This is my favorite," he pauses, kissing the inside of her knee. She shivers, smiling softly. "...candy," he kisses the other knee, looking up at her through his dark brows. You had to admit, he wasn't even your man, but... had it been Lucien, you would've melted like an M&M on the pavement during a hot summer day.

She seems to remember what is to come -- a few beds down, she grabs every layer of blanket, sheet, comforter on the bed and pulls them completely over herself, covering her entire body out of embarassment, surely.

"Azzie..." she squeaks, and you feel your face heating from the second-hand embarassment. You watch as Azriel is forcibly restraining himself, many of the other group members' eyes glued to the screen in horror.

He keeps kissing her legs, going up her thighs and you fight yourself in your own mind to not allow yourself to think of Lucien. You know where this is heading, but when you sneak a glance at him, he's only looking toward the projection like everyone else.

Azriel bites one of the candies on her skirt, the candy coming off and she gasps as he chuckles near the top of her thigh. "Mmmm," he groans, and her head tips back in the sand. "Delicious," he mutters, the next candy closer to her pelvis. She sucks in a breath when his hands move to hold her hips in place, his nose brushing the thin fabric.

"I... m-more..." she pleads, and he grins mischeviously. She continues to squirm under his touch as he descends on her again, his fingers moving under the hem of her dress before stalling, and she groans again.

"I'm sure you'd taste sweeter than anything I've ever eaten before, Gwyneth Berdara-"

"ENOUGH OF THAT," Azriel is up in an instant, his entire body up and off the bed without hesitation. The group seems to snap out of their daze as he throws himself in front of the projection, his arms wide as the picture distorts itself across his bare upper half. You can see why Gwyn is so attracted, but... Gods, how embarassed you'd be.

You could only pray for your sake, for Lucien's sake, what you remembered doing wasn't too bad.

"Not another moment more of that. I don't want to see it." He said firmly, the video pausing on the rather explicit frame of him hovering over her, his lusty gaze fixed on her mouth, fallen open in what looked like a moan as his hands disappeared beneath her dress.

"Don't like facing what you've done, is that it?" Lana mocks. Azriel glares at the cone, as if she were a real person and could see his reaction. "I think it's quite healthy to own up to our mistakes, especially when we know what's right and choose not to follow the rules."

Azriel scoffs, slouching back into bed and crossing his arms. "I'll honor the request and spare you the rest of the footage -- but this rule break, my my. This one is $20,000."

More frustrated gasps come from the group, glares sent toward the couple. Azriel only stares forward, his brows furrowed. Looking around, you aren't too surprised to see Helion finding the whole situation rather entertaining.

"Hey man, I get it, I mean... we've been cooped up in here, you got your girl alone on the beach-"

"Not another word about the situation," Azriel growls, and Helion chuckles, throwing his hands up in surrender. Gwyn shifts beneath her blankets, muttering something about how she'd choose the Cauldron in this situation.

"It's cool, I'm just sayin'..."

"Not. Another. Word." He bites out, and Lana lights up once more.

"No need for words, boys. We still have more couples to reprimand. This next pair didn't seem to need many before they-"

"So, what if we just, admit to what we've done," Nesta's cool, confident voice interrupted Lana's chiding, causing her purple lights to flicker. All eyes wavered between the two, and yours watched as Cassian sat up straight, leaning in to whisper hurriedly to the blonde with concern. She only brushed him off, seemingly unconcerned with whatever warning he was trying to give her. He slowly sat back against the headboard, running his hands through his hair as he stared at the ceiling.

Lucien smirked beside you. "For a guy so Hell bent on keeping everyone in line this whole time, he sure looks like a teenager who just got caught jerkin' it for the first time." He chuckles again, and you smack his shoulder. Was he really not getting it? Surely the cameras picked up on what you'd done last night -- or, what you thought you did. You weren't dumb enough to think events like those happened in a dream.

Beneath the blankets, your hand slipped under the hem of your nightshirt. You slowly inched your hand upward, careful to not raise any suspicion to the others. Your fingers drifted along your ribs, tracing them one by one, travelling closer and closer inward...

Ouch. The dull pain radiating just below your right breast was proof enough.

Definately not a dream.

"If we just admit we broke a rule, you won't need to play any more of the tapes. Right?" Nesta continues. The room is quiet for a moment, and Lana's lights move back and forth, as though she is thinking.

"While I appreciate your honesty in admitting you have broken one of my rules Nesta, the point of showing these videos this morning is for all of you to understand the humility in the actions you take. This explaination was going to come at the end of my reprimanding, but in short, it will lead to the main activity for today." She explains. Nesta sighs, biting the inside of her lip.

"We'll get to that later. For now, as you all can assume -- the next video and rule break." The screen projects again, this time as predicted, Nesta is on the screen. She walks, well... stumbles, perhaps, toward the outdoor lounge it seems. Even in the moonlight, she looks ethereal; her flowing hair perfectly shimmering down her back; the low cut, chocolatey brown dress draped across her, clinging in all the right places to accentuate her every curve. You almost wish you could cover Lucien's eyes, but there was no point. You feel a pang of jealousy when you notice him unashamedly staring at the screen like a male starved.

The camera angle changes, and you watch as she chuckles at something, then uncharacteristically trips over one of the tendrils of her dress. Your breath catches -- but, in an instant, Cassian is there, her hands wrapping around his bicep as his hands clasp around her waist. She looks up and smiles again as he guides her toward one of the plush outdoor couches, helping her into it and then sitting next to her.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see her slowly shaking her head in disapproval. Cassian runs his hands over his face, peeking out at the projection in horror between his fingers.

"You should have taken me on a date," Nesta drawled, clearly intoxicated as her fingers toyed with the fluff of Cassian's outfit. He arched a brow.

"A date? You were the one picking who to take on a date, not me," he retorted, and she rolled her eyes, leaning close to him.

"You still could have asked me out or something after," she continued, and he shook his head, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

"You're making no sense right now Nesta, but I love to listen to you talk nonetheless." He said, gazing at her as though she was the only female to exist in this world. Your heart warmed at the sight, probably the only good thing to come from this morning from Hell. You were happy for your friend, a silver lining, perhaps, even if she didn't remember every word and conversation had amidst the madness of the morning.

"Hmmm," she sighed, twirling her finger around the cotton-like strands of his shirt. "What is your costume, anyway?" She smirked.

He grinned mischeviously at her. "Aw, really? You couldn't tell? They gave me the marshmallow one." Nesta tilted her head back, a real, genuine laugh of excitement leaving her lips. Cassian couldn't help but join in, the sight of her usually serious composure slipping was one he was happy he could bring out of her.

When she finally caught her breath, she leaned in, so close that a few tendrils of her long hair tickled his neck.

"Well," she said quietly. "I think chocolate tastes better with marshmallows, anyway." Her eyes find his, blown wide in amusement as he pulls her in, his mouth colliding with hers. It doesn't take long for his hands to slide under the curve of her ass, pulling her on top of him as their mouths move in a tango, the cameras catching once again, every sound and groan-

"So," Lana pauses the tape. "Now we have seen three rule breaks, all in one evening. I hope you're all proud of yourselves." The room is quiet, the innocent group members shaking their heads in disapproval. Lucien's fingers slide along your thigh, his touch sending fireworks across your skin beneath the blanket.

"I do appreciate the admission of the rule break, Nesta; however, the cost is $10,000. It's been long enough now that you all know why you're here, and what my rules are."

You bite the inside of your cheek as she continues. "Which brings me to why I've tortured you all this morning. Today, we will be having workshops -- the guys will have their workshop this morning, and the girls will have theirs later tonight." This news seems to excite the group, and some of your nerves dissipate as she elaborates. Maybe she hadn't caught what you and Lucien had done, and maybe, just maybe, you wouldn't be punished for it.

"Since you all seem to think it is alright to misbehave after I gift you things like bracelets and parties -- you'll attend the workshops today and hopefully understand why your small amount of remaining time here is so precious." You move to stand, ready for the morning of torture to end so you can prepare for whatever "work" she has coming your way later this evening.

"Ah ah ah," she tuts, her lights blazing. "Please, guests. I'm not finished."

You sit, the pit growing in the bottom of your stomach. You can feel Lucien's eyes on you, but you don't dare to look. You can't seem to tear your gaze from anywhere but straight ahead. Straight at that damned. Cone.

"My final thoughts from this morning included another guest who'd been in my hot seat for a minute now, and after last night did not prove themselves worthy of staying at this retreat any longer." Murmurs ripple through the group, and you watch as the male in bed alone stands, seeming to know whats coming. His clenched fists indicate his unhappiness, but it's his glare toward the bed Netsa and Cassian share that has you more intrigued than sympathetic.

"Eris, please pack your things. You'll be leaving-"

"Yeah, yeah. I got it." In one swift motion, he slings his backpack over his shoulder, wheeling his suitcase behind him. The group watches silently as he walks out, not stopping to say goodbye to anyone on the way out. Its quiet for a few moments before Lana pipes up again.

"Finally guests, we have one more tape to watch. This costs the group another $20,000 -- leaving the total prize fund at $110,000. Please direct your attention to the projection."

All heads turn toward the open wall. Lana plays the video recording.

And to your horror, you watch as your face appears before the group.

ﾟ:* ✧

“What kind of outfit does one wear to a… what did Lana call it?”

It takes a few moments before there is a response. A dreary one, at best.

“A workshop.” At least Feyre had the decency to respond. No amount of bubbliness in Morrigan’s voice seemed to uplift the majority of the group today, and it was late enough that you could no longer blame the hangover headache or morning after fatigue.

All you had to blame was your outright shame. Your ignorance that cost the group due to your actions from the night prior.

Luckily, you weren’t alone. Nesta was colder than usual and Feyre hadn’t seemed to smile all day. You couldn’t say much for Gwyn, you weren’t as close with her — but you could imagine the feeling all too well.

“Right,” Mor sighs, uncapping her eyeliner and leaning toward the vanity mirror.

Lana had said earlier to be ready by 8 for the workshop, but it was now 7:45 and you’d been ready an hour ago. You simply didn’t feel right today — the pool water was too cold, you didn’t think you could handle any more alcohol, a walk along the beach didn’t even entice you as Lucien and the guys were gone to their workshop during the daylight hours. Not to mention the walk of shame from the villa to the pool to retrieve the discarded piece of your costume from last night. That was the final nail in the depression-coffin.

So, you got ready early.

As the girls corralled on the pool deck just after 8, your spirits lifted a little as you watched the guys approaching from the beach. Tarquin… then Rhysand… then Cassian…

Lucien stopped, taking your fingers lightly and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. You gave him a small smile, his reassuring gaze finding yours.

“How was the workshop?” You asked.

He shrugged. “It went well, but I would’ve rather spent my day with you if I’m being honest.” He winked, and you grinned at his cheekiness.

“You’re too much,” you added playfully, and he squeezed your hand.

“But you love it,” he said, and your breath caught in your throat. You supposed you… did, love it. There were a lot of things, lately, you’d come to… love.

“Talk later?” He asked, following the group of guys back to the villa. You could only nod as you watched him leave, unable to find the words and force them out the way you wanted.

ﾟ:* ✧

“Good evening, ladies!” A tall, lean woman stood near a crackling campfire on the white sands of the shore. Her smile was inviting, her arms open and inviting the group to come join her on the beach — but you couldn’t help but wonder why she was wearing-

“Is she wearing pajamas?” Feyre whispers, and you nod silently. Morrigan snorts from her other side.

“I swear, if Lana sent us down here for twisted bedtime stories as punishment…” she shakes her head.

“Or maybe,” Nesta’s cool tone rings out from behind. “She is sending us into some kind of freakish, bedtime-cult.” Feyre shudders, wrapping her arms around her ribs. You smack your forehead with your palm. Leave it to Nesta to come up with something like that…

“No bedtime stories, nor a cult gathering, ladies,” the woman responds cordially. She must have heard you. “Tonight’s workshop is about accountability, embarrassment, change, and growth!”

The group disbands, spreading out in a circle around the roaring fire. There are 8 terry cloth blankets laid in the sand, small pillows atop each. Assuming there is one for each person and one for the instructor, everyone takes their spot near a blanket.

However, it only takes a moment to realize that the pillows are embroidered, and the blanket you’ve chosen next to Feyre will not do, as your name is not “Emerie”.

“I think you might be over here,” Morrigan says, and you look up, hoping to meet her eye. You quickly realize she was talking to Nesta, who happily struts over to her blanket next to the blonde and sits.

It seems everyone has found their spot, and you keep searching, looking for the last open one.

“Y/N, is it?” The instructor asks. You look up, her face clouded behind the smoke of the fire.

“Yes,”

“I think you’re over here,” she gestures to the last spot, right next to her. Great, you thought. Not next to your friends, and you’d have to likely go first when doing things in a circle. How convenient.

You walk over, sitting between her and Gwyn, who gives you a small smile. Settling in, you look to her as well, noticing the faint dusting of freckles on her cheeks, and despite everything — you smile back.

ﾟ:* ✧

“As I’d hinted at before, we want to really focus on themes like accountability, embarrassment, change, and growth tonight,” the instructor begins. “Now, I heard you ladies had a rough morning, which we can talk about more later — but I want to know, does anyone have any guesses on what setting you’d see things like accountability, embarrassment, growth, and some change?”

It’s quiet for a moment, before a small chuckle sounds from across the burning logs.

“Maybe at the strip club?” Morrigan giggles, and Nesta’s hand claps over her own mouth at the response. You can’t help the small grin creeping onto your face as the instructor rolls her eyes.

“Yes, yes, very funny. I’m sure you’d definitely some growth and quite a bit of change tossed around in there,” she shakes her head. “But, on a serious note. These topics of the evening relate to the overarching theme of this workshop — a sleepover!”

To say she got more than a few confused looks would be selling it short.

“Sure, you might not always discuss things such as these at a sleepover with your best friends,” she elaborates. “But, the objective is to get everyone talking; all of you are experiencing this retreat in full, you can relate to one another and lean into each other in that way. Opening up to the people who go through these kinds of things with you will only make it easier to open up in relationships in the outside world.”

You nod, a lump forming in your throat. Being questioned, prodded and having to say things you weren’t exactly good at expressing would be… well, tough.

To your right, Gwyn chewed on her lip. She seemed nervous too. You thought about this morning, how Lana played her intimate moment with Azriel for the group like that…

The thought only made you angry. Angry for her.

“Let’s get started then — I won’t truly keep you here all night,” the instructor chuckled, adjusting atop her blanket and cradling her pillow. She looked around, then settled on the girl to her left.

“Ahh,” she sighed, squinting at the embroidery on the girl’s pillow. “Amren. Let’s begin with you, shall we?”

ﾟ:* ✧

Each girl was given an opportunity to hash out their feelings, respond to the questions the instructor asked, and then go around and give one “honesty” to everyone, ending with themselves and their current partner if they have one.

Everyone so far had done so well, you were impressed by how emotional some of the women were getting. Amren of course didn’t cry, but her “honesty” to Emerie about being happy she made a new friend was really touching.

During Nesta’s turn, it was hard watching her struggle and calculate how to answer each question. The instructor called her out on it, and by the end, she was expressing her excitement over Cassian — and how much his never-ending endearment scared her a bit.

Morrigan made you smile, always. She told you she was happy to call you a friend, and even apologized to Nesta for how she acted toward her initially. It was nice to see, the full circle of it all.

Emerie took her turn, discussing her childhood trauma which clenched your heart and made you realize how hard some people have had it. You felt so terrible, you had no idea. You were happy to see Feyre comforting her as she let it all out — admittedly, feeling much better afterward.

Speaking of… Feyre did bring you to the brink of tears. She spoke of how meeting Rhys has been so special, but finding friends like you and Mor are what she will take away more than anything from this retreat.

The lump in your throat only grew at that.

Gwyn was surprising, as she brought up her past relationships and how she didn’t trust Azriel at first. That, you could relate to — Elain, of course. You saw it in her eyes when she talked about it, but when she talked about him now, a new light was brought into her face, one that you were happy she was able to find. One you hoped no one would take away, or embarrass her for, again.

“Y/N, are you ready?”

You swallowed hard. No.

“Of course,” It came out shaky at best.

All of your past. The relationships, the dynamics. The toxic ones, the good ones, the almosts — every card was on the table. But she just kept pushing. You felt that with every answer, there came a new question. Were the other girls talked to this long?

“…I see you’ve been through some difficult relationships,” the instructor says. “But, you seem very happy in your current one?”

Your cheeks flush, the silence loud against the crashing of waves on the shore. The image of Lucien flashed in your mind, when he’d been out there in those waves. So carefree, so beautiful.

“I… I am.” You say, your eyes meeting her soft gaze.

“Do you think you’d, stay with him? Outside of the retreat?” She eases.

Oh boy. Here’s the hard part. You glance around, everyone’s eyes on you. You knew the answer, what you wanted to say, what you wanted to be true — but, you refused to be wrong, to be bitten and look like a fool in the end.

“Maybe, I mean, I-“

“Ah, ah,” she urges. “I feel like that’s not really what you want to say. In here.” The instructor points to your heart, and you glance down at it, as though you can see through your clothes, your skin, your bones right to it. If you could only say what you felt, you’d tell her right now that you’d rip it out of your fucking chest and hand it to him if he simply asked.

You didn’t realize in the silence that a tear slid down your cheek, only registering the feeling when a cool hand wraps around your own. You look to your right, your eyes burning when they meet a pair of turquoise blue ones staring encouragingly at you.

“It’s alright, Y/N,” Gwyn says quietly. “All of us are here with you. You’re not alone.” She smiles, and a river of tears floods over your waterline as you look between each girl, staring back at you with just as much encouragement.

You wipe your cheek with the back of your hand, your heart beating out of control as you clutch your pillow against your chest. Taking a long breath, you look directly at the fire, its dying embers smoldering as dark as the night sky.

“I will. I have to. He’s…” Your shoulders shake as a small smile creeps into your face, a steady mantra replaying over and over in your mind. Lucien. Lucien. Lucien.

“He’s … the best man I’ve met. In a really, really long time,” you continue. “I… I go to sleep, thanking the Cauldron I’m laying next to him. I wake up, so excited to learn more about him. I talk to him like I’ve known him my entire life, I…” You breathe heavily, looking around. Nesta’s hands cover her grin, and Feyre looks to you through her teary lashes.

“Well,” the instructor drawls, her smile evident. “I’m very pleased you got all of that off of your chest, and I’m hoping now that you’ve expressed it, you’ll be open to sharing these feelings with him as well.” She says, and you smile down at your pillow, swatting away your remaining tears.

“Because it seems to me, the feelings you share with him go a bit deeper than just liking him, dear.”

ﾟ:* ✧

You slowly pulled back the covers on your side of the bed, moving as silently as possible in hopes to not stir anyone -- especially the male sleeping on the other side. His shoulders rose and fell every few seconds, the soft sounds of his sleepy snores bringing a little smile to your face.

The mattress dipped slightly when you sat on it, slipping beneath the covers as quickly as you could. It was a challenge, especially in the dark; but, that's what you got for staying up later than everyone else to shower. After the retreat, you felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of your shoulders, and walking back to the villa, you only felt positive about the relationships you had formed while being on the retreat.

As you snuggled deeped under the covers, you stilled when Lucien suddenly angled his shoulders toward you. You saw his profile, his face scrunching in the darkness. He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand -- even in the dim room, you could make out the arcs of his muscled arms reaching above him.

"Mmm... Y/N..." he drawled, his voice gravelly and thick and so, so sexy from sleep. You leaned close, delicately placing your hand on his arm and leaning in to whisper against his ear.

"I'm sorry, I tried not to wake you-" He breathed deep, shifting to roll to his other side. He faced you now, but his eyes were still shut. He didn't hesitate in reaching his arms around your middle, drawing you as close as he could get you to him.

"I missed you," he said lowly, and you grinned, running your fingers through his long tendrils. He hummed in gratification, a little smile on his sleepy face.

"I missed you too sweetheart," you say.

"Smell so good," he drabbled on, breathing deep again. You giggled quietly, moving ever so slightly out of his grasp.

"Well, I just showered, my hair is still really wet-"

His brows furrowed, and he squinted his eyes open in the dark.

"C'mere baby."

You wiggled closer, and his arms fully encased you against his chest, his fingers playing down the column of your spine. You couldn't help but melt into his touch, his intoxicating earthy scent only a reminder of the spine-tingling moment you'd allowed yourselves to indulge in the night before.

This time, instead of feeling embarassed by your actions -- you allowed yourself to drift of to the memories of those wonderful, reckless, carefree moments, only hoping that when you left Lana's retreat, the two of you could share more of the same.

･ﾟ: *✧

The music from the tiki bar was blasting so loud you felt like it had transcended through the air, in through your ears, and was now embedded in your bones. The air was thick with the scent of the sea, but the sound of the waves was much too overpowered by the bass coming through the speakers.

Bodies around you moved back and forth, jumping, sometimes tilting their heads back as they downed another shot -- you knew you should have stopped hours ago. The neon lights blended together, pink and blue and yellow in the sky. You didn't care; inside, you were warm.

After the Tito's, you had to call it. You were holding up well until Lucien appeared in the corner of your eye -- and when he started talking, those inviting lips so close, practically asking for yours -- you knew you were done for.

When his hands touched you... now that's when you formulated your little plan.

You felt so needy, and frankly, you didn't care about money. Lucien was what you wanted, and the way his cock pulsed against your stomach... all it would take is some clothing removal, and there we go, he's all yours.

"I won't be able to just talk to you. When you look. Like that." He growled, his dominance sending heat straight to my core. I shifted on the balls of my feet, the gauzy fishnet fabric stretched across my chest scratching against his.

"I can barely hear you over this music," You say loudly, biting my lip and staring up at him with wide eyes. He huffs, tearing his gaze away from where my body connected with his.

When he looked at me again, his eyes narrowed. "If we go to the pool deck, will you promise to be good?" He asked, clearly agitated that he had to hold himself back. You grinned as he fell right into your little trap.

What was even better was that no one was on the pool deck. The ligths were dimmed, and the water was illuminated by the underwater glowing bulbs. Lucien sighed, propping himself on the sofa near the edge and leaning back.

You sat on his knee, and he frowned at you.

"Y/N, we said we'd talk-"

"Let's talk," you said, your arms draping over his shoulders. You leaned in, your hands playfully squeezing his shoulderblades as you let out a light giggle.

"Y/N..."

"You're so strong," you praised, adjusting your position so you straddled him instead. He sucked in a breath, his hands braced on your hips as you wiggled around on his lap.

"Y/N." He said sternly, and you pulled back, looking straight into his eyes.

"Hmm?" You hummed, your heart sinking as his expression hardened.

"We've been so good this whole time, babe," he explained, and you reached out to toy with a strand of his hair. "We're supposed to get a light first before we... well..." he trails off. You drop your hand, sitting back on his thighs as tears well in your eyes.

"You... don't... want me like that?" You ask, your bottom lip poking out dramatically. His eyes soften at your words, the realization in your reaction hitting him in full.

"No! No sweetheart, I just..." he cups your cheek with his hand, and you lean forward once more. "I need you to know I care about more than just this, alright? I care about you." He stops short, his eyes falling as he searches for the right words. Even as you toe the line of blacking out, one thing is clear; for him, you'd give up every cent of that prize fund. It means nothing -- for you, he was the real prize, and you'd won the moment you met him on the boat the first day you'd arrived.

"Lucien," you let out a breathy moan, inching closer as you grind your hips back and forth against the tent in his shorts. His eyes flutter closed, his lips parting as short breaths escape him.

"Oh... fuck, baby," he utters, his fingers squeezing the flesh of your hips as you continue your minstrations, his erection continuing to harden. Your hands brace against his shoulders as you lean in, not giving one damn about any money or prize fund while you shamelessly open your mouth, your tongue licking a fat stripe from his collarbone to his ear.

The sound that comes from his throat can only be described as primal, his hips thrusting up off of the sofa and harshly rubbing against your clit.

"Fuck," you cry out as his gaze focuses on you once more, your cleavage on display before his very eyes. The images running through his head are absolutely mouthwatering, but something Lana would never approve of.

"If I could," he pants breathlessly, continuing to dry-fuck you. "I would have... oh Gods, Y/N... I would have bent you over... the minute we walked into... the private villa..." he groans, and you tangle your fingers through his hair.

"You... you feel so good Lucien," you squeak out, before he grabs your hips and tosses you onto your back on the cushions. You let out a devilish laugh as he leans over you, his sly smile illuminated in the iridescent moonlight.

"You're not being a very good girl," he tuts, his hands lifting the arch of your back gently before unhooking your top. You gasp as he pulls it clean off of you, tossing the heart-covered thing right into the pool.

"Lucien!"

His only response is his teeth grazing your neck, sucking gently as he plays with your boobs. His fingers pull at your already hardened nipples, pinching and bouncing them while he smirks.

"Fucking perfect," he admires, his gaze now trained on the spot just beneath the right one. His eyes flick to yours only for a moment before his lips attach to the spot, kissing and biting at the skin there.

"Lucien... ahh, oh Gods yes..." you babble on, only slightly distracted by his thigh inbetween your legs, his bent knee propping him up above you. Instinctively, you drag your clothed pussy along his thigh, the only thing separating your skin from his being your lacy underthings which are surely soaked by now.

He nips particularly hard and you squeal, your fingers tugging lightly on his roots. His eyes find yours in a disapproving look.

"Don't get greedy now, sticky fingers," he says, licking his bottom lip again at the sight of your top half bare beneath him. "I'm just making sure everyone knows who you belong to."

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

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iamheadcanontrash-deactivated · 1 year ago

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Heyy, I was wondering if you could do hcs of the acotar characters, rhys, cass, az, lucien, eris, etc. and what kinds of birthday gifts they'd get you, how they'd celebrate your birthday?? thank you so much!!

What the ACOTAR Males Would Do For Your Birthday~

Cassian: 🦇❤️

-Would do literally whatever you wished. It’s his command.

-Would sit in silence with you or take you to Rita’s, whatever you wished for that day.

-He has a tendency to put a lot of thought into his gifts, so it his gifts would revolve around your own hobbies. A music player with your favorite songs, a limited edition book series you’d mentioned months prior… fleece lined Illyrian leathers… anything.

Rhys: 🦇🌙

-Surprise parties. For sure—he wants to celebrate his Darling! 💕

-Would gift you a beautiful dress beforehand as well (made by his mother, of course. It’s unknown where his stash of dresses is.)

-Would offer some late night fun as well, iykwim 😉

Azriel: 🦇🖤

-Would want to spend quiet, 1:1 time with you on your special day. He doesn’t like crowds.

-Would plan a secluded vacation for just you and him, and you’d both dress up for a simple dinner night.

-He’d gift you a new piece of jewelry to wear (either he saw you eyeing it, or he saw it himself and it reminded him of you.)

Eris: 🍎🍂

-Listen: you are this male’s TREASURE. If his dad is still in the picture, he won’t risk anything. You will stay a secret for a while whether you like it or not. Not in a Tamlin way though—more in a “my father has killed females for loving us; you wouldn’t be an exception” way.

-He will only have 1:1 time with you. You’d be on a getaway vacation in a cabin not even his brothers know about.

-He’d gift you clothes, or an Autumn Court cloak, something thoughtful and beautiful. He’d also love to dance with you on your day.

Lucien: 🦊🌞

-This male pays attention. He only wants the best for you, he is a protector.

-Would maybe gift you a beautiful dagger he’d found while on his trips, or an expensive tea he’d caught you looking at while out and about together.

-Would also be another male that prefers his 1:1 time with you. It’s not that he hates crowds; it’s more of a trust thing. He only trusts you. He only wants to see you, be surrounded by only you.

Tamlin: 🥀💚

-Would be pretty basic about his gifts/celebrations until The Girlfriend Effect TM kicked in.

-Would gift you anything to do with a hobby you’ve expressed interest in. You gotta give him credit though, he’ll only gift you high-quality things.

-Tammy has grown to be not too fond of crowds anymore. He would enjoy a quiet dinner in his home with you, a walk through his garden. Maybe once he heals he will have a nearby village that’s thriving. He would be willing to eat dinner at a cafe in Spring Court with you, he’d learn to support small businesses.

Tarquin: 🌊🐬

-A day on the yacht? Party on da boat. He loves watching your hair blow in the wind, your smile as you watch dolphins jumping by.

-He would give you your own island if you asked. The whole ocean.

-If parties aren’t your thing, he would plan a whole dinner, a sunset boat ride just you and him, floating in the ocean while you just enjoy each others company until you want to go back. He’ll be out there all night if you so wish.

Thank you for requesting!! I hope y’all are ready for Kinktober tomorrow 😌😉

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel #azriel x reader #cassian #cassian x reader #rhysand #rhysand x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #lucien vanserra x reader #lucien vanserra #tamlin x reader #tamlin #tarquin #tarquin x reader

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shadowqueenjude · 1 year ago

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Tamlin's villain origin story part 7

Tamlin turns up the "charm" to try and convince the Summer Court to ally with him!

Tamlin POV

Tamlin’s court was very safe, but he wasn’t going to be taking any chances. Not with Lucien’s mate. He managed to bring Nesta over to keep watch over Elain and make sure she was ok. Nesta had been fine with it, as Eris was keeping everything under control in Autumn. A wedding ring glittered on her finger; she and Eris had had a clandestine marriage after Beron’s death. Perhaps Nesta felt something for the male, as she had asked Tamlin for freedom; surely, she wouldn’t do that only to leap into an arranged marriage. It wasn’t really his concern though. He had fulfilled his side of the bargain. Now she was upholding hers.

Tarquin was waiting for him. So, Tamlin closed his eyes and winnowed.

Tarquin showed no emotion as Tamlin winnowed to his doorstep. He’d been let in, had been expected. Cresseida and Varian were also there, staring down Tamlin. Tamlin ignored them. It wasn’t them he needed to convince. He bowed ever so slightly. “Tarquin.”

“Tamlin.” Tarquin waved off his companions and gestured at Tamlin to follow him deeper into the palace.

Tamlin and Tarquin didn’t say anything for long enough that it started to get awkward. So, Tamlin said, “Nice weather.” He winced and internally cursed himself. He then hastened to add, “After being in spring fields for so long, it’s refreshing to smell the ocean breeze.”

Tarquin nodded. “I feel the same way about Spring. Not so many flowers here in Summer.” Tarquin shook his head. “The only ones that will grow here are the hydrangeas, because they need so much water.” He sighed. “I just want some tulips.”

“I could…create an indoor garden for you,” Tamlin offered. “With tulips.”

“That would be nice, thanks,” Tarquin said. Those blue eyes focused on him with sudden intensity. “But we’re not here for tulips, are we? You want me to side with you against Feyre.”

Tarquin’s honesty was something Tamlin could appreciate. He wasn’t good at courtly games, not like Lucien. Tarquin was the same in that regard. So, Tamlin simply said, “Yes.”

“And why should I do that?”

“Because we’re the same.”

Tarquin scowled. “You know who else said that to me? Feyre. After she stole from me and laid my people bare to Hybern.”

“I would know,” Tamlin said quietly. “For your court was laid bare to Hybern because she shattered my court.”

Tarquin stilled. “I forgot. Sorry.”

“I was in love with Feyre,” Tamlin said. “I had told her once that against slavery, against tyranny, I would gladly go to my death, no matter whose freedom I was defending. She thought she was enough to turn me from that. And as punishment, she gladly sent my innocent people to their deaths.” Tamlin’s eyes watered, and he found he could no longer speak. Tarquin hesitantly patted his shoulder.

“I told Feyre she would be a very easy person to love. I do not blame you for falling for her. I met her once and liked her instantly…until she broke into my mind and stole from me.”

Tamlin glared at him. “Yet you retracted your blood diamonds. Why?”

Tarquin hesitated. “It was war. I thought it would be a sign of goodwill, a way to unite our people. You should talk,” he said, eyes narrowed, “did you not save Feyre in Hybern’s camp?”

Tamlin laughed bitterly. “That’s exactly how I know it’s not worth it. To help people like that. I loved her, provided her sisters with a comfortable life, and chose her over all of Prythian. It wasn’t enough for her.”

“She said you treated her like property,” Tarquin said. His eyes were cautious. Wary.

Tamlin snorted. “It’s funny that she says that when she married the male who forced her into a bargain then constantly sexually assaulted her under the mountain. I would’ve never touched her without her permission.”

Tarquin’s eyes shuttered. “Rhysand compared her breasts to apples right in front of me,” he admitted. “Yet she didn’t seem remotely bothered by it. I know if somebody had made a comment like that about me in front of a High Lord, I would’ve been humiliated.”

“Yet Feyre claims he was better than me,” Tamlin said, each word laced with leashed rage. His claws poked in and out of his knuckles. Tarquin noticed.

“I’m curious,” he said. “What have you done with my kernel of power?”

“I’m having trouble mastering the other elements,” Tamlin admitted. “So far, I haven’t really used them.”

Tarquin eyed him. “I could teach you my element if you want,” he offered.

Tamlin raised a brow. “Is that your way of saying you’re allying with me?”

“That’s my way of saying I’ll teach you water magic.”

Tamlin smiled slightly. “Come on, Tarquin. You know you want to help me. Don’t you believe in the equality of all faeries like I do?”

Tarquin’s eyes narrowed. “Feyre believes in that too.”

“The old Feyre did,” Tamlin said. “I don’t know what happened to her when Rhysand got through to her. Maybe he warped her mind or something, for I’ve never seen such a change. She happily lives in that court with 5 homes without a care in the world that Illyrian females’ wings are shredded every day, that people suffer down in the Court of Nightmares.”

Tarquin’s eyes widened. “Court of Nightmares?”

Tamlin paused for a moment, considering. In situations like this, he always asked himself: WWLD? What would Lucien do? “Do you know what goes on in the Night Court, Tarquin?”

Tarquin sighed. “I’ve been trying to get an in there for ages. Varian is the closest we’ve got, but all he can rave about is Amren. I can’t even trust him fully anymore.”

Tamlin thought for a moment. “You are…smart. Varian either does not know or does not care. But Lucien has told me. He has a residence there. He told me about how the Illyrian females get their wings cut off by the males in their family and Rhysand’s crew does nothing about it. He told me about how people suffer under terrible conditions in the Court of Nightmares, a court separate from Rhysand’s ‘idyllic’ land of Velaris. That Rhysand and co. do not care to rule over them. What kind of progressive is that? That seems like performance feminism, performance philanthropy. Would you not agree?”

Tarquin’s expression remained expressionless, though his mouth twitched slightly. “And why should I believe you?”

Come on, Tamlin told himself. WWLD? Present facts. “Somewhere deep inside, I can tell you believe me. Have you even met an Illyrian female? That seems strange, does it not?”

Tarquin replied with, “It does. But I cannot get a good read on you. I cannot tell if you’re telling the truth.”

“Put a daemati on me then,” Tamlin replied.

Tarquin’s mouth tightened. “There are no daemati here.”

Tamlin sighed. “Isn’t there any way I can convince you?”

Tarquin pursed his lips thoughtfully. “If you…gave your powers back, it may convince me.”

Tamlin sighed. “I don’t know how to do that.” He sat up. “What happened to teaching me how to use my powers?”

Tarquin sighed. “The Summer Court is in an unstable place right now. After taking in so many Spring Court refugees-“ an apologetic look at Tamlin at that- “we’re in a tough spot right now. Not enough money, not enough resources to house the refugees.”

“They will be able to return to Spring soon,” Tamlin said. “I’ve been working on rebuilding, remaking everything. It hasn’t been easy, and I wouldn’t burden you if I had a choice.”

Tarquin shook his head. “I’m happy to do it. But…I’m not sure we can afford to lose right now. So, if there is to be a fight, I would like to know that I’m fighting for the right side.”

Tamlin nodded. “I understand, after Amarantha butchered your leaders, it must be extremely difficult here. Talk to Nesta Archeron and her husband, Eris Vanserra. They rule over the Autumn Court now, and they’re allied with us. They are not like Beron; they will be able to help you.”

Tarquin bowed his head. “Thank you for the advice.”

Tamlin hesitated before offering another piece of information. “You’ll recall Nuan from the High Lord meeting. She created the faebane antidote with the help of my friend, Lucien. You will find she is now constructing wings for all Illyrian females. If you do not believe me, well you have spies, do you not? Send them to her for proof.”

Tarquin relaxed in his seat. “I’ve heard enough. I can tell you’ve taken a gamble telling me all of this, and I smell the truth in your words.”

Tamlin sighed in relief. “Thank the Mother. I was sweating in my seat here.”

Tarquin smiled slightly. “Not much for diplomacy?”

Tamlin sighed again. “I never expected to become High Lord, so I wasn’t prepared when it happened. When Lucien came to my border, running from his brothers, it was a blessing in disguise for Spring. Lucien knows everyone who is anyone. His help was crucial to helping me survive as High Lord.”

Tarquin nodded. “I am quite young for a High Lord. Just over 80. Some call me young and inexperienced, and perhaps I am, for I never expected to take on this role. I was on the bottom of a very, very long list of potential heirs. But the land chose me and I hold out hope for a day when I can declare all faeries are free in all of Prythian.”

Tamlin nodded. “Me too,” he said quietly. It was quiet for a long time. Tarquin was almost fully convinced; Tamlin knew it. Perhaps a few compliments would butter him up enough to bring him to their side, like Lucien said.

He gestured to Tarquin’s head. “Shiny crown,” he said.

Tarquin chuckled. “Thanks. It digs into my head.”

“Why don’t you just get another crown, then?”

Tarquin shrugged. “Tradition.”

Tamlin made a face. “My father was all about tradition too. Never liked him much.”

Tarquin grinned. “Nice family, I presume?”

“Oh yeah,” Tamlin replied. “My father was Beron intoxicated with faerie wine.”

Another chuckle at that. “You’re not what I expected.”

Tamlin cocked his head. “What did you expect?”

Tarquin shrugged. “Someone more…beastly.”

Tamlin smirked. “Should I be insulted?”

Tarquin shrugged. “That’s what they say about you. It’s how Feyre spoke of you, how you acted at the High Lord meeting.”

“I was angry then,” Tamlin said. “As I’m sure you were too. Even if you didn’t show it.”

Tarquin didn’t argue. “Your eyes are very green,” he said suddenly. “They’re like…leaves.”

Tamlin blushed slightly. “And yours are like water.”

Tarquin raised a brow. “Water is clear.”

Tamlin blushed even harder.

Tarquin spared him by adding, “But the water in our seas appears a very deep blue, as it reflects the sky’s color. I’m assuming that is what you meant.”

“Yes,” Tamlin said. “That is…what I meant,” he finished lamely. Cauldron help him. Tarquin didn’t seem to mind, though. “You’re not much for words, are you?” Tarquin asked.

Tamlin shrugged. “I…can find it difficult. To find the right things to say. After all this time, it’s ridiculous, I know.”

I don’t think it’s ridiculous. I think it’s rare in a male so high up as you; it makes you more earnest, trustworthy.” Tarquin stood up and offered his hand. “You have your alliance, Tamlin Fìdhle.”

To those of you wondering about his last name, it's actually fiddle in Scottish Gaelic, since the name Tamlin is Scottish haha. It's not an insult, I actually think Tamlin being a musician and playing an instrument of the people is pretty iconic which is why I did that.

#tamlin #pro tamlin #pro lucien vanserra #pro nesta archeron #anti inner circle #tarquin #pro tarquin #tarquin deserves better #tamlin x tarquin #fanfic #villain origin story

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viktoriaashleyyx · 3 months ago

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Tamtam and Sky (oc) meet with Tarquin. I am not completely happy with this one, but I have come to the realization that these will always be dialog heavy. My desire with this fic is to uplift the characters who were treated like shit by the narrative.

Also this post by @msbrownwithacrown is cannon to me and I reference it.

This is a pro Tamlin, anti Rhysand self insert revenge fic. All characters belong to SJM, but she wasn't treating them right. Tam x reader, Tam x Rhysands Sister (OC), First person narrative. This will also reference Elucien and Neris in the future but we aren't there yet. No warnings apply, I just wanted to show Tarquin some kindness.

Ch1

Ch4 > Ch6

Chapter 5:

I portaled us to the entrance of the Summer court castle in Adriata. The delicious smell of the salty sea water filled my lungs as I glanced up at the magnificent architecture that stood before me.

“You know, we were invited into the meeting room, we could've just winnowed straight in there.” Tamlin said, offering me his elbow to guide me inside.

“I never portal inside someone's home, I find it grotesquely rude.” I placed my hand on his arm gently, still admiring the beauty around me.

“We are here for a meeting with Tarquin.” Tamlin informed the guards as they led us inside and through the beautifully decorated halls. I bowed my head in thanks to them as they left us at the door to the office and we took a breath together as we entered.

Tarquin was already sitting there at the head of the magnificent table. His immaculate white locs hung down to the middle of his chest and his bright blue eyes sparkled like the sun shining off the sea. Why is every male in Prythia so damn gorgeous? He was young, not counting Feyre, Tamlin had told me he was the newest high lord, only rising to his position a few years ago, but that did not take any merit away from the power he held. A leader with a kind heart will always be more powerful than their counterpart.

“Welcome to the Summer court,” Tarquin smiled as he extended his hand to shake Tamlins, “it's good to see you getting back on your feet.”

“Thank you, friend, what wonders a woman's love can do for a broken heart,” Tamlin gushed as he looked to me. “This is my mate and other half, Sky.”

“It is nice to meet you, sir. I have heard good things about you. The Summer court is lucky to have a heart like yours leading them.” I complimented him earnestly as I turned the chair sideways to sit down.

“It is nice to meet you, Sky, but you must forgive me if I am a bit wary. The last few times a face like yours entered my court, it was left worse for wear.” He added cautiously. “I have come to realize that I handed my trust out far too easily, and it ended horribly for my people. I have been working to learn caution.”

“I understand fully. Your duty is to your people, and unfortunately I was cursed with sharing the face of an arrogant ass,” I giggled at the last part, lightening the mood.

“I will try my best to remain impartial to that,” Tarquin smiled. I, honestly, couldn't blame him for not trusting me. In his short reign he's had to rebuild his city three times. He has seen war and had precious heirlooms stolen from him.

“I appreciate it, but I have no issue putting in the work necessary to earn your trust.” I offered. He seemed pleased with my response.

“We are working hard to rebuild our court and welcome our citizens back home. I understand that the actions I took and decisions I made harmed your lands as well, Spring and Summer were hurt by the hands of the toxic relationship I was a part of, and for that I extend my most sincere apologies.” Tamlin began, Tarquin listening intensively. “And even after all of it, you welcomed my people to your lands with open arms. I can only hold hope moving forward that I can model even the slightest inch of the compassion you have in you.” I had heard him rehearsing this speech every morning since Tarquin agreed to this meeting and Tamlin was doing a beautiful job. A man willing to humble himself and give a sincere apology is so attractive.

“Yes Tarquin, we need help, we cannot rebuild the entire court on our own. We need carpenters, and supplies. We plan to pay well for these services and Spring will be forever indebted to Summer but we did not come empty handed.” I started, Tarquins gaze shifted to me, pondering our words. I pulled out the parchment I had prepared in my bag. On it wrote:

Animus meus est.

Ancilia dimittam

“Do you have a daemati that serves your court?” I asked as Tarquin studied the words on the page.

“Yes, Vili.” He answered.

“Would you please call for him?”

Tarquin sent his guard to find Vili. He looked back at me confused. “Are you not a daemati?”

“I am,” I responded, “but I think it best to have a man you trust for this demonstration.” I continued, “you see, for years, Tarquin, I have hated being a daemati. I believe your mind should be your own, and if someone wishes to change how you think, they should have to show you, in their actions. My brother has been abusing his daemati powers to control the other High Lords for his entire reign. Tamlin shared his memories of the past few years with me and I saw through his eyes at the High lords meeting. Rhysand was controlling the words expressed by Tamlin and I suspect he was doing it to you and Kalias as well. Him and his ladies stole a priceless artifact from you and you resended the blood rubies just like that?” Tarquin was invested. I assume it was Vili who entered the room and stood next to Tarquin, head held high, he didn't trust me either, with good reason.

“On the paper I have given you is a spell, I spent many years studying in the libraries of Aretuza, and that spell has been tested and shown to render daemati powers utterly useless.” Daematis were supposed to be healers of the minds, something incredibly necessary in Prythia especially after Amaranthas cruelty, but that kind of power being genetic instead of earned is how people ended up being terrorized instead of helped. I have tried for years to rid myself of the curse I feel daemati to be.

“You can use it on me. Vili, I request that you monitor my mind as Tarquin performs the spell.” Tamlin offered.

“The first line is the spell that applies a metal shield, protecting and encompassing the entire mind. The second line drops it.” I explained.

Tarquin looked at me hesitantly, then spoke the words, directed to Tamlin. “It's gone, no wall, no entrance. I cannot see anything. He might as well not even be here.” Vili noted aloud.

“I feel fine, great even. Like my head is clear.” Tamlin announced.

Tarquin then uttered the second line. “I can see it again, his walls.” Vili exclaimed, shocked.

“Why give me this information, I have yet to agree to help you?” Tarquin looked at me.

“It's not a payment, Tarquin, it is a gift. If the only thing I gain out of you having this information is that the Summer court is slightly more protected from my brother's antics, it will be payment enough.” I assured. “I do not expect a reply today, please, consult with your advisors, make a decision that you are comfortable with. I understand that this is just a stepping stone towards a hopeful friendship.”

“You have made a compelling case for an alliance, Sky. I do not wish to hold your brother's actions against you.” Tarquin consoled.

“I appreciate that,” I smiled at him, and Tamlin squeezed my hand. “I would like to spend some time this afternoon at the wonderful shops you have in the town square, but, if you would prefer us to head straight home we will.”

“You are more than welcome to enjoy the city, as long as what ever you happen to leave with is acquired honestly.” Tarquin said with a knowing smile. “However, I must warn you that my people might not be the most accepting of you, they have suffered great losses.” He added softly. “All I am saying is, if you want a true Summer experience, you might want to utilize that shapeshifter you have next to you. Just for right now.”

“Oh, that is a good idea.” I pondered and turned to Tamlin, “help me blend in, just for today.”

He was hesitant at first, but with a gentle hand I felt his magic encompassing me. I looked into the large mirror on the wall. I was still myself, just less Rhysand-looking. My wings were gone, and my violet eyes turned to a soft light brown. Changed, just enough, as to not worry the people of Summer.

“Perfect, let's go shopping.” I smiled. We both bowed to Tarquin as a sign of respect and made our way to the pier.

♡♡♡♡♡

Tarquin had invited us to join him to dinner at one of the beach view restaurants on the pier. As the High Lord of Summer, him and his company naturally experienced certain perks amongst the restaurant owners.

We sat at a large table on the patio, and I was entranced by the view of the sea, the waves crashing into the shore and the various colors out where the sea met the sky. It was an effort to pay attention to the conversation taking place between the two High Lords.

“I'm glad you're enjoying the view, Sky. I can still sit and stare at it for hours myself.” Tarquin doing his best to include me, offering understanding at my fascination. “I was still young when my family and I were trapped under the mountain for all those years, as a child of Summer, being denied these sights was just one of the many tortures I endured.”

I offered him an understanding smile, and reached to squeeze his hand. Amarantha truly hurt so many of us. Tamlin had shared his memories of the few months he spent under the mountain, while I practiced the mental healing the daemati powers were supposed to be used for. Tarquin had lived that for 50 years. “To come out the other side, still holding softness and kindness in your heart, shows me just how powerful you truly are. There is so much strength in being gentle.”

“I can only imagine the experiences you've faced that have made you this wise.” Tarquin returned the smile, then turned to Tamlin, “You are a lucky man, Tamlin. I hope to have someone by my side someday that can match her beauty and grace, if the cauldron sees me fit.”

“My advice to you, don't wait on the mating bond. Tamlin and I fell in love a long time before it snapped. Put yourself out there, fall in love because you choose to, not because the cauldron thought you would make an interesting pair. Sure, you're gonna get your heart broken at times, love is messy and beautiful, painful and wonderful. That's what makes it worth it. A woman wants to know you've chosen her out of your own free will, not because some outside force tied you to her. She wants to feel loved because you want her to.”

Tarquin pondered my words for a moment. “To fall in love with the possibility it will fail is a scary thought.”

“Oh absolutely, but have the courage to do it anyway.”

The conversation ended as the waitresses brought out the feast Tarquin had ordered for us. Crawfish, shrimp, potatoes, corn, eggs, and crab legs boiled to perfection and seasoned perfectly and generously. I was happy enough that I didn't have to cook tonight, but this looked divine. I had always heard that Summer court had the best food. The rumors were true.

Tag list: @ladythornofrivia @rcarbo1 @rin-u-pos @knoxic

#pro tamlin #anti rhysand #tamlin x reader #tamlin x you #tamlin x oc #pro tarquin #tarquin #tarquin stans #tamlin #acotar tamlin #tamlin fanfiction #tarquin fanfiction #acotar tarquin

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ghostedgrim · 30 days ago

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How do y'all think each of the High Lords would react to learning we write fanfiction about them? Like we know Rhysand would absolutely adore and brag about it. But what about the others?

Lucien, Azriel, and Cassian can be included in this debate. Same for Feyre, Nesta, Elain, Gwyn and Emerie

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btsbabe7 · 2 months ago

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Some of y’all think Tamlin is a red flag, yet are currently dating men with more. Be safe my babes 😭🚩

He just needed some therapy & true love tbh 😪

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achaotichuman · 4 months ago

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Naked Poetry

Okay so, this is not finished at all. *But* I am a baby smut writer and this is some of the best I've ever written in my opinion and it is just rotting in my docs. So I'm posting it to see if anyone likes it!

Summary

The Seasonal Courts are gathering for an annual meeting. With tensions growing between the Courts, they aim to settle what they can and allow the magic to return to harmony as it was before the Curse of Amarantha.

But after so long away, the magic of each Court is writhing for its sister. From Spring's weakened magic, the power of the Seasons is demanding rejuvenation.

Magic comes with a price, and this is theirs.

Title from Naked Poetry by SKYLAR would recommend listening to whilst reading.

Read on Ao3 or below the cut.

Explicit NSFW

You make me feel, like someone I was before

You make me feel, like the lady I adore

Routine meeting. Kallias watched the line of trees outside the carriage turn into a haze of orange and red as the carriage sped through at unnatural speeds. He remained motionless, perfectly poised even alone, eyes closed, head held high and hands folded into his lap.

At normal times, Viviane would accompany him on these meetings, unfortunately her sister had a bout of sickness and Viviane wished to remain by her side. The thought of his mate with her shimmering gaze and banner of hair brought a smile to his face, that he quickly squashed, they were on Beron Vanserra’s territory. He would gravitate to any weakness he smelled, like a shark searching the ocean for blood.

The Seasonal Courts met every century or so, to discuss the magic of the land. As tight or tense as connections could be, they orbited each other. Like stars whirling around each other, they depended on the magic of the other lands.

It was a week-long trip. The first few days they would discuss the state of their Courts and how this affected the others, before discussing resolutions, and the last days would delve deep into the magic of each individual Court. Often on the last day there were plenty of eye-wateringly boring speeches from historians and scholars about the carefully crafted magic systems they all had at their feet. A lecture in disguise, a snap at the High lords to not kill each other.

Kallias supposed it was necessary.

Particularly for the Vanserra’s.

They had never been able to keep their hands to themselves.

You make me feel, like my feet don’t touch the floor

Brush me down, oh, down in designer

Bit of charm with his one class liners

“Don’t sweat it Tam, you’ll be fine.” Lucien said, adjusting his collar and jacket. The perfectly pristine emissary shot him a cocky grin and a wink, “We’re just in a room with some arrogant males that need a swift kick in the ass to not just hop around alliances.”

“You mean we’re in a room with Kallias, Tarquin and a male that needs a swift kick in the ass to not just hop around alliances.” Tamlin replied with an eyeroll.

Lucien sighed wistfully, “Wish I had been there, heard you dragged him out by his neck to get Autumn to fight in the War on Prythian’s side.”

Tamlin swallowed when he remembered that day. He had been in bloodied armour, stained red with the blood of Hybern’s soldiers. He had thrown the doors of the Forest House throne room wide open. Eyes blazing, tongue lashing behind his sharp teeth, claws bursting through his knuckles so quickly they drew blood which dripped to the ground in time with the fast beating of his heart.

Tamlin had roared for Beron to get off his ass and fucking help. Beron had nearly refused as he drew fire to his hands.

Tamlin then snuffed the oxygen from the fire and they had gone out. Beron’s eyes had been wide, but not with fear. He drew more fire which Tamlin put out again.

The blond had stormed up to the throne. All but throwing off the guards who tried to stop him.

He had stood above Beron Vanserra. The male held up his large hand between them and sparked a flame.

Tamlin had shown his fangs as he snuffed it out again.

Beron had tilted his head, then smiled like a predator.

“Eris, get my armies ready, we’re going to War.” Beron had said.

Tamlin had looked over his shoulder to see a wide-eyed Eris standing in the threshold. He had drawn in a breath before murmuring a respectful “Yes, my Lord.”

Then he quickly ran off to prepare.

Beron had risen to his feet. Standing near pressed against the High lord of Spring, that grin only widening.

Tamlin had nearly faltered in his breath. Beron was taller, but they were the same in build. The Autumn Lord had taken the younger’s chin in between his fingers, leaned down and whispered, “You would’ve been wasted on her, once you’re done with the hero act come find me. I’ll show you how the High lord of Autumn plays.”

Tamlin had shivered, but not from fear. Never from fear.

“Hey! Tamlin!” Lucien snapped his fingers in Tamlin’s face, the blond was thrown from his memories, he lifted an eyebrow as he looked at Lucien.

The carriage bumped and jostled, but Lucien still remained somehow unaffected. Perfect, from his falling hair to his pressed suit.

The Fox leaned back in his seat and grinned, “Went to Tamlin world did you?”

“I-I- Tamlin world?!” Tamlin stammered.

Lucien cackled as he flicked Tamlin’s nose, “Yeah, Tamlin world.” His voice changed to a much higher, mocking version, “Oh I remembered something nostalgic, so I had to retreat to my little Tamlin world where it’s all meadows and deer; and I lie under willow trees, listening to the wind through the grass-”

Tamlin lightly smacked him on the side of his head, Lucien laughed so hard his face turned red.

Tamlin had flushed a splotchy shade of pink, he told Lucien to stop being an idiot, to focus.

They were here for the meeting of the seasonal Courts. Tamlin couldn’t say he was looking forward to seeing Beron again, to seeing any of them again. His Court had finally returned to a state he could call somewhat working.

He finally understood why many of his sentries had turned and left without a word.

Feyre had assaulted them through her mind. Violated and twisted their memories, they’re very minds she turned into her playthings against her will. The disgust he had felt never ended. Tamlin had half a mind to storm Night and demand a reckoning upon them all. For ever daring to harm his sentries, his friends, in such a vile way.

He had found some healers from Day that specialised in undoing such horrible scars to the mind. So far a few had returned to their senses, still they were wary, untrustful, of him, and rightfully so. At least it was of their own accord. None of them though, still loved or cared for the cursebreaker. All of them spat her name like it was a drugged drink.

Tamlin crossed his arms as his gaze followed the never-ending winding roads of Autumn. He looked over to Lucien who watched the scenery as well, a soft longing in his eyes. The longing of a child wishing to return home, yet he smiled like he knew it never could be.

Lucien had come back to Spring one day, and Tamlin had fallen to his knees begging for forgiveness. That night they talked more than Tamlin had ever spoken to anyone in his life. Words were softly hummed and screamed, tears were shed and wiped away, snarling frowns were as much a presence as were soft, happy smiles.

It wasn’t perfect, nor had he made up for it, maybe he never would. But it was a start, and Tamlin felt like he had his friend back.

Maybe it was another apology itself, but Tamlin reached out his hand and took Lucien’s in his own. Quickly looking out the other window as he felt Lucien’s gaze snap to his own.

Tamlin stared at the orange, the red, and the yellow. He felt the piercing gaze of his friend.

Then he felt a slight tightening in his hand as Lucien returned to gesture. When Tamlin glanced over, Lucien was once again looking out the window. ‘

Tamlin looked back at the treelines, and a smile adorned his face.

He curled his fingers around Lucien’s, stroking the soft skin with his thumb. Lucien returned to soft treatment.

Then it came into view. The Forest House loomed above them. Entrenched in dark branches and Autumn dry leaves that swayed in the wind like hands dragging along the brick of the House. Wood and stone were the materials of choice. But there was an elegant touch with the large pillars that supported the ceiling. The polished, refined wood lavished the House in elegance.

Tamlin remembered how his feet had thundered against the tiles of the Forest House. He felt the same shiver of power that rippled over him as they passed the tightly furled wards. Lucien gripped his hand tighter, Tamlin stroked the back of his palm.

The carriage began to walk around the large fountain in the centre of the gravel path to the looming oak doors.

“Ready?” Tamlin asked.

Lucien finally met his eyes and grinned, “Born ready.”

***

Eris slicked back a fallen hair. The short red pushed back, he adjusted his shirt, then fitted his waistcoat on, before shrugging his long jacket over his shoulders and smoothing it over. He pulled several ruby encrusted gold rings over his long pale fingers.

“How do I look brother?” Eris asked, eyes still locked in on his own reflection as he peered at himself.

“Like a polished gold ring with a raw diamond for its gem.” Silas responded.

Eris’ smile turned to a cruel grin, “That’s what I’m going for.”

He turned around, jacket snapping behind him. Silas too was dressed for the occasion, fiery eyes piercing, lithe body wrapped in layers of gold and red.

Eris’ palette of choice was swirling gold and red on black. He looked gilded, carved by Gods and decorated in the finest of robes.

The second eldest Vanserra fell into step with his brother. Both faces falling into the haughty looks of Autumn naturally. Their veins lighting up with fire, turning their eyes a deep shade of burning amber that resembled liquid flame.

Like heartbeats in sync with their own, as the two approached the meeting room, the two missing brothers joined the lineup. Brom, the third-eldest, fell to his left. Albus, the second-youngest, stood tall and proud beside Silas.

The doors opened, the three younger brothers took a slight step back so Eris took the lead. A perfected song and dance that reverberated through their very bones. Like the siblings shared an incarnate rhythm that thundered in their chests. Their very breath hung on each other.

Blood pounded through their heads, hands and legs. Holding them like leashes on dogs, holding the power behind their very step in a tight grip so as to not allow the four to descend into mindless chaos.

Magic and flame and darkness, it writhed between the offspring of Autumn like a wild, untamable wildfire. A part they played so well it was no longer a part, another way of life, a comfort as caring as a shark in a frenzy but as familiar as their mother’s arms.

The dance nearly faltered as power that did not join the song writhed from one side of the room. Eris’ eyes found Lucien’s before he gazed upon anyone else.

For a second, for one precious, treasured second, Lucien’s remaining eye lit up with the fire of Autumn. Eris saw it, his blood beginning to boil as his body begged and screamed and cried to fall into step with his brothers. To complete the lineup by joining Brom’s side.

Lucien looked away before Eris could let out his breath.

Eris then faced the rest of them.

Beron sat at the head of the table. Eyes lazily falling upon Eris and the rest of his breed. For a second, the same happened, his eyes flashed with amber, power responding to power. Eris turned his eyes to Beron’s right, where Kallias’ tight, tense, near glare rested on Eris. Eris just smirked back at the pretty white-haired male. Kallias loosened a breath like it was pain just looking at the Autumn Heir.

Then Eris looked over at the golden male beside Lucien. Tamlin didn’t even look at Eris, rather his emerald eyes gazed at a painting across from him. His posture slack, expression and shoulders loose. Tamlin played the part of the eased, uncaring Lord well. But it wouldn’t work here. The fire the male kept under his skin would be drawn out in response to the burning flames surrounding him. Like fire licking at the wood burying it, stoked to immeasurable temperatures by wild flames surrounding it.

“Eris,” Beron drawled, gesturing to the end of the table and the chairs around it. The brothers waited behind him as Eris took the first chair, exactly opposite of Beron. Then on cue, they stalked with their heads in a slight bow to their own chairs. Kallias sat right beside Albus who paid the Winter Lord no mind. An empty chair separated Lucien and Brom.

“Tarquin is not present,” Kallias noted.

“Tarquin will not be present for these next two days,” Beron notified him. Lips curling in disgust, baring white teeth as the Autumn Lord thought on the young Lord of Summer. Waving his hand in dismissal, “Something about his mother dying.”

Tamlin snapped in a breath, eyes quickly flicked to him as the male’s mask cracked ever so slightly. From where he was, Eris saw Lucien’s hand quickly flick out to Tamlin’s.

Rumours had spread of the Spring Lord finding comfortable company in the arms of the Summer Lord. Rumours had spread that this… company had taken a turn for the sexual. Eris supposed this confirmed nothing, but it was a more than interesting reaction.

“We will begin the meeting without Summer.” Beron said, with a flick of his hand, scrolls filled with the delicate information of the magic of the Seasonal Courts appeared, laid across the table, “Let the meeting of the Seasonal Courts begin.”

Eye to eye, he couldn’t last a minute

But I stole his soul just to watch him finish

The sun had set by the time the meeting came to a close. Kallias felt like yawning, but he stopped himself. His fingers twirled a pencil in his hand and his white eyes flicked up to the male across from him. Tamlin’s eyes were lost on the page he was holding, eyes flicking over the words with a deep concentration Kallias lost half an hour ago.

Beron was reading over something to the room. The Vanserra brothers present down the table nodded along. All jotting down the odd note, this was just the first day, just an outline of what needed to be covered. Lucien and Tamlin continued to work with each other like they were connected by invisible strings. One picked up a paper, one put one down, one jotted down a note before passing the pen to the other. They read scrolls before passing them along.

It was intriguing to see just how well they worked. How they seemed to not just thrive together, but depended on each other to work properly at all.

Beron’s eyes trailed across the room, then they landed on Tamlin. The amber pressing into the pale skin of the Spring Lord. Tamlin didn’t notice the blazing gaze on him as he was too caught in the paperwork at his fingertips. But Lucien looked up, if Kallias wasn’t mistaken, his lips nearly pulled back into a snarl.

Beron saw the twitch in his face. Kallias almost leaned closer. To see the flaming amber, matching that of his son’s. Power thrummed through the room. Kallias shifted, his own magic flaring at it. An automatic response.

Tamlin now lifted his eyes as he too felt the sudden shift in energy. The brothers all glanced around as power began to throb, like a heartbeat beginning to quicken its pace until its pounding was all you could feel in your body.

Beron’s eyes swirled like fire in a pool. He dragged that burning gaze to Kallias, and Kallias swallowed hard. Blue frost began to creep over his skin, delicate as spiderwebs, but reaching its roots deep into his flesh like a mushroom spreading its spores.

“I suppose that brings day one to a close.” Beron murmured. Breaking the spell of power that had washed over the High lords.

Eris cleared his throat from the other end of the table. Tamlin looked over towards him, as Lucien dragged his eyes to Kallias. The Winter Lord leaned back in his chair, regarding the emissary with little emotion. Lucien seemed to peer behind the cold mask, as if he were drawing a curtain back ever so slightly to gaze upon what was behind it.

Kallias shut him out with a hardening of his face before he raised himself from the table, overlooking the Lords gathered, “I assume we have been provided with quarters, Beron?”

Beron raised an eyebrow, eyes turning from burning amber to a mellow hazel, he gestured to the door and as if on cue, a maid walked through, “You shall be escorted, Lord Kallias.”

Kallias nodded tightly, as he did, Tamlin and Lucien stood from their seats, Tamlin murmured his thanks to Beron for hosting, then the three followed the maid from the meeting room. Leaving Beron Vanserra with his four dangerous sons.

As the meeting doors shut, their silence grew thicker. The three followed the High Fae maid through the winding hallways and dowing curling staircases.

Lucien’s posture slackened ever so slightly, his gaze tipping from one spot to the other, walking with leisure. Kallias supposed this place had once been his home, so he knew the halls like the back of his hand.

The Fox leaned in and whispered something into his High lord’s ear. Tamlin stifled a laugh by biting down hard on his bottom lip.

Magic seemed to crackle and pop in the air as the Winter Lord watched with fascination as those sharp teeth dug into the plush, rosy flesh.

Tamlin whispered something back, as he did, Lucien’s face began to flush red, then his eyes…

Kallias straightened his back as Lucien’s eyes flicked to him, just for a moment. A second held in the air, dangling between them like fire reaching out from the borders of Autumn and lingering on the cold snow. Those eyes held the same burning flame that had been there in the meeting room earlier.

Lucien quickly snapped his gaze back to Tamlin and whispered something in a low voice. Kallias found himself straining to listen, frost again creeping up his hands, now at his elbows, covering his forearms in spidering blue.

Tamlin laughed and Kallias ever so quickly glanced to see the Spring Lord’s face was now red as Lucien’s.

They finally made it to a hallway, Kallias spotted two doors, the maid first led Lucien and Tamlin to the first room. They both thanked her as she opened the door, then they looked over at Kallias. Tamlin smiled kindly and said, “Pleasure to meet with you once more, Kallias.”

The way he murmured his name, in a soft, respectful tone. A stark difference to the near child-like way he had been whispering with Lucien earlier. Kallias felt a shiver run down his spine, he straightened once again and bowed his head ever so slightly, “The pleasure was all mine Lord Spring, and Lord Lucien.”

“Please, Kallias,” Lucien said, with a daring smirk, “It’s Tamlin and Lucien.”

Kallias’ eyes nearly went wide, he looked quickly to Tamlin, expecting swift correction on the Lord’s part, for Lucien daring to speak for the High lord.

Instead Tamlin just grinned and turned into the room. Lucien right behind him.

When the door shut, Kallias felt the click echoing through the halls in his very bones.

He must’ve been staring at the door, for the maid had to clap her hands for the Winter Lord to remember he was being escorted somewhere. Quickly he moved towards his room. Right beside Tamlin and Lucien’s.

When he walked past the threshold of his room. All he could think about was the idea of Tamlin and Lucien shrugging off those suffocating jackets and tunics. Maybe their shirts sticking ever so slightly to their too hot skin. Long, lithe fingers moving to the buttons before unclipping each buckle one by one. Eventually sliding the fabric off their chests and shoulders-

Kallias smacked the side of his head, quickly shaking off the thoughts and replacing them by turning to a large dark oak drawer set with a platter of cheese and fruits, a glass with a bottle of red.

The Winter Lord poured himself a glass before finding a large, plush chair by the crackling fire. After drinking half the glass in two gulps, he leaned back and closed his eyes. Smiling as he pulled on the mating bond and felt the joy of his mate.

Now he’s putty in my hands, hedonistic

Graffitied down with my lipstick

“I mean Viviane didn’t choose wrong is all I’m saying.” Lucien laughed as he shrugged off his jacket. He looked over his shoulder to see Tamlin blushing from Lucien’s earlier comments still. He smirked, but the anxiety no doubt coursing through him was still present.

“How can someone look so powerful but…” Tamlin cursed, snapping his finger, he mumbled something in his native tongue before asking, “What’s the word?”

“Pretty?” Lucien lifted an eyebrow.

“No… uh, ethereal!” Tamlin said, a quick victory snap of his fingers before a dreamy look cast over his eyes, “Ethereal.”

Lucien shrugged, “Same same.”

“No, pretty is Albus Vanserra.” Tamlin smirked, “Your brother is very pretty-”

Lucien threw a pillow at him, Tamlin laughed as he let it flop to the ground before taking off his own jacket and beginning to unclasp his waistcoat. Lucien followed suit, peeling away the layers of his form-fitting wear. Until he was bare to the night’s air, warmed by the fireplace.

Lucien and Tamlin flopped onto the bed, kicking off their boots and turning over to stare at the ceiling.

As the silence weighed in, the night’s crushing quiet blanketed them in the events of the day. Lucien finally broached the subject he had been distracting Tamlin from with less than innocent comments about Kallias and playful teasing.

“Tarquin’s mother-”

“He didn’t tell me.” Tamlin whispered in a small voice.

Lucien quickly took Tamlin’s hand in his own. Tarquin and Tamlin had been developing their friendship over the past months. What started as a potential alliance between Courts had turned into a friendship, and if what Tamlin had said was true, they were beginning to broach into something more than just friends.

Lucien felt a stab of writhing jealousy everytime he watched Tamlin give Tarquin those big bright eyes, but he ignored it in favour of being happy seeing his friend happy.

“I know we aren’t… together but I-... is it stupid that I want him to tell me when things like this are happening to him? I mean I-I’ve met his mother and she’s such a lovely person, I don’t want to be blind-sided when I hear of this kind of thing. Least of all I want to hear it from Beron.”

Lucien felt shimmering rage at the mere mention of his name.

The eyes of amber and liquid fire were reflected in Lucien’s own as Beron turned his gaze on Tamlin. Not looking at his face, but rather the milky skin of his neck. Burning gaze branding a mark on each freckle, mapping him like a good view from the window.

Lucien had caught the eyes of his father and nearly snarled. Nearly growled. He had to swallow the sound as magic writhed under his skin, ready to burst through every pore until he turned into power itself.

Tamlin hadn’t noticed the silent battle that occurred, if one could call it that. Lucien felt like he was losing that battle. Like a soldier with their armour dinged and bloody before a King lounging untouched on his throne. Regarding him with nothing but an amused grin before his eyes turned back to the one Lucien tried to protect.

Nothing could be done to stop the magic that erupted in that room. Capturing everyone in the spell of power. Brom near him had twitched, eyes moving quickly over everyone. Albus had glared right at Lucien as if he were to blame for the sudden eruption. And Eris had tensed and looked to Silas who quickly scanned the three High lords.

Lucien had looked up to see Kallias breathing harshly through his nose. Near shivering from the magic that called directly for his own.

This meeting was more than a meeting.

Lucien hadn’t ever been to one, but he felt it. The need for restoration of magic. Each High lord’s power beckoned for its sister Court. Like a siren lounging lazily on a sun-baked rock and hollering for men on ships to join her in the water.

Lucien felt like an outsider, at the same time he had writhed at it, as fire leapt in his veins. Boiling him from the inside out. He knew the others felt the same.

“What do I do?” Tamlin asked, breaking Lucien from his spell.

Lucien squeezed his hand, “Maybe he’s still shocked, Tam. It could’ve happened recently and he had to give the reason to Beron to explain his absence.”

Tamlin released a breath, then turned his head on the pillow to face Lucien, “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

“I’m just worried about him. I… I don’t want him to be facing this alone.” Tamlin whispered into the space between them.

Lucien took Tamlin’s hand in his and squeezed, “He’s lucky to have you.”

Tamlin scoffed, Lucien just squeezed his hand again. Tamlin smiled at him, then looked down at his collarbone, “I don’t know about that.”

Lucien leaned forward until his forehead was pressing against Tamlin’s, “I know that, more than you think.”

Tamlin playfully shoved him away, but Lucien didn’t miss the way the High lord’s face burned red, “Sap.”

They laughed then fell into the routine of undressing and redressing for bed. Washing up, showering, possibly getting distracted with a game of tossing cheese across the room and seeing if the other could catch it in their mouths.

Eventually they were drawing the curtains and snuffing out the Faelights, with only the embers of the fire to light the room they wrapped themselves in the duvet. Tamlin shivered before huddling closer to Lucien. Lucien, despite usually running hot himself, pulled Tamlin in close. Holding him tightly, until rain and roses was all he could smell. His face was buried in blond curls that he could barely see in the dark. Calloused hands twisted in the back of his silk shirt. The tip of his nose burying in the crook of Lucien’s neck.

They pushed and writhed against each other as they settled themselves. It was all Lucien could do to not lose himself to the scents, the hands, the hair, the lips pressing against the exposed skin just beneath the bones of his neck.

Tamlin settled himself with a leg thrown over Lucien’s hip, pulling him closer in a half asleep daze. The blond murmured in a sleep-ridden voice, “I’m so glad you’re with me again.”

“Me too, Tam.” Lucien whispered into the night, “Me too.”

***

Eris didn’t know how to feel as he recovered from the onslaught of magic that had just assaulted his body. He turned to his other brothers who had been thrown from their own rhythms. Looking to the eldest for answers. Eris had none to give.

Beron watched them. Eyes still blazing with amber. Swirling like wine in a glass. He tracked each of them. The brothers held their breath. Preparing for anything that might be thrown to them. A punishment, screaming, yelling, rage and anger.

Yet the High lord just leaned back into his chair, his lips curling into something that was too wicked and cruel to be a smile, but not at all what they expected. The Vanserra brothers all shared a quick glance, their eyes no longer burning with the heart of Autumn. Rather they kept their eyes low, their heads bowed respectfully.

The next words out of Beron’s mouth were ones no one could predict, “Well done, boys. You may depart.”

Albus’ eyes widened by a fraction, he looked towards Eris, cocking his head in Beron’s direction, as if saying, ‘Is he being serious?”

Eris adjusted himself in his seat, “Father, is there anything else to discuss before we depart?”

Beron planted both forearms onto the table, eyes glazing over them. Wicked grin growing, “Perhaps there is but one thing.”

The brother’s strained to listen, the slight pause making them curl their toes in anxiety. Eris’s skin pricked under the heavy, judging gaze of his father.

Beron appeared to consider his next words before he tilted his head, a cat toying with its food, “After a second consideration, you will find out later tonight. All of you, return to your quarters.”

A breath was held, gazes were met, heads were lowered in a bow. Eris rose to his feet, followed silently by his brothers. The burning gazes returned. Power rippled through the Forest House as the High lord’s power drummed through it’s chosen High lord, and reached out to the next generation.

Eris shivered, he couldn’t help it, but he bowed his head with a murmured thanks to the High lord. Turning on his heels he strode for the door, arms tense at his sides. All magic felt useless in the stifling air. Like he was breathing in ash, desperate for oxygen.

He heard the footsteps of his brothers. They should sound like a single heartbeat falling into one, instead their steps faltered. The dull thuds sounding like metal clashing to the ground for Eris. Weakness. Easy to spot, easy to prey on.

They walked to their quarter in the Forest House. Close to each other. And close to the guests now in the House.

“That was…” Albus started.

Eris shook his head, teeth grinding, “Leave it, Albus.”

The Autumn Heir looked ahead, but he could feel the eyes of his brothers, all glancing at each other. Determining their next move.

“Did anyone else feel that… power?” Silas asked. He asked the group, but Eris knew the question was directed at him. Solely at him. They had all felt the glimmer of power.

Eris had thought it was a fear tactic from Beron. But when he had looked at Beron, then Tamlin and Kallias…

There was no fear, only a strange curiosity, as their magic responded to one another.

“I fear…” Brom said, in a low, resounding voice, “That this meeting is more than just discussing the magic.”

Eris stopped, his brothers breaked instantly.

Whipping around, the Heir’s eyes glowed with a deep amber, fire swirling in honey, “What does that mean, Brom?”

Brom didn’t falter, not for a second. He lifted his head ever so slightly, “Spring is still recovering. Amarantha threw the magic off when she enslaved us. The power of the Seasonal Courts I fear will…”

“Spit it out, brother.” Eris advanced forward. Brom was taller, much taller, but Eris still managed to glared down at him.

“I fear it will demand regeneration.”

Eris blinked, for once, taken by surprise. It lasted mere seconds. Fire returning to his eyes, he took hold of his brother’s chin.

“What does that mean?”

“The magic will want to interact with its sister magic to regenerate itself. Call it magic fertilisation.” Brom shrugged, holding eye contact with his eldest brother.

Albus put a hand on his hips, head falling to the side, “What does magical fertilisation entail?”

“Well little brother, you know of Calanmai, do you not?” Brom pulled away from Eris’ burning hand, rolling his head over his shoulders to smirk at the second-youngest Vanserra.

Albus scrunched up his nose, thinking back on the sex rite and what it meant. The fertilisation of magic in the Spring Court.

Then horror washed over the group. Lapping at their edges like the sea licking the shoreline. It curled low in the pits of their stomachs as the wide, orange eyes all fell on Brom’s face.

No one said a word as the implications of what Brom had said sunk in. Brom just shrugged.

“We’d best sleep. Perhaps, if we’re lucky, I’m incredibly incorrect.”

“And if you’re not.” Silas murmured in a tight, tense voice.

“Then we are going to need that rest.”

Red shade on his neck, artistic

A bit of class, but I kept it cryptic

For round two, a bit of juice and biscuits

With a french tongue, called him the cunni-linguist

It started at three in the morning.

A flush spread up his skin, slowly but surely overtaking him. Tamlin groaned into the hard thing his face was pressed against. When he blinked his bleary eyes open, his hands began to regain their feeling. He arched his back, curving his spine as he drew in a breath.

Settling against the weight in front of him, he realised what his arms were wrapped around was in fact a person. And his face was pressed against a chest. A very, very hot chest.

He stilled, body freezing, unable to process anything until Lucien took a shuddering breath. Skin heating. Getting hotter and hotter underneath Tamlin’s arms.

Tamlin went to pull away, to get his hands, his chest, his leg which was slung over Lucien’s waist off, of the Fire lord. But he couldn’t move. Not even his unfaithful tongue would pick up from its place behind his teeth.

Lucien moaned, it was a soft, gentle sound that would’ve been lost to night if there was even the slightest of sounds. But there was not, and Tamlin found himself drowning in the breathy whimper that followed.

All blood began to rush. Veins expanding, heart pounding, a ringing in his ears drowned out anything else.

Then Lucien was too hot. His skin scalding, beads of sweat dripping from his face and down his neck. Spilling across the fabric beneath them. There was heat and heat and heat.

Burning, burning, burning. He was burning, everything was throbbing, and he couldn’t fucking move. Like something was chaining him there against his will. Like something wouldn’t allow him to leave this moment. To cool down.

Nothing, like ropes had been tied around them. Tamlin closed his eyes, breaths beginning to come out in quick, rough pants as the burning spread through his body. Boiling his blood from the inside out.

“Fuck.” Lucien murmured under his breath, still locked in whatever dream had affected him this way.

Then something thick and hard pressed against Tamlin’s thigh and the whole world zeroed into the feeling.

Finally Tamlin could move. He sat up with a gasp, throat screaming for water. Ears ringing. Vision blurry and muscles slow and sore. His arms, head, legs all throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

Lucien gasped into the pillow beneath him. Quickly getting up on his elbows. With a snap the fire was lit and Tamlin was staring down at Lucien, with Lucien staring up at him. Sweat still dripped from his neck, falling in clear pearls underneath his sleep shirt. Eyes wide-blown, his chest heaved as he stared at Tamlin, who didn’t feel like he looked much better. A strand of blond hair stuck to the side of his face. There was a sticky feeling all over his body. His knees shook underneath him.

And. Everything. Was. Fucking. Burning.

His skin heated to immeasurable temperatures. Body pulsating. His fingers twitched. And nothing could put off the fever overtaking him.

Tamlin shuffled back away from Lucien. And Lucien quickly darted up. As if forced forward by an invisible string. Tamlin nearly reeled back but managed to keep himself right, only a sharp gasp escaping his lips.

Lucien was panting. Sweat dripping like blood onto the bed.

“Fuck.” He croaked hoarsely. And Tamlin’s eyes, the traitors eyes, they travelled below the heaving expanse of his chest.

He nearly snapped into a too sharp breath again. Lucien’s bulge pressed against dark red silk. Dribbles of precum already soaking the fabric. As quickly as Tamlin’s eyes snapped back up, Lucien still noticed the quick dart of his eyes.

Lucien swayed, face too pale, body quivering with the intensity of his hard-on, “Tam, fuck I…”

“You need water.” Tamlin said suddenly.

Lucien blinked, then he licked his dry lips, coating the soft flesh in a soft shine. Tamlin pressed his thighs together.

“Yeah.” Lucien conceded.

Tamlin didn’t waste another precious moment, gathering the shreds of his strength. Tamlin slipped away from the comfort of the bed. His thighs sticking together from sweat collected between them. He swallowed hard.

“I’ll be right back.” Tamlin told Lucien, then with a quick glance over his shoulder, he fled from the room.

The door clicked shut behind him. And Tamlin felt stuck in his skin. Like he was moving in the haze of a dream, he could barely see the world around him as it swirled like wine in a glass. The floor was miles away and his head was turning blurry.

He felt drunk, but not the pleasurable kind. The kind when you woke up in the morning with your head caught between the dazed world of not being able to think but bordering on the headache sure to come.

He hadn’t realised he was running until he tripped over his own feet and collapsed to the ground.

Tamlin cried out as his knees hit stone, cold and rough. Then he slipped even further and fell down what in hindsight were stairs.

He dug his fingertips into the wall beside him, fingers giving way to blood. He still fell, until he eventually hit flat ground again. He fell flat down on his back. Staring up at a swirling ceiling.

Even with the pain in his legs, back and pounding on his fingertips, it only served to disorient his mind even further, now the pounding of his body focused on one spot. Right between his legs, his cock pounded. Precum already dripping from the tip.

Tamlin moaned, breathing was hard, like there was a weight on his chest, something strangling his heart and forcing all blood to remain directed to his groin. Making him light-headed and thinking so hard.

“I was hoping you would be the first to find here.” A wicked voice crooned from the room. Wrapping Tamlin in a haze of undeniable pleasure.

He whined.

Then shot up as he realised he was not alone.

Around him was just swirling darkness. So thick he could taste the cold on his tongue. Pain, sharp and undeniable, shot up from the space between his legs and Tamlin swallowed a sob at the unattended hardness.

A snap reverberated through the room, through his bones like fiddle strings being plucked. A soft light spilled into his vision.

A torch had been lit. Tamlin looked around and realised where he was.

Some kind of a dungeon. Chains, swords and other very sharp and polished weapons hung from the walls. It looked unused, as not a stain marred the floors.

Tamlin could still barely see past the swirls of his vision. Then that deliciously powerful voice, deep and certain, resounded again, “Look here, Spring.”

Green irises followed the voice, until they landed on the source.

The swirling stilled as Beron Vanserra came into his vision, he smirked from a throne-like chair in the centre of the room, it was made with soft red velvet, the dark wood carved with intricate details.

Tamlin let out a small shriek when he saw that the High lord of Autumn wore not a stitch of clothing.

Beron’s smirk grew, he placed an elbow on the armrest of the chair, while supporting his head in his hand.

Tamlin looked back, trying to find the exit, but the second his eyes came off the High lord his vision went blurry once again. He tried to get to his feet but he fell back down to the floor, sprawling across the hard, cruel stone. His cock throbbed again and Tamlin swallowed a whimper, tears springing from the corners of his eyes from sheer need.

“The seasonal magic demands rejuvenation, Spring. You would know that.” Beron spoke. His voice the only clear thing in Tamlin’s head.

When Tamlin focused on the High lord, everything began to still. Rejuvenation?

The Spring Lord slowly pulled himself to sit up, knees bent around him, hand reaching out on the stone. His eyes found Beron again, the Autumn Lord laughed, a dark, low sound that caused Tamlin’s whole body to shake.

Beron relaxed back into the throne, his abs tightening as he moved. Tamlin watched the wide expanse of chest lift and fall under his breathing. Breathing that was tightly controlled, but not even Beron could hide the slight shudder.

And when Tamlin looked lower, curse him for ever looking lower, he saw Beron hard and dripping.

An involuntary sound nearly left his throat. Tamlin had to bite his tongue until it bled in his mouth.

Beron snapped his fingers and Tamlin snapped his gaze up to find the High lord glaring ever so slightly. Tamlin wanted to reach a hand between his legs and finally relieve some of the pressure building up but his hands felt like they were chained to the floor.

“Stay with me, Spring.” Beron said in a slow voice.

Tamlin’s whole body trembled again, twitching against his will.

“Rejuvenation of the magic. Our power is calling, demanding, for its sister.” He leaned back, eyes amused as he watched Tamlin writhe on the floor as his dazed mind tried to make sense of his words.

“You can leave, and writhe with your own want and need for the rest of the week.” Beron said the words painfully slowly, “Or you can stay, and find pleasure unparalleled.”

What?

Tamlin’s toes curled as another wave of throbbing overtook him. His eyes nearly rolled back and he tried to put a hand on his dick, but they refused to listen, like they heeded another master now.

Pleasure unparalleled.

Any pleasure right now sounded better than the pain crying out from his body.

“I…” The rest of his words were lost to the agonising buildup in his core. Threatening to overflow into intense pain.

Beron snapped his fingers once more, and like a deer being spooked, Tamlin’s eyes shot back up to him. Every fibre of his being zeroed into the sound.

“Pick, Spring. Pleasure or agony.” Beron lounged back into the throne and smirked like he already knew the answer.

He did. By the throne, the lack of clothing, the pristine dungeon, this was planned. Carefully calculated. Tamlin was prey caught in a trap, a trap of spiralling pleasure that wound tightly in his belly until the burning was melting his insides.

He needed relief. Fuck, he needed pleasure.

He needed that long, hard cock sitting in between Beron’s legs.

Tamlin tried to move his tongue to speak, but even moving was near impossible. Everything swirled and spiralled and he felt like he was going to faint.

“Gods.” Beron murmured, “Stay with me Spring.”

Tamlin swayed, breathing now harsh, hoarse pants, but he looked back up at Beron. Eyes wide and wanting, continuously flicking down to the cock bobbing under Beron’s slight movements. Hoping he wouldn’t have to speak for Beron to know what he meant.

It seemed the High lord of Autumn already knew how this night would play out.

He grinned, it was full of that fiery wickedness that Tamlin had grown to hate, to loathe.

Beron lifted a finger in a beckoning motion, “Come here, Spring.”

The burning started again. An intense all over flush that made his skin bright red. Tamlin wanted, needed, to rip his clothes off, feel the cool air on his skin. But for a moment in time, all his thoughts went to the throne before him. The feet resting on the ground.

Tamlin crawled to Beron. Unable to do anything else.

The stone scraped his skin, the bleeding from his fingertips had not stopped, red stained the floor underneath him. His skin throbbed and burned. He felt like screaming from the sheer need to release at least a drop of the pent up energy only growing in him.

Far too soon, or not soon enough, Tamlin was kneeling before Beron. He stared at the cock now stationed before him, hands falling atop the soft, pale skin of his thighs. Refusing to look up, refusing to meet the eyes of the male that had just made him crawl.

He had crawled for Beron fucking Vanserra.

If the burning before had been pleasure, it began to wash out, replaced by shame and guilt.

Lucien was still in their room.

Lucien who had been burning.

And hard as a rock.

His eyes widened a touch as realisation dawned over him.

Lucien too had felt the effects of the seasonal magic, the need for regeneration, for rejuvenation.

“Look at me.”

Tamlin felt his body begin to shake again, as everything begged him to look up. To do as told. As ordered. Like he was something that could be ordered about.

“Spring.” Beron’s voice was low and cruel. Demeaning.

Tamlin growled, a low raspy sound.

It only earned him Beron grabbing his chin between his fingers and forcing his head up. Tamlin’s memory snapped back to the day of the War, when he had ordered Beron bring his armies out, when those same rough fingers had grabbed his skin.

“Obey, when I give you an order.” Beron murmured. His voice was like a caressing hand after a slap to the face, a soothing ice to the fire. Something disgustingly caring after brutality.

Burning. He was burning and he thought it would never end. This was how he went, with a throbbing cock and his blood boiling his body until it fell off his bones.

Beron’s hand dragged down his chin, then wrapped around the long column of throat. Tamlin breathed in deeply. Lungs dragging in air. Animalistic instinct shot through the pit of his gut, telling him to run, to get away from the danger, the predator with its hand around his neck.

Like he truly was prey caught in a cage.

The Spring Lord wanted to demand Beron release him, just to get some control, just to be able to say he fought back.

But he could say nothing, for that by hand released his neck. It was like honey torn from starving bees, Tamlin gasped for air and found his body begging for that hand to return.

The Autumn Lord fisted Tamlin’s long curls in his hand, pulling so roughly Tamlin’s scalp burned like the rest of him, he hissed in pain, but the sound was short-lived, as Beron shoved his cock down the younger’s throat, making Tamlin gag around the shaft.

The Spring Lord panicked for a moment, eyes going wide and lungs tightening as all the breath left them, they squeezed with the need for more. His throat tightened, and he gagged again. Beron shoved him down deeper, Tamlin sobbed.

“Breathe through your nose.” Beron ordered.

His body was burning, lungs screaming for air, squeezing in his chest. Whilst his mind begged for some kind of control over the situation, hating the vulnerability in the hands of a male so cruel.

But he heeded the command. Forcing himself to take shallow breaths until his breathing evened out as much as it could. Beron held him in place, waiting just a moment whilst he got his bearings.

Tamlin lifted glistening green eyes to the male and saw wicked eyes grinning down at him. Beron, without warning, fucked up into his mouth, shoving Tamlin down further until his nose brushed the hair at the base of his dick.

The Spring Lord nearly gagged again, but he forced his throat to relax, as the Autumn Lord began to fuck into his mouth, pulling his head up and down in time with his thrusts.

The burning was pooling, leaving his arms and chest and centering around the coil in his belly. Until it was no longer an unfamiliar feeling. Rather, one he knew well from hundreds of Calamnais. Although he had never felt this way whilst pliable under the heavy gaze and rough hands of a male, certainly not a male like Beron.

Slowly, like lazy waves drifting along the shoreline, uncertainty gave way to pleasure. It edged his vision, and made his mind fuzzy. Slowly his thinking descended into a spiral of nothing but the stone his knees dug into, the burning in his core, and the cock in his mouth.

Tamlin moaned, head starting to bob without Beron’s guiding hand, falling into the rhythm and the obscene sounds of his throat being fucked.

“Yes that’s it.” Beron groaned, “Move your head like that, well done.”

Tamlin whined, a high sound he didn’t know he was capable of making. Sucking hard, his cheeks hollowed out, sliding up and down, silky skin thrusting slowly in and out of his throat. Waves of heat washed over him again and again, barrelling through his body as the coil in his belly got tighter and tighter. He grasped Beron’s thighs, desperate for something to keep him connected to the world around him.

“Good boy,” The male above him hissed lowly as his head tipped back, hand tightening in his hair. Tamlin groaned as his eyes rolled back, hips underneath him jutted up, suddenly thrusting into his mouth once more. Pushing his head down, Beron kept him from moving, the head of his cock in the back of his throat. Tamlin gagged, but managed to keep himself composed; or as much as he could in the face of what was happening.

Beron’s thrusts picked up, rocking inside him quicker and quicker, before his body tensed. Muscles going rigid, the cold, cruel High lord’s breaths, normal level with each intentional movement, had turned ragged. The magic flooding his senses cried out at each desperate pant.

Then, Beron readjusted his fingers in Tamlin’s hair, and roughly yanked him off his cock. The High lord of Spring, reduced to something like a rutting, desperate slut whined, voice gone strangely high-pitched.

Tightening his grip, Beron murmured in that harshly aroused, commanding voice, “Swallow everything.”

His eyes had gone blurry once more, he couldn’t focus on a single thing around him. One of his hands seemed to move on its own, moved by an apparition. Grasping the hard, throbbing cock before him, jerking it quickly, the slide made easier by the spit that had drooled down it. He whimpered again, heart pounding in its cage.

Then stinging pain splintered across his face, as the sound of a hard slap to the side of his face echoed in the otherwise empty dungeon.

“Do you understand me?” Beron hissed, his fingers gently tracing the red print he left across pale skin.

“Yes,” Tamlin gasped out, “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.” Beron’s smile was feline as he forced Tamlin back down onto his dick. As if possessed by Calanmai magic, Tamlin’s entire mind went utterly blank as he sucked with twice the enthusiasm as before. The heat was transcending, like burning up in a furnace. Everything was getting tighter and tighter, his whole body shaking. Zeroing in on one end.

A delicious groan left Beron as his head tipped back once more, fucking up into Tamlin’s mouth as he sucked, those hands suddenly pulling his hair again as the Autumn Lord came down his throat.

Tamlin obediently swallowed, the hot salty come in his mouth dripping down his lips as he slowly pulled off Beron’s softening cock. Tongue darting out, his tongue swirled around the tip, tasting the salt-sweet liquid, before trailing his lips down, sucking up the excess.

Beron swallowed hard, “Good boy.”

Tamlin’s eyes fell closed as his head rested on the Lord’s knee as Beron’s hand petted his hair softly. Touching him with the tenderness of a lover. It caused something inside him to purr in content, but his own arousal could not be put far from mind.

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