Tabby

Hello!! Feel free to call me Tabby! And to drop into my asks at any time!!

[tadpolesonalgae]

Masterlist

Requests are closed!! Please don’t send any more in, thank you 🧡💛

[*] = Means there’s smut :) [***] = means it might be unethical or a little more intense :) Dividers used are made by the amazing @cafekitsune!

Azriel

Eris

Lucien :

A Date

Solecist Night[*]

Dance The Night Away - Drabble

Drunkenly walking home w/ Lucien - Blurb

Seated[*]

Fire In His Blood[*]

Mor:

Home (Drabble)

Dark Red

Drunk night in w/ Mor - Blurb

Surprise…?[*]

Sweet Girl[*]

Cassian

Nesta:

Oranges[*]

Love Fool

Degraded[*]

What You Deserve[*]

Rhysand

Feyre:

Have a Seat[*]

Strapped Down[*] - Drabble

Memories of the Hewn City - Blurb

Give and Take[*]

Mist from her Early Mourning Mouth | Oil Paints and Finger Prints | Berries and Cream

Gwyn:

Devotion[*]

Emerie:

Count To Three[*?]

Elain:

Flour Dusted Marigold

Before The Petals Fall[*]

Comforting Elain after a vision - Blurb

Raspberry Lips

Shared Camomile[*]

Butterfly effect[*]

Perennial

Sticky Spider’s Web[*]

Viviane:

Ice Frosted Gardenias[*]

Helion:

New Mechanisms[*]

Rainy Day w/ Helion - Blurb

Sweet Like Peaches[*]

The Libraries

Amren:

The Taste of Blood[*]

Revelling w/ Amren - Blurb

Tamlin:

The Aftermath of Spring

The Great Rite[***]

Tamlin + Predator Play - Blurb

To Old Gods

Amarantha:

The High Queen’s Courtesan[*]

Her New Whore[***]

Human Centipede[*]

Vampire!Amarantha

Blue-blood Lagoons, and Summer Tangerines[*]

Lord Devlon:

Give Me What I Want.[*]

Beron:

Hot-cock[*]

What Lies Beneath The Roots[*]

Stryga:

The Weaver -Drabble

Koschei

Swimming in his lake - Blurb

Mix ‘n’ Match (Poly!fics)

High Lords and their kinks[*]

They get turned on when you’re angry[*]

Throwing your shoe at them[*?]

Pussy spanking[*]

Finding out you have a vibrator[*]

Punishment for flirting with someone else[*]

Cock-ette[*]

Flavoured Condoms[*]

‘Having a softhearted partner’

First dates for different seasons (Elain)

Silly Little Thoughts

📖Book recommendations

📖Reading List

October 2025

[sjmsapphic]

and now, the moment you've all been waiting for. . .

our 2026 Carabiner Queen, who not only earned the most points but also appeared in the most submissions and was featured in the highest number of unique pairings, is….

D

R

U

M

R

O

L

L

Elain “I don’t want a mate. I don’t want a male” Archeron

with her homesteader hobbies and burgeoning divination practice, it’s no surprise that high femme socialite + famously single girl Elain Archeron is taking this year’s crown 🥇💐🏆👑

our 2026 queen knows her way around a fertile garden and is notoriously well-practiced in the art of tending to the most delicate of buds. we have no choice but to stan

congratulations Elain!!

🩷✂️🩷✂️🩷

First runner up: Nesta Archeron 🥈💐

Second runner up: Gwyneth Berdara 🥉💐

congratulations to all of the finalists in this year's competition❣️

art credits to madschofield

[sjmsapphic]

the scores are in....

the following are our top four contestants for the 2026 Carabiner Queen. who do you 🫵 think will take the crown??

guess!

Elain Archeron

Gwyneth Berdara

Morrigan

Nesta Archeron

Voting ended onJun 10

[olenvasynyt]

2 for jesminda x emerie <3

And The Wind Pushed Her Forward: Emerie x Jesminda

For @sjmsapphic Day 3

Thank you for this prompt omg I'm glad you are encouraging me to indulge in my Jes and Emerie parallels! As always, I ended up writing a bit more than a drabble 🫣

Rated Teen and Up || One-shot || 3,277 words

Main tags: Canon Divergence, Love At First Sight, Sexism, Making Out, Running Way

Summary: A stranger arrives in Windhaven, pulling at Emerie's longing for freedom and adventure.

Read on Ao3

Snippet below cut:

Emerie scanned the treeline, unsure of what, exactly, she was looking for. The gossipers accurately noted that the stranger did not take up residency in the town's inn, but she still frequented their market for all three days since her sudden arrival. She had to be in the woods somewhere, but Emerie could only guess where. In a log hollowed out from decades of decay? In a secret cavern, maybe, like some vixen nesting in her warm den? Or maybe she somehow made a home in the trees, no doubt one of the safest places to hide from the beasts of Illyria.

Deeper in the forest, she walked.

Then, amongst the whispering branches, a soft humming could be heard, along with the fluttering of insect wings.

With her heart dancing under her skin, Emerie gazed up, blinking at the bright morning light. The trees, forever dark and spindly in the formidable lands and barren soil, made for a terrible cover: through the thin canopy, a pair of bare feet and a golden dress dangled from the great arm of a chinar tree. The faerie leaned back against the trunk with her eyes closed, humming a deep, sultry tune that filled Emerie with calm.

She stopped just below the faerie's tree. With a clearer sight on the female, Emerie's heart suddenly quickened. With lust and intrigue, yes, but also of surprise.

Drapping on either side of the faerie's massive tree branch were two opalescent wings. Their shape and pattern resembled one of a cicada or a bee, but with colors Emerie had never seen in all her life, even in her home's most vivid autumns: deep reds of ruby and garnet, sweet persimmon and molten gold, yellow as pale and bright as the daytime sun. The vibrant wings fluttered gently as the female hummed, the noise harmonizing with the voice of the faerie and the surrounding forest alike.

Her presence seemingly went unnoticed: the stranger continued to hum with her eyes closed and head tilted to the canopy. Emerie worked up the courage to speak.

"The gossip is true, then," she called out. "You are a nymph or a harpy."

The humming stopped. Opal eyes flickered open, studying the skeletal canopy for a moment before gazing down at Emerie. 

Emerie stared back, her eagerness faltering.

But the bow of the female's lip crinkled as she smiled down at her. "I have travelled very far, my love, and I have heard such boring rumors a thousand times over."

Gods, her voice…it was of a pealing bell, tender and languid in the forest's cold expanse. An ache spread throughout Emerie's heart like warmth from a den fire, but she steeled herself. "There were more beautiful ones," she replied. "One of the warriors said you were a temptress forged from embers of the gods."

Even from standing on the ground, she could see the female rolling her eyes. She cocked her head down at her, shimmering black strands falling from her shoulders and dripping from her perch. "Any female is a temptress in a male's eyes, are we not?"

Emerie couldn't help but think of the potential truth in those words, however insulting they were. The faerie's dress hung loosely around her slender legs, uncaring of the skin that showed. As her eyes slid over the warm brown of the female's calf and the hem draping over her thigh, she thought of what the females of her village would say at such a display. What the warrior males would say, with sneers wide and eyes dark and staring. But then she thought of all the males who had come into her store to leer at any inch of her body, however hidden behind her counter or under several layers of furs. 

Male temptation, Emerie reminded herself, was different from admiration and female reverence. And she had always felt ardor for the stranger, no matter how much skin showed. And gods, even her very smell was a lure in the river of air between them: the honeyed apple and spice wafted down, coating Emerie's skin like mist.

The faerie sitting in this tree was not a temptress, or some monster wreaking havoc on the Illyrian's quiet country life. She was simply a female, enjoying the freedoms of life Emerie so longingly wished to experience, even if such freedoms were a hiked-up dress to wade in a cool stream, or wind playing through undone hair.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Hiiii!! I always love coming to your blog and reading your newest works. Your writing style is just so effortless for me to read and enjoy, I love it. Tomorrow is June 6th and it will be one year since the last cbmthy update. I was wondering if the series is concluded or if more is to be expected. Either way I love your work and look forward to more!

No way it's been a year 💀

omgggggggggg

Okay so first of all, thank you!! <3 I'm getting some joy back into my system now that the sun is coming out again! In regards to CBMTHY--I'm not really sure what's happening with it? Probably the best way to put it/phrase it would be by saying that it's in/on a hiatus? I'm not actively working on it, and it's just so. fucking. depressing.

I feel like I've worked myself into a hole with how it's been written up until now and there are just so many other things I'd rather write that would bring me so much more joy? Of course the satisfaction of executing the idea I have for ch. 26 would be incredible, and I would love to do so at some point, but idk if I have it in me currently as a writer, or as a person? Again, it's just such a depressing and hopeless story

Not sure how ppl feel about it anymore but I know there was a period when I was actively writing it that a lot of people cared about that story and I think could see parts of themselves in the emotional tangle happening. It's not at its end, nor have I yet decided to discontinue it, it's just not being worked on at the moment.

[winterinvelaris]

Im back to support your emerie endeavor! (endeavmerie?)

how about “avoid” for emerie x merrill (you know that one very pretty priestess) 

MERRILL?? LMFAO i will give it my very best shot

Word Count: 675

Warnings: none, except for canon-typical Merrill slander. idk if Merrill has shooters like that but just in case you've been warned

@sjmsapphic

-----

Emerie didn't like the priestesses’ library very much. She knew it was strange, fond of books as she was, but there was just something about the enclosed, underground space that made her skin crawl. It was likely her Illyrian blood protesting at the wrongness of it.

Or maybe– maybe it was her. It seemed that any time Emerie found herself in the library, whether it be for Valkyrie research or quality time with Gwyn or Nes, she always ended up running into Merrill. Merrill, who was cruel and spiteful and disgustingly attractive in ways that went beyond her pretty face. No matter how Emerie tried to avoid her, their paths always seemed to cross somehow. So, it came as no surprise to her when she chanced a trip downstairs to search for books containing information on female Illyrian warriors and came face to face with the priestess herself in record time.

“You again.” Merrill’s nose crinkled instantly. “Here to cause more trouble with those friends of yours?”

“Always,” Emerie shot back with a wink. Merrill was exceedingly terrible at hiding her feelings, and Emerie could tell how much it bothered her to see others unbothered. She couldn't help but appreciate the pink that spread across Merrill’s unblemished cheeks.

“If you and that Archeron girl continue to distract my priestesses from their work, there will be consequences,” Merrill snapped. “It's bad enough that you haul them upstairs to disgrace the title Valkyrie every morning. If your disrespect goes any further, the High Lord will be hearing about it.”

Emerie couldn't help the laugh that escaped her. Emerie knew that it was terrible how hopelessly cute she found Merrill’s pouting, especially since the priestesses were genuinely afraid of her torment, but she had long since stopped questioning the things that turned her on. Once one gets wet from Gwyneth Berdara holding a blade to one’s throat with a triumphant giggle, one stops caring about that sort of thing.

“First of all, I know you know my friends aren't anywhere near me at the moment,” Emerie retorted. “So it's starting to look like you just wanted a reason to speak to me. Secondly, feel free to tell the High Lord. And the High Lady, while you're at it. I’m sure Feyre Cursebreaker would love to hear all about how much of a disgrace you find her beloved sister to be.”

Merrill’s face was fully flushed by the time Emerie was done speaking, and she had to resist the urge to reach out and feel the warmth of it beneath her fingers.

“I–” Merrill began with a splutter. It was rare to find her at such a loss for words. “I did not just want a reason to talk to you. That's ridiculous.”

Emerie felt a surprised smile spread across her face.

“That's the part you're hung up on?” Emerie asked. “Well, they do say that truth hurts. Although, I hope I didn't sting you too badly.”

“Why would I want to speak to you,” Merrill seethed.

Oh, this was not going the way Emerie thought it would at all. She thought her attraction to Merrill was an unrealistic fantasy her mind had created to get her through her drought. She never would have guessed that Merrill might actually be into it.

“Legend says that Illyrians are born hearing the song of the wind,” Emerie crooned. “That's your magic, isn't it? Wind? Maybe you just can't help yourself.”

Merrill’s lips parted prettily.

“Or maybe,” Emerie continued, taking a step towards her. “Maybe the work you dedicate yourself to so fiercely has left you a little… high strung. And you want someone to help you relax.”

“You don't know what you're talking about,” Merrill breathed. Emerie merely tilted her head, waiting.

“My office is on Level Two,” Merrill relented. “Meet me there in four hours. If you arrive early, you'll have to wait outside. If you're late, I won't let you in. Understand?”

“Aye-aye, captain,” Emerie mocked. Without another word, Merrill winnowed away, leaving Emerie shocked and so, so excited.

[winterinvelaris]

OH MY GOD THE WHOLE FIRST PARAGRAPH GOT CUT OFF FROM THIS BUT I FIXED IT

@sjmsapphic

[olenvasynyt]

The truth sat on her skin, crawling up her spine and digging into every pore and scar.  You will not see each other again. But she refused it. She refused to believe it, to let it come into fruition. 

Mor x Andromache moodboard and an old snippet from my abandoned backstory fic! Last minute submission for @sjmsapphic weekend 🥺😩

[tadpolesonalgae]

Blue-blood Lagoons, and Summer Tangerines

Amarantha x reader

For @sjmsapphic ! So sad it’s coming to an end but so excited to be catching up over the coming days :3

a/n: another one for thqc! This one is set relatively early on in reader’s time under Amarantha’s care, but is fine to be read as a standalone!! <3

synopsis: Summer Court, [?] years into Amarantha’s reign.

Every bath the High Queen has taken since arriving in this sweltering land she has left dark, and heavy with blood. She swims in pools, and dries herself beneath the sun—bare and delightful. You’ve been double the use to her, as of late.

warnings: blood/canon typical violence; oral (Amarantha receiving); scratching; kind of d/s dynamicss; not proofread

word count: 3,678

~~~~

The High Queen entered her chambers soaked up to her lashes in blood. She exits her bathing quarters pristine, pathing a trail of wet footprints across the floor as she makes her way to the sunlight. The marks of her feet are interspersed with tiny droplets that have slipped from the wet length of her hair—dark as blood, and stuck across her pale shoulders and spine. 

Without a word of greeting or acknowledgement, she settles her naked body along the leather-padded chaise that is positioned in the centre of a fattened sunbeam that’s pouring in from between pale linen curtains. Her hair catches the light—glittering like berries, or the seeds of sweetened jam as she lays it over the back of the chaise. Water continues dripping, dampening the butter-pale rug beneath her. 

Yellow rug, brown leather, and a queen of red and white. 

Wet, and bathing in sunlight to dry. 

It would be nice if she enjoyed her personal chambers with the same freedom—bare skin, and ease. It’s not been long here, you don’t think. Though this is the fourth time your queen has returned to her chambers steeped in blood. This time wasn’t even the worst of it. 

At least it was just blood, this time. 

Amarantha is facing away from you, reclining beneath the sunbeam when she calls for you. She sounds tired—exhausted. Her voice lacks that severity she usually carries. 

Lethargically, you roll to your side, tipping from the mattress but landing on your feet as you wind your way over to her. Brush against the cool stone pillars separating bed chambers from balcony. The balcony makes you wary—wrapping all the way around the tower, highest in the castle. You ease your bare back to the stone, sliding down to settle on the floor in her view, itching the skin you can’t reach. 

One dark eye slides open a fraction, marking your presence at the chamber’s perimeter. 

“Do you know where we are, pet?” She drawls softly, arms lazing at her sides as she settles deeper against the chaise. Her hair shines with the movement, glowing like metal fresh from a forge where it catches the sun’s glare. 

You pull your legs to your chest, leaning over your knees. “Summer?” 

“Almost,” she murmurs. She crosses her legs. Uncrosses them. Shifts her arms. “It’s called the Summer Court.” 

You hum, peering cautiously through the stone balustrade that runs around the balcony’s edge. Beyond, the sea is almost the colour of the sky, and the further out it goes the more you struggle to find the line where up and down meet. They seem to roll into one, ongoing script. Like you’re cushioned within one of those scalloped shells. 

“And do you know why we’re here, pet?” Amarantha asks, saving you from the start of something dizzying. 

You turn to face her, mischief curving the corners of your mouth. “Because you miss the sun on your skin, and desire the freedom to be naked and warm?” You ask, crawling the short distance to her chaise, kneeling at her side. You cross your arms over the wet leather, laying your cheek against your wrist to peer up at her. “It’s too cold for you, being underground all the time…” 

“I’m warm enough,” she counters, her sun-lit eyes gazing across the blinding white clouds speckling the sky. Her gaze slides to you. “Is that your guess?” 

You tilt your head, fondness in your lips. “Is it wrong?” 

“You’re not very bright, are you.”

“Not underground, I’m not,” you reply.

The High Queen’s dark eyes study you, not a trace of amusement to be found. Her expression usually seems to be drawn in the direction of severity when she’s not before her court. Her pale lips pursed, brows tight and drawn. 

Her arm lifts, and fingers push hair from your face. Nails ghost down the outer shell of your ear, and you shiver. Lips part on a breath, and the rest of the world blends and blurs as she draws your focus. Like water circling a funnel, she inexplicably pulls you in. 

It’s not often she touches you without harm in her fingers.

Heavy footsteps thunder in the hallway, the sounds of a commotion ringing out as metal clangs, and the hiss of steal cuts through the air.

Amarantha tips her head back against the leather cushioning and sighs, her eyes falling shut for a moment of peace. Then she nods in the direction of her chambers’ entry, “Go see what it is.” 

Her fingers release the pinch they had on your ear, and her arms returns to rest as her side; her attention in you has been taken. You glance over her once more before gathering yourself to your feet, padding across the rug and back into the shadows of her chambers, unbolting the black-iron lock. 

In the hallway beyond, blood has already been shed. 

A male has been forced to his knees, teeth bared, lips curled. His eyes hold enough power to drown the castle and all of its inhabitants beneath the weight of the sea, and yet he shivers there on his knees, features contorted in rage. A soldier with warm red skin, clad in scaled iron keeps the kneeling male’s arms constricted, while another points a spear to his chest. 

There’s blood in his white hair. Blood on his hands, beneath his nails, staining the once-pristine fabrics he’s clothed in. 

“Let me see her.” The male bellows, breathing hard beneath the oppressive hands and sweltering heat. His skin gleams with sweat, eyes wide and red. His turquoise irises almost seem to glow. “Come out here, Amarantha,” he snarls, and the vibrations thunder through your chest. “I know you’re in there. I know you can hear me. Speak with me.” 

You glance to one of the soldiers who are stood to the sides of the double doors, its eyes hard, and hungry. “What is this?” You ask, “The Queen wishes to know what disturbs her.” 

“This lord thinks he rules the castle,” it snarls, eyes on the male. Red irises glitter. “This lord thinks he has a say in whose blood is shed.” 

“These are my people,” the male growls, features twisting further into fury. “These are my people and they will always-” 

The guard pushes the tip of the spear hard against the male’s chest, and blood bursts beneath, spilling fresh marks over already bloody clothing. The male’s eyes squeeze shut in pain, but his head doesn’t bow. He doesn’t cower, and when he lifts his head again, the storm has quietened in his eyes and manifested within the rest of him. A smooth-surfaced ocean with a raging tide beneath. 

“These are my people,” he growls, lower now, “and they will always be my people.” Blood weeps from the centre of his chest, flowing through fibres down to his stomach. “Amarantha knows that too, or else she would not go to such lengths to weaken an already vulnerable citadel.” He bares his teeth, “why worry when there is no threat?” 

Fury in his eyes, but pain too. Anger, from hurt.

“Until you yield to me, Lord, Summer’s blood will continue to flow,” the High Queen announces, having appeared at your back. You step aside, parting the doors for her. A white robs wraps her figure, linen pooling on the floor, lace patterning the sleeves with a collar that slides up over her nape. Wine-red hair flows down her back, and she peers down her nose at the male on the floor. 

“Am I not on my knees before you?” He asks, and there’s pain and blood and anger in his voice. “Do I not come here, to you, to beg for you to put an end to this bloodshed because I cannot?” His voice is rough, turned hoarse at the end. The male’s nostrils flare, and his chest heaves. Turquoise irises sear against his reddened eyes, “I have nothing left to give, nothing left to yield.” 

“If that is what you insist upon, then your people will continue to pay.” 

“What is there to give?” He asks, and the spear is again pushed to his chest. 

Another set of footsteps sound in the winding stairwell—hurried, heavy breathing. A second male—also dressed in finery, also bloody, also sweating and distraught—appears in the archway. His eyes find those of the kneeling male’s and he makes to run to him but the guard aim their spears to his chest, blocking his path. His skin, though flushed from heat and exertion, drains upon spotting the Queen. 

The male on his knees shakes his head. “Return to the hall. You are needed there.” 

“No,” the High Queen declares. “Let him pass. I imagine our Lord may be too weak to stand. Better he has company.” She tilts her head, angling her jaw—how lucky you would be to press your mouth to such a throat. “Better he learn his lesson now, if he wishes to save his people.” 

The male stares at her, and perspiration shines on his brow. Now there is something like fear in his eyes, contained in the smell of his sweat. Amarantha inclines her chin, and the guard removes his spear, the butt of the weapon clanging against the ground as the soldier returns to attention. Dark eyes flick to the guard holding the male in place, and he steps away. 

Still knelt on the ground, the male does not plead for her to reconsider, but neither does he look at his companion as he slides a clean arm beneath a bloodied shoulder, helped to his feet, a fresh wash of blood dousing the heavily stained shirt. The male’s jaw tightens beneath the strain. 

The High Queen looks the two of them over: bloodied, sweaty, panting. 

Amarantha tilts her head in silent command, then turns to you, murmuring an instruction for you to draw her another bath, before disappearing into her chambers. 

The males eye the guards, the Lord giving you a cursory glance before following after her. 

You observe the fresh blood on the floor, wondering if it’ll be gone the next time you step out here, then move to return to your Queen’s side, the guards pulling the door shut at your back while you slide the bolt into place.

~~~~

The bath the High Queen had requested is pool carved into the next chamber’s floor, tilted over and smooth. A slab of red-brown rock is placed beside the water’s edge, dips and divots hewn for towel stacks and glass bottles. Each one smells more interesting than the last, and it’s a treat to know where these upper scent layers are coming from when you taste them in your Lady’s skin. 

Amarantha had bid you to stay with her, while the mess next door was tidied away. Flesh stuck beneath her fingernails, your mouth bloodied. The second male had managed to clasp his hands around your throat before Amarantha had torn him away, and promptly disabled him. 

The Lord had watched, silenced and producing a stench. 

Amarantha takes a palm-full of liquid and begins rubbing it into her hair, nails pushing at her scalp, grazing her nape, scratching behind her ears. You watch quietly from the pool’s edge, sat atop a cushion you’d lazily pulled from the cupboard. The High Queen tips her head back into the cool water and rinses out the suds, dipping her hair in and out of the pool. She catches something, and a frown tightens her brow as she examines her nails. Then she turns, and wades back through the water to pluck a clump of bristles stuck into a narrow block of wood from the stone slab, scrubbing beneath her nails. 

You pull your legs up to your chest, wrapping your arms around your knees and laying your chin atop your forearms. “For how much longer are we staying here?”

Amarantha swaps the brush over, scrubbing the nails on her other hand. “At most another week. I’ll see how the Young Lord handles himself.” 

You peer at the water rippling around her waist, the slightly iridescent bubbles littering the sweet skin of her stomach. “And how long is that?” 

“Not long,” she replies. 

You lay down across the tile floor, hips cushioned by the pillow. It’s so…warm everywhere. Like there are invisible fires scattered throughout the castle that no one is talking about. 

It’s a nice change. 

Dark eyes flick over you, and a flicker of excitement sparks to life beneath that appraisal. You push upright, resting your upper weight on your palms. “My Lady?” 

Amarantha beckons you over, and you shift to the edge of the pool. “Take this,” she instructs, pushing the brush into your palm. “I won’t have you touching me with filth on your hands.” Her gaze lifts to your face, and her brows narrow. “You cleaned your mouth properly?” 

You incline your chin and open your mouth, tongue laying over your lower lip. All the blood is gone—you made certain. She won’t use you if you’re dirty. 

The High Queen furrows her brows. “You need better training.” 

You cock your head to one side, tongue pulling back into your mouth. 

Amarantha’s eyes glint. “Did I say ‘close’?” 

Heat pools between your thighs and you press them close together, back curving as you incline toward her, exposing your throat as you open your mouth for her. 

A sharpened nail points to the soft skin of your sternum, slowly scraping up. Between your collar bones, over the column of your throat, scratching the tenderness just below your jaw. Goosebumps brush up your spine, resigning yourself to her touch. She tilts her head, and huffs something like a laugh. 

Her breath touches your lips like a kiss. 

Something swells in your chest, but she’s turning away, leaving your skin surprisingly cool. 

“Don’t close that mouth,” she warns, as she steps out from the pool onto clean, sun-warmed tiles. You peer at her patiently, but with need steadily liquefying between your thighs. Anticipation concentrating your growing arousal. 

The edges of the High Queen’s eyes come close to a smile as she walks the pool’s edge, trailing back around to you. Fingers graze the top of your head, like she’s preparing to sink her nails into your hair and guide you to where she wants you. Instead she licks her lips, teeth biting on the way back in. “Kneel.” 

You obey without question, pulling your legs onto the cushion, pulling yourself onto your knees before her. 

She strokes the crown of your head. 

“Now, wait,” she instructs, passing behind you to unfurl a towel from its placement. “Be good.” 

The white fabric drags across her skin, touching everywhere you’d like to with your tongue, but drying instead of wetting. Her hair remains black as blood while its wet, but dripping clear onto the tiles. 

An ache works its way up between your thighs, and you consider shifting your hips’ centre to align with the heel of a foot—something to grind on, to give release to the growing tension. Watching the fabric gently abrade your Queen’s skin is…it’s something more pleasurable than torture. Drawn-out, and teasing. Playful, in a way that she isn’t Under The Mountain. 

You can’t resent pleasure being withheld when it’s for her benefit. 

The sun has trickled across the pool tiles, warming the small of your back by the time she’s done—towel pooling on the ground as she hold your eyes and walks forward. Slowly; lithely. Trailing wet footprints over the floor. Marks she could leave on your body if she walked her way up to your mouth. 

Amarantha pauses, the tips of her feet settling just under your knees. 

You peer up at her, mouth dry from having been kept open in waiting. 

Once again her touch skims the crown of your head. “Up,” she instructs, lightly. You lift higher onto your knees. 

Her arousal whets your appetite. Makes you eager, and desperate—more so than before. 

Amarantha takes a hold of you, and guides your mouth closer to her hips. Saliva pools below your tongue, eyelids growing heavy as you breathe her in. Close enough to nose at the skin of her inner thighs, her hips, her abdomen. Your fingers trail reverently up the backs of her legs, steadying yourself as your head goes a little light. Dazed. Robbed of sense. 

She pulls you closer, and the undisturbed curls between her thighs deliver moisture to your mouth. Droplets soaking down across your tongue, and she holds you there—mouth parted for her to use as she pleases. 

Her scent is what you need, and right now it’s all around. 

You wait for the order to come. 

It doesn’t.

Opening your eyes, you peer up the strong plane of her stomach. You can’t meet her eyes from how close you are, but tilt your head upwards all the same. The sharp points of her nails rake through your hair, and your mouth waters, arousal gathering at the thought of her dragging them across your back. Itching behind your ears, scraping gently down the sides of your throat. 

A whine builds in your chest, tongue ready to soothe the wet of her heat. 

Amarantha slides her hand to the back of your head and, guiding one leg over the curve of your shoulder, presses you closer to the wet heat of her cunt. Her arousal brushes against the inside of your lower lip, so close to dripping into your mouth, and yet still the order does not come. 

Instead the muscles in her leg flex, making it near impossible for you to move any closer. 

The High Queen cants her hips, dragging her cunt higher, tilting your head back until she can almost sit. The combination of heat, and the resistance she’s dealing with in this land seem to be drawing out something lazy—almost indulgent in her. 

A breathy sigh releases from above you as she gently rocks her hips. 

Preoccupied; in her own world. 

It’s a pleasure to facilitate the trip. To be the thing her ecstasy hinges upon. 

“Bed,” she murmurs through a soft breath, unhooking her leg from your shoulder. A string of arousal beads from her cunt to your lower lip, and now you’re detached from her you’ve the pleasure of swiping your tongue out, bringing that taste into your mouth. 

You’re swift to adhere yourself to her bed, pressing your bare back to the mattress, head near the foot, feet near the pillows. 

The Queen trails closer, nails raking delicately across the beaded sheets, prowling up onto the mattress. Dark eyes glitter and gleam as they rove over you—the facilitator of her pleasure. Nothing more, nothing less.

Amarantha settles one knee over your waist, seating her weight atop your hips. You’re pinned to the bed beneath her, sinking down into the cushioning. Arousal smears across your abdomen as she rolls her hips, the wet curls between her thighs smudging slick across your skin. Her hands press to your sternum as she leans forwards, damp strings of hair swinging forward—wine-red at the roots, black as blood at the ends. The scent of arousal mixes with the fragrances from her bath, cushioning you within the harmony of scents. Something light, and citrusy.

Heat simmers from the stone flooring, curtains fluttering as a breeze courses through the chambers, allowing the dark tips of her long hair to paint wet cuts across your skin. Nails curve into your skin as she drags her hips over your stomach, turning the expanse slick as she glides across. Teeth pull on your lower lip, need burrowing deeper into your bones. 

“Amarantha…” you breathe, a pleading note entering your voice. 

Dark, glittering eyes slide open—a knot in her brow. 

She leans forward, her hand parting between her thumb and index finger to cover your mouth. It hurts your skin, but…

A moan is caught beneath her palm, low and breathless. Pleading for more.

Your thighs press together, hips shifting atop the mattress.

Amarantha leans her weight forward, pinning you to the bed before pushing away, giving a final roll of her hips before languidly shifting further up your body.

Your mouth waters.

The High Queen’s knees settle a little higher than your head, before finally taking her seat atop your mouth. Arousal smears across your lips, chin, and cheeks, spreading across your skin as she rolls her hips, and push out your tongue to glide through the curling mess between her thighs.

Heat rolls from her skin in waves, soft and cushioned by her legs, pressed between the delightful comfort of the bed and the heaven of her skin, and scent. Breaths pant from her chest, and she is worked up enough to release moans through the room, unabashed and indulgent. Decadent sounds.

She flutters on your tongue, pleasure pulsing through her body as her hips buck, and you’ve your eyes closed as you bask in her ecstasy. Nails rake across your scalp as she tugs you against her cunt, scratching through your hair in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

The smell of sweat and tangerine zest clings to her skin, heavy and blossomy as her chest rises and falls.

Another breeze sweeps through her chambers, playing with her hair as Amarantha crawls off of you, settling herself sweet and comfortable against a small gathering of pillows. Basking in the aftermath of her high.

There’s a faint trace of smoke in the air, and the sharp tang of blood brought in from the outside. Able to reach you, even so high up.

You crawl to the top of the bed, settling close to her side but not touching—she doesn’t like to be touched when resting.

It’s only recently she’s allowed you to stay at all, not immediately being returned to your own dark quarters.

Maybe one day she’ll allow you to stay watch as she sleeps, too.

~~~~

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna @acoazlove

[separatist-apologist]

let’s get back to our roots 🙂‍↕️ feyre/mor + destined?

anything and everything for you

-

A knock on the door sent Feyre's heart racing. Please, please, please, don't be him, be her-

"Mor," Feyre breathed. Mor offered Feyre a strained smile as she stepped into the cabin, tucking and untucking a piece of golden hair behind her arched ear.

Feyre tugged on the end of her braid, wishing she'd dressed a little nicer.

Mor took a look around of the cabin and Feyre's handiwork. Her gaze fell on the eyes overhead watching, a soft brown framed in dark lashes.

"Is that supposed to be me?" she asked, poking Feyre in the ribs. Feyre only shrugged, suddenly embarrassed.

Mor sat herself on the sofa, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in her pants. Feyre didn't know what to do with herself, didn't know if she could sit so close to Mor when she smelled of vanilla and cold snowy air.

"Rhys is looking for you," Mor began, offering Feyre a smile that didn't quite meet her eyes.

"He believes we're mates," Feyre said flatly.

Mor broke eye contact, instead looking down at the twisting fingers in her lap. "Would it be so bad? Being part of our court?"

"No," Feyre said in a rush of air. "But..."

Mor dared to look up at Feyre with a wariness Feyre felt deep in her soul.

"He's in love with you," Mor all but whispered. "And I love him."

"Men are always falling in love," Feyre heard herself say, barely recognizing the bitterness in her words, "what about what I want?"

Mor tucked that same strand of hair behind her ear, still holding Feyre's gaze. It was that look that convinced Feyre to sit beside her first and only friend.

Her own mate, if such a thing were possible. Feyre could feel it thrumming in her chest and had ever since Mor had rescued her in Spring, carrying her to safety.

"What do you want, Feyre?" Mor asked, her breath sweet as it fanned against Feyre's face. Feyre hadn't realized she'd sat so close, thigh to thigh, knee to knee. Feyre was scared Mor would reject her for this, that she'd choose the loyalty of her High Lord, her cousin, her court, over the feelings Feyre was certain they shared.

And if this was all Feyre was ever going to get, well. She was going to take it, consequences be damned.

"I just want you," Feyre breathed, ghosting her lips over Mor's. "I'm in love with you."

@sjmsapphic

[ennawrite]

White Ribbon Spa: What Lies Beneath

a Feyre x Ianthe one-shot for day 1 of @sjmsapphic💞

rating: explicit

content: dubious consent, body modification, monster cock 😁

summary: Feyre Archeron is in need of a relaxation from her newfound duties as High Lady, but she finds Gwyneth Berdara’s spa far too unnerving. There, a ghost from her past comes back and this time, she can’t run away.

THANK YOU SO MUCH @eatsbooks for beta reading all of those months ago you beautiful wonderful amazing angel 🩵

snippet after the cut & you can read the rest on ao3 here!

“Feyre.” 

Heart racing, she opened her eyes once more. She squinted into the darkness, willing her eyes to focus. There in the distance, bright blue orbs glowed over the waterline, shining like stars in the night sky. 

Feyre willed her powers in her veins to come forth, but to no avail. Silently cursing, she eyed the little blue lights as they crept closer to her. “Who’s there?” She gripped the sides of the spring, the grey rocky terrain flaking a bit with her grasp. 

“Feyre…Feyre…” 

The voice teased as the anomaly crept closer to her. It was louder now, the voice clearly female and sickenly saccharine. It filled the alcove she was in, bouncing off of the walls and sending chills down her spine. Feyre sat up higher, her back straight. She reached for a weapon of any kind, but was only met with waves of water and walls of rock. Feyre knew it all too well, a voice she had not heard in years. Once, Feyre had reveled in the sweet tone, words of wisdom spoken from a much needed friend. And now, it filled her stomach with dread. 

There was no way she was here, no way Feyre wasn’t losing her gods-damned mind. The female was dead, another victim of the Weaver. And Feyre had shed no tears for her, had held no remorse for setting up that trap. For what she had tried to do to Rhysand, no amount of torture would have been enough for the female, no death would have been too kind. 

But now…

Waves drifted up to Feyre, hitting the sensitive peaks of her breasts. She tried to ignore the aching between her thighs as the water lapped at her. Feyre could finally make out the shadow on the creature’s face as it passed under a faelight; a midnight blue tattoo of the moon’s phases that rested just above her eyebrows. Despite the lower half of her face being hidden by the water, there was no mistaking who it was. Between the tattoo, the teal eyes, and the voice, Feyre was surely looking at a ghost. 

“Don’t look so shocked, High Lady.” 

[tadpolesonalgae]

Sticky Spider’s Web

Spider!elain x reader 

For the first day of @sjmsapphic 😋 v. happy to share spider!Elain with you guysss 🧡🧡👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

a/n: pleaseeee women and monsters pleasseeee 🙏 alsooo this is one of those fics where everything conveniently works out in the end 😌 no crit and enjoy ur wlw monster smuttt with love 🧡🫶

synopsis: having heard tales of a creature in the woods alleged able to grant wishes, you venture deep into the forest. But when a patch of rich, rain-soaked moss causes you to plummet from your height, only to be caught in the sticky, springy web of the very creature you seek, you’re unsure whether your luck is unbelievable, or run out entirely.

warnings: spider!elain who has female and male genitalia; teratophilia/monsterfucking; web bondage; mild sex pollen(?) from the oral (elain receiving); p in v; squirting; blood/biting; veryyyyy brief ovipositor stuff; heights

word count: 4,008

~~~~

You struggle upon the web, facing upwards, the back of your forearms stuck to the sticky strings that had cushioned your fall, preventing you from cracking open your skull on the forest floor far below.

It’s no use—you can’t even lift your skin from the web, let alone the rest of your body. 

You’d been climbing in search of the creature that’s rumoured to inhabit these large trees, trees that grow far wider and taller than any of the non-magical variety. The great spider is rumoured to live only in the highest peaks of trees, spinning its web between the thick trunks, string sturdy enough to snare even the largest of birds. If only it hadn’t started raining. If only you’d been sensible and resisted the drive of your curiosity and waited until it was safe. Waited until the moss wasn’t slick underfoot; waited until the damp mists had retreated. 

But you had not.

And now you’re here. Snared, trapped, and freezing cold. 

A shape dangles above, blocking the light rainy mist still falling from the clouds, and you stare in awe as the creature slides down from between the heavy-leafed branches. Silky coils of straw-coloured hair obscure the creature’s face, but it’s easy to make out the elegant shape of a naked, female torso growing out of the spider’s dark, furred body. 

You flush as she settles her eight legs around you, bending down to seemingly…examine you. Pale hands reach out, fingers touching the hot skin of your cheeks, and they’re…sticky. Damp. Seemingly toying with the cloth of your collar, palms exploring and they push and prod further down your body. You squeak when her right palm presses over your breast, and her dark, misty eyes flick upwards, body stiffening in the way only a mythical creature’s can. 

“You’re a human,” she whispers, close enough you’ve no trouble hearing her. 

You stare—long, thick lashes shape her eyes, a soft nose not far out from the rest of her features, a rosey mouth containing sharp, biting teeth. A pink tongue that swipes across her lower lip. 

“What’s a human doing in my web?” She whispers, almost to herself, cloudy eyes flickering about, brows furrowing as if she’s struggling to figure you out. A web this high up tells you her intended prey isn’t humans, at least. 

“Your kind rarely ventures so deep into these woods—surely you know it’s dangerous out here?” She questions.

You flush. “I…I do…” 

“Then why are you here?” 

You bite the inside of your lip. “I was looking for you. I heard you could grant wishes.” 

The spider pauses, lips parted as her hands slowly retract from your clothing. Then she blinks, hair tickling your cheek as she shakes her head, “wherever did you hear that?” 

“It was a rumour running through my village,” you hurry to explain, hearing how foolish you sound. “And I…I wanted to know if it was true…” you trail off, peering up at the great spider, taking her in now that she’s not immediately draining you of blood. 

Her torso is much the same as your own, the differences pronouncing themselves the further south your eyes travel. Her hips join the to abdominal section of the spider covered in a thick coat of dark fur speckled through with white. The dots are greater in number closer to her bare skin, fading away the further they travel, and each of her legs is pitch black. 

“You risked a great deal in venturing so far out…what would you have done if I were something vicious?” She asks, brows furrowing, not out of suspicion, but you realise from worry.

“I…I was told creatures like you don’t generally prefer to eat humans. You certainly wouldn’t spin your webs so high if that were the case,” you reply, still somewhat breathless from such close proximity. 

The spider pauses, her dark, cloudy eyes scanning your features. “It’s true we don’t often dine on humans…but not because we don’t like the taste of you.” 

Your throat rolls, trying to shift in her web but you’re held fast. “Then…then why not?” You ask, unsure if you really want to hear the answer. Maybe this wasn’t a smart choice. 

“You’re pack animals. You live together, while my kind is solitary,” the creature explains. “I could manage a few of you on my own, but if I stole one of you directly from a town or even a village I would be chased from my home.” Her tone is sincere, but there’s something slightly predatory growing in her dark eyes. 

Her pink tongue swipes across her lower lip, and her fangs gleam a poisonous pale blue in the dimming light. 

“Besides, you creatures learned to wield fire.” She shudders, and you suddenly wish you brought your flint stones. Though you suppose nothing would even catch, now that the rain has so thoroughly soaked these woods. 

“So you-…” You swallow, fear slithering in your gut. Stupid, so stupid to venture out for the sake of your curiosity. “Are you going to eat me?” You whisper, voice hoarse.  

Her dark eyes flit about your face, and she leans closer, sticky palms taking a hold of the web you’re tacked to. Her gaze drifts lower, and she pinches the collar of your shirt, rubbing the wet linen between her fingers. 

Shit. 

She’s going to pull the linen back and take a drink from your throat. 

She doesn’t even need to wrap you up in one of those silky cocoons—you’re practically immobile. 

“You’re clothes are very wet,” she says instead. “Are you cold?” 

You peer at her, heart hammering in your chest. Her nostrils flare, and you shift, wishing you could at least rearrange the position of your limbs to be closer to your body. “A little…” you whisper. 

She hums after a moment, eyes shifting, and tension gathers in your stomach, lacing your legs with restless, frenetic energy. “You’ll probably fall and injure yourself if you try to get back down now that it’s rained.” And now that the light is beginning to fade.

You should have waited until tomorrow; set out early in the morning so as to not have wasted so much daylight. 

Wholly black eyes lock with your own, and a shiver spider walks down your spine.

“I could take you down, if you like?” She offers. “It would be much safer, and there’d be no risk of injuring yourself.” 

Fear concentrates in your bloodstream. “…For what?” You whisper, hardly a breath. 

The spider shifts uneasily above you. Looking away for a little. “Just a small bite…”

“‘A small bite’…?” You echo, fainter than before. 

“It would be much safer, if you went with me…” She repeats, peering at you intently. “And it wouldn’t be painful for you either. My bite, I mean. I’d prepare you properly.” 

“Prepare me?” You gasp, staring at her wide-eyed. “What do you mean prepare me?” 

Subconsciously you try to wriggle free of the stickiness, but her palms shift from the web to rest tentatively on your shoulders. Trailing her soft fingers to the collar of your shirt. “It varies creature to creature,” she murmurs—is it your imagination or are her fangs more pronounced? More saliva in her mouth?—circling a button on your shirt. Her gums are lapis-blue, you realise, close enough to see where her fangs stick in her mouth. 

“I’m not fond of fear,” the creature whispers, “…it’s too acrid. Too…sour.” 

“So…you’d-…relax me?” You ask, trembling beneath her. 

She nods. 

“Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t think I’ll be able to relax anytime soon,” you breathe, half laughing, have stammering with terror. A shaky smile trembles on your mouth. 

The spider smiles, but there’s a growing hunger in her eyes. “I’ll manage that,” she whispers, her voice softening to a silky whisper. For some reason you flush at her tone, scanning her features with a little less fear than before.

“…how?” 

Black eyes briefly dip to the skin of your throat before returning to your own. “Human blood…” she begins, seeming a bit dazed, “human blood… Humans release…” She swallows. She seems to be having some difficulty. Maybe she’s growing tired…? “Your blood is more…flavourful…after experiencing a high of some kind.” 

“A…” you wet your lips, “a high…?” She nods her head, humming faintly in confirmation. 

“I can… If I secrete some oils… I’ve heard it’s similar to the feeling of fatigue. Lethargic, and warm…not entirely dissimilar to being tipsy…” The pale skin of her cheeks has taken on a slight flush. She looks warm, and soft. 

“It won’t…” you hesitate, unsure of yourself. “It won’t hurt?” 

“No,” she assures, in that sweet, lulling voice of hers. “You’ll…you’ll feel good. You’ll like it,” she whispers, “I promise I’ll make you like it.” 

The words send warning bells ringing dimly somewhere in the back of your head, but she’s cupping your face now, so close, and from this proximity you can hardly see her spider’s body anyway, so it’s basically the same as kissing a woman… 

‘Kissing? She didn’t say anything about kissing.’

You should pull yourself together.

“And you’ll…you promise you’ll help me down after?” You mumble, unable to look away from her. 

She nods, “if that’s what you want once we’re done.” 

You swallow. She’s so close. 

“Are we agreed?” She asks, swiping her thumb across the high of your cheek. 

You almost nod your head, but a moment of clarity finds you. “What’s…do you have a name?” You ask. 

The spider blinks, eyes trailing across your features. “Elain,” she murmurs, “you can call out for Elain.” 

You flush, but swallow, giving a nod of your head. “Elain,” you repeat, trying the name out on your tongue.

Dark eyes glisten, and her flush deepens, “that’s right.” 

“So…you mentioned oils…?” You mumble, peering at the slight gleam of her palms. 

Elain swallows, gently detaching herself from your body, and a wave of cold washes down your front. Your clothes are still sodden, and it’s freezing so far up in the air. 

“You’ll inhale them from my glands. It’s where my pheromones are produced.” She bites her rosey lip, eight legs shifting so she’s directly above you. “A few seconds should do the trick, but you should wait a few minutes just to be safe…” She trails off. 

“Is there anything else?” You ask, sensing she’s holding something back. 

Her throat rolls. “You can…ingest it too. If you like.” Her legs shift, fingers wringing together at her front. “It’s more concentrated if…if taken through the mouth.” 

Something hot and syrupy stirs in your abdomen. Turning liquid and molten between your legs. 

Her nostrils flare. 

“And where…” you clear your throat, but your voice remains hoarse. “Where is- are. Where are these glands…?”

Colour tints her cheeks a lovely pink in the greyish mist, and her eight legs bunch together, brushing your sides as she lowers herself. Her fingers thread through your hair, and something aches between your legs. “I’ll show you…” she murmurs, guiding your mouth as she settles over you, “I’ll show you where you can lick.” 

Dark fur is soft atop your mouth, spots of white speckling her skin, and as she rests the entirety of her weight over you, you can feel what seems like two sections of skin pushed together. The web itself stretches, pinned but not uncomfortable beneath her, and you recall her advice: it’ll be more concentrated if taken through the mouth. 

You make to part your lips, and the increase of saliva is immediately apparent. A scent seeps into your airways, filtering through your lungs and into your bloodstream. She’s intoxicating. Stirring a hunger deep inside of you. 

She might as well be a human woman sat bare atop your mouth. 

Your lips are ajar, and you tentatively swipe upward with your tongue. 

Elain shivers, fingers tightening in your hair, pulling you closer by a fraction. She shifts her two frontmost legs, and the slit you had felt with your tongue parts, revealing a tender part of herself that seems so familiar to you, and yet she’s different. 

You push your tongue out, and sure enough she parts further, speckled lips spreading and gleaming. Her entrance seems longer, extending slightly further upwards, and above is a small protrusion. Slowly, you trail your tongue up her centre, testing out her flavour. 

Your mouth waters, and you wish more than ever that you could move. That you could at least press your legs together; that they weren’t kept open by the stickiness of her web. 

“Do you like the taste?” She whispers, pulling you marginally closer by your hair. You manage a noise too close to a moan but…you don’t really care. She tastes so good. You want more of her. Want her scent to encompass you, seep into your clothes, seep into your skin. 

Elain’s lips spread into a rosey smile, pressing herself against you. “I’m glad,” she breathes. “You can taste more…” She urges, “explore all you like…” 

You don’t need encouraging. She’s already got such a firm hold on you. 

You press your tongue flat against her, dragging upwards, collecting as much of her flavour as you can. She shudders when the hardened tip of your tongue presses over that small protrusion, and you find it…stiff. Not one to shy from your curiosity, you incline your head, exploring further, taking what you can only imagine is her clit into your mouth. 

Elain gasps, and your thoughts are confirmed. 

You take her clit further across your tongue, sealing your mouth over her to create a chamber of suction, tongue flicking and licking, tasting everywhere you can. Above you, Elain moans, nails scraping against your skin, rubbing forward and you feel her clit harden on your tongue, pushing forward, almost…growing? 

That can’t be right. 

Though what do you care right now? 

You lick again up her centre, rewarded as you find her entrance practically dripping. Her flavour coats your tongue, and you return to her clit, hard and larger than before. You take her eagerly into your mouth, feeling as your underwear becomes wetter and wetter the longer she’s above you. Her clit stiffens, growing hot and engorged. You circle the base of it, about half an inch into your mouth, and Elain breathes heavily above you, sounds of pleasure spilling from her chest as she pushes to have more of your mouth covering her. Slick drips onto your chin, spilling onto your neck and you gently suction her clit deeper into your mouth. 

Elain’s body shudders, her breath stuttering as she flutters wildly on your tongue. Arousal drips from her, and you’d be happy for her to cover you entirely. She’s irresistible. 

She pants heavily, pulling away from you on trembling legs. A string of arousal connects your mouth to her cunt, and you swipe your tongue over your lips, pulling it into your mouth. 

“Elain…” you mumble, peering at her. “Why…? Come back… I can… I can have more of you…?” You plead, toes curling as arousal seeps into your underwear.

She flushes, “I’m getting hungry…I want to taste you soon…and you’re almost ready…” 

A whine slips from your throat, torn between wanting to taste her again and wanting your arms to be free so you can satisfy the growing ache between your own legs. 

“Hold still,” Elain whispers, scuttling forward. “I’m going to peel you from my web. Don’t fall…” Oil slicks her palms, and you imagine each of her feet is similarly greased as she slides her limbs between your own and her web, unsticking you from her trap. 

You try to obey and cling to her web so you don’t plummet down, but before you know it you’re being lifted into the air. 

Through your sex-induced haze you can make out more web stuck to your hands, binding your wrists as you’re strung up into the air, Elain’s still-sticky palms steadying your swaying body.

You squirm, hot and panting and far too desperate to manage anything on your own. 

“Elain…” You pant, needing her to do something. “Elain…!” 

“It’s okay… I’m almost there… Just a little longer so you’re in the right position,” she soothes, though her fingers move with a hunger rivalling your own. 

You whimper as she twines more web around each of your ankles, pleasantly stretching your body as she connects her ties elsewhere, spreading your legs even further apart. 

You could cry. 

Below you is the web you were previously lying on, and now- 

You swallow. 

You’re so far from the ground. Can hardly even see the bottom any longer. 

“Elain…” you whine, “what…what are you doing?”

Your breath catches as six of her eight dark, furred legs position themselves upon her web, a pair of her middle two curling gently around your waist, offering you a place to rest your weight, relieving the strain on your wrists as she mounts you. You try to squirm and you manage a glance over your shoulder—something protrudes from the base of her swollen abdomen, almost similar to a bee’s stinger, except it’s thicker…speckled with black at its base and white near the tip, though that white swiftly darkens to pink…red…purple. 

“Elain…! You’re not going to…?” You mumble, a flush heating your cheeks, cunt aching as you think of her slipping herself inside of you… 

“You’re well prepared,” she breathes, those still-sticky palms of hers reaching below your arms to dip to the hem of your shirt, mouth beside your ear. “I can almost taste you in the air…how wet are you down here?” 

Those pale blue fangs of hers nip at the shell of your ear, descending to tug on your lobe. Elegant fingers dip beneath the waist band of your skirt, and you feel at your back as she curves her lower body in half, swollen abdomen curling, clever spider legs shifting to pull your skirts up out of the way. 

Her erection rubs against the hot, wet cotton between your thighs and you gasp, silently pleading for her to continue touching you…to continue exploring you… Why won’t she put her hands under your top? Or dip her fingers a little further into your underwear? You’d make such lovely noises for her…and maybe she’d like your taste too…

A spider leg dips beneath your skirts, and you squeak as the cotton tears, pulled clean off, allowing Elain to press herself closer, covering herself in the slick dripping from your entrance. 

Besides your ear, Elain releases the sweetest moan, the flushed purple tip of her cock rubbing up and down over your entrance, occasionally bumping into your soft, sensitive clit. 

“Are you ready?” Elain whispers, and you could cry for her. Could cry from how badly you want her. 

“I’m ready,” you pant, “please…please, please, please…!” 

She kisses your cheek, spider legs curling back around your body while her hands slip beneath your top, sticky palms covering your tender breasts with a relieving heat as her swollen abdomen pushes forward, slipping the thick length of herself inside. 

Your toes curl, squirming, panting as she cups your breasts with tenderness and familiarity. Her fingers soothe back and forth against your hardened nipples, and moans won’t keep from falling from your mouth.

“Can I…Are you ready for me to move…or shall I wait?” She breathes, taking a deep inhale of your scent, her face pressing ticklishly into the crook of your neck and shoulder.

“Please move,” you beg, “you feel so good…please…”

Her cock pulls out of you, and you tighten around nothing, but then she’s easing her way back in, stuffing you full, and you can hardly keep yourself together. There’s a frenetic energy pulsing and simmering within your blood, static in your veins, like any second could be the last—you’re so close to toppling into that high. 

Just a little more and you’ll be there. 

“Elain…” You call out, squirming as her warmth radiates into you from behind, arousal flushing your front. “Do what you like,” you whisper, spine curving beneath her touch, “show me how…show me how you like it…” 

Elain’s breath stutters, then she’s pulling back once more and driving herself into you. 

Whimpers spill from your lips, her cock touching so deep, pressing up against those perfect, sensitive parts inside of you. 

Heat boils and bubbles, arousal turning molten and syrupy in the pit of your body, and you fracture beneath the sheer weight of pleasure she’s pushing inside of you. 

Noises flood your mouth, pleasure unlatching as you release around her—liquid dripping, falling far below—muscles tensing with the force of the high and you hardly register as she slips her fangs into your neck. 

Your cunt flutters senselessly around her while she keeps her pace, driving in relentlessly, her own much greater body shuddering and twitching above you, furred, nimble legs pulsing as her concentration of strength lapses, and she spills inside of you. 

Your head hangs, exhausted from the pleasure despite the aftershocks still thrumming through your body. Through your haze you spot a thick, pale liquid beginning to trickle down your thighs, release still emptying out of her and into you. So much you can’t take it all. 

It’s a milky white…vaguely iridescent…and are those…? They look like tiny, gelatinous eggs. 

You flush, able to feel how deep she’s spilling inside of you…how hot her release is, viscous and thick, warming you from within.

Her palms squeeze your breasts, and her tongue slithers over the puncture marks she’s made, sealing them before you’ve even registered the bite she took. All you notice is Elain’s mouth being more slippery than before, as though coated in a sheen of slick as she presses her lips to your cheek, trailing her way up to the top of your head. 

“You were so well-behaved,” she murmurs, breathless, beside your ear. “You did so well… How are you feeling?” 

If you’re honest: struggling to keep your eyes open. Your energy has been utterly depleted, and you’re running on empty. “…tired…” 

“Hmmm? Shall I take you down now?” Elain whispers, fingers soothing across your breasts, easing you deeper into relaxation. 

A whine builds in your throat but you manage to swallow it down. 

The idea of still having to make it all the way back to your village now? It’s dark, and damp, and you’re in such a state. You don’t really want to manage that right now. 

What a mess you’re in…

“You could…” Elain begins, trailing off. 

Your ears prick, curiosity perking. “‘Could’…?” 

Elain retracts from your cunt, leaving you cool and empty. Her legs shift, then the soft heat of her front is flushing your back. “I have a hollow further up in the tree. There would be plenty of room, and I could spin part of a cocoon for you…?” 

Your lips part, trying to peer at her over your shoulder. 

The web holding your ankles apart is cut, but she keeps a firm hold of your body as she turns you to face her, guiding your legs to curl around her hips as she severs the web around your wrists. Her arms wrap beneath your thighs, and you tangle your arms over her shoulders. “You wouldn’t…you won’t mind my company?” You ask, scanning her still-flushed features. 

Elain shakes her head, and teeth prod at the interior of your lower lip. “That sounds…good…” you hedge, “it really wouldn’t be a bother?”

Dark eyes flit over your mouth. You swallow, inclining your head by a fraction. 

She takes the opportunity, pressing her mouth to your own, bodies completely flush. 

When she pulls away, her lips are curved at their edges. Rosey, tinted red. “Stay as long as you like…I don’t want you to leave.”

~~~~

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna @acoazlove

[tsunami-of-tears]

20 for manon x elide!! <3

Lure

SJM Sapphic Showdown @sjmsapphic - Day 1: Arrangement, Scent, Mutual Pining

The first thoughts that came to me for this prompt were sirens and vampires, luring their prey to their death. Vamp Manon seemed quite fitting I’ve taken a loooooooooot of creative liberties with the prompt… (hope that's okay lol)

Also tagging @tadpolesonalgae as requested 🩷

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

Manon slunk down the alley in the misty night, her hooded red cloak hiding the gleam of her moon-white hair. The cloudy sky concealed all trace of starlight, the perfect conditions for the hunt. 

Down the other end of the alley, hidden from view in a stone alcove, was her prey. A young couple, taking advantage of the dark and quiet to steal a moment together. 

Manon was the picture of lethal grace as she prowled closer. At this proximity, Manon could feel the pulsing beats of the male’s heart, could smell the metallic yet sweet lifeblood flowing through his veins. 

Thump, thump. 

The male’s back was to the stone wall, attention fully on the beautiful, dark-haired female before him. Her slender hands nimbly unfastened the buttons of his shirt, baring his chest to the cool night air.

Thump, thump. 

The female’s head dipped to the side, now granted access to the column of his throat. She licked a long stripe down the side of his neck.

Thump, thump. 

Manon stepped out of the shadows in front of the male. His eyes flared in shock as he took in the newcomer. The corners of Manon’s wine-red lips curved upwards. “Well done, Elide,” she purred. 

The female, Elide, took a step backwards towards Manon. The male’s bare chest heaved as he took heavy breaths, slowly moving his eyes between the two females. 

“Would you like to join us, sweetheart?” He drawled arrogantly to Manon. “I don’t mind sharing.” 

Manon took a step closer, silver flashing at her fingertips as she protracted her iron nails. “I do mind,” she said coldly. “And I don’t like to play with my food.” 

With a lightning-fast swipe of her hand, Manon slashed the male’s throat. Ruby-red blood gushed from the wound and dripped down the sharpened tips.

Manon turned to Elide, primal lust across her face. “You can have the first taste, my love,” she said, pulling Elide closer and bringing her bloodied nails to Elide’s mouth. 

Elide looked into Manon’s golden eyes as she slowly licked along the digit, savouring the coppery tang against her tongue. Elide smiled darkly back at Manon, red tinting her teeth. “Once we finish our dinner, I’d like you for dessert.” 

“Happy to oblige,” Manon purred, guiding Elide’s mouth to hers.

[sjmsapphic]

fmc for cresseida, amren and nuan (aka the bad bitches blunt rotation) 🫡🫦😩

excellent suggestion >:) and a very hard choice

who’s next?? that’s up to you 🫵 send any 3 maasverse characters for the next round of fmk where no women are killed and instead r put in the cuck chair because we love women

fm(cuc)k

fuck Cresseida, marry Amren, cuck Nuan

fuck Cresseida, marry Nuan, cuck Amren

fuck Amren, marry Cresseida, cuck Nuan

fuck Amren, marry Nuan, cuck Cresseida

fuck Nuan, marry Cresseida, cuck Amren

fuck Nuan, marry Amren, cuck Cresseida

Voting ended onMay 27

[sjmsapphic]

one more week remains until the sapphic showdown, in which maasverse characters will compete for the title of carabiner queen❣️

the event will start on Saturday May 30 and run through Monday June 1. remember to tag the account @sjmsapphic and add the #sjmsapphic2026 tag on your posts. ao3 works can be added to a collection that we will share closer to the event.

there will be one (1) character crowned as the winner during an award ceremony following the event. take a look at the rules and scoring guidelines to see how you can support your fave!

looking for a way to participate but not sure how? check out: prompts | pose inspiration | drabble + sketch ask game

[c-e-d-dreamer]

So as everyone knows, I love to turn Cassian into a monster every Cassian Week 😌 We had Gargoyle Cassian for Cassian Week 2023. Big blue alien Cassian for Cassian Week 2024. And who could forget Mothman Cassian for Cassian Week 2025?

And for Cassian Week 2026, we're turning our favorite boy into a demon! 😈 But the question is....

What should the "plot" be for Demon Cassian?

Tomas tries to sacrifice Nesta, but Cassian is like hmm imma just marry her

Nesta summons him to make a deal, and Cassian is like the deal is marriage

Demon Cassian just straight up kidnaps Nesta from her home and/or the woods

Something else (but you must tell me what)

Voting ended onMay 22

[sjmsapphic]

Event Rules

🍓 tag @sjmsapphic and use #sjmsapphic2026 for posts to be included in the event. a collection on ao3 will also be created for event works

🍓 this event is meant to be inclusive and welcomes any and all creations made in the spirit of exploring sapphic identities. works do not need to depict ships, and ships depicted do not need to exclusively feature woman-identifying characters. if you're not sure, feel free to ask! but this is for fun + encouraging more queer creations; we will not be strict

🍓 you do not need to be queer to participate! there is no prerequisite

🍓 important caveat to the above: this event is not terf friendly

🍓 no hate and no ai or you will be blocked

🍓 depictions of canonically male characters through a sapphic lens are allowed (from exploring gender identity to using shapeshifting magic to genderswap AUs, and so on). that said, canonically male characters will be excluded from the running for the crown

🍓 crossovers featuring sjm characters from different series (e.g., Nesta Archeron x Bryce Quinlan) are highly encouraged. however, we ask that pairings feature only SJM characters (e.g., no Morrigan x Jude Duarte). original characters based in SJM fandoms (e.g., Manon Blackbeak x Crochan Witch OC) and x reader fics are also encouraged!

🍓 late submissions will be accepted for inclusion in the ao3 collection and masterlists for up to one week! however only submissions posted by the last day of the event will be awarded points

[lady-of-tearshed]

The Story Of Us

Pairing : Elain x Lucien x Azriel x Emerie (in that order lol)

@polysjmweek Day 7(late): Why Choose?

Summary: Title says it all. The story of how Elain and Lucien, then Azriel, then Emerie all fell in love together. 💕

Warnings: We hate Rhysand in this fic. But Feyre is no better.

Word count: 2.6k

A/N: I came up with this polycule like this: "Damn. Elain really does have a type. Scarred, sassy, emo-ish males. Wonder what this throuple would be like... Nah. Too much testosterone... OH. BUT WITH EMERIE?! Goddamnnnnn! Hawt. ❤️‍🔥" So here it is! One day late, after some mental breakdown, my dinosaur of a computer crash out (and mine. As it deleted over 500 words minimum.), and a migraine! Enjoy!

Also. Big thank you to @acourtofladydeath and @tadpolesonalgae for the help 🙏💕 love you x

Dividers made by @tsunami-of-tears

Elain was a happy, newly made mate; and yet she wasn’t sure whether it was herself or Rhysand that was the most over the moon with her union to the Day Court’s heir.

Lucien was, too. In his own way, maybe. They both were, that much could not be denied. But when the mating frenzy died a few days later, their normal self and rationality slowly coming back, they both could tell something was missing from the equation.

Over the years, after Azriel and Lucien’s initial raw male instincts were tamed by Elain’s sharp tongue and soft eyes, the three of them had developed something precious. A friendship had bloomed within the walls of the moonstone palace, where the group held regular tea parties, sharing the warmest teas Elain and Lucien brought back from every corner of Prythian.

Azriel was a good listener. He was also someone both Elain and Lucien had grown comfortable enough around to lay their heads on his strong shoulders on hard days. Azriel had opened up, too, at some point. Mostly with Lucien. Azriel’s past and present was macabre at times, but not enough to push away Lucien, who had been through similar kinds of horrors before. They bonded over this, and Elain understood.

At first, when Elain announced her mating ceremony with Lucien, they didn’t think much of Azriel’s growing distance. Their interactions had been fewer, but with Rhysand fussing over the preparations, they did not really get the time to sit and think much of it.

Then came the mating frenzy, and the days following. Azriel’s absence became more and more obvious with every passing day. It drove Elain mad with worry. Azriel’s responses to her letters were shorter, the lies in every sentence heavy. She could see the worry Lucien tried to hide despite his frown as he read over his mate’s shoulder.

They both missed Azriel. They did. Lucien, after a lot of prying from Elain, had confessed. But maybe it’s how it was supposed to be. Maybe those peaceful nights laughing and drinking tea under the stars on one of the Moonstone Palace’ balconies, a soft breeze from the mountains caressing their faces, had always been ephemeral.

Elain knew this couldn’t be true. She knew Lucien would do most anything in his power to believe that lie if it meant avoiding his hopes being shattered if they were to open up about it, the two of them, with Azriel.

Fortunately, Elain knew the recipe for courage, and to someone’s heart.

So it’s around a table of promised brownies and cinnamon rolls that, finally, they talked.

After the initial shyness after being apart for so long was overcomed, they realised the feelings they had felt for each other before were still there. Only they were harder to avoid now, and when they finally dived into the subject— Elain taking the lead to allow both males to do the same, bribing them with their favorite pastries, especially made for the occasion—those feelings were named.

Love.

—

It took some time for Rhysand to get over it. Somehow, polyamory was acceptable if it concerned a High Lord of Day Court, but as soon as it started concerning his precious brother and already mated sister-in-law, that reality soon became unacceptable.

A betrayal. Trickery. Something that should not be.

The night they had decided to announce it, at a table surrounded with their friends, a tight knit circle they thought safe, Elain’s relationship with her sisters was irrevocably changed.

She had felt betrayed when Feyre had shook her head in disappointment, before dragging her enraged mate out of the room before he, Nesta, and Azriel could shred him to pieces until even High Fae near-immortality could be overcome.

Elain had been so devastated, her heart breaking into pieces despite Lucien’s arms wrapped so tightly around her body, almost bringing Elain onto his lap as he still sat on the chair beside hers.

She should leave. She should stand up and leave, but her legs were shaking so much doing so would be impossible.

Elain didn’t even register when the screaming had ceased. She didn’t hear how Cassian tried to calm her mate down as she kept cursing Rhysand even after his departure with Feyre. She also did not register Lucien sharply asking Azriel to snap out of it, for her own sake.

“I’m sorry,” Azriel kept saying, kneeled in front of Elain’s chair. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think he would-”

“None of us did,” Lucien sighed and squeezed Azriel’s shoulder with his free hand, while the other kept tracing soothing patterns on Elain’s back. “It’s no one’s fault but theirs.”

Then, unconvinced, he added, “They’ll get over it.”

Elain shook her head, her voice small and watery as she spoke. “No,” her voice broke, “I don’t think they will.”

“Well then so be it,” Nesta spat, venom lacing her tone. “It’s not like we ever needed that viper anyway.”

“Nesta,” Cassian warned her.

“I think we’re going to go to bed now,” Elain interrupted before another fight could explode. “Good night.”

She felt herself sway a little as she stood from her chair, but Lucien held her together until Azriel shut hers and Lucien’s bedroom door at the River House behind them.

Then, she fell to her knees, Lucien sinking beside her, and Azriel hurrying to their side.

She cried a lot that night. It was as if her whole world had crumbled. She was angry, and confused as to why everything had gone the way it did tonight. She thought, naively perhaps, that Feyre, out of everyone, would have understood.

She had never felt so far away from her sister before. She felt like a burden. It felt as if Nesta and Feyre were now fighting, and it was all because of her.

She felt unsafe and unwelcome in this house now. A house that held so many memories, so much love, now felt heavy. Like the walls were about to swallow her whole.

“Let’s go,” Azriel announced, determined.

“Where?” Lucien hissed, his emotions high, his heart aching, in sync with his mate’s.

Azriel knew better than to take offense in his reactions in these kinds of moments. “I have a place. It’s safe. It’s… It’s home.”

Lucien held Elain’s gaze. His thumbs went up to her cheeks, not wiping the tears away, allowing her to flow freely. He stroked Elain’s face, a pained expression on his face as he searched hers for approval.

She nodded. “Okay.”

—

It took time to rebuild what had been broken with her sister. And even then, the edges around their relationship still felt sharp around the places it had been damaged. It was fixed, somehow, but it had still left scars that would probably follow them forever.

Rhysand remained cold, and distant. But he knew better than to express his discontent aloud now. He kept a professional distance with his emissary and spy master now.

It still hurt Azriel, you noticed. Although the male was too hurt and proud to ever admit as much.

Tonight, they were going out at Rita’s to celebrate Azriel’s birthday, as Cassian insisted.

“We never go out anymore, come on!” Cassian ha whined.

“I feel like you’re using my birthday as an excuse, now, Brother.”

Perhaps Cassian did. In fact, it was highly possible that Cassian did.

But as Azriel watched his lovers from afar, staying at their booth with the excuse that someone has to stay and watch the drinks, he couldn’t complain with his brother’s decision.

Lucien was sweaty. His chest, exposed underneath his unbuttoned white flannel shirt, glistening with sweat underneath the blue and magenta neon lights. His body was pressed against Elain’s, undulating with the music and spinning her around in an effortlessly sensual dance.

His eyes snapped to a figure approaching the two. Like a shadow, zig-zagging through the crowd, a female walked up to Elain and Lucien.

Emerie of Illyria.

She had left Nesta’s side, Azriel noticed. The latter was too busy shoving her tongue down her mate’s throat to notice her friend’s disappearance.

Gwyneth had stayed home, apologizing profusely to Azriel for not being able to make it for his birthday. Apparently, Nesta had told Elain who then told Azriel, the girl was having mysterious plans with a mysterious someone tonight. Nesta had told Elain her suspicions about her friend dating this male, Balthazar. Apparently, the two of them became close after he helped them out during the Blood Rite.

Telling one was like telling the three of them, honestly.

Azriel’s eyes returned to Elain and Lucien, his heart warming up and beating to a rhythm he recognized as he watched Emerie joining his sweethearts, joining the group in a dance as if she’d always been there.

—

The way Emerie walked up to her and Lucien, chin high, eyes burning with determination, was hypnotizing.

“Hi,” Emerie said, her body swaying with the music.

Elain froze, struck by the female’s beauty. From up close, she looked like a daydream.

Lucien smiled. Without missing a beat, he answered. “Hi.” He spun Elain around gently, gently pulling her out of her stupor.

Emerie was like gravity, pulling Elain into her orbit. She chuckled, her hands finding Elain’s hips, steadying her when she landed against her chest. “Wanna dance?”

Elain nodded. She wrapped her arms around Emerie’s neck, careful not to let her fingers brush against the Illyrian’s wings. She blushed when she spotted Lucien looking back at her, moving to the music behind Emerie’s back. He was smiling.

“Care if I join you?” Lucien asked, leaning forward to speak into Emerie’s ear, over the music pounding around them.

“‘Course not!” Emerie laughed, a real laugh, head thrown back.

Elain wanted to put her lips against her throat and suck the sound in.

Lucien gave Elain a pointed look, pretending to scratch the tip of his nose before moving to press himself against her back, swaying to the music with her and Emerie.

‘I can smell you,’ he seemed to say, the bond between them purring.

Elain shut him down before she could do something reckless, like climbing her mate like a tree, hopefully with the participation of two other Illyrian’s, in the middle of Rita’s dancefloor.

She would never hear the end of it from Rhysand.

After a few delightful moments of dancing, Elain started to feel thirsty. She also direly missed Azriel.

As if on cue, one of his shadow found her cheeks. She followed their movement, turning her head until she met Azriel’s gaze directly.

She bit her lips, her pupils going wide as she took in his posture.

Azriel still sat at their booth, his legs spread open, his elbows resting on the table, body inched forward. His eyes were fixed on them, rapt.

To everyone else, his lack of visible facial expression could be perceived as boredom. But to Elain, the glint in her lover’s eyes indicated that he was anything but uninterested.

‘Come here,’ the shadows whispered excitedly against her ear, playing with the pearl earrings she wore. ‘Come, come!’

“I think I’m gonna take a break!” Elain spoke over the music.

“Alright,” Emerie said, hiding her disappointment. “I guess I’ll go find where Nesta-”

“Come with us?” Elain cringed at how desperate her voice sounded.

Emerie didn’t seem to mind, “Sure!”

They made their way to the booth, where Azriel was waiting for them. Lucien had his arm wrapped around Elain’s hips, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before sitting down onto the booth and pulling Elain with him. Emerie joined them, needing to press herself against Elain’s side so everyone could fit on the bench.

Two winged Illyrian took a lot of space, but Elain and Lucien were far from complaining, happily sandwiched between two hot bodies.

Very, very hot bodies.

“Had fun?” Azriel asked, handing Elain and Lucien’s respective drinks.

“Mhhh,” Lucien purred, brushing his lips against the stubbles on Azriel’s jaw, before nipping it with his teeth. “A lot, yes.”

And then, inevitably, they started kissing. Elain rolled her eyes, lovingly, before turning her attention to Emerie sitting beside her. She didn’t seem surprised, or disgusted.

“They do that a lot,” Elain said, the urge to justify her lovers being publicly in love instinctive.

“As they should,” Emerie smiled, looking at them with curiosity, judgement-free. “They’re in love.”

“They are,” Elain smiled shyly, turning her attention back to her lovers. “I am, too,” she confessed.

Emerie was easy to be around with. And honest, too. She laughed at Lucien’s corny humor, and remembered to include Azriel in the conversation, in a way he felt comfortable to. She was pretty. Or lovely as a sunset, as Lucien had whispered in Azriel's ear, making the male blush madly before nodding in agreement.

She fit into their group easily, asking questions about their relationship, interest clear on her face, and free of that judgmental look people usually reserved for them whenever they appeared publicly.

It felt natural for the three of them to welcome Emerie into their bed that night. Then, after a few meetings and mutual agreement, their hearts.

—

Elain was squirming on her chair, her apprehension weighing heavy on the room.

“Okay,” Nesta spoke up after an eternity of silence. She put her teacup down and leaned on her elbows. “What is going on?”

Elain felt Emerie's hand tightening on her thigh, over her skirts. She met her gaze and gulped.

‘You can do it,’ Emerie's soft, brown eyes said. ‘I'm right here.’

She took a shaky breath and turned toward her sister, her chin high with all the determination and courage she gathered from Emerie's presence.

“We… Well, me, Az, and Lucien are now—”

“You broke up?!” Nesta stood up, incredulous.

“What?” Elain stuttered. “N-No! That's not… would you please sit down?”, she pleaded.

Nesta sat back down.

“As I was saying,” Elain took a deep breath. “The three of us… We are now also dating,” she cringed at the word. They were in love. Dating sounded childish. An innocent, unimportant thing. Someday she'd find a word as beautiful as the thing they were. “Emerie.”

Nesta blinked once, twice. Her icy gray eyes met her friend's, the fire they held was soft, not menacing. Just curious, searching for something.

Then, she sighed. Rolling her eyes, her gaze fond.

“Must be a little sister thing, to be stealing my friends’ heart,” Nesta chuckled at that. “First Azriel, and now Emerie? Thank Gods Gwyneth is head over heels for Balthazar, or I'd be worried that you and your males were to steal her heart, too,” Nesta teased playfully.

Elain burst into tears. Uncontrollable, ugly sobs.

Nesta's eyes went wide. “Was that not the right thing to say, sister?” She asked, frozen in place as all she could do was watch her friend comforting her sister on the opposite side of the table.

Elain shook her head. “No,” she hiccuped. “They're h-happy tears.”

Nesta smiled, meeting Emerie's gaze one last time. She held it, then returned to her sister. She watched as Emerie's hands traveled over Elain's hair, her shoulders. Cupping her cheeks and murmuring comforting words to soothe her. Unafraid. Proud.

Nesta knew instantly that her sister was going to be between good hands with Emerie, too.

—

Lucien's charming smile fell the second he opened the front door to Azriel's—now theirs—cottage to see Elain's bloodshot eyes.

He immediately pulled her into a hug, his hand discreetly roaming over her body, looking for wounds, or anything. He met Emerie's eyes.

Emerie close the door behind them, and before she could answer Lucien's questioning look, Azriel spoke up.

“I'm going to murder—”

“Woah, hey,” Emerie stopped him, tapping his nose gently with her finger. “No need for murder, my love,” she chuckled. “They're happy tears.”

“So everything went well?” Lucien asked.

“Yes,” Elain smiled up at him, then at Azriel. “Everything went well. It's going to be okay.”

And it would. Because they would make their own happiness, day by day. Together.

ACOTAR general taglist: @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @acotar-lover @paige0103 @princesssunderworld

Lucien Vanserra taglist:

Azriel taglist: