#tog fics

[captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship]

SJM ask game

I saw this ask game started by @milswrites and I absolutely love it!

1) What’s your favourite SJM book?

It is a tie between ACOMAF, QOS, and CC1. Those are my top 3 and they rotate on a daily basis on which is my favorite.

2) Which is your favourite series (tog, acotar or cc)

TOG is def my favorite of the three. The story is so beautifully bookended, each book can stand by itself, the characters are amazing and they go through so much growth. I love ACOTAR because I love the relationships that are built there and the world building is so interesting. I also read ACOTAR at a very dark point in my life and reading about Feyre digging herself out of the darkness helped me do the same. I love Ruhn Dannan. Daynight is life. Enough said.

3) Who is your favourite character? (And why?)

I have to have a favorite character from each series. For ACOTAR, gwyn has whittled her way into my heart as my favorite character. Her bravery, her selflessness, her determination. We see her interact with characters who are previously shown to be extremely unaproachable and she treats them like normal people. She is healing and is in the process of building a life that is worth living. I cannot wait to read more of her journey in the next book. For TOG, my favorite characters are Aelin, Manon, and Lysandra. Aelin is forced to be so strong from such a young age, and the shit that she is put through just makes my heart ache. KOA broke my heart so many times because she felt so broken and I feel like we never got a true conclusion to it. Manon is such a prime example of Nature vs Nurture. She was Nurtured to be a heartless killer, but once she started seeing the world for what it was and seeing the injustices her people were committing, she and the 13 stood up for what was right and went up against their sister Ironteeth in battle in order to fight for a better world. Lysandra has been a favorite of mine since the first time I read her on the page. She was taken advantage of and was forced into a role outside of her command. The way she takes her own life in her hands, she puts the needs of others before her own, and was a friend to Aelin when she truly needed one will solidify her as one of my favorites. It is no surprise that Lydia is my favorite CC character. I loved her in CC2, but she CARRIED CC3. She is like the perfect mix of Rhys and Aelin and her ancestors would be proud of her and what she has done.

4) Do you have a favourite quote from one of the books?

I have a million favorite quotes. One of the ones I wouldn't mind getting a tattoo of is "Don't let the Hard days win" it is simple but so impactful and some days I need the reminder. I cannot stop crying when I read Lehabah's last conversation with Bryce. Also, I definately Bawl everytime Aelin hallucinates about her parents and her mom says, "Why do you cry, Fireheart?"

5) Favourite ship?

In no particular order: Gwynriel, Feysand, DayNight, Rowaelin, Lysaedion, Nestaq.

6) E/riel or Gwynriel? Or neither?

I think my username speaks for itself

7) Who’s the most underrated SJM character?

NESRYN MF EMPRESSES FALIQ. I love her. I know she isn't on my list of favorites but she is 100% a favorite. Her and Sartaq are just *Chef's Kiss*

8) Which character do you wish to learn more about?

Oooooh. Azriel, Gwyn, Jessiba, Lydia, VAUGHN, Lucien.

9) Are there any characters you don’t like?

Besides the bad guys? I don't care for Ithan but its not that I don't like him. He just reads like a washed up frat boy but I was impressed with his growth in CC3. It's not like I HATE him, he just isn't a favorite of mine.

10) Favourite bat boy?

It should come as ZERO surprise that Azriel is my favorite bat boy. However, if I had to choose ANY of the SJM Males to be my mate, it would be Dorian :) I would die fighting Manon for him but worth it lol

11) Favourite court?/ Which one would you most like to live in?

I most definately fit into the Night Court. Anyone who knows me knows I am a night owl and I would sleep all day and be awake at night if I could. If Eris was high lord, my second choice would be Autumn.

12) Favourite SJM villain?

I think we can all agree that Maeve is the most flushed out villian that SJM has written to date. I love to hate her.

13) If you could change one thing in any of the books what would it be?

I would get rid of all the "crumbs" for E/riel and I would make Mor more open about her sexuality with the IC from the beginning. I am fixing both in FM2M.

14) Favourite SJM theory?

Gwynriel are mates. There is way too much canonical evidence to prove otherwise.

15) Favourite Archeron sister?

Feyre.

16) A character you feel is over-hated/ underrated

Aedion. Leave my boy alone. Was he a dumbass? Yes. HOWEVER, think about his trauma and the BS Lysandra and Aelin pulled on him. He has had the weight of his kingdom on his shoulders for 10 years. He has been playing the game longer than he can remember, was taken advantage of by older men in the army as he worked his way up the ranks. His father's identity needed to be kept a secret to the detriment of his mother and he resents Gavriel for it. They were going to turn him into the same absentee father that he hated, and they threw his trauma in his face. He would have just been a breeding stud and would never be able to recognize his own children. It was a stab right to his heart and he was betrayed by the two people who meant the most to him in the world. Give the boy some grace.

17) Aelin, Bryce, or Feyre?

I think Aelin is the most fleshed out and goes through the most character growth. However, Bryce and Feyre have my heart. I will not choose.

18) If you wrote an acotar book what would you call it?

A Court of Scars and Shadows. Thanks @thebelladonnamoon for coming up with the perfect ACOTAR 6 title.

20) Who is your favourite acotar blogger?

Here on Tumblr, I love @acourtofthought @gwynrieldefenseatty but there are so many that I love :) And, as always, @yazthebookish

21)What fics would you recommend to people who love the series?

OH GOD. Off the top of my head for ACOTAR: ACoFD by @the-lonelybarricade (or ANYTHING by her and @separatist-apologist) ACOSAS by @thebelladonnamoon, Call Me Home by @propagandaprincess, There You Are by @sweethvilliandarlinggod

You can see my bookmarked favorite fics here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_of_the_Gwynriel_Ship

TOG Favorite fics: High Infidelity by @heirofflowers, Bad Intentions by @starseternalnighttriumphant, Illicit Affairs is my ALL TIME FAVORITE by @rowanaelinn, remanents by @the_dormouse, and The Inclining of Stars by @Slytherindemigod18

CC Favorites: I havent read too many, but you can always count on Verzavar Haz by @hlizr50 to break down your soul.

Questions for writers

22) Easiest character to write for?

Probably Feyre or Gwyn. I just feel like I can get in their heads the easiest.

23) Hardest character to write for?

Rhys (so far). It is why he hasn't had a POV yet in FM2M but there will be one in a couple chapters.

24) What’s a character you’d like to write for but haven’t yet? Ooh. Some of the TOG characters. I haven't ventured outside of ACOTAR yet but one day maybe.

25) What’s a court you’d like to write about more?

Autumn wink wink. And Hybern (I know it isn't a court but still).

26) What’s a character you won’t write for and why?

I don't know if there is a character I won't write for. I think it just depends. Probably Elorcan as a couple because as much as I like them, I couldn't really write them.

27) If you could only write for one character ever again, who would you pick?

Gwyn. Easy.

28) Whats your favourite trope to write about when it comes to Azriel?

Oh gods where to start. Friends to lovers, priestess/sinner, trainer/trainee, Acceptance and Longing, Soulmates, Forced Proximity. I could go on.

29) What do you think is the best/favourite acotar fic you’ve written?

I mean definitely FM2M, but I loved writing Up Against the Wall and coming up with the idea for The Great Escape.

30) Who are your favourite friendships to write about?

Right now, the valkyrie and Mor and Feyre, Cassian and Feyre, and Lucien and Feyre.

31) For first time readers to your blog, which three fics would you recommend they read?

Obviously FM2M, you can read some of my other one shots or short fics or check out some of my favorite fics above!

This was super fun and a way to distract me from such a boring work day haha

[1-800-i-ship-it]

@jade-ra88it I don't know if I hallucinated this bc for some reason i cant find it in my inbox anymore? but anyways thank you for your ask! I'm sorry I actually don't know which fic you're talking about :sob: I have kind of been mia in fandom for a bit lately :^)

but if yall can help us rb hopefully someone will be able to answer this!!

[hamsterboos]

Drive

Word Count: 212 AU: Modern Read on AO3 here Masterlist

It had been a long, exhausting day, and Rowan was grumpy and tired. He just wanted to go home and just go straight to bed, but unfortunately, he was an adult. Therefore, he had adult things that needed to get done such as cooking dinner and eating it, folding the laundry that had been sitting in the dryer for two days now, and actually responding to text messages that he hadn’t answered for about fifteen hours now.

He was just tempted to go and pick up takeout on his way home instead of actually spending the time and energy in cooking. As Rowan considered his options at a red light, he just happened to look over at the car on his right for a moment before turning back to look straight ahead.

Until Rowan processed exactly what he had seen.

He turned his head back around to find his neighbor, Aelin, banging her head and jamming to whatever was playing in her car. She must’ve felt him staring because she turned to look at him, and while still dancing in her car, waved hello to him before making a right turn as the light turned green.

By the time he got home with his takeout, there was a smile on his face.

~~~~

I'm glad everyone's enjoying these :) pls lemme know if you want to be added to the taglist

Taglist: @thegreyj @backtobl4ck @leiawritesstories

[tadpolesonalgae]

Hi! Would you write for tog characters? After that gorgeous elain fic im imaging Aelin😍

Hi! Honestly I hadn’t considered writing for characters outside of the acotar world but I am doing a reread of all of her books at the moment!

I think once I finish them I’ll feel more confident in writing since it’s been about two/three years since, so I’ll keep updating on the progress!

(It’s definitely something I’ll consider!)

[luminarai]

A remix gift for the marvellous @werebearbearbar who hit me right in the soul with this passage from let me come along:

Beyond the house, the landscape ambles over fields and small hills until it meets the sea. They're not close enough to hear the surf, but the air has a salt tang, and the mid-afternoon light paints a warm, caramel stripe across the wood floor. Real wood, Joe notes.

Turning, Nicky stares at Joe, his eyes wide and yearning.

"We'll get two chairs," Joe says. "And we'll put them right by that window."

Someone loved this place; they can feel it in the bones of the house. They'll love it too, and love each other under its eaves. Maybe whoever lives here next will feel Joe and Nicky’s love in the doorposts and lintels.

[non-un-topo]

To the next adventure...

Image description and details under cut

I.D.

[A drawing of Nicky, Joe, Quynh, and Andy from The Old Guard. They are all in profile, walking in a straight line facing the sun. They are dressed in medieval clothing and armour, and each carry their own weapons and bags. Nicky has his sword, a crossbow, a quiver of bolts, a dagger at his belt and another strapped to his ankle. Joe is holding his sword, a bag, and a coin purse. Quynh's bow is over her back, and her quiver is at her hip. Two daggers are strapped to her belt, one of them matching Nicky's. Andy is holding her axe, two bags, and a dagger. They each have serene expressions and closed eyes, as if they're not in a hurry. In the background, the seasons change from winter to spring, summer, fall. There is an old tree behind them, and its branches change with the seasons.]

[surielstea]

Camping Affairs

Kinktober day 4: Size + Hair pulling

Pairing: Lorcan Salvaterre x Fem!Reader

Summary: When Reader and Lorcan have to share a tent and can’t find sleep, they find other ways to exhaust themselves.

Warnings: Minors dni | 18+ only | Controlled orgasm I P in V I semi-public (in a tent) | size kink | Hair pulling | praise I clit play | cream pie I fluff at the end

A. Note: I’m so sorry this is late, it didn’t post when I scheduled it for some reason 😭😭, anywho, this is made specifically for the lovely @lexluvswriting because I’m simply here to feed her Lorcan obsession 🫶

6.9k words.

"You know, for being Maeve's pride and joys you'd think we'd be given better accommodations," I say as I lay out my bedroll, the tent Her Majesty supplied us with so small it was almost comical.

"We're warriors, not royalty," Lorcan grumbled from the outside of the canvas, giving me some privacy as I stripped from my leathers and into a nightgown.

"Speak for yourself," I scoffed, poking my head out of the flaps to look up at him. "Rowan is a prince," I say matter-of-factly. "Perhaps he could pull some strings and get us all our own tent," I suggest and he looks at me with that sneering expression he always wore.

"We've battled in wars, I think you can manage," He grumbled, motioning with his hand for me to recede back into the tent. I frowned but backed up and sidled onto my bedroll. I tried not to laugh at the sight of the seven-foot demi-fae crouching to stop his head from hitting the ceiling of the tent.

He gave me a glare that I assume was meant to intimidate me but it didn't affect me much when he had to walk on his knees in order to settle on his own bedroll.

All seven of Maeve's blood sworn were called to meet with her in Doranelle, something about the Lost Princess of Terrasan— I wasn't really listening when Rowan was briefing us, all I knew was that I was going to have to pack my life up for the crazed queen I was sworn to, again, and take the week hike away from my comfy home in Varese.

With only three tents, the seven of us were split into pairs. Two per tent, and one on watch outside. Gavriel had posed a system to put the smallest and the largest together, as to avoid uncomfortably in the tents— and I hadn't thought it would be a problem until now. Shoulder to shoulder, with my least favorite of the group.

"Why do you have to be built like a damned giant," I grumble as I shift away from him, the side of me pressing into the wall of the tent. I could've shifted onto my side and separated us a little further— but that would mean I'd have to face him, and at this proximity, I doubt it would be comfortable for either of us.

"Would you rather join Rowan and Fenrys?" Lorcan grumbles, sounding like he was talking in my ear he was so close. I smirk at the idea.

"Can't say I'd be displeased in the middle of that," I purr.

Lorcan sighs, muttering a string of curses, too low to make out. "You're insufferable." He decided on voicing.

"And yet, here we are, stuck with each other," I teased, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. "Don't pretend you don't love it."

He snorts. "I could think of better ways to spend my time."

"Oh?" I hum, turning toward him a little more, my cheek propped on my hand. "What would Lorcan Salvaterre rather be doing right now, instead of sharing a tent with yours truly?"

He shoots me a look, dark and brooding, but his lips twitch. "Not listening to you, for starters."

I roll my eyes. "If you weren't so quiet all the time, maybe I wouldn't have to fill the silence."

"There's silence because I'm trying to sleep," he retorts, though his tone is lighter, almost playful—at least, as playful as Lorcan ever gets.

I scoff, grinning. "Please, you never sleep. You just brood all night like some menacing statue."

"You should be grateful," he says, adjusting his position, his shoulder now brushing against mine. "At least I keep the monsters away."

"Monsters?" I snort. "The only thing I'm afraid of in this tent is your enormous leg crushing me in my sleep."

"You talk too much," Lorcan grumbles, though there's the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

"I talk just enough to drive you insane," I shoot back, feeling a strange sense of victory at the idea of getting under his skin. "It's one of my many talents," I add, worsening the blow.

He doesn't respond, but his silence feels different this time. Like he's deciding whether to engage or just strangle me.

"If you're so miserable," I start, stifling a yawn, "you ought to throw me outside and have the whole tent to yourself," I utter, lifting my arms up over my head and stretching out to the best of my abilities.

"Don't tempt me," he grunts, though I don't miss the way his eyes follow me as I stretch, my movements exaggerated just to annoy him.

"You wouldn't know what to do with yourself," I murmur, settling back down. "Without me to keep you company."

"Go to sleep," he says, ignoring my words.

I smirk up at the stars. "Sweet dreams, Salvaterre."

His grumble is the only reply I get, but for some reason, the sound makes me smile.

The silence stretches on for a few minutes, and I do my best to settle in, but there's no ignoring the cramped space and the sheer presence of Lorcan taking up most of it. After a few more minutes of tossing and turning, I sigh dramatically.

"I can't sleep," I announced, knowing he was still wide awake.

From beside me, Lorcan groans, clearly exasperated. "Of course, you can't," he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, rolling onto my side to face him, our faces just inches apart in the dim light.

"That you're incapable of quieting down for more than a minute," he grumbles, not even bothering to open his eyes.

"I've been quiet for at least five minutes!" I argue, though I can't help the grin tugging at my lips. "And anyway, it's your fault. You're hogging all the space."

He cracks an eye open, giving me a flat look. "You take up about as much room as a pillow. You have plenty of space."

"Then why can't I get comfortable?" I huff, shifting again, this time letting my arm bump against his on purpose.

"You're sleeping with the wolves tonight." He says like it’s a promise.

I gasp dramatically, my hand flying to my chest. "Lorcan Salvaterre, you would abandon me to the creatures of the night? Leave me defenseless and cold?"

"You're hardly defenseless," he says, but I catch the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I grin, triumphant. "I knew it—you do care."

"Care? I just don't want to explain to Maeve why I let you get eaten by a wyvern," he grumbles, turning onto his side so his back is to me.

I roll my eyes, inching closer just to annoy him. "You'd miss me," I murmur, as if it was an absent thought.

"Like a hole in my head."

I poke him between the shoulder blades. "Liar. You'd be lost without me. Who else would keep you entertained on these long, miserable missions?"

He doesn't respond right away, but I don't miss the way his shoulders tense at my words. "You're assuming I need entertainment."

"You're assuming you don't," I tease, leaning in until my chin is nearly resting on his arm. "Deep down, I know you love it. My sparkling wit, my endless charm—"

He turns so quickly that I almost tumble backward, his face suddenly centimeters from mine. His dark eyes glint with something that makes my heart skip a beat. "You're lucky I don't actually throw you out of this tent."

I blink up at him, trying to ignore the way my pulse races at the proximity. "You'd never."

His eyebrow raises. "You willing to bet?"

I raise mine right back, leaning in just a fraction more.

"I do." There's a brief moment where neither of us moves, the air between us charged with unspoken tension. Then, with a long-suffering sigh, Lorcan rolls his eyes and collapses back onto his bedroll.

"You're impossible," he mutters, covering his face with his arm. "Go to sleep before I do actually throw you out."

I smirk, victory swelling in my chest. "Admit it—you'd be bored out of your mind without me."

"If I admit it, will you shut up?"

"I'll think about it," I hum, settling back into my bedroll, feeling way more pleased with myself than I should.

"Fine," he growls. "I'd be bored."

I can't help the laugh that bubbles up. "See? Was that so hard?"

Lorcan groans again, louder this time. "It was unbearable."

"Goodnight, Lorcan," I say sweetly, curling up and closing my eyes, but I'm still grinning like an idiot.

From beside me, I hear a quiet mutter, almost too soft to catch. "Goodnight."

We lay there in silence for a few minutes, but as usual, my mind refused to settle. The darkness outside the tent feels suffocating, the air thick with anticipation of the mission ahead. I chew my bottom lip, turning over a dozen questions in my head before finally blurting out the one that's been nagging me all night.

"What do you think Maeve wants from us?"

Lorcan's groan is immediate. "You said you'd shut up," he grumbles, not even opening his eyes.

"I said I'd think about it, Salvaterre," I correct, nudging him with my elbow. "Besides, I can't sleep when you keep kicking me."

He huffs out a breath, lifting his arm from his eyes to glare at me. "I haven't moved an inch."

"Oh, really?" I feign innocence, shifting my foot to gently nudge his leg. "What do you call this?"

"That," he says flatly, "is you kicking me."

"I'm just showing you what it feels like," I shoot back, smirking as I prod his shin again.

"Stop that," he growls.

"I will when you answer my question."

"You should be more worried about surviving the week without me strangling you."

I huff, my face burning, but the silence that follows is heavier now—charged with the tension that neither of us wants to acknowledge. After a beat, I clear my throat, breaking it.

"You still didn't answer my question."

He sighs, long and dramatic. "How should I know? Probably some power play involving the Princess."

"Do you think they’ll ally?" I ask, though I know I'm pushing my luck.

He hesitates, his gaze flicking toward the tent's ceiling. "I don’t know," he admits. "Or she might just want us to deal with something different entirely. Maeve doesn't summon all of us for nothing."

I nod, feeling a shiver run through me. "I just hope we don't end up with another war on our hands."

Lorcan shifts slightly, his massive form somehow taking up even more space. "If we do, I'll be sure to shove you out in front to make use of all that 'charm' you keep going on about."

I roll my eyes, kicking him lightly under the blanket. "You're the worst."

He opens one eye to glance at me, unamused. "If I kill you in your sleep, it's your fault."

"Please," I scoff, sitting up slightly. "You couldn't strangle me even if you tried. I'd have you pinned in a heartbeat."

A low, rumbling chuckle escapes him, one that's more amused than I expected. "You? Pin me?"

I raise an eyebrow, refusing to back down. "You'd be surprised."

He tilts his head slightly, considering me with a dark glint in his eyes. "Go on, then. Prove it."

I blink, caught off guard by the challenge. "What, right now?"

He shrugs, the movement sending a ripple through his broad shoulders. "Unless you're too scared."

I narrow my eyes, inching closer. "I'm not scared."

His lips twitch, just barely, but enough to make my heart pound in my chest. "Then do it."

Before I can talk myself out of it, I shift, moving to straddle his waist. "Okay," I say, though my voice sounds much shakier than I intended. "See? You're completely at my mercy now."

Lorcan, infuriatingly, doesn't look remotely concerned. He just stares up at me, one eyebrow raised, as if waiting for something more. "That's it?"

"Well, I—" I start, but he interrupts by effortlessly grabbing my wrists in one of his massive hands and flipping me over before I can even process what's happening.

In the blink of an eye, I'm pinned beneath him, my back pressing into the bedroll as his weight holds me in place. His face hovers inches above mine, dark and unreadable, though I swear there's a flicker of amusement in his gaze.

"I think that's what you were trying to do," he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous, but with a playful edge.

I glare up at him, trying to squirm, but he doesn't budge. "You cheated."

He leans in slightly, his breath brushing against my cheek. "You didn't give me much of a challenge."

"You're such a brute," I snap, though I'm more frustrated with myself for falling right into his trap.

"I can't believe I made Whitethorn train you instead, this is delightful."

"Oh please, you just forgot the feel of a woman beneath you."

"Care to remind me what I've been missing?" His smirk widens, daring me to say more.

"Depends, what do I get in return?"

"A lesson, maybe I'll teach you what it's like to be beneath someone who knows how to be in control."

His words hang in the air between us, and my breath catches, the challenge in his voice igniting something deep within me. I try to maintain my composure, but the way his dark eyes lock onto mine makes it difficult. There's an intensity in his gaze that makes my heart race, a spark of something primal that sends shivers down my spine.

"Is that so?" I reply, my voice teasing yet laced with curiosity. "And just how do you plan to do that?"

"A demonstration," he murmurs, leaning in closer until his breath warms my skin, his lips hovering tantalizingly above mine.

The space between us crackles with tension, my heart pounding in my chest as I hold his gaze, searching for any sign of hesitation. Instead, I find determination mixed with that devil-may-care amusement that is so quintessentially Lorcan. It drives me wild.

"Show me, then," I challenge, emboldened by the heat of the moment.

A slow smile spreads across his face, and before I can brace myself, he captures my wrists in his powerful hands and shifts, pinning them above my head against the soft canvas of the tent. My breath hitches at the sudden thrill of being completely at his mercy, the weight of his body pressing me into the bedroll, a heady mix of vulnerability and exhilaration flooding my senses.

"Do you trust me?" he asks, his voice low, teasing, but there's an undercurrent of seriousness that sends a thrill racing through me.

"Do I have a choice?" I reply, trying to sound defiant but feeling the flush of excitement creeping up my neck.

"Good answer," he says, leaning down, his lips barely brushing against mine, teasingly close yet just out of reach. The warmth of his breath sends tingles across my skin, and I can't resist the urge to lean in, desperate for that connection.

"Stop teasing," I whisper my heart racing, the air thick with unspoken tension. "Just kiss me already."

With a low growl of approval, he closes the distance, capturing my lips with his in a fierce, passionate kiss. It's electric, a jolt that sends sparks dancing along my nerves, igniting every inch of my skin. The kiss deepens, and I lose myself in the taste of him—warm and intoxicating.

His lips move against mine with a hungry urgency, coaxing me into the rhythm of it. I respond instinctively, wrapping my arms around the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, urging him on. The world outside the tent fades away, leaving only the two of us, entangled in the heat of the moment.

I can feel the weight of his body pressing into mine, the way his strength envelops me, sending a rush of desire coursing through my veins. It's overwhelming and intoxicating, igniting a fire within me that I didn't know was there.

I part my legs and he adjusts, slotting between them— gods it was an effort for my legs to even widen enough. He grabbed my thigh in one of his large hands and guided it up higher, then the other, until I was in a mating press beneath him. He smirked against my lips, his hands moving to trail up my sides. "Now you're really at my mercy," He purred and my core thrummed in anticipation.

"Lorcan," I panted into his open mouth, unable to find the words to tell him how badly I needed this.

"As much as I love the sound of you moaning my name, I need you to stay quiet for me, yeah?" He asked and I sucked in a breath, nodding all too quickly, too desperately.

He smirked at the reaction and captured my lips with his yet again, devouring me as he pried my mouth open with his tongue, exploring me with it, not missing a spot uncovered.

I tugged at the waistband of his pants and he captured my wrist before I could tug them down much further. "Not yet, I need to stretch you out first," He warned, his tone brooking no argument.

I let out a soft whimper of protest and he pressed his mouth onto mine, his voice softening as he said, "I don't want to hurt you, be patient for me and I promise I'll make you feel good alright?" He reassured me, his thumb brushing over the pulse point of my wrist before releasing it.

I nod slowly, slipping my hands into his silky black hair while he pushes up my nightgown.

He practically tore through my panties without a second thought, then froze for a moment before making contact. His eyes flicked to mine and I returned his stare with pleasing eyes and a rapid nod. He leaned down, below my lips and to the line of my jaw, making his way down the column of my throat before his calloused fingertips came to contact with my pulsing cunt.

His lips morphed into a malicious smile as he felt just how badly I needed him, the way I was practically dripping down his hand. "So wet, and here I was thinking you hated me?" He drawled against my skin, kissing down my chest and then back up to the hollow of my throat.

I tug at his hair, silently begging him for more. "Lorcan," I whine, words failing me as I arch into his touch, attempting to get even the smallest taste of pleasure. "Please, touch me," I swallow past the lump in my throat.

"I am touching you, love," He whispered, his breath ghosting over the shell of my ear.

My brows furrowed, features contorting with need. "Inside of me, please," I beg. A smirk pulls at his lips and he leans closer, gently pressing his lips to my cheek— too gentle to be casual. But I didn't have time to weigh the action because suddenly he had two fingers pushing inside of my aching cunt, stretching me out.

A gasp escaped me and he swallowed it greedily before connecting our lips again, silencing me.

His long, calloused fingers pumped skillfully into me, grazing against my contracting walls. "Fuck, you're tight," He breathed as I clenched desperately around his hand, gripping his hair but not pulling. His other hand snaked up my propped-up thigh, pinning it down with a possessive need.

His thumb met my clit and it took everything in me not to scream, to cry out his name. "That's it," He encouraged. "Such a good girl, staying quiet for me," He praised, making the tension in my core tighten until it was nearly unbearable.

My overwhelming need for release was all-consuming, every thrust of his fingers, every roll of his thumb sent me reeling. He knew I was close, knew from the way I was trembling beneath him— I knew that he knew, but still, I cried in protest when his hand stilled.

"Not yet," He warned softly, pulling his hand out of me entirely, leaving me empty and aching. I opened my mouth to protest, to beg him to keep going, but he cut me off with a searing kiss, swallowing my complaints with his lips. "I said, be patient," He whispered against my mouth, his tone dark and commanding. "And when you come, it'll be on my cock. Understood?"

I nodded quickly, my breath coming in desperate pants, the tension in my body screaming for release. But I clamped down on my objections, not wanting him to drag this out longer than he already meant to.

His smirk widened, pleased with my compliance, and he finally rid himself of the last of his clothes, his pants hitting the ground with a soft thud. The sight of him—broad and powerful, his skin glistening in the dim light of the tent—made my pulse quicken, and the need to feel him inside me surged with renewed intensity.

He moved to get rid of my clothes too, still bunched at my hips. Luckily he didn't rip it off of me as he did with my panties, instead guided the material over my head, baring me to the brisk night air and his intense gaze.

"Beautiful," He whispered softly, pressing a claiming kiss to the top of one of my breasts. My lip wobbled with a need to moan but I held it down, instead distracted myself with the sight of him.

His shirtless figure was a sight to behold, carved muscle and a chest as hard as marble, but it was what was below his torso that made me pause.

I had expected Lorcan to be big, but gods. I had been with many men in my immortal life, and still, he made me freeze.

His smirk widened as he noticed where my stare was directed. He settled himself between my thighs, his broad frame dwarfing mine. I could feel the heat of him pressing into me, so much of him. My breath hitched, and his dark eyes flicked down, catching the way I bit my lip as he aligned himself at my entrance. His size alone had me trembling, and he knew it—relishing in the subtle way my body tensed beneath him.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "I almost feel bad," he whispered, "about how much I'm going to stretch you out."

A low whimper escaped me, and I felt his grin against my skin. My fingers curled into his hair, tugging lightly as I drew him closer, desperate for more. His eyes darkened as I pulled harder, and I could feel the tension ripple through his body.

"Be good for me, love, and stay still," he purred, voice a velvety rasp. His hips barely moved, teasing me with the blunt head of his cock as he pushed forward just enough to stretch me—just enough to drive me wild. He pulled back before I could feel the full pressure, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he watched my hips arch off the bedding, chasing him.

"You're so desperate," he murmured, his breath hot against my throat, "so needy." His tone was teasing in a way that would usually enrage me, but the way he said it sent a rush of heat to my core instead, making me clench around nothing, aching for him to fill me.

"Lorcan," I whispered, my voice trembling as I shifted beneath him, trying to ease the ache. He groaned at the sound of his name on my lips, and the tension in his body told me he was holding back, keeping himself in check for my sake.

Slowly, torturously, he guided himself to my entrance, the blunt head of his cock teasing me, stretching me open just enough to make me gasp. My nails dug into his shoulders as he began to push forward, the burn of the stretch sending sparks of pain-laced pleasure through my core.

"Fuck," I breathed, my eyes squeezing shut as he inched deeper. He was so big—bigger than I'd expected—and I had to fight to keep my breaths steady as my body adjusted to the size of him.

Lorcan paused for a moment, letting me catch my breath, his large hand caressing my thigh in slow, soothing strokes. "You're doing so well," he murmured, his voice a low rasp, full of restraint. "Just relax for me."

"Stay still," he breathed, voice rough as he pulled back just enough to make me whine, the emptiness unbearable. "Gods, it's hard to control myself when you keep moving like that."

A shiver ran through me at his words, my core clenching around him as he pressed forward again, slow and deliberate, giving me every thick inch of him until I was stretched impossibly full. My legs trembled as they tried to accommodate his size, and his hands came down to hold them steady, lifting my thighs higher, and spreading me wider beneath him.

"That's it, just like that," he murmured, his voice dropping to a growl as he adjusted his angle, sliding deeper still. "Good girl, taking me so well."

I whimpered at the praise, my fingers tangling in his hair, tugging harder now, desperate to feel him move. His breath hitched, a low moan escaping him as I pulled, and I could feel the way it affected him—how much it pushed him closer to the edge of his restraint.

But Lorcan wasn't one to be rushed.

He withdrew agonizingly slow, leaving me panting beneath him, aching for him to fill me again. "You can handle a little more, can't you?" he teased, his lips curling into a smirk as he saw the need in my eyes. My hands moved from his hair to the nape of his neck, trying to pull him back down to me, urging him on, but he caught my wrists with ease, pinning them above my head with one large hand. The contrast in size was startling—his fingers easily wrapping around both of my wrists, holding me completely at his mercy.

He leaned down, his lips barely brushing mine as he whispered, "Stay still, or I'll make you wait longer."

A soft whimper escaped me, and he chuckled darkly, pleased with my compliance. Slowly, he started to move again, his thrusts deep and deliberate, each one drawing out the delicious stretch, making me gasp as he filled me completely, finally bottoming out as his hips pressed into mine.

My body trembled beneath him, the intensity of it building with every slow, torturous thrust. I could feel the thick slide of him inside me, the way my walls clenched around his cock, desperate to hold him, to keep him deep inside. But Lorcan kept up the slow pace, each thrust deeper than the last, drawing me out, making me feel every inch of him.

"Fuck, so tight," he murmured, his voice low and rough, filled with desire. His free hand slid down my side, gripping my waist as he pulled me closer, his hips rolling into me with a new intensity that made me see stars.

"Lorcan," I mewled, writhing beneath him, bucking my hips up to meet his

He let out a low growl as I continued to disobey his order to stay still. "If you keep doing that," he warned, his voice thick with strain, "I'm not going to be able to stop myself."

"Then don't," I breathed, my voice trembling as I arched into him, wanting—needing—more.

His eyes darkened, and before I could say anything else, he was moving again, faster now, his thrusts more intense, each one hitting deeper, making me cry out in pleasure. He swallowed my moans with his mouth, devouring me with a kiss so fierce it left me breathless.

Lorcan's hand, the one not gripping my wrists, slipped between us, his thumb brushing over my clit with just enough pressure to make me gasp, my body jerking beneath him. "Stay quiet," he reminded me, his voice a low growl as his thumb circled slowly, teasingly. "We wouldn't want anyone to hear, would we?"

I shook my head frantically, biting down on my lip to keep from crying out as his pace quickened, the tension inside me building unbearably with every push and pull of his powerful hips, every circle of his thumb on my sensitive clit. I was so close, so on edge, but I knew he wasn't going to let me go just yet. He wanted to drag it out, to make me feel every second of it.

His lips ghosted over my ear as he whispered, "I love how small you feel beneath me—how perfectly you fit around my cock."

His words sent a shiver down my spine, making my walls tighten around him in response. I could feel the heat of his body pressing into mine, the steady rhythm of his thrusts making me dizzy with desire. The way he filled me, stretched me, it was almost too much—almost, but not enough.

I wanted more. I needed more.

He pulled back just enough to smirk down at me, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. "Gods, you're so fucking tight," he growled, his voice low and guttural as he picked up the pace, thrusting into me harder, deeper. My body arched beneath him, instinctively chasing the pleasure only he could give me.

His hand, still holding my wrists above my head, tightened its grip, his other sliding down my body to grab hold of my waist, pulling me against him with each thrust. The intensity was overwhelming, but I craved every second of it. His thumb returned to my clit, circling it with maddening precision, making my toes curl and my breath catches in my throat.

I bit down on my lip, desperate to keep quiet as he'd commanded, but it was nearly impossible with the way he was driving me to the brink, over and over again. I could feel the pressure building in my core, a white-hot ball of tension that threatened to unravel me at any moment.

"You close baby?" Lorcan rasped, his voice rough as he ground his hips into mine, each thrust hitting deeper than the last. His thumb pressed harder on my clit, the friction sending shockwaves through my body.

I nodded frantically, unable to form coherent words, my head spinning with the need for release.

"Beg for it," he commanded, his breath hot against my ear as he continued his relentless pace, driving me wild. "Beg me to let you come."

I whimpered, my body trembling beneath him as I struggled to find the words. "Please, Lorcan," I whispered, my voice shaking as I arched up against him, desperate for more. "Please, please I can't hold it— I need it, Lor."

He groaned at my words, his thrusts becoming harder, more erratic, his control slipping. "Good girl," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Go ahead, come on my cock."

With those words, the tension inside me snapped. My entire body clenched around him, my back arching off the bed as I came undone, the wave of pleasure crashing over me so violently I saw stars. I bit down on my lip, stifling the scream that threatened to escape as my orgasm tore through me, every nerve in my body alight with sensation.

Lorcan let out a low, guttural groan as he felt me clench around him, his pace faltering as he chased his own release. His hips snapped into mine one last time, burying himself deep inside me as he came with a low growl, his body trembling with the force of it.

For a long, breathless second, neither of us moved, the sounds of our ragged breathing the only thing filling the air. But as the intensity slowly ebbed, Lorcan pulled back, his smirk already returning to his lips. He let out a satisfied hum as he leaned down to press a lazy kiss to my jaw. "See? You can follow orders when you really want to."

I swatted his chest weakly, a smirk tugging at my lips. "Don't get used to it," I said, still panting, though my voice had a playful edge to it.

He chuckled, rolling off me and settling onto his side, his large arm draped possessively over my waist. "I don't need to. You'll break soon enough."

I snorted, feeling the familiar banter falling back into place. "You're dreaming, Salvaterre. If anything, you're the one breaking. You were practically trembling back there."

His dark eyes flashed with amusement, and he leaned down to brush his lips against my ear. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "If I was really trying to break you, you wouldn't even be able to walk right now."

I rolled my eyes, unable to stop the grin tugging at my lips. "Bold words for an old man who can barely control himself."

He raised a brow, his grip on my waist tightening just enough to remind me of his strength. "Care to test that theory?"

I shot him a challenging look, though the heat still lingered in my veins. "Maybe next time," I teased, flipping onto my side to face him, our noses brushing and suddenly the tent didn't feel all that small. "You've got to save some energy if you plan on keeping up with me, after all."

His eyes glinted with amusement, and the playful edge in his smile sent a shiver of anticipation through me. "Oh, you have no idea what you've just gotten yourself into,"

With a wink, I scooted a little further from him— well, as far as I could, feigning innocence. "Well, in that case, let's see if you can keep your hands to yourself until morning."

Lorcan's low chuckle reverberated in the tent, his eyes gleaming with challenge as he watched me. "Go to sleep already," He insisted. I look at him, staring at his features softened by the moonlight filtering through the canvas.

And as I settled back into the blankets, his body warm beside mine, I couldn't help but smirk, knowing that the game between us was far from over. "Goodnight, Lor," I mumble quietly.

The faint light of dawn filtered through the tent, pulling me from sleep. The warmth of Lorcan's body was missing, and the space beside me felt cool to the touch. I blinked groggily, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I rolled onto my back, pulling the thin blankets over my bare body, the events of the previous night replaying in my mind.

I swallowed hard, my heart thudding as I thought about everything—what it meant to have crossed that line with Lorcan. We'd been stuck in this tense back-and-forth, pushing each other's buttons ever since I met the male, but last night had changed everything, we stepped past a boundary we couldn't come back from. A part of me wondered if it would be different now, or if he'd go back to being the brooding, impossible male he was before. My chest tightened, but I pushed the thought aside. No use overthinking it, especially when we had a mission to accomplish.

I took a deep breath, sitting up and squaring my shoulders as I reached for my clothes, trying to act as normal as possible. We had orders and obligations, and I couldn't afford to be distracted by what happened between us. But gods, it was hard to ignore the lingering ache in my body, between my legs, the reminder of how thoroughly Lorcan had claimed me.

I ran my hands through my messy head of hair and braided it back to have somewhat of a semblance of neatness. With my nightgown replaced by my gear, I slipped out of the tent, the early morning air crisp against my skin, my boots crunching on the fallen leaves. As I approached the campfire, I spotted Lorcan among the rest of Maeve's blood sworn—all gathered around, the smell of campfire smoke filling my senses.

The moment I stepped to where the rest sat, Fenrys' head snapped up, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Well, well," he drawled, his golden eyes sparkling with amusement. "Look who decided to join us."

I forced a casual smile, pretending I hadn't noticed the way the rest of the males exchanged looks. "Good morning," I said, keeping my voice steady, though I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. I kept my eyes off Lorcan as I took a seat beside the white wolf, ignoring the tension in my stomach that was somewhere between knots and butterflies.

Lorcan didn't say anything, but I could feel his presence in front of me, his tall frame looming over the fire as he flipped something on the skillet. I couldn't tell what it was amidst the flames, but with the way Vaughan and Rowan were wincing something told me it was a bird one of the others seemed good enough to eat.

Rowan raised a brow at me, his sharp gaze flicking between Lorcan and me before he smirked. "You sleep well?" he asked innocently, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed him.

I shot him a sidelong glance. "As well as I could, considering someone was snoring."

Fenrys snorted, nudging Gavriel on the other side of him, who was trying—and failing—to keep a straight face. "Must've been some noise last night," Fenrys said under his breath, not bothering to hide the grin that tugged at his lips.

Heat surged to my face, and I glared at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Gavriel gave a soft cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, while Fenrys outright cackled. "Don't worry," Fenrys said, flashing me a wink. "No judgments here."

My face felt like it was on fire, and I was sure my expression was betraying me, but I shot back, "How sweet of you, Fenrys."

"You know, if you ever grow bored of the brooding male you could always come join me in my tent instead," Fenrys added, leaning back on his palms with his signature smirk. "I could show you what it's like to really be loud," He suggested and I swore Lorcan's knuckles turned white he was gripping his hunting knife so tightly. But he remained steady, didn't so much as look at us as he awaited my reply.

"Tempting, Fenrys, but I think I'll stick with what I have. Once you go tall, dark, and brooding, it's hard to go back." I say, flicking my gaze past the fire to Lorcan, whose shoulders visibly relaxed.

Fenrys clenched at his chest, pretending to be mortally wounded. "Ah, so it's like that, is it?" he quipped, but the glint in his eye said he was far from offended. "I guess I'll just have to find solace in knowing I could've changed your life forever."

I grinned, leaning back on my hands as I shot him a mock-sympathetic look. "You'll survive, Fenrys. I hear rejection builds character."

He was about to retort when Rowan chimed in, his deep voice filled with dry amusement. "I don't know, Fenrys. After last night, it sounds like she found someone more than capable of showing her a good time."

My cheeks flamed as I glared at Rowan, though I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. "You too, huh?" I shot back.

Before Fenrys could continue the teasing, Lorcan finally broke his silence, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "Don't you have better things to do than gossip about things that don't concern you?" He still didn't look up from the skillet, but the hard set of his jaw and the tension in his broad shoulders were unmistakable.

Vaughan, silent as ever, gave a half-shrug, tossing a stick into the fire as he added his two cents, his voice calm but amused. "Considering the noise last night, it kind of does concern all of us."

A chorus of snickers followed, and even Gavriel cracked a grin. My face went up in flames, and I buried it in my hands. "You all need better hobbies," I muttered into my palms, but it did nothing to stop the laughter ringing through the camp.

I turned my head just enough to catch Lorcan's eyes as he finally glanced over at me, the firelight flickering in his gaze. The corner of my lips lifted in a challenging smirk.

"If you lot are done, breakfast is ready." He moved and passed me a plate, his warm hand brushing against mine for just a second—a flicker of something unspoken passing between us—before he turned back to the skillet.

The knowing looks from the others didn't stop throughout breakfast. Fenrys continued to make sly comments, Rowan smirked every time Lorcan so much as glanced at me, and even Gavriel, the most serious of the group, couldn't completely hide his amusement.

I had managed to block all of their comments and snickering remarks out, but for some reason, I wasn't able to shake the stare Lorcan had pinned on me.

I looked over to him and for a moment his eyes flicked down to my lips, a challenge. I smirked, beckoning him to test the silent boundaries. He didn't move, but he didn't look away either, and something told me we were nowhere near finished with each other.

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[utterlyotterlyx]

A Ballad of Storm and Shadow

Azriel x F!Reader

Part Six

Series Summary - Rhys had been content in taking the darkest secret of his family to the grave, but when the threat of Hybern increases, he has no choice but to send a message to another world and pray to the Mother that his call is answered.

Warnings - mentions of pain, mentions of death, mentions of torture, angstttt, sadness, fluff

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

This is a crossover series, some aspects will differ from that in the books. Physical attributes are described in this fic, it is essential to the storyline of the character

It had taken 17 hours for y/n to stir.

17 hours of Azriel sat at her bedside hating himself for allowing her to venture from the cabin alone and picturing himself grabbing her hand at the last second to stop her from leaving him.

17 hours of verbal beatings which would have been physical if it weren’t for his refusal to leave her side.

Aelin was furious, her wildfire blazing as blue as her eyes across each one of her limbs.

Rowan hadn’t spoken a single word, but his eyes didn’t leave Azriel for one moment, and he hadn’t unclenched his fists from the moment he had stepped foot into Prythian and scented the direness of the situation at hand.

Lorcan and Aedion also refused to move from the room, being her bloodsworn they had a duty to protect and serve her, and they felt as if they had failed in a sense.

Then there was Manon, the gold eyed witch queen with talons so sharp that they had drawn blood from Azriel’s arms when they coiled around him and demanded to know what had happened with a voice so venomous that he was sure she would drink his blood if she could.

In short, everyone despised him, and even Rhys was reluctant to offer a safe hand to his brother. Azriel understood, Rhys had only just gotten his sister back, and was feeling like a failure in his own way for sending her in the first place. Rhys was so ashamed of his request that he had allowed Aelin to preside over y/n’s care with Yrene, as well as the scouting missions she had ordered Rowan and Manon to embark upon to ensure that no attack would befall the city whilst y/n was injured and vulnerable.

The last 17 hours hadn’t been kind to y/n. Black poison poured from the bandages secured around her chest and abdomen, which meant that Yrene had to change them more often, and a fever so damning had taken over her body, causing the Queen of the Erilean Fae to sweat and shake uncontrollably whilst her body fought an internal war to win back her life. It was horrible to watch, and it all could have been avoided if Azriel had been there, flying below her and ensuring no one could pick them out of the skies, or if Rhys hadn’t sent them to begin with.

Azriel could picture it. A fond and vivid image of y/n flying above him. The rain would cause her raven black hair to stick to her skin, but it was the thin wisps of baby hair that stuck to her forehead that made the faintest of smiles to appear on Azriel's lips. Y/N seemed so unbothered up there, so... at home. Much like he found solace in the shadows, she found songs in the storms. A peace that could never be tainted.

That's what he willed himself to see when he looked upon her pallid, fever-stricken face. He willed himself to see the version of her that she would have wished. One where she was happy. One where she was plagued by serenity.

None of them could pinpoint how Hybern had known that y/n was in Prythian, or how they knew that she even existed in order to create the only poison that could be used to weaken and fatally harm her. Even Yrene had uttered that the ingredients were sparse even within Erilea. It meant that someone had spent valuable time collecting and crafting in order to inflict the pain onto y/n. Azriel swore to himself that whoever it was would die for it in the most curdling manner his mind could fathom.

It was within the thirty second minute that she stirred, her kaleidoscope orbs appearing beneath her fluttering lids and a small groan of torturous pain emitting from her lips. Azriel moved from the chair beside her to the mattress in a matter of seconds, disturbing the peace by shouting into the void for Lorcan and Aedion to call for Yrene, and the healer came quickly at their demands barrelling down the halls.

Yrene was closely followed by Aelin and Manon, the latter of which growled once she spied Azriel’s marred flesh tainting the purity of her queen. The red cloak of Manon swept against the stone beneath her feet, her claws were retracted but her teeth were poised to rip the throat out of anyone who got too close, Azriel included. Not wasting a moment, Yrene crossed the room whilst fastening her apron at her back, reaching out to lay her hand on y/n’s forehead and stealing it back with a hiss and the scent of burning flesh. “How are you holding her?” Yrene asked, perplexed, holding her burnt hand to her chest.

To Azriel, y/n felt hot, but not searing, not burning. From the beads of sweat that teared down her pallid cheeks, he knew that she was struggling to fight off the poison and the infection that came with it.

The Shadowsinger didn’t answer.

Instead, he kept his hazel eyes upon her face, tracing the slow beat of her eyelids and the quaking of her gasping lips as she attempted to form a word. “Y/N,” Azriel cooed gently, causing y/n to stop trembling for a moment, “To me,” he told her, pulling her darting eyes from the ceiling and to his face, “You need to save your energy and rest. Close your eyes and sleep. Let Yrene heal you.”

It wasn’t as much as a command as it was a plead, but she listened, shakily nodding her head and shivering into slumber, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

He felt the golden eyes of the witch queen on the side of his face, Manon couldn’t understand how y/n hadn’t noticed her at her side, she couldn’t understand how y/n’s eyes found Azriel instantly over her own. Azriel moved his gaze to meet those orbs of gold and speckled black, refusing the back down even if he did find her terrifying. “She needs Doranelle,” Manon spoke, not to Azriel despite him being in her eye line, but to Aelin who stood behind her, and to Rowan who was propped against the doorway.

“We’re stuck here,” Aelin reminded her, making it clear that she had already thought the same but knew it was impossible without y/n’s power to rip open the fabric of space and time to take them there. Aelin dropped to her knees beside y/n, the fire coursing through y/n’s veins battling against her own, and she ran her fingers down the side of her face, worry clear and fear prominent. “This King,” Aelin spat, “Knows what he has done. Your war will be coming sooner than you think, and he’ll seek to destroy her along with it.”

“I won’t let him,” Azriel growled, tone low and threatening, and eyes peeking through the thickness of his lashes whilst his hand kept entwined with y/n’s like he was her link back to the land of the living.

Aelin honed in on Azriel, drinking in the dark possessiveness in his eyes and the way his shadows flitted over the skin of her dearest friend, almost as if they were trying to shield her from the world.

It wasn’t like Aelin truly blamed the Shadowsinger for what happened to y/n, she knew first hand just how difficult she could be when it came to anything she felt determined to do. In all honesty, Aelin blamed Rhys the most and had told him plenty of times of the fact. Y/N was Rhys’ sister, he knew how important she was to other worlds let alone his own, and he willingly put her in danger. Such motions threatened the survival of Prythian, and by extension, Erilea.

The feelings of Aelin were probably why Rhys had stayed away, waiting for the rest of them to leave for the evening before spending the night at her side, reading and telling her stories of their father and sister to then only leave at the break of dawn when Lorcan and Aedion would arrive. Azriel was the only one who stayed every minute of every hour, refusing to be anywhere else, out of guilt or desperation Aelin would never truly know, but part of her was thankful for it.

Do you see it?

Aelin craned her head over her shoulder to find Rowan’s orbs fixated on the pallid body of his friend and former princess, a woman he had spent centuries protecting and training. His sight pulled from her to Aelin and he nodded, eyes flickering to Azriel who had turned all of his attention back to y/n.

Yes.

The yawning of Aedion who was sprawled across a chair in the far corner halted Aelin from probing Rowan further. The unimpressed guise of the chamber fell upon him, “Tired, Cousin?”

Aedion shrugged, motioning to Lorcan with a wave of his hand, “She’s funnelling our energy through the bond. Forgive us for feeling a little lethargic, Aelin.”

“What do you mean? She’s funnelling your energy?” Azriel asked, brows furrowed and trying to grasp the meaning in his mind.

Sighing, Aelin explained, “Y/N is incredibly powerful,” she smiled upon y/n sadly, “There are aspects of her power that she refuses to use, abilities of the darkness that she inherited from her mother, Maeve. She can absorb strength from those sworn to her and from those who offer their power to her,” Aelin nodded toward Aedion and Lorcan with her eyes softening, “Y/N is absorbing the strength and energy from Aedion and Lorcan, they are her bloodsworn, and her body is in such a bad way that it seems the dark spots of her power are grasping onto anything they can to keep her alive.”

“It’s happened before?”

Aelin smiled thinly, trying to offer some comfort to Azriel who was beginning to understand the pain inflicted upon the woman before his eyes, but before Aelin could reply, Manon’s voice echoed between them. “Once. She was in a much worse state after she destroyed Maeve, her power was drained for the first time in her life, and she was severely injured from what Maeve did before the battle. All of that put her into a state of comatosis. It took her weeks to wake.” From the heaviness of Manon’s recount, Azriel knew just how close they were, all of them, so he understood why they blamed him, hated him.

“I’m sorry that I let her leave the cabin. I’m sorry,” Azriel spoke, staring right into Manon and trying to decipher whatever emotion lay within those cold golden orbs.

Rising to his feet, Aedion crossed the room, nudging a lingering Rowan on the way, “It’s fine. Y/N is a stubborn thing, she’s pulled the wool over all of our eyes at some point.”

“Like when she sacrificed herself to secure my freedom?” Aelin asked with a smile, leaning to run her fingers along y/n’s arm.

“Or when she trailed the ilken following Elide and I and slaughtered them all without us even realising it?” Lorcan huffed with amusement, creeping closer to the bed with humour in his eyes and his arms firmly folded over his chest.

“Then there’s Skull’s Bay,” Rowan almost sang, the words being the first noise he had made since he had arrived in Velaris and the room hummed in fond remembrance.

“And we won’t ever forget how she took possession of that burst dam and swallowed Maeve along with it. She saved us all that day, even when she was barely alive,” Manon spoke softly, a speckle of humanity shining through her soul shrouded in stone, “She’s family,” was all the witch queen said, an olive branch of sorts, an explanation as to why she had been so difficult.

Noting the concern in Azriel’s eyes, Aelin lay a hand upon his shoulder, gentle but unyielding, “She’s survived worse, Shadowsinger. Don’t underestimate her, you won’t survive the humiliation.”

Silenced followed after that, well, silence for Azriel at least. Whilst he traced the contours of her face, the rest of the room spent some time reminiscing, talking fondly of Erilea which Azriel somewhat listened to but didn’t engage with. All he could really wonder was what place could be so worthy of someone so perfect, and part of him wanted to walk the streets of Doranelle for a moment so that he would be able to understand it.

Only when Yrene would periodically swim by would Azriel lift his eyes to give her a thankful smile that she would return with an unspoken warmth. It seemed as though y/n had a family of her own, just like he did, a family not of blood, but of unbroken bonds and unyielding wrathful friendship. They’d all die for one another, it was something Azriel could resonate with.

After an hour, the doors to the chamber opened and Feyre stepped in, fumbling with her fingers and eyes floating through the room until they landed on Azriel and Y/N, and she found her heart fluttering at the way he looked at her, it reminding her of how Rhys’ gaze embedded itself into her at all times.

The expectant void of words caused Feyre to float back into the room, “Rhys would like a meeting. We should discuss next steps in this war and in y/n’s recovery. Yrene can stay with her, it won’t take long.” Aelin rolled her eyes but stood, muttering something about a false king under her breath which caused Rowan to chortle a laugh as they passed by Feyre. “You too, Az.”

“I’ll take care of her,” Yrene told him softly once she realised the reluctance in his eyes and the way his fingers curled tighter around her hand, “If anything happens, I’ll call for you. I promise.”

Stiffly nodding, Azriel stood from his seat that was imprinted with his frame, he pressed his lips tenderly to the pallid and slightly bruised knuckles of y/n before laying her hand softly upon the mattress and following after Feyre, stealing one last look at the fussing Yrene as her glowing hands floated over y/n’s torso yet again.

Azriel trailed behind the group, lingering at the side of his High Lady as they all sauntered through the halls of the House of Wind. Whilst pacing through the fortress, Azriel couldn't help but allow his gaze to float between each one of the other-worldly beings. Beginning with Aelin and tracking how her arm slid around Rowan's waist, to Rowan who placed a tender kiss upon her brow, to Aedion and Lorcan who were bustling shoulder to shoulder, clearly being too large for the width of the halls, and then there was Manon, red cloak swaying at her back and moon-white hair braided over her shoulder whilst her eyes darted past every doorway like she could see beyond them.

Yes, Azriel was very sure of y/n's safety being almost a guarantee.

With all of his watching and observing, he didn't notice the eyes of Feyre drifting over his face with a quirked smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, "You don't leave her side. Why?" Feyre asked quietly, catching how his eyes thinned slightly as he searched his mind for an answer that would appease her.

"I feel guilty," he tried to say, but the heaviness of his voice betrayed his words.

Feyre gently slipped her arm around his, resting her fingers on the indent of his elbow and pulling him into her side softly. "No. I don't think that's why," she gave him a pointed look, one loaded with knowing, "You feel something for her, despite only knowing her for a few days. What draws you to her?"

A more adequate question would be what didn't draw Azriel to y/n?

"I wasn't sure at first. If you had asked me why I couldn't concentrate at the High Lord's Meeting then I would have told you the truth. It was because of her. Not because she was new, or because I thought she was a threat..." Azriel trailed off, his voice softening and shoulders falling lax, like all tension had floated away, "It was because looking at her made me feel like I was finally home. There is a warmth within her, and a darkness that mirrors my own. She is fierce and tortured, but gentle in ways no one would ever be able to begin to understand. Y/N has spent her life fighting, being used for what she can offer but not being appreciated for who she is, and I think that I understand that."

"So, you seek to protect her?"

"No," Azriel sighed, looking to Feyre with a sparkle in his eyes that she'd never though she would ever get to witness, "Well, yes. But I seek to give her a life free of torment. A life of love and one void of the restraints of her station. I seek to be her freedom, Feyre."

The High Lady of the Night Court found herself blushing from sheer excitement. Feyre had noticed it the moment y/n had waltzed into their lives, limbs exposed and hair flowing, eyes glowing with the light of a thousand storms; she had seen something spark, a cog falling into place after so long tumbling around without purpose.

"Does it help that she is the most beautiful thing to walk the universe?"

Azriel scoffed, "Her beauty is incomparable to what lies beneath it," he told Feyre, glancing sidelong with a smirk, "But I suppose she isn't half bad to look at."

Feyre tried to conceal her chuckle behind her hand as they both entered the dining room that Rhys had converted into a meeting room for the sake of convenience.

It was clear that sleep had escaped him, and what was even more pristine was the fact that Aelin could not have cared less about it as she took her place at the head of the table, further solidifying her position as leader of their little merged group. Rhys didn't contest, instead he simply moved to the opposing end, motioning for Azriel and Feyre to take a place either side of him.

A usually convivial dining table now swimming with discontent from two sides.

Aelin assumed her usual position. Legs propped against the tabletop. Arms folded over her chest. Dagger gleaming in the pale lights and reflecting upon the ceiling. A warning. A dare.

"Have you figured it out yet?" Aelin's head curled to meet Rhys' sight, "Have you figured out how this world knew of her and the only thing that can weaken her?"

Silence consumed the room like thick onyx poison, drowning and dimming all forms of barely there happiness. Rhys shuffled in his seat. He had to send himself on such a mission since he knew that Azriel refused to leave his sisters side, and he had come up empty handed.

The location of y/n's downfall had been left void of any traces of armies and magic, the only sign of this incident occurring being the blood soaked earth where Rhys had stood for an hour cursing himself for even thinking about sending her away when he had only just gotten her back.

If he could, he would go back and rip the order from his mouth. He'd carve out his own tongue to keep her hidden.

"No," Rhys spoke roughly with a throat that hadn't been quenched by water in what felt to him like days. "I assure you that such knowledge has never reached Prythian. I sent word to Helion and Thesan, enquiring if such a poison were in any of their libraries. There isn't."

Lorcan scoffed and glanced to Rowan who had his lip curled upward into a snarl from his place beside Aelin, "And you believe them?"

Sprinkles of magic littered the air, casting a faint shimmer that filled the spaces of the open arched windows whilst the faint sound of laughter from the mouths of little ones echoed upward to the House of Wind.

"I do," Rhys gulped. The High Lord of the Night Court ran a hand down his face that was soaked with exhaustion. "Helion and Thesan aren't only High Lords of Prythian. They are friends of the Night Court, and their lives have been dedicated to research and healing. They would never withhold such information."

"Forgive me for not believing a word of it," Aelin muttered, fingers tracing along the hilt of the dagger on the table. "Your enemy knew that she would come. He knew she would come looking for him, and he knew exactly how to ensure her death. If it weren't for that last burst of power that brought Aedion and Lorcan to her position, she'd be gone." Aelin leant forward in her seat, feet falling flat against the ground and venom laced in her words.

"You foolish man. Sending not only your long lost sister but our queen into the belly of a beast without being able to ensure her safety. Your world isn't the only one at stake here. If she cannot recover from this then your world will perish, and our world will have lost its fiercest warrior."

Manon chuckled, pulling the attention of the room to her, and Cassian who was placed beside her leant away from the talons she was running the pads of her fingers down lazily. "In other words, if she dies here, we'll ensure that you do too. Or well, I will," Manon flashed her iron teeth at Rhys, causing Feyre to shift uncomfortably in her seat as her fingers became entwined in his own, allowing her power to ebb and flow from her essence in response to Manon's threat.

Remembering his position, Azriel's eyes manoeuvred over Manon, then Aedion and Lorcan whose fists were clenched but possessed tired eyes, before landing on Aelin and Rowan who were struggling to contain themselves. Tendrils of shadow scattered over his shoulders, dancing wildly in a brisk wind from an opened door, sauntering up and down and shaking in rhythm with a silent, reverberating thumping that was grasping at and rattling his bones.

"I think it would be wise to refrain from talking to my brother like that," the room collectively snapped its gaze to the doorway, and Aelin rose to her feet instantly.

Before them all stood a pale but healing y/n. She was grasping at her side but walked forward with a pride Aelin had never seen before, not in someone who was hours ago so close to the grave. There was something dark about her, the power itself or the contrast of her hair and eyes against her whitened skin Aelin wasn't sure. But what was clear was that she knew something, the truth and ire dancing in the dimness of her eyes. Something that could change the course of all of their fates.

Y/N's silver skirt kissed the ground as she stopped at Rhys' side, laying her hand atop his shoulder and squeezing it weakly, "I can understand being protective," y/n moved her eyes around the room, slowly raking over each one of her Erilean family, "But don't be mistaken into believing that threatening my blood is big or wise. I decided to take to those skies alone. It is my doing and mine alone."

Azriel felt his heart stop when her eyes finally found him, and he stood instantly, offering his arm and seat and feeling a sense of completeness when she accepted his touch and found comfort in the sensation of his presence behind her.

"Y/N-"

"I'm not finished," a voice of dread and death cut through the plea that fell from Aedion's lips, a voice of a ruler, a voice of one of the most deadly beings the universe would ever know. Inhaling deeply, y/n closed her eyes for a moment, as though she was preparing herself for something, and in sensing her discomfort and hesitation, Azriel lay his hand at the top of her spine, allowing every emotion and ounce of pain to wash through his veins.

Y/N visibly relaxed.

"In my sleep, the attack played in my mind over and over again, not like a nightmare, but in a way to make me see the truth. To push me to see beyond the pain," her eyes were downcast, but she moved backward into Azriel's hand, feeling a blanket of certainty and warmth coiling around her frame. "When I was flying over their camp, I felt the power of the cauldron. It was a drowning feeling, it made me feel confused almost, and I felt a certain type of dread. I was scared."

Y/N's eyes dragged down the table, settling on Rowan with eyebrows tight and fear visible within her irises. "There has only ever been one form of power that has ever made me feel like that. Maybe I was too wrapped up in what was happening to realise it."

"What are you saying, y/n?" Rowan urged, knuckles turning pale from his grip around the arms of his chair.

Without thinking about it, y/n's fingers faintly traced over the scar that had held Azriel's attention in the cabin. A morbid reminder.

"Dorian and I had a theory. That souls from our world didn't pass on into the afterlife but rather fell through the plains separating Erilea from other worlds. It had only ever really been a theory, but it was something that we couldn't stop thinking about. It haunted us in a way."

Because they had both lost a parent.

"But being here now with a poison in my veins so putrid and complex that no one from this world could have ever known of it. I realise what is happening." Aelin leaned forward, gaze flickering over the face of her friend until their eyes met. "There is only one person who knows how to make it. Only one person who would find joy in seeing me dead. Only one person who would seek to ensure the upmost pain. Only one person whose power terrifies me."

Aelin's eyes blew wide. "No," she spoke a hush above a whisper, "It can't be. She's dead. You killed her."

"What's going on?" Rhys entwined his fingers with those of his sister, feeling her fear bristling against the walls of her mind like a battering ram, splintering and wrecking the cage of her consciousness.

Realisation was floating about the room, to all those bar the Inner Circle. Rowan's head hung low, his eyes closed and nostrils flaring with each inhale and exhale, and Aedion couldn't lift his eyes from the tabletop.

"Maeve is here. My mother has come to punish me by devouring your world. Only when you're all dead will she kill me, and then can she conquer Erilea for the final time. Who knows, she might even keep me alive long enough to watch Doranelle and Terrasen burn." Y/N turned to Rhys, bottom lip almost wobbling, "I'm sorry. This is happening because of what I did."

Rhys dropped to his knees before her, taking her burning face in his hands and stroking his thumbs along her cheekbones. "We'll face it. We'll face her. And may the Mother grant her some mercy when I get my hands on her." He read the depleting light in her eyes, knowing that whatever energy she had been granted was wavering. "Let's get you back to bed. We can face this tomorrow. We still have time."

The High Lord of the Night Court went to hook an arm beneath his sisters arms, but she wrenched herself away to the side, still under the touch of Azriel, and looked upward to him. It was a silent plead, the widened watering eyes and a gentle shrug that lifted her shoulders.

Azriel moved instantly, scooping y/n into his arms and hugging her tightly into his chest, propping his chin on the crown of her head as he wordlessly carried her away.

Author's Note

I know it's been ages and I'M SO SORRY

Taglist

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[highqueenofelfhame]

oh, hi.

it has been a hot ass minute but i'm back baybeee. seriously though, if you're still here, still reading this, and still excited there was an update, thank you from the bottom of my heart. i love u guys to pieces!! enjoy <3

The cotton candy hues of the sunset were fading to nothing as he pulled into the long driveway to his house. Lights illuminated the edge of the path, but his house sat dark at the very end until he opened the gate, passed through, waited for it to close behind him, then signaled the garage to open. As soon as he opened the garage, his phone began to ring. 

The shrill ringtone was enough to make his heart skip a beat in his chest before he realized the name and photo on his screen. Golden Boyo flashed across the top accompanied by a picture of the two of them holding a World Cup trophy high above their heads. 

A heavy sigh escaped deep from within Rowan’s chest and he almost didn’t answer. His heavily tattooed thumb hovered over the deny button until he realized he had hardly texted anyone back all weekend. The thought of leaving his friends in the dust didn’t sit right with him when he knew for a fact that Aelin would likely yell at him for it until she was blue in the face and needed to lie down. 

Against his better judgment, he answered. Even worse: he showed up at the bar his teammates were meeting up near Lorcan’s place. While he needed to be fully ready for practice, his friendships needed nurturing as well. It didn’t matter that he felt old and tired. It had been awhile since he met up with the guys and by the time Rowan was a few beers in, he felt better about the whole situation. 

“We have practice tomorrow,” Lorcan reminded Fenrys. His tone was stern, his words were the law. It didn’t, however, change the way Fen’s eyes were roaming the bar looking for a body to explore all night. Rowan smirked, feeling the buzz from his drinks.

“That’s never stopped me before.” Fenrys winked at a man near the dartboard and Rowan watched as a rosy blush crept over the man’s face. No, it had never stopped him before. It was a lesson he still hadn’t learned: a sex marathon the night before practice or a game never did him any good. In fact, it made him play like absolute shit most of the time. “Speaking of people we’re bedding, how’s Aelin doing?”

“We aren’t sleeping together,” Rowan muttered into his pint glass. “She’s been sick a lot. Thankfully she can work from home most of the time.”

“Are we sure—“ Lorcan began, but Rowan held up a hand to stop him. He wasn’t dealing with his bullshit tonight regarding the legitimacy of the pregnancy. Rowan had no doubts, and was even happy. Lorcan was just looking out, but it didn’t stop the irritation that flooded him when he brought out his accusations and reservations. 

“We’re positive. They’re the best ace I’ve ever gotten.”

“That’s cute,” Fenrys swooned. His chin was propped on his fist while he looked at Rowan.

“What?”

“You called them an ace.” Warmth bloomed up his neck, all the way to the tips of his ears. The alcohol had loosened his lips and let the truth flow freely.

“Well,” he grumbled. “All it took was once and now I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“You’re pathetic,” was all Lorcan said in response. Rowan couldn’t disagree. He was nothing if not a love sick puppy waiting for his girl to really come around to the idea of them. 

Pathetic, indeed.

~*~

The blender was a blur of green and entirely too loud. Rowan was definitely getting old if the few beers he had the night before led to such a hangover. Being out so late last night was probably a mistake, but it had been fun to hang out with the guys outside of practice for once. Rowan was feeling it this morning though, already several pain killers deep. Water. He needed a lot of water. 

 He knew the greens and hydration would cure his ailments, but the sound of his phone buzzing might send him over the edge first. When his phone started ringing, he wanted to throw it into the blender, too. 

Rowan wiped a towel over his face. His pulse pounded in his skull while sweat slipped down his face in lazy rivers from the workout that had kicked his ass. He stared down at his phone, the screen lighting up with the one person he truly had been avoiding since his relationship with Aelin began.

MOM CALLING…

He needed to call her. It was bad enough that his relationship was now public and he’d barely told his mom anything about Aelin, but he really needed to clue her in on the pregnancy. If that got out before it came from him she would be deeply wounded and he didn’t like the sound of that. 

The texts she sent him were always a myriad of questions about Aelin. His mom wanted to know what she was like, where she was from, what her hobbies were. Most of that could be found on a google search, but his mom was old and barely had a grasp on the internet. Iris Whitethorn preferred books and newspapers to even learning what the internet had to offer. It was the only reason he had hope that he would beat the world to the pregnancy announcement. Regardless, the papers weren’t how he wanted to find out about his relationship, and she had.

He needed to be a better son. 

That little fact hit him harder when he looked through his texts with his mom. All of them were incoming with varying questions about the girl in the photos. What was going on? Who was she? She’s awfully pretty. Rowan felt like he barely had any answers, so he hadn’t responded. While he sipped down his green juice and devoured his breakfast, he vowed to respond to her later today. A phone call was in order for all the shit he had to relay to her at this point. 

Was a phone call enough to tell her about the baby? Probably not. Fuck. 

Rowan’s hands raked through his hair while he gave himself a moment to groan his frustrations into the universe, hoping the answers would come back to him. There was no time for him to go see her soon. By the time he found a date that would work for both he and Aelin, it might be too late. She could be showing by then with rumors swirling through the media. He had no fucking idea how to tell her anyway. A flurry of emotions ran through his mind while he changed and got ready for practice. All of this would, unfortunately, have to wait.

Nothing yet from Aelin.. Rowan frowned. Sure, it was a bright and early 7 AM, but she was usually already up and getting her day started. He texted her first, wishing her a good day with hopes she felt better. 

Rowan sighed heavily.  The secret he was keeping curled into a ball in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could avoid telling her. Well, avoid wasn’t the right word. He just didn’t have the words to tell her he got a girl he barely knows pregnant and, yes, it’s actually his baby. It was still early, anyway. Still, it wasn’t sitting right with him. He would make a trip to go and see her soon and tell her then.

>> Mom: I want to know about this girl you’re seeing, Rowan Matthias.

<< Rowan: I’ll call you after practice. I promise.

>> Mom: You better. 

~*~

Last night had been fun, but all the sprints and drills during practice were making Rowan nauseous. For the second time today, sweat was streaking down his entire body while he squirted water into his mouth. Gods, Coach was on one. It was like he knew every time there was a night out and made them work even harder. 

Rowan was relieved when they were told to hit the showers. The guys followed behind him, Fenrys groaning about a persistent headache between his eyes. Even Lorcan, who was an absolute tank when it came to alcohol, was cursing and moaning. It would have been funny if he wasn’t in the same boat.

The steaming shower he stepped into was almost holy. Hot water pelted his body while he washed himself, taking a little more time than usual because of his ailments. He could feel his muscles loosening with every breath he took and Gods, it felt so good. When he finally wrapped it up, he quickly dried and got dressed. His friends were teasing each other while they did the same. 

“Go a little too hard last night, Lorcan?” Fenrys crooned, wrapping his golden curls into a messy bun atop his head.

“I really don’t think you want to go down this road, pup,” he grumbled back. A smile twitched at the corner of Rowan’s lips as he grabbed his phone, deciding now was as good a time as any to call his mother. 

“Hello?” Her sweet voice chimed after two rings.

“Good morning, mama,” he said, zipping his bag and tossing it over his shoulder. 

“You’ve been ignoring my calls.” Not a question, though there was some hurt behind her words. Rowan rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Just busy with practice and games.”

“Is that Aelin?” Fenrys called from across the room. He pulled a shirt on and began to walk over to Rowan. “Is she still sick?”

“Is who still sick?” His mom inquired. Again, he sighed and shot Fen a warning look. 

“Aelin has been feeling under the weather,  Mom,” he emphasized her name and Fenrys looked immediately apologetic. Great. 

“Well, what's the matter? I might have some good advice, you know. You better be taking care of that girl. Has she gotten you sick?” 

“Nausea, maybe a stomach bug, no I’m not sick, and no I’m not taking care of her. She won’t let me. Aelin is so independent that I can’t get her to depend on me for anything right now.” It was probably a bigger truth than he was ready to share with his mom, much less all his friends. He made his way out of the locker room and Fen shouted an apology after him. Rowan flippantly waved his hand as the door shut behind him.

“Well, let's start with some remedies. I have just the thing that will help. It’s a tea I drank through my entire pregnancy to fight the nausea and it works like a charm.” Rowan almost choked at the mention of a pregnancy. Did she somehow know already? She couldn’t find out from anyone but him. It would destroy her if she discovered the news on a tabloid site. Fuck. 

“That’d be great, I’ll send it to her.”

“Better yet, I’m due for a visit. How about I drive up and make it for her myself?” Shit. Fuck. Godsdamn the universe.

“Mom, right now isn’t really–”

“It’s never a good time,” she interjected. “You’ll be busy regardless. I don’t mind a little time on my own while you practice. It’ll give me plenty of time to get to know Aelin, too.”

“She lives in Varese,” he told her, trying to get her to back down. 

“I know she does. Tabloids have pictures of you hanging around there any chance you get. And anyway, Fenrys has loose lips. Tell me her name again?”

“If you’ve seen the news articles, you know her name already.” There were plenty of grainy pictures of them sipping drinks at The Neon Moon, plus pap shots of them everywhere else. Rowan wasn’t used to quite so much attention. Sure, there were the occasional paparazzi that snapped photos of him around town, but with Aelin at his side it seemed to be more than usual. 

“Aelin. Her name is Aelin Galathynius,  but you already know that.”

“Well, since you aren’t taking care of Aelin I’m going to drive up and do it myself. Sometimes us women just don’t know how to ask for help when it’s needed. Besides, the poor girl doesn’t have her own mother close by to lean on for support. Maternal comfort goes a long way.”

There was no getting out of this. Maybe it would be a good thing, he pondered. They could tell her in person and maybe she wouldn’t go ballistic if Aelin was there. Stressful as all hell, but maybe it could work if he could get Aelin to come stay for a day or two. 

“Yeah, okay. See you tomorrow, then?”

“I’ll be there in the morning,” she swore before hanging up. Now he just had to get Aelin to come down.

Rowan slumped down into his car and immediately called Aelin. His thumbs drummed on the steering wheel while it rang and rang, his anxiety building in his gut. A thousand things ran through his head: Was it too soon? Would it be weird? What if they didn’t get along?

“Hey you,” she said when the call connected, her voice like music to his ears. It soothed his anxiety, just talking to her. Just by being her.

“Hi.” It was impossible to stop the smile that crept over his face as he dropped his bag in the backseat and got in his car.  “I have a favor to ask and an apology to give.”

“I’m intrigued, do go on.” Rowan chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. Hervoice filtered through his car speakers, surrounding him wholly. 

“Fenrys accidentally told my mom you’ve been sick and now she’s determined that you need her special tea and maternal comfort.”

“Ah,” she said, clearing her throat. “So is the favor meeting your mom? And is the apology for Fenrys?”

“The favor is that you come stay with me for a few days to meet her and let her mother hen you to death because there was no way I was getting out of this scenario while talking to her. But if you refuse I can try to get her to back down.” When Aelin laughed, a weight lifted from his chest. “The apology is for roping you into this mess. And for Fen.”

Aelin laughed, “I accept both. I’d love to meet your mom. Plus, maybe we can tell her about the baby while she’s here.”

 Rowan was relieved she was so open to the whole ordeal. His heart squeezed in his chest that she wanted to meet his mom. Fuck, he was so gone for this girl. He was on a free fall and only she could catch him. He wasn’t looking forward to finding out what would happen if she didn’t.

“She’ll be here tomorrow. Is that okay?” He could hear papers shuffling in the background, the sound of a zipper and a small sigh from his girl.

“I’ll pack a suitcase and be there in a bit. I’ll bring my work stuff with me and set up in your office, if that’s okay.”

“What's mine is yours,” he swore. 

“Okay,” she said softly, and Rowan could hear the smile in her voice. He was grinning, too.

“Okay. See you soon.”

“See you soon, Ro.” Ro. Was she trying to get him to crash his car from a heart explosion? He disconnected the call as he pulled into his driveway and took a deep breath. This was a good thing, right?

~*~

“Ro?” Aelin called out, stepping through the front door. He’d left it unlocked for her in case he was busy when she arrived. 

“Kitchen!” He called back, so Aelin slipped off her shoes and padded through the house until she rounded the corner and saw him standing at the stove.

His sleeves were pushed up above his elbows and an apron was around his neck. A cutting board of vegetables sat on the counter while he stirred something in a pan. It smelled devine, and wasn’t making her stomach turn which was a huge win. Everything was setting it off lately.

“I know tacos are a safe food right now, so I thought we’d try fajitas to switch things up,” he said over his shoulder, turning briefly to grab the cutting board. The contents were dumped into the pan and she circled the counter, pausing beside him. Rowan stirred with his left hand and wrapped his right around her waist. Her stomach fluttered at the contact, but she didn’t pull away. 

“Thank you,” she said, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“Always.” Aelin smiled up at him before stepping away to get a glass of water. 

They made small talk while he cooked, everything from their days to little tidbits of what his mom was like. According to Rowan, she was the best mom in the world. He gushed about her cooking, about how he raised her alone after his father passed away when he was ten. She’s fiercely loyal to her people, and loves Rowan more than anything in the world. If the sun revolved around people, Iris would surely revolve around Rowan. He insisted it would be the same for Aelin and their baby. 

The thought warmed her. This baby would have the best community in their corner. Not having to worry about the lack of a village was a huge relief. Everyone was dying to be involved on both sides, and many of Rowan’s teammates contacted Aelin just to check in on her. Aedion and Lysandra were already vying for favorite aunt/uncle. No, this baby would never know what it was like to not feel wholly loved by their people.

After dinner, they cleaned up despite Rowan’s protests that she didn’t need to do anything. Aelin dismissed him with the wave of her hand and worked on the dishes while he put away leftovers. He was right; it was a refreshing change to eat something other than tacos. 

“I’m gonna shower,” she sighed, arms stretched above her head. Even though it was still pretty early, she was more than ready to don pajamas, curl up, and decompress from work and the drive down. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” was his reply, and she knew he meant it more than just right now. Biting her lip, she slipped out of the kitchen and made her way upstairs. 

The best shower in the house was Rowan’s. It had a rainwater shower head that felt so luxurious that Aelin swore she was going to get one for her house in Orynth. As soon as she stepped in she felt the day simply melt away. Hot water trickled down her skin while she carefully washed her body, then her hair. She really needed to get this showerhead. It was the height of luxury at the moment. 

After drying off and changing clothes, she went back downstairs and found Rowan on the couch. He had changed clothes and was now in sweatpants and a t-shirt. Something about it was really doing something for Aelin. His tattooed bicep was along the back of the couch and she wanted to trace the lines everywhere they turned. When he looked up at her and grinned, something fluttered in her stomach. Gods, she was so screwed.

“Good shower?”

“Mhm,” she hummed, sitting close enough that his fingers brushed her shoulder. Rowan toyed with the ends of her damp hair for a moment, and Aelin was stunned at how comfortable the silence was. Nothing was being said, or communicated in any way, but it was such a cozy silence. She’d never experienced anything quite like it before. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Rowan said carefully, “but you look exhausted.”

Aelin took no offence, laughing as she rubbed her face. It was true. She wasn’t sleeping much, and when she did it was restless. Her hips were already beginning to ache and she wasn’t looking forward to it getting worse as her body grew and changed. Still, she was so tired. Most of the time she was asleep by nine-thirty. 

“Because I am,” she sighed. “There’s so much that needs to be done for the foundation before the office launch  here. I feel like I’m treading water because there’s always more to do. I love my job, and I can’t wait to see the effects it has on the community, but I think I forgot how much it is. All the events I need to organize, getting the office picture perfect. My team is amazing but some days I get asked so many questions that I never want to speak again.”

“What you’re doing is fantastic, and I will be at every event I can be. However, if you need to take a breather, take one. A day off is okay. You can do all of this, I don’t doubt it, but you are growing a human. It might slow you down a little, but you’ll get it taken care of.”

“I haven’t told my staff yet. I want to wait until my next scan to make sure everything is good before I tell anyone else. Except your mom, if you want to do that while she’s here. Family doesn’t count. Anyway, I think they’ll understand my work-from-home days a little more once the cat is out of the bag. I think Luca is on to me, though. Kid is way too perceptive and I’ve been spending way too much time with him working on the website.” 

“I’m sure they’re sympathetic now. Plus, you’re getting everything done you need to, right?”

“Of course. I think that’s part of why I’m so tired. I’ll stay until like eight, and then go home and eat, shower, and go to bed.” She sighed again, fingers running through her hair.

“Why don’t you get some sleep? My mom can be a lot,” he admitted. 

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer. I swear I’m usually a lot more fun than this,” she laughed, and he joined in with her. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb running over her skin. There were calluses on his hands that always felt strangely good. 

“Goodnight, then.” His hand dropped from her face and she was glad. Heat was creeping onto her cheeks and if she didn’t get out of there, she would look like a tomato soon. It was ridiculous that his touch set her aflame so easily. Aelin wasn’t sure she would ever get used to it. 

Upstairs, she wasn’t sure which room to enter. There was Rowan’s room, and then the guest room. They didn’t say anything about sleeping together tonight. Hell, Rowan didn’t broach the topic at all. It was tempting to crawl into his bed, but she turned into the guest room, which was unofficially her room, instead.

~*~

Aelin couldn’t sleep. It was just after ten, and she had maybe dozed off once for a few minutes. Otherwise she was watching the ceiling fan whirring above her head. The house was so quiet. Much better than her apartment, where upstairs neighbors were sometimes a little heavy footed. Not too long ago,she heard Rowan walk down the hall and close his door. She chewed on her lip, gave herself a little pep talk, then pushed out of bed and opened her door before she could talk herself out of it.

Two knocks on his door, followed by a soft, “Rowan?” 

“Come in, love,” she heard, muffled through the door. Once it was open she was treated to a shirtless Rowan sitting up in bed. Glasses were perched on his nose and he seemed to be reading a book. 

“Hey,” she said, lip tucking between her teeth while she rocked back and forth on her heels.

“Hi,” he chuckled, shutting the book and putting it on his nightstand. “What are you doing awake?”

“I can’t sleep. Plus, like, your mom is under the assumption that we’re together so we probably need to sleep in the same room anyway. Why not start now? And we’re not not together, so it would be weird if we weren’t sleeping in the same room. You know?”

“I think if we’re not not together, that means we’re together, Aelin.” A smile was tugging at his lips and she wanted to kiss it until she saw all of his teeth. She took it as her chance to walk over and get in bed with him, wiggling down in the blankets and pillows until she was fully enveloped in his scent. 

“Call it what you want,” she shrugged, the blanket covering the little grin on her face. 

“What are you calling it?” Rowan tilted his head slightly, glasses sliding down his nose. Gods, he was so… there were so many words for what he was right now. All of them were positive because this look and banter was really doing it for her. 

“You know I’m calling you my boyfriend.” Aelin’s eyes rolled in an attempt to seem nonchalant. 

“You can trust me, Aelin,” he said softly, hand reaching to cover hers. Their fingers slid together seamlessly, and more of that fluttery nonsense took over her stomach. She licked her lips, eyes focused on their hands.

“I know.” And she did. They barely knew each other, yet she knew he was becoming a safe person for her. There weren’t too many of those anymore. Her inner circle was small, yet she knew that because of Rowan, it was growing. 

“Yeah?” His finger bumped beneath her chin and she looked at him, fighting the tears that threatened to pour over.

“You’re going to make me cry, and then your mom is going to be here in the morning while I have a puffy, red face. I’ll look like a little tomato and I’ll be really mad about it.” Rowan snorted, leaning forward to kiss her forehead.

“A beautiful tomato,” he said, lips pressing to the top of her head like he couldn’t help himself. Beneath the blankets, she was smiling. 

“Maybe after your mom leaves… maybe we can talk before I go back to Wendlyn?” She lowered the blankets beneath her chin and looked up at him. A single tear had managed to escape and he wiped it with his fingertips. 

“It’s a date,” he promised, nodding his head almost too-eagerly. Clearly he was waiting for this moment. Aelin hated that she had to be so guarded these days, but there was too much damage in her past to not be. Her heart had been crushed into oblivion before, and she couldn’t risk it. Now that a baby was involved? Gods, she had to be so, so careful. 

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?” She finally asked, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth. Rowan’s eyes widened at the inquiry, mouth opening and closing several times before he found letters to string into a sentence.

“I wasn’t sure you were ready for that,” he said slowly, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. Aelin smiled, a whisper of a laugh escaping her mouth.

“I’m ready to be kissed, Rowan.”

It seemed that he didn’t have to be told twice. Rowan leaned in and kissed her lips softly as if testing the waters. Aelin was the one to melt into him, fingers braiding into his hair to pull him closer. He groaned quietly, parting his lips and she was more than eager to sweep her tongue against his. 

Gods, yes. This. There had been moments where she wondered if the tension was only that. Just tension that fizzled out after the first entanglement. The feeling in the pit of her stomach told her otherwise. Butterflies fluttered up her ribcage and she gasped. It wasn’t a one time thing. If she played her cards right… she could have this forever. 

The thought clanged through her, sobering her enough that she tugged on his hair a little. Rowan groaned and it really didn’t help dampen her desire. The sound was delicious, something she wanted to eat like cake until he had nothing else to give her.

“Rowan,” she finally sighed, his lips closing over her pulse. Fuck, it felt so good. “We said slow.”

“This is slow,” he murmured, teeth grazing her skin and tongue doing the laziest swirl over her skin. Oh, gods.

“Slower,” she laughed, taking his face in her hands and pulling him away herself before her resolve withered into nothing. 

“Whatever you want,” he promised, licking his lips. Rowan’s cheeks were flushed and she had to lean in and kiss them both, planting one more on his lips. It would be a lie if she said she wasn’t melting at the sight of him, rosy cheeks and crinkles by his eyes from smiling. 

“I know it’s not easy–”

“I’ll do anything you want. I’ll wait until you’re ready. Not just for sex. For everything.” Everything. Aelin’s heart fluttered madly in her chest, shaking her ribcage. Wasn’t that the part she was most scared of? It excited the hell out of her at the same time. Everything with Rowan was scary, and yet… Aelin found herself looking forward to it. 

It was easy to curl up in his arms, head on his chest. One of his hands traced sleepy shapes over her back and shoulders, and when sleep came to claim her, she had no say in the matter. Feeling safer than she had in awhile, she counted the beats of his heart until she fell asleep. 

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[throneofsapphics]

a/n: this year I'm doing kinktober a bit differently, I'll have one longer kink and angst riddled fic with shorter drabbles/oneshots sprinkled in between. I'll keep this masterlist updated as it goes on. for some of the days I'll be opening up a vote for which character to pair our lovely reader with <3

if anyone wants to be added to a taglist, either for the series, kinks, or both please let me know! you can comment under here or send me an ask/message :)

against the contract - poly!Feysandriel x f!Reader

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

first post 10/1, updating weekly

kinks drabbles/fics list (dates subject to change)

10/3 one for the party - orgy with aelin’s court | posted 10/6 experiments - toys with aelin | posted 10/9 special plans - punishment with poly!neris 10/12 (not very) patient - impact play with lorcan 10/15 throne pet - exhibitionism with poly!manorian  10/18 pretty girl - dacryphilia with poly!cazriel 10/21 give me more - throat-training with lucien 10/24 chase me baby - cnc/primal with cassian 10/27 weapons - gun play with poly!ruhnlidia  10/30 kittens - pet play with manon, nesta, & elide

bonus content

to be added

[verperina]

On The Throne

Pairing: Dorian Havilliard x f!reader 

Summary: Dorian fulfills your fantasy of being fucked on his throne.

Warnings: 18+ smut

Word Count: 2,943

Author’s Note: I’m not 100% satisfied with this, but I’m still proud of myself for finishing it. I stayed up until 4:00 in the morning to finish writing and editing, and then put it in my drafts. And please ignore how boring/dumb the title is. I couldn’t come up with anything else.

“Everyone out.” Dorian’s voice rang throughout the room, echoing off the marble floors. The guards quickly left, including Chaol who sent a glance toward his friend and then to you before shutting the doors behind him. The room was completely empty now. It was just you and Dorian, who still had his eyes on you.  

Chaol had fetched you from the library, informing you that Dorian had requested your presence in the throne room, but did not say why. When you asked if something had happened, Chaol had quickly reassured you that the king was fine and had simply wanted to see you. 

The way Dorian was currently looking at you—a predatory look in his eyes—made your heart skip a beat, and you took a moment to study his clothing. He always dressed immaculately, but today he showed to be the perfect portrait of royalty. His black hair neatly combed with a gold crown placed perfectly upon his head, a fitted black jacket embellished with red and gold, a silk tunic, black trousers and black knee-high boots. The wedding ring adorning his finger—a silver band with a sapphire jewel that matched your own—gleamed in the sunlight.

Your body started to feel warm, your dress too constricting.

The corner of his lip tugged upwards and he reached out a hand, gesturing for you to step up the dais. “Come here.”

You remained still. His eyebrows faintly rose at your defiance and you could see a sliver of amusement in his eyes.

“Ask nicely,” you said, a small grin starting to form on your lips, “and then maybe I will, husband.”

He chuckled, the noise coming out breathy. “Please, come here my dear wife.”

After a moment of mock contemplation, you obliged, slowly walking up the steps so you wouldn’t trip over the fabric of your dress. 

Once you were within his reach, you grabbed his hand and laced your fingers together, looking at his wedding ring before speaking. “When Chaol came to get me I was worried at first—I thought maybe something had happened.” Dorian’s gaze softened. “He was quick to reassure me that you were more than fine, although he didn’t share why you wanted to see me.”

Dorian started to smile. “I didn’t tell Chaol why I wanted to see you.”

“And why is that?” you asked, head tilting to the side.

“Because I didn’t want him to know that I would very much like to fuck you on my throne.” You choked out a laugh and felt your face begin to warm. His smile widened at the sound, sapphire eyes bright. A few weeks ago, laying in your shared bed after hours of passionate love making, you had confessed to Dorian about your fantasy of having sex on his throne—with no one else in the room, of course—and he had only laughed and playfully teased you before fucking you once more. You thought he had forgotten all about it. Apparently not. He added, “But I’m sure he will figure it all out rather soon.” And then a sly grin came across his face. “If he doesn’t, then I’m sure the noises will be confirmation.”

“Your mother would be horrified if she found out,” you mused. It was no secret that Georgina Havilliard wasn’t overly fond of you. When envisioning a future wife for her eldest son she favored the idea of a princess or at least a woman of high nobility, not a commoner like you. But Dorian didn’t care about her opinion and had no problem voicing it. He loved you and that’s all that mattered.

Your husband only shrugged before lightly tugging your hand. You saw the mischievous gleam in his eyes and knew that he wanted to indulge you in your fantasy. You lowered yourself onto his lap, straddling his hips and his large hands immediately gripped your thighs. Bringing your hands to cup his jaw, your thumb lightly traced the sharpness of his cheekbone, and then brushed it against his bottom lip.

You let yourself take time in admiring his features. His beauty. Just Dorian himself. Your Dorian.

Removing your hands from his face, you lowered them to his shoulders, and then to the firm muscle of his abdomen through his clothing. His stomach tightened at your touch and with one last glance at his face, your lips found his in a soft kiss, one so at odds with the burning desire that snapped through the air. Your entire body was tingling from excitement and the feeling of his warmth seeping into you.

Dorian’s tongue meets yours tentatively, waiting for you to lead the kiss, letting you decide how you wanted it. You let yourself take control. You alternate between gently nipping his lips and stroking your tongue against his while running your fingers through his thick hair. 

Your heart was racing and your face warm. Dorian pulled away to rest his forehead against yours. His lips were swollen from your kisses and his tanned face was a light shade of pink. “Tell me what you want,” he breathed, sapphire eyes glazed over with lust.

You swallowed, trying to catch your breath. “You.”

“Want me to make you feel good?” he murmured.

“Yes.” You nodded eagerly, and not bothering to wait for him to take control, your hands grip the collar of his tunic as you drag Dorian in for a kiss that’s desperate and a little sloppy. His tongue in your mouth once again, and his hands move to cup your ass, kneading the flesh. A pleased sigh leaves you.

He deepens the kiss. It’s demanding and ravenous. You let yourself melt into him, let yourself just be here in the now with him. Unashamed and happy. You teasingly roll your hips against his hardness, causing a wave of pleasure to shoot through you, and a low, rough groan escapes him. You repeat the motion again, feeling arousal pool between your thighs.

His lips began to plant kisses along your jawline, and then leaves a trail of kisses down the column of your throat. Sucking the skin before harshly biting, a gasp leaves you at the slight stinging sensation. “I want to see my marks on you.” And you wanted to see his marks on you too. You wanted everyone to know that no one could touch you like Dorian could. That no one would ever be able to please you like Dorian did.

His hands started to untie the front laces of your dress, your bare breasts now exposed, and your nipples hardening from both your arousal, and the cool air. His lips leave love bites on your neck and collarbones, and then your breasts. You looked at him to see that his eyes were already on you, pure hunger shining in them.

And when Dorian brought your nipple to his warm mouth, you couldn’t stop the strangled moan that left you. Your back arched as your hands came to rest on his broad shoulders. He continued his torturous teasing; the rough sucking, the gentle biting. Your head tipped back as his fingers tugged at your other nipple. “Dorian,” you mumbled. Your cunt was wet, the lace fabric starting to become uncomfortable.

He wasn’t using his phantom hands. He wanted you all to himself. 

He lips wrapped around your other nipple, continuing the same ministrations but even more harsher this time. Your thighs tightened around him. He shuddered when your body moved against his, a debauched sound escaping his throat—a sound you wanted to hear more of. 

You continued to slowly grind yourself on him, desperate for some kind of relief. A pathetic whimper was voiced when your sensitive clit rubbed against the fabric of his pants. 

“I need more.” The words came out as a plea. It wasn’t enough. Your body craved more. 

Dorian released his mouth from you, looking into your eyes and said, “Tell me what you need and I will give it to you.”

“You inside of me.”

Your fingers trembled as you quickly undid the button to his pants and then his zipper. He pushed the skirts of your dress further up until your panties were completely visible, and without hesitation he pushed the material to the side and slid a finger through your folds, a breath leaving him at the feeling of your wet cunt.

You brought Dorian in for another kiss, one that left you breathless, and then pulled back to look at him. His hair was messy from your fingers running through it, pretty flushed cheeks, and swollen lips. He still had the pale band around his neck from where the collar had been, but it did nothing to diminish his beauty.

“You’re beautiful,” you breathed. 

Dorian laughed, his eyes glimmering with mirth, and your heart skipped a beat at how joyous it sounded. “I prefer devastatingly handsome.” He paused to kiss you once more. “But thank you.”

You smiled and opened your mouth to respond, but a moan came out when he slid a finger inside of you, purposefully slow. You looked down to see his finger sliding in and out, gathering more of your slick. “You like seeing me touch you?”

You nodded, slightly rocking your hips and bringing your hand down to rub your clit at a steady pace. A silent hiss left your lips at the contact, and pressure started to form low in your belly, a bundle of nerves starting to become more intense. His other hand kneaded your breast, adding more stimulation, making your orgasm grow nearer, even more so as a second finger entered you.

Your cunt started clenching rhythmically, eager to find that release you desperately wanted. You started rubbing your clit faster, feeling a sheen layer of sweat on your body and hairline despite the room being a little cold. You could only imagine how messy your appearance was right now, but you couldn’t bring yourself to particularly care.

Breathy gasps left you as you climaxed, your body shuddering from the intensity as Dorian helped you ride through your high. The feeling leaves you in ecstasy, slightly buzzed. Only when you stopped pleasuring yourself did he gently remove his fingers. 

He brought them to his mouth, sapphire eyes glazed over with burning desire, and tasted your arousal. A pleased sound left him. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear as he pulls you in for a fiery kiss, your tongues stroking against one another. 

You push down his undershorts, his cock springing free, hard and the tip leaking with arousal. You swallowed. You wanted Dorian to fuck your throat until tears streamed down your face, but that would happen next time when you two had more time, it could wait. Instead, you grabbed his cock and stroked him, and Dorian tipped his head back.

Your thumb collected the moisture at his tip, rubbing it along his slit and he groaned. You could tell that he was restraining himself from bucking his hips. After giving a soft squeeze, you very slowly start stroking him. His brows slightly furrow and his hands tighten their hold on your backside. You give a harsh tug, and then another before picking up your pace a little more.

The restraint that Dorian was holding onto broke free as he removed your hand from his length and tightened a fist over it, giving a few leisure strokes of his own, and then angles himself up with the entrance of your cunt. And when you finally lowered yourself onto his cock, you couldn’t stop the shudder that ran throughout your entire body. The feeling of him being inside you felt so warm and full.

You both paused for a moment to just breathe each other in, and then you began a slow pace, placing a hand around his throat and the other on his chest to balance yourself. The stretch of his cock is a delicious torture; you could never grow tired of this. A shaky breath escapes your lips as you ride him. His hands come to rest on your hips to help steady you.

You could feel a thin layer of perspiration cling uncomfortably to your back, but you ignored it as you lightly squeezed Dorian’s throat and closed your eyes, feeling nothing but pure bliss. 

Very slowly you start to move a little faster, his heavy breathing encouraging you. Each time your hips moved upward you squeeze around his cock, making his eyebrows lightly crease from pleasure and his hands tighten their hold on you. You bring your mouth to his, and heavy, forceful kisses leave your lungs burning for air. Your hands and his own are all over each other, frantic, as if you two can’t get enough of one another. 

“How did I get so lucky?” he asked. “How did I get so lucky as to have you?”

Before you could open your mouth to respond, Dorian’s hand came down to harshly smack your ass and you gasp in surprise. He does it again, but harder this time and it causes you to clench around his cock, and in response he lets out a quiet groan. He lets his nails lightly scratch the side of your ass before slapping you again. You wouldn’t be surprised to find handprints later on.

He stopped your movements by firmly grabbing your hips, and before you could question what he was doing, he slammed you down onto his length—hard. You both let out choked moans and your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head. He repeated the same motion thrice more before snapping his hips upward. The sound of skin-on-skin echoing throughout the room.

“You can take it,” Dorian panted. 

His hands are still holding your hips in place to keep you in his control. Your back arches in pleasure, a small whimper leaving your lips, and a deep pressure starts building in your belly, tingles rippling through your entire body. You plead for your husband to go faster, desperately wanting to find release. Your mouth hangs open as your forehead falls against his, and a bead of sweat trails down your temple from your hairline. You ignore the uncomfortable feeling of sweat clinging to your body.

Your hands cup your breasts, kneading the flesh before rolling your nipples in between your thumbs and forefingers to add more stimulation. You groan at the sensation. Dorian watches keenly, his throat bobbing. 

Your cunt is throbbing painfully and your walls are pulsing as your body tightens around him. He releases his hold on you so you can move against him, and you bring your hands to rest on his shoulders to ride him faster.

“Take what you want,” he encourages. “Ride my cock like a good girl.”

You whine at the praise, clenching around his cock. He moans at the feeling of your tight, wet walls around him. The sound sent a rush of pleasure to your core. He kisses you harshly before speaking again. “You’re doing so good for me. Always so good for me.”

The knot in your stomach twists. “I’m going to come,” you gasp out. Your movements become chaotic and uncontrolled. You start rhythmically pulsing around his cock and he snaps his hips in a frenzy to help bring your climax closer. 

“That’s it,” he rasped. “Come for me.”

With a loud moan, your orgasm rolls through you in an intense convulsion, your vision blurring. Your toes curl so hard in your slippers they begin to cramp as pure ecstasy floods your body. Your limbs tremble and spasm as you hold onto Dorian tightly, burning your face into the crook of his neck. 

He curses, nipping the lobe of your ear as his warm hands grip your thighs. His hips buck frantically, chasing his own release, and when you clench around him again he groans loudly, spilling into you. His breathing is ragged against your neck as his thrusts slow down before coming to a stop. 

The two of you trembled in each other’s arms as you came down from the high. You sigh, closing your eyes, letting yourself rest your head on his chest and listen to the erratic beating of his heart. Dorian lazily ran his hand up and down your back. His touch is soothing and gentle, like always.

The air in the room was stifling, too hot, despite it being chilly when you had first arrived. You swallow, trying to catch your breath and calm your racing heart. You could feel your dress stick uncomfortably to your skin from sweating, and stray pieces of your hair were stuck to your forehead. You were too dazed from your orgasm to care about your appearance.

“Do you think Chaol knows?” you ask softly. Both of you had been in here for more than ten minutes and neither of you had exactly been quiet, and Chaol wasn’t dumb; he saw the way you and Dorian were looking at each other before leaving the room.

“Given how loud you and I were, then yes, I would assume so,” Dorian says. “But if he isn’t aware, then I have no problem fucking you again.”

You laugh loudly at that and he joins you, the sound making your heart skip a beat. You had no problem with being fucked on his throne again, if anything it made you want to do it again. 

“I would like that,” you respond, stifling a yawn.

“I thought as much.” You couldn’t see his face, but you knew that Dorian was smiling, and you felt a smile bloom on your lips too, feeling happy and content with being in the arms of your husband.

[shadowdaddies]

Anywhere

Fenrys x Reader fluff

A/N: dipping my toe back into writing to see if I can still do it before I try to conquer requests

Soft wisps of clouds drifted lazily across the vibrant blue skies of Terrasen, the gentle breeze that blew along with them granting a cool contrast to the sun on your skin. 

Pushing your arms above your head, toes pointed as you stretched the muscles throughout your body, a gentle yawn following along with your satisfied smile. 

“Beautiful,” Fenrys whispered next to you, watching as you hummed in agreement. 

Your hands twined in the blades of grass beneath them as you savored the feeling of the emerald earth against your skin. “It is a beautiful day,” you sighed, eyes fluttering shut as you moved your arms to fold behind your head.

The feeling of warmth from the sun gave way to a different, familiar warmth as Fenrys’s body turned into your own, a broad hand sliding across your waist. “I wasn’t talking about the weather,” he murmured, voice rough and low from where his mouth settled at your throat.

Heat rose to your cheeks, breath drawing shallow at the feeling of his knowing grin spreading across the sensitive skin, canines dragging lightly down to rest on your collarbone. Faster than you could process, Fenrys pulled away, onyx eyes taking in your dazed expression, the flush on your cheeks and chest heavy with want.

“Fenrys,” you half-scolded, half-pleaded as your hand reached to brush golden curls from his face. With a low laugh, your mate, caught your hand with his, eyes still locked on yours as he pressed a tender kiss to your palm. 

“Care to join me for a swim?” he questioned, eyebrow arched as he glanced between you and the sparkling lake that lay just down the hill. Unsure if it was the clouds that had slowly disappeared from the sky, or the way Fenrys was looking at you, a wave of heat coursed through your veins. 

You nodded swiftly, allowing Fenrys to draw you to your feet just to throw you over his shoulder as he began bounding towards the lake. Your weak, laughter-filled protests had no effect on the warrior, setting you back on your feet when he’d reached the water’s edge. 

Stripping off his shirt, your mate flashed you a lopsided grin as his hands reached for the ties of his pants. “Are you going to join me, or do you prefer to watch?” he teased, nodding at the dress still covering your body.

Rolling your eyes, you smiled up at him. “Of course, I’ll join you anywhere,” you promised, pushing up onto your toes as he met you for a kiss. 

“Then allow me,” he murmured against your lips, his mouth trailing down your jaw and lower, towards where his hands deftly undid the laces of your dress. The warm sun bore its heat upon your newly exposed skin for only a moment before Fenrys’s hands found your backside, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist while he carried you into the cool lake.

“I love you,” you whispered, arms locked around his neck, head laid against his chest where you listened to his heartbeat. 

Lips pressed against the top of your head, and lingered there. “And I love you.” Lowering you to where you stood in the water, chests pressed against one another, Fenrys’s arms wound around you once more, a cocoon of solace into which you gratefully relaxed. 

You simply stood there for awhile - enjoying the closeness of one another, the oneness with your mate and with nature - before finally stepping out of the water. As Fenrys helped redo the last ties on your dress, his dark eyes grew soft - a look that you knew all too well at this point. 

His gaze shone with sincerity, with the same devotion he’d shown as he spoke his vows on your wedding day. Dark eyes grew soft, his hands winding through your hair to tilt your gaze to his. “Thank you, for just being with me,” he smiled softly.

Returning his smile, you brought your hands to his cheeks. “Every day, I don’t know how I could love you any more than I already do. Yet every day, I fall for you a little more. There is nowhere I would rather be than by your side. On the best days, on the worst days, on these quiet days. I’ll go anywhere with you.”

[negotiumcrucis]

Yusuf closes the door with a heavy sigh.

The kitchen is dark and quiet, and the stove is cold to the touch. He puts down the parcels he carried all the way from the market, lights the oil lamp and hangs it over the worktable. He does not venture into the adjacent room. There’s no need for that. He knows Nicolò is not home, and he buries the uneasiness it all entails deep inside his chest.

It would not be the first time Yusuf had to dine alone since the winds had turned too strong and too cold, forcing many galleys to stay in port. The taverns are packed full and so is La Sacra Infermeria, where Nicolò has built quite a reputation for himself in the past months. Still, it is Christmas Eve and when Yusuf woke up in the morning, he found a note in Nicolò’s handwriting asking him to bring home meat – rabbit, if he could not find rooster. He could not.

Joe needed to add some finishing touches in the Oratory to get the Conventual Church ready for midnight mass and it was the thought of Nicolò’s cooking that had kept Yusuf company as he worked all day long. The focus demanded by the job made it a bit easier for Yusuf to refuse the food offered by the brothers, though he did not manage to dissuade his fellow workers from shoving a cup of wine in his hands at the end of the day. It was light Sicilian wine, very cheap, sour, sold from the cask, and it had upset Yusuf’s empty stomach as he gulped it all down.

He thought he would feel guilty about downing the wine after, but he did not. The Ramadan had started two weeks before, but the truth was, he had not fasted every single day thence, nor did he sneak out to pray five times a day with the Muslim slaves out in the harbour, but he did watch them bowing towards Mecca as he walked home at the sunset. Nicolò never asked, never judged. His heart understood Yusuf as Yusuf sometimes did not understand himself.

Yusuf lights the logs inside the stove and coaxes the flames into life. He washes his hands and his face, shivering at the contact of the icy water against his naked jaw. Not for the first time, Yusuf wonders if it was truly necessary to shave off his beard. Its absence did not bother him that much during the summer months, but since the weather became wet and chilly, he dearly misses that extra layer of protection.

Nicolò has mourned the loss of Yusuf’s beard since the very start. He made no attempt to disguise his resentment, but in the end, they both agreed it would be easier for Yusuf to pose as an artist from Messina if he did not have a beard. Yusuf could easily replicate a proper Sicilian accent and of course, he knew every single Christian prayer in the world.

He called himself Joseph then. Sometimes, when the brothers were out of earshot, one of his less pious co-workers would jest that, while Yusuf was busy painting fluffy wings, an angel was probably paying his Virgin Mary a visit. It was easy to laugh at the blasphemous joke, and it made all the hard work a tad lighter. Yusuf took everything in stride, yet he could not help thinking about Nicolò, who was definitely far from a virgin – though sometimes he could blush like one, especially the times Yusuf kissed and licked him between his legs, his coarse stubble turning Nicolò’s pale skin red.

The thought of Nicolò naked and squirming under him brings some heat to Yusuf’s lower belly, but it’s not enough to chase away the cold from his bones. That coldness, Yusuf knows, has less to do with the weather and more with the emptiness in his soul, something that only grew since Quỳnh was taken. They did not have time to deal with that emptiness for decades when they searched for her in every port, from the North Sea to the coast of Africa and around the Mediterranean.

They would have continued searching for her forever if it had not been for Andromache, who sneaked out one night, leaving behind nothing but a note telling them she had to do this alone for a while. Nicolò wanted to follow their remaining sister no matter what and followed her they did. They were two steps behind Andromache for almost three years until they ended up stranded in Melita during a storm.

The islands have been under the Knights Hospitaller’s rule for half a century then, teeming with people from all over the Mediterranean. Yusuf reasoned that if there was a sailor left alive who knew anything about a witch locked in an iron coffin and thrown into the sea, they would eventually sail their way into the Grand Harbour. So far, none did, but they have lost Andromache’s track, so they decided to keep themselves busy, nursing the wounds in their hearts as they tried to do some good.

Yusuf had grown used to going without his daily prayers during their search. They were in constant move, and every new lead that led them nowhere chipped off a piece of his faith. He promised himself he would do better when they found Quỳnh, and it felt like a bargain he had little to offer in return. Then when became if and eventually, his despair festered into a wound that he felt bleeding under his skin.

More than once, Yusuf woke up feeling as if he was drowning in that very blood, with the taste of salt and rust on his tongue where he had sunk his teeth into. And maybe, if he could multiply that feeling by a thousand, maybe he would be able to grasp a fraction of what Quỳnh was feeling. More than once, Yusuf found himself praying, but it felt hollow – as if no one was listening. Eventually, Yusuf stopped, and at night he buried his face into Nicolò’s neck, weeping in silence as he realised maybe he should pray for his sister to die instead.

If it was Nicolò in her place, what would Yusuf do? How would he even live?

A shiver runs through his body as those thoughts run amok, and Yusuf stokes the flames in the stove with more force than necessary. Nicolò is on his way. Nicolò is coming home. He left a note in the morning, they made plans to spend the night together. No one has found out about them, no one has overheard them making love in the dead of the night, no one has seen either of them heal too fast from a too-deep cut. No one is coming for them. They will be fine.

Yusuf closes his eyes for a moment, calming his heart. He takes a deep breath and picks up a knife to cut the rabbit meat into smaller pieces. He does the same with carrots, onions, and garlic.

The work in the kitchen distracts him from his daunting thoughts, from his fear. In a way, it’s similar to painting. Once you get the sketch done and it’s only a matter of covering layers, you need to focus on your task, your mind does not get to wander too far, otherwise, your work will be ruined. So Yusuf focuses on the menial tasks at hand and he does not think about Nicolò and his whereabouts. He cooks and he waits.

The stew is bubbling by the time Yusuf overhears the door open behind him. He stirs the pot over the stove once before turning to look at his heart. Nicolò’s face is pink from the cold, and he smiles brightly when their eyes meet. Nicolò only takes the time to remove his shoes before he eagerly bridges the space between them, pressing their foreheads together. As Yusuf feels their breathing mingle, he thinks, there is nothing more sacred than this.

“My heart,” Yusuf whispers, kissing Nicolò’s cheek and then his lips. He tastes the cold wind in them, and he wonders if Nicolò can taste the sourness of the wine in his. “You had me worried.”

Nicolò’s eyes soften, and he kisses Yusuf back with intent, before hoovering over his shoulder to inspect the stew. There’s a pained look on his face and Yusuf knows he’s feeling guilty.

“It’s no matter,” Yusuf says sincerely. “It’s not often I get to make you Christmas dinner.”

Keep reading

A little old something I wrote for the holidays <3

[hamsterboos]

Sunrise

Word count: 184

AU: Canon

Read it on AO3 here

Masterlist

There was something so simple about watching the sunrise. 

The start of a new day, the promise of a new beginning, the chance to learn something new.

For one, she was grateful to be even seeing the sunrise considering the last year of her life had promised nothing but her death,  but somehow she had made it through. 

As the sky slowly brightened, the blue and purple of the sky mixing with the orange and yellow, Aelin took a deep breath in and lifted her right palm up, letting a small teardrop of water form. She willed it to dissipate for a brief moment before reappearing as a rope of water that threaded itself around her palm and her fingers. The droplets separated, jumping from one fingertip to another, and Aelin allowed the brightening sky to guide her movements. 

As the sun rose in the sky, the water droplets in her palm also rose, mimicking the movement of the sun across the sky. 

Aelin promised herself that morning that she would never forget to appreciate the small moments, even as simple as a sunrise.

~~~~~

Please let me know if you'd like to read about any prompts or if you'd like to be tagged!

Taglist: @thegreyj @backtobl4ck @leiawritesstories

[seanchaidh7]

The Unrecognizable Calculus of This

Art inspired by Part four of The Repair Shop AU

A humidor, a jigsaw puzzle, and a chair. A new home, an old colleague, and love.

At AO3

I cannot express the depth of my OBSESSION with this series, @sheafrotherdon wrote it so beautifully. One of my all time favourite Joe/Nicky fics

[peri-helia]

Ichor

A ficlet that's been in my drafts for...anyway a fic about love, immortality and soup.

Nile shatters when the bowl does.

She’s clearing the plates from lunch, some gorgeous paella Nicky had whipped up to capture the sun drenched streets of Madrid, when it falls off the countertop and shatters on the tiles. It’s her own stupid fault, she’d been trying to get lost in her headphones, imagining she was at the heart of the crowd and feeling like she was a part of something again, instead of standing fifteen feet away from every other person in existence.

She’s seen the cavalier way the others handle historical artefacts for the simple fact that they’re not artefacts or priceless antiquities when they’re something you’ve used and bought for years, no matter how long ago that was.

Andy kept a Rodin in a cave for Christ’s sake.

And Nile’s spilling hot tears over a fucking bowl that is clearly 21st century.

It’s probably from IKEA for fucks sake. God, now she’s having visions of Andy, Joe and Nicky strolling round IKEA picking dishes and sitting on the floor trying to work out if they’ve got all the screws to build a dresser, which is just fucking surreal.

Christ.

It makes her snort laughing, which only makes her cry harder because there’s no one to tell. There’s no-one she can side-eye as if to say ‘do you see this?’ Like Jay. Or Dizzy. Or her brother. There’s no-one her age around or with her life experience or –or – no-one she’ll ever really –

The world shrinks to the desolate breadth of Nile’s ribs as she tries to catch her breath, as she tries to settle, one of her earbuds still blaring music, the blue bowl in jigsaw pieces around her. God it’s scattered so far, she can see pieces across the floor by the doorway to the tiny bathroom that never heats up and under the fridge, shards still rocking gently with the force of the fall.

“Nile?”

“Nile!”

Joe and Nicky call down the corridor, casual and then cautious. Because all they’d heard was a bowl drop and then gasping. It could be anything, given the way they live. It could be Goussainville.

Oh God, right.  The world rushes in, judgemental and disrupted and Nile slips to her knees, starts gingerly trying to pick the pieces. She keeps her face to the floor when she hears Joe and Nicky stop, hears the guns go away.

“I’m sorry – I dropped a bowl, it was stupid”

A teardrop falls traitorously onto the tile, as if Nile’s voice, thick and stilting wasn’t enough of a giveaway.

“Nile?” Joe asks, stepping closer. Out of the corner of her eye, Nile sees his boot nudge a piece of ceramic.

“It’s fine” she waves a frantic hand at them, “I can do this”

They all know she’s not talking about the goddamned bowl.

“Nile” Nicky’s gentle lilt steps in, his hand sliding into her vision, palm up. There’s the odd scar there, knicks and scrapes from a thousand years ago. The lines of his palm heavy. She’d done some palm reading one night, with a girlfriend years ago. Heart line. Line of life. Nicky’s curves from his thumb to the beginning of his wrist, starting off almost delicate and spidery and then thickening. She can’t see the end. Her ex hadn’t been able to find the end of hers either.  

Another tear falls. Nicky catches it in his palm.

“Ah, cara,” And Nile jumps. Her Italian is still rudimentary but when you have two people talking to you in it all day you start to get it and she knows what that means. She can feel the warmth of him, Nicky’s always so warm, they both are. “You do not have to do this alone”

Nile takes his hands, fingers grasping his wrists, letting him take the weight as they stand up, “Careful, here” Nicky gently directs her steps, until he’s led her back to the doorway. Joe’s hands replace his husband’s, reaching out for her.

Nile clings to him blindly, the need to not feel alone burning through the distant haze of shame that she has shattered so easily. Joe says something to Nicky, but Nile doesn’t catch it, too exhausted and burnt through to care.

There’s the couch, and then the hot sweet tea Joe buys for Nicky being pressed into her hands. She tries to quiet her sobs but that just makes them more obvious, ripping through the room loud and shuddering. Maybe it’s the shock, at long last. Nicky is the one who sits beside her in the end. He doesn’t say anything, mercifully, just sits beside her. Joe gently squeezes her shoulder and retreats to somewhere unknown.

“Fuck – sorry” she coughs, sipping at the tea and resolutely trying to stop thinking about it, about this pain that’s suddenly clawing at her chest, at her heart, that her knowledge of what she’d thought the world was had shattered as readily as that bowl, that this can’t be fixed, that it’ll never be the same again, never, never.

The tears flow faster. Nile cries. She cries for her family, for her friends, for Joe and Nicky who as far as she can see love life and people still after a thousand years, who still go out into the darkness even though it might cost them the one thing they cannot live without. For Booker and all that he’s lost, for Andy whose had the one thing that’s stayed constant finally ripped away from her and then had Booker be the one to put them all in their worst nightmare, and Quynh, God, poor fucking Quynh…and she cries for herself. 

She’s kind of forgotten Nicky’s there, in all honesty. Like there’s the weight of him next to her on the sofa, but that’s about as much as she registers. She lifts the cup to her lips and then realises there’s nothing left in it to drink.

“Oh”

“Finished?” and Nicky, God bless him, his voice is as it was in Goussainville when he’d shown here where to sleep, and given her a toothbrush and a towel of all things. Quiet, that lilt that’s light but not bright, just conversational. As if her heart breaking all over the sofa is normal. He takes the cup away, just stretches to deposit it on the carpet and Nile reaches out a hand to steady him, even though the worst thing would be he might accidentally overbalance and slip onto the floor.

His smile widens and when he shuffles back onto the sofa proper, he gently covers her hand with his on his bicep, squeezing gently once. “Thank you, Nile.”

Nile kind of blinks, because all she’d done was – not that much at all, really, but she smiles back and then wipes at her eyes, the tears lingering there. Nicky squeezes her hand again.

“Ya amar? Nile, habibti? Will you come here, please?”

They turn together at Joe’s voice and drift outside to the weed-filled yard, with its brass water tap and assortment of several lifetimes junk. There’s a little potting shed of sorts filled with firewood and Booker’s inks and plastic explosive. Leaning against the old sandstone wall is a worn table, where Nile can see Joe’s laid the shattered pieces of her bowl.

There’s tubes and brushes laid out, with a battered dining chair and a low stool.

Nile’s just forming the words to ask, when Joe smiles, and says “Kintsugi”

It’s so not what she was expecting that Nile laughs aloud, “Really?” she brushes a hand over the shattered ceramic.

“Really, really” he grins back, pleased to have made her laugh.

Over the next hour, they walk her through how to repair through kintsugi; gently applying the urushi lacquer, dusting the gold powder over it and she watches raptly as the bowl comes back to life, threaded through with veins of gold.

We may not have all the answers, but we do have purpose.

Joe slides the bowl, reformed back over the smooth, worn wood of the tabletop towards her. Nicky comes striding out with dinner and doesn’t even hesitate, pouring minestrone soup straight into it in one smooth motion.

It holds. The dishes are scraped clean. The soup is perfect – hot and tomatoey, with crunchy celery and just a bit too much pepper, exactly as she likes.

Thank you,” she breathes out, the tension having seeped from her shoulders long since, her face tight with dried tears. She’s not talking about the bowl.

And Joe and Nicky just smile, warm and golden.

“It’s what we’re here for”

Yeah. Yeah it is.