persieee-yoohoo

[persieee-yoohoo]

Hiii, just wondering if there will be any more parts to easy to love easier to betray? I’m loving it so far 🥰🥰

There will be! I have 2 (?) more parts planned. I’m really glad you’re loving it! It means a lot to me. I have a whole week off of school next week so I’m hoping I can just crank out some writing. Just bear with me!!! ❤️❤️

[persieee-yoohoo]

Easy to Love, Easier to Betray (Part 2)

Pair: Tarquin x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: maybe ooc?, smut (I attempted gender neutral stuff), language

Summary: You had never been to the Summer Court before, but Rhysand finally gave in to your incessant bothering and brought you along with Amren and Feyre. Unaware of the real reason behind the Night Court's visit, you played your unknown role well and got along with Tarquin a little too easily. When the truth is revealed and people are betrayed, will anything be enough to bring two people back together? (Sort-of retelling of the Summer Court visit for half of the Book of Breathings and several events that followed.)

Note: this is my first time writing smut, so sorry it if it is complete ass, ;D

Also available: ao3

Read Part 1: Here

You kept your promise the following day, not wanting to disappoint Tarquin or even yourself. The liquid courage from the bottle of wine you'd consumed the night before had long-since faded, but the phantom heat of Tarquin's breath on your neck kept you from backing down from the opportunity to get to know the High Lord more. Your nerves caused you to take a few extra minutes that morning to get ready, which meant you missed the spread of breakfast that was most likely getting picked over by your Night Court company, but you wanted to look perfect.

There was no doubt that Tarquin seemed to want you as much as you wanted him, from the heated stares that seared your body and the desperate words that he'd scribbled on paper the previous night, but still you worried. He was a High Lord, despite how much he was teased for his age, and you were a spy. So many things could go wrong, but a sensual voice in the back of your mind reminded you that so many things could go right too.

“Going on a date?” Rhysand practically pounced on you the minute you stepped out of your room, his teasing mood overly compensating for the flash of disappointment that darkened his purple eyes for just a moment. He was dressed in his statement black with a feline smirk adorning his face as he sent a wink your way. “I knew something like this would happen.”

“I'm not sure I know what you're talking about. I don't have a date. I—” You gulped, knowing that any effort to lie would just be lost on your High Lord. He knew you long enough to see right past the bullshit, and you'd given him access to your mind too many times to think that this instance would be any different. “Tarquin requested my company for the day after our meeting. Is that a crime?”

“No,” Rhysand's grin only seemed to widen at your confession, “of course it isn't a crime. I hope you both enjoy yourselves. Besides, it'll give me a chance to get back in dear Feyre's good graces. She's upset with me, if you didn't know.” Well, that explains the disappointment.

As if she'd been listening in, a loud crash was heard from the room Feyre was still hiding in, and you both quickly found yourselves heading to the meeting room.

“Feyre was right.”

Tarquin quickly took notice of the gold jewelry adorning your body, the many rings, the layered body chains, and guided you to one of his court's treasure troves. The tour had been meant for Feyre, but Rhysand had whisked her away before she could even politely deny the offer once their talk of armadas and sailing had concluded. With your plan to already be Tarquin's for the day, you easily stepped in her place. The fae seemed so proud of himself at discerning an interest of yours that you didn't have to heart to explain that you only stepped out of your room that day dripping in jewelry for his enjoyment rather than your own.

As you stood in the center of the room, full of valuables beyond your belief, facing Tarquin while you held a box containing a necklace of black diamonds, you could almost swear that you felt a light tug deep within your chest. It was subtle, and you almost ignored it if the male opposite you hadn't twitched as if he himself also felt it. Tarquin wasn't facing you, but he looked over his broad shoulder to where you stood and assessed what you were holding. If Tarquin didn't deem the faint feeling as something worth talking about, then you wouldn't mention it either.

“What was Feyre right about? We've spoken about a great deal of things,” the male spoke as if Feyre was the last thing on his mind while in your presence, especially as he made his way to you. The closer Tarquin got, the smaller the room felt around you. You suddenly felt crowded by all the jewels and treasures, with nowhere to escape as Tarquin's broad body loomed over you. His height and stature made you scoff, but your breath hitched as a warm chuckle escaped Tarquin's lips. “Have I rendered you speechless already?”

Exhaling a long breath, you met his gaze before you spoke, “she told you that it would be easy to fall in love with you.”

“And you agree?” His fingers teased the ends of your hair, pulling at the strands only slightly enough to earn a gasp from you.

You didn't know if you wanted to respond. It would be so easy to give in, almost effortless, but that just meant it would be near impossible to pull yourself back.

Tarquin took your silence in and brought your focus back to him as his thumb and forefinger captured your chin. He kept you there, searching your eyes for what you truly wanted. “Y/N, answer me. Do you agree?”

“Yes.”

Relief caused Tarquin's shoulders to sag, but he was still standing strong as he thought out his next move. Slowly slotting his lips against yours, Tarquin gave one final chance to back away, to stop yourself from regretting this— him. His lips were as warm as the heated air of his court, and you didn't mind getting burned by them as you deepened the kiss. You both continued your sensuous dance of lips and teeth, and it was clear who was leading and who was following.

Tarquin could kiss you however he wanted to if it meant he continued to hold you up by the strong hands that had sneaked around your waist after they abandoned their gentle hold at your face. You never wanted to drown in the sea, but there in that moment with him trailing kisses from the corner of your mouth down to the sweet spot between your neck and shoulder, you wanted to drown in the ocean of power that lurked beneath the heated skin of the Summer High Lord. Tarquin had bewitched you with his kisses, surrendered you with his gentle nips, and commanded you with his soothing licks across the marks he made on your exposed skin.

His presence surrounded you, blocking out any thoughts you had about the pricelessness of the objects that were scattered around you and filling your head only with thoughts of him. “Pick anything here, and it's yours.”

Tarquin had only pulled away from your skin for a moment, long enough to say his peace before he continued his exploration across your upper body. It was maddening, and it took tremendous strength to form together a proper response that wasn't just moans and gasps from your enjoyment.

“Are you trying to buy my affections with jewelry?” Your voice was breathy as you scanned whatever part of the room you could from where you stood with your arms clinging to Tarquin's back and your knees threatening to buckle beneath you. “I have no need for more jewelry, but you might win the affections of my female friends with what you have hoarded here.” Always working, always scheming, Rhysand would be proud.

“Just the females? What would Rhysand fall for?” As your High Lord's name fell from Tarquin's lips, you gently pushed him away. Your lips were bruised and your body was buzzing with remnant electricity from your shared heated moment, but Rhysand's name and the change in topics tampered your needy mood.

“If you give in to Feyre's fancies, he'll be sure to follow.” Even a small distance between you had your thoughts becoming your own again. You no longer ached to be one with Tarquin, but a tether deep within you longed for something similar as it continued to grow taught. “The Cursebreaker has sway over him, but I'm sure you were already aware.”

“Fine,” Tarquin huffed, coming down from the desirous high that was building between you and playing the part of a High Lord once again. “I'll let you humor me. What should I gift Rhys' emissary?”

“This,” You drop the necklace of black diamonds that you had picked up again after being dropped onto the floor in the heat of the moment into his grasp, and cross your arms over your chest. You looked at his chin rather than his eyes as you continued, “she'll love it, and it might be enough to have her lobby for an alliance with you.”

“You wouldn't lobby one for me? Even after the intimate moment we've just shared?” Once more, Tarquin's free hand found your chin and pulled your focus to his own eyes. “That doesn't seem like the rumors I've heard about the Night Court. I thought seduction was how you lot found the higher ground to get what you want?”

“I don't mix business with pleasure, Tarquin. If one is what you want, then you'll forfeit the other.” You couldn't help but think that this is what Rhysand wanted from your presence on the trip. A distraction for the untested High Lord of the Sumer Court so his plot could unfurl without a hitch. It was never as simple as your old friend giving into your desire to visit a new court, and you were a fool to believe that for even a second. “Tarquin—”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“I pick pleasure.” Tarquin would have begged if that would've been what you needed to desire him the way he desired you. He would've dropped to his knees, which was quite a feat for the strong High Lord he needed everyone to believe he was. “I want pleasure, if you want it as well.”

It killed you not to let Tarquin in on your thoughts about why this budding relationship played right into Rhysand's hands, but you couldn't be bothered to as Tarquin guided you into another kiss and pulled you to the ground right in the middle of the treasure trove.

“I do.”

Tarquin took his time undressing you, first following your body from head to toe with his eyes, and then using his hands to strip you bare at an agonizingly slow pace. With the careful touches and gentle glances he gave you as more fabric came off, it was hard not to let your sighs come across as impatient rather than blissful. You needed him, and it was getting harder to ignore the heat pooling deep in your belly or the way your lower body visibly reacted to Tarquin.

Where other lovers might have teased you for your eagerness to be pressed against the cool floor under the weight of another's body, Tarquin only smiled. He enjoyed watching you squirm for more, for him to stop wasting precious time and just fuck you already.

“Tar—” His name was lost on the tip of your tongue as a whine ripped from somewhere deep in your throat. The frustration you were feeling, and hoping to warn the High Lord about, was replaced by immediate pleasure when Tarquin pressed a hand between your thighs.

You struggled to buck your hips against his hand for more friction, but Tarquin was already pressing down on your lower stomach to keep you flushed with the ground. He was in control, and you couldn't even arch your back off the ground to slide your chest against his.

This was torture, you thought.

“I'm not going to rush this, my little pearl.” Nudging your legs apart, Tarquin settled himself lower on your body between your thighs. His hands remained where they were, one pressed against your belly and the other cupping your aching sex. The parts of his skin that you could see stretched over his muscle enticingly and you tried again to buck up against him.

“I'm the only one naked. It puts me at a disadvantage.” You spoke around another whine as Tarquin slowly dragged his tongue against the aching spot that you needed him the most. With his head dipped to hover just above your hips, you reached with your fingers just enough to thread them through the high lord's white hair. With the long tresses of his hair caught between your fingers, you pulled against his roots to get him to reach your stare.

Tarquin obeyed your summons, moaning deeply as his half-lidded eyes lazily met yours. His tongue was still resting against your body in a sinful way, but he paused his ministrations to give you the attention you had pointedly called for.

“Strip,” Your demand began as a whisper, the noise almost caught in your throat at the sight of him, but you persevered. “I want to see you like how you see me.”

“Say please, pearl.”

“Please.”

Even though you asked for it, even though it was what you wanted, you hated every moment that Tarquin was disconnected from your body as he leaned back into a kneeling position on the floor. With the room lit by warm faelight, Tarquin had a golden halo of light casted around his body's silhouette. The sight was godly, especially as he shrugged off his clothes and bared his naked body to you. Tarquin was beautiful, and you would've told it to him over and over if he didn't take your breath away by reaching one of his strong hands down his body to stroke himself several times before crawling back over you.

“Are we even now?” His voice was like a caress and you shivered beneath him. You still had no words, so you only nodded as your cheeks flamed beneath his gaze.

Rather than going back to your waiting sex, Tarquin settled for pressing his body flush with yours. His wicked mouth was curved in a smirk and he was no longer the same High Lord you met the other day. Gone was the look of unease that had tried to hide behind a mask of shaken confidence, replaced by utter cockiness.

“I can feel you practically dripping against me. Tell me what you want. Beg for it.”

With no unnecessary fabric separating your warm bodies, you intimately felt every inch of skin that pressed against you. Still though, it wasn't enough for you. You need friction, you needed movement.

And if Tarquin wasn't going to give it to you, then you would take it for yourself.

You weren't Azriel's spy for nothing, you had the necessary skillset that the job demanded from you. With a brief moment to rally your strength, you forced Tarquin to the ground as you followed his movements by rolling on top of him. The look of surprise that had his eyes widening and mouth slightly agape was quickly replaced by a look of failing restraint as your ass began grinding against his stiff erection beneath you.

“I'm not in the mood for games, either you fuck me or I'll go find someone that will.” It was an empty threat. You wouldn't go find someone else. If anything, you'd just retreat to your own temporary room and take care of the dull ache between your legs yourself, but Tarquin didn't need to know that.

“Oh, is that right? I better do something about that then.” Tarquin brought his ebony fingers to your pouting lips and coaxed you into taking two digits into the warmth of your mouth with teasing coos. “That's it…good pet.”

Once his fingers were sufficiently covered in your spit, he pulled them from your mouth and trailed them down your body until he got to your waiting entrance.

Tarquin worked one finger into you, making quick work of opening you up little by little before he added another. He needed you to be ready to take him, to handle that pleasurable stretch that would slingshot you to ecstasy. To silence the moans that were being dragged from your throat as he scissored his digits deep within you, you leaned down and lost yourself in a heated kiss with the High Lord. You'd barely even begun, and you were already beginning to come undone around his experienced fingers. “Tarquin, I'm ready…just hurry up already.”

A dark laugh struck you right in the core as he leaned back on his supporting arm to look you over as you sat above him, riding his hand, desperate for more.

“Just remember, pearl, you asked for this.” Tarquin guided you off of his fingers and lap just so he could reposition you on the floor. You felt the bite of the cool floor beneath your naked body as your lover laid you out on your elbows and knees.

Your knees were kept spread apart by his own positioned between you, and your upper body arched as you felt light kisses trail from your neck down to the lower dip of your back. The brief intimacy was the only gentleness you were allowed before Tarquin thrusted back into you, picking an unforgiving pace that had you reaching for anything to steady you on the ground but coming up empty.

A strong hand found purchase on your fleshy hip, digging into the soft, glistening skin as another pressed your back into a deeper arch that gave him a better angle to drive into you from behind. His deep groans and your gasping breaths were the only noises that filled the treasure trove, and the smell of your sins mixed together amongst the jewels and other riches.

The two of you created a symphony, an orchestra made from two people, an untested High Lord and a gullible spy. Every time Tarquin's body snapped against yours, a moan was drawn from your slack mouth, and every time you clenched around Tarquin's cock, a quiver passed over his tense body. It was a game of call and response, and every response increased in intensity and volume the closer you both got to finding a tandem release. The lewd echoing of skin against skin was drowned by the guttural noises being pulled from one another.

“Tarquin— I'm..ah fuck.. I'm so close.” You tried reaching beneath your body to reach the point between your thighs that ached almost painfully, but Tarquin beat you there. The hand that had stabilized his frantic movements as he was pounding away into you snaked around to your front where he knew he would be able to drive you over the edge almost immediately.

“Come with me. Say my name, let your dirty fucking mouth scream my name for everyone to hear.” Though he whispered his words quietly against your ear, his breath tickling the sensitive skin there, you heard every word. Tarquin's pacing seemed erratic now, no clear pattern being followed as he rutted against you.

You screamed out Tarquin's name as you splintered around his dick, his swift fingers relentlessly elongating the high that made you drunk on him. His release quickly followed your own, his hips slamming into you once more before stilling completely.

“Fuck, Y/N,” his voice was hoarse and he collapsed against your back to recover from the intensity of the orgasm you coaxed out of him.

Even as he stayed seated within you, his hilt flush against your rear, evidence of both of your releases trailed down your thighs and onto the floor beneath you. The two of you may have to take a few minutes to recover from that blinding high, but then you'd have to wear about cleaning the mess beneath you to erase any trace of your animalistic actions from the treasure trove.

And after that, you'd have to somehow face the members of both his inner court and your own, and deal with the consequences of your actions, whatever they may be.

[persieee-yoohoo]

Send me a word and a character and I'll write something based off of it!

[persieee-yoohoo]

Desiderium Part 3

Pair: Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 1574

Warnings: spoilers for CC HoSaB (let me know about anything else)

Note: I should have a plan for this but I don’t 

also available: ao3

Part 1 Part 2

It was a battle to evade sleep in the days following your first encounter with the shadow figure, but you determined to hold out. Your bed called to you constantly, goading you with sweet promises. However, even as the shadows under your eyes grew darker, you avoided its siren song. There was work to be done, and you had enough on your plate already without another side-dish of mystery.

While you avoided your own room in the Comitium, only returning to the complex when your duties to Celestina called you to, you welcomed the familiarity of the house Ruhn had shared with his friends. It was hard to ignore the missing presence of the Fae Prince, but you, Declan, Flynn, and Ethan kept busy on whatever tasked you all promised each other would get you closer to the group becoming whole again.

You'd seen what happened that day with your own eyes, silently watching over the footage Declan managed to hack over and over. Guilt tore at you, ripping through your heart and soul, as you watched the feedback on repeat, and Flynn had to physically shut his friend's laptop to pull you away from whatever spiral you were leading yourself towards. Your thoughts probably mimicked their own, about how you all should have been there to possible stop such a terrible fate from occuring, and you knew that you weren't the only one who wished that it could've been you in their place while they were kept in the horrid dungeons.

Hunt had suffered enough torture for a lifetime three times over, and you were sure that Ruhn probably had too given who his father was. You didn't even need to imagine what was happening to them, you only had to remember years ago to the agonizing black hole of time after you had been branded a slave in the wake of your first legion's failure.

You didn't have a mate like Hunt or some fated reason for being alive like Ruhn. You'd been a puppet for different archangels for years, for centuries, with no end in sight unless someone eventually wished to grant you that mercy. They had unfulfilled purposes in this world, and you wouldn't hesitate to take their place and face their punishment if it meant that they could continue their fight.

That was part of the reason you avoided meeting with Celestina at the Comitium. It was more than just simply avoiding your empty room and the shadows of whatever waited to haunt you in your sleep. It was the knowledge that you'd drop to your knees and beg Celestina to let your friends go and allow you to be punished in their place if you were in her presence long enough. You knew you would grovel at her feet and plead with her until your heart gave out, so you avoided the complex altogether. Perhaps you could face her one day, but only until you had everything else taken care.

“Y/N, did you hear us?” Flynn's grip on your shoulder was hesitant as he shook you awake. You'd dozed off only momentarily, barely in the throws of sleep when you'd been jostled. “We think we should call it a day. Dec's getting frustrated with his computer and Ethan's about to wolf out or something. You should get some rest, too. You look like shit.”

You ignored Ethan's warning growl at the red-head's jest about his worsening mood and leaned away from Flynn as you rubbed at your eyes. One of the books that Bryce had left behind in the house about different languages laid abandoned in your lap, the page you were on dog-marked to save your place. Moving the book to closest flat surface next to you, you stood and stretched out your tired limbs. No amount of coffee or strong-will would keep you up any longer, so you had to agree with your friend.

“What a heartfelt compliment, thank you so much. Things are tense at h—” You paused, not knowing if the Comitium could even be considered your home. It had been your residence for years, but it had never been the welcome comfort of a home. “At the Comitium, I mean. Everyone is on edge, and we all know to avoid Pollux when he's itching to have a pissing contest with whatever Malakh stares at him the wrong way.”

The three males sitting around you shared some glances that weren't lost on you, but you were too exhausted to get into it with them.

“Don't bother, I know what you're going to offer. There are enough people here without a set of wings to crowd your space. I'll be fine, I just need to be careful.” You tried to sound strong, for their sakes and your own, but your voice still wobbled just a bit.

You stood, shaking out your wings slightly before making your way to the front door. Flynn called out to you right as you unlocked the door, and you turned around just in time to hear a quick “Heads up!” before a dark object came projecting towards you from his outstretched hand. The smooth stone warmed against your palm as you caught it and you held it close, protecting it from the curious eyes of the others.

“You're carrying crystals around, now?” Flynn teased, but there was a mixed emotion laying somewhere deep in his eyes that you didn't want to figure out.

“It was from Bryce,” You shrugged, squeezing the stone even more, “before, you know. I don't know why she gave it to me. She said it was a worry stone, but I don't think it's helping.”

The stone was doing the opposite, actually. It was bringing you more worries than taking any away, and you only held onto it to be closer to your lost friend. Bryce saw something in you that no one else did, not even Hunt. It made you feel even more helpless knowing that you hadn't gotten a single lead on how to get her back.

You just got a realistic nightmare of a shadowy enigma and a permanent headache.

“I'll be in touch. Stay safe, okay?” With that, you left the house and immediately went airborne.

It wasn't hard to get to your room without being singled out. The floors were crowded with malakim, and you kept moving amongst the sea of wings and stares. Your paranoia got the better of you on several occasions, causing you to look over your shoulder or down different hallways, but there was never anyone that met your stare or lingered outside of your peripheral.

As soon as you made it to your room, you put Bryce's gift in the top drawer of your issued dresser. The comforting warmth of the stone had turned blistering in your palm on your flight over, and you needed to be disconnected from it before it got worse.

Out of sight, out of mind, or so you thought.

Stripping out of your outfit, you threw yourself on the bed. Even as you practically smothered yourself in your pillow and pulled your blanket over you, you felt the stone call back to you. It wanted to be back in your grasp, close to you rather than apart.

Hold me.

Touch me.

Keep me close.

Don't let me go.

The quiet beckoning made you feel crazy. It was just a stone, some foolish gimmick that a shop vendor had sweet-talked Bryce into buying on a whim. Maybe she had been embarrassed by giving in so she regifted it to you to make it seem better. Like that was the plan all along, give a friend a gift meant to steal some of their stress and replace negative emotion with something positive.

But still, the stone called to you, pulsing in the drawer you had abandoned it in like it was truly alive. A sentient tether to somewhere else, to someone else. The intensity of its call only gradually increased, and there was no ignoring it as it captured your mind in its siren song.

Please.

Kicking the blanket off of you and sitting up on the bed, your knees digging into the firm mattress beneath you, you stared at the closed dresser. Whatever strength you had left forfeited under the pull of the stone. You got down from the bed and blindly reached for the stone in the darkness of your room, the evening night finally dying as it ceased to stream into your bedroom window.

The moment your hand connected with the stone, its heat back to a comfortable simmer, you exhaled deeply. A feeling of something flowed from the stone and into your palm, traveling up your arm towards your heart, like it was in your blood. It felt right. It felt good.

As you flopped back on the bed, you chose to lay on your back with your wings splayed out beneath you. With the stone now resting right in the middle of your chest with a hand covering it, you took a few deep breaths before urging sleep to take you over.

“Finally,” a harsh voice rasped at you from deep within those shadows, “I've been waiting for you.”

[persieee-yoohoo]

Desiderium Part 2

Pair: Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 977

Warnings: spoilers for CC HoSaB (let me know about anything else)

Note: no thoughts, just azriel

also available: ao3

Read Part 1: Here

Azriel

Azriel thought he had been blinded by how fast he was abandoned inside the dreamscape. One moment there was the harsh and beautiful sight of a starlit figure, and the next there was nothing. No trace of light remained in the wake of your disappearance, and Azriel had to take a calming breath while his eyes adjusted to the stark contrast.

Wherever he was, it wasn’t a physical place. There weren’t any barriers either, no expansive fortresses of his mind’s shield or anyone else’s to suggest a mental invasion. Nothing. There was just an infinite void and a lonely armchair.

The chair was a twin to some piece of furniture from the Townhouse, something familiar that Azriel unconsciously pleaded for in the moments following the bright figure’s release from his shadowy grip. He hadn’t expected himself to think twice about letting someone who very well may have been an enemy drop to the ground, but there had been the briefest tug in the back of his chest to avoid that.

Azriel regretted it, of course, since only moments after his kind effort between opposing figures, the flashing beacon attempted an attack towards him. He barely even had the time to react before the light blinked out, vanishing alongside the mysterious figure. It left him alone, and Azriel couldn’t tell if he was relieved or not.

When Azriel lurched awake, any hope for peace to find clarity from his mind was ruined at the frenzied chitter of his shadows. They swarmed him, blocking out the moonlight from outside his window, and trapped him in a bubble of their own making.

“Go back.”

“Find them.”

“Don’t tell.”

The demands of his shadows were deafening, leading the shadowsinger to swat them away. As they repeated their countless demands in a mantra of varied pitches, Azriel found his way off the plush bed so he could reach towards the door. Despite whatever his shadows thought he could physically do about the summons that pulled him from a dreamless sleep towards you, his family could help. His brothers could help. Rhys could help. But still, he hesitated with his hand wrapped around the doorknob.

His brother was already overwhelmed with their other guest, tending to the strange redhead with his mate at the House of Wind, trying to learn more of her archaic language to communicate. Azriel didn’t want to burden his high lord with yet another mystery, especially one that could’ve just been his imagination.

“Don’t tell.”

His shadows hissed towards him again and Azriel gave in. His shoulders hunched over and he rested his forehead against the solid material of the wooden door. Azriel was tired, but his body urged him into action rather than back to his bed. He knew that even if he tried, sleep wouldn’t find him again that night.

Instead of falling back into the inviting silk sheets of his bed that were already starting to cool from his absence, he walked to where he kept his leathers and pulled on a pair.

Azriel had every intention of skipping out on family dinner that night, armed with enough excuses if he was questioned, but he'd been strong-armed by Feyre's attempt at mimicking Elaine’s doe-eyed look. She’d left no room his excuses when her talons scraped against his mental shield and her plea for his attendance that night was voiced past the antechamber he allowed her into. For good measure, she even pushed through an image of puppy dog eyes.

The high lady knew that the shadowsinger would forfeit his defense and answer her summoning, but he grumbled to himself anyways as he landed on the terrace. Tucking his membranous wings behind him as he walked towards his awaiting family, already drinking and talking amongst themselves inside.

It was going to be a long night.

“I don’t know.”

The accented drawl of their guest pulled Azriel away from his own mental stewing, his head snapping right to where she sat across the table beside Feyre. To Bryces’s (idk word), she didn't even flinch as the brooding male’s attention latched right onto her and the words that she spoke, words that before had only been understood by Amren and Rhysand.

“What did she say? Just now.” Azriel tried not to stumble over his words, but they were the exact ones he heard the mass of light speak.

Rhysand stilled with his cup nearly to his lips and carefully looked between their guest and his brother. While he hadn’t heard much from Az in days, he chalked it up to any mission he was working on. Rhys didn’t think to question the shadowsinger on his withdrawal from the family, especially since he was prone to bouts of quietness time to time. “Why?”

“Just— humor me. Please.”

“She said that she doesn’t know. ‘I don’t know.’ That’s what she said.” At that point, all eyes were on Az. Mor even placed a hand on his shoulder, but Azriel just shrugged it off and stood up from the table.

Azriel knew he should say something, anything that would ease the worried looks aimed his way, but he couldn’t. He just let his shadows circle around him and winnowed floors below to the library. There had to be something amongst the ancient stacks that would help in the language barrier between himself and you. Whoever you were, Azriel didn’t think that it was a coincidence your native tongue was the same of Bryce’s, but he wasn’t ready yet to share the knowledge of you. There were too many unknowns and he needed to figure out how to communicate effectively if there was a chance you’d come face to face again.

Next Part

[persieee-yoohoo]

Desiderium

Pair: Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 946

Warnings: spoilers for CC HoSaB (let me know if you come across anything else that needs to be flagged)

Summary: Days after Bryce Quinlan disappeared, leaving the chaos of Lunathion in her wake, you find yourself pulled into a dreamscape with a particular shadowsinger from the very world she’s gone to. Neither of you understand the mysterious force that summoned you together, and for once, you’re unsure if you really want the answers that lurk beneath the surface. With Hunt captured and your own branded halo of thorns marking you as a slave, meeting someone from a different world shouldn’t be worth the risk. But what if this shadowy figure that continues to haunt you in the space between being asleep and awake is your only chance at getting your friends back and righting the wrongs that have kept you shackled to higher beings?

Note: ao3 saw the first two chapters first lol also unedited

Also available: ao3

The only prayer you said before going to bed that night was that you would dream of something kind, something that would take you away from the chaos of the world for just a few hours. Prayer wasn't something you gave into often, but with the weariness and exhaustion that had been weighing on you lately, you opened your heart to the old gods once more.

You held the smooth obsidian stone firmly in your hand as you whispered your prayer, lost to the wind through your bedroom window. Sleep found you and wrapped you in her embrace. She heard your prayers, but had something else in mind for what you needed in your current state of reaching a breaking point. You needed him.

Whatever sleep you may have had was meant only for your body, as your mind was lost somewhere beyond Crescent City. But that didn't matter. What mattered most was the figure in front of you, completely enshrouded in shadows and darkness, in some unknown place beyond consciousness.

The mystery of obsidian darkness, much like the color of the stone that had been gifted to you only weeks before, stood opposite of you. Tendrils of shadow shifted across your field of vision, but it was hard to tell which shadows belonged to the figure and which belonged to the expansive void that surrounded them both.

Darkness wasn't unfamiliar to you, but fear still gnawed at the back of your mind. Questions flooded your thoughts: Where were you? Why weren't you in your bed? What was standing before you? Before your thoughts could consume you further, you reached out with a steady hand, moving slowly. You didn't know if the shadowy mass in front of you was friend or foe.

It was then, with your hand stretched out in front of you, inches away from touching whatever kept you company in that dreamscape, that you noticed what replaced your own physical body. Starlight burst from you, every curve and contour of your body glowing, leaving no visible trace of your malakh body behind. You looked like the star-born fae that you had spent months researching, a sparkling eruption. If you had bothered to look over your shoulder at your wings, you were sure that they too looked like glittering beams of light.

You couldn't look away though, not yet. Your eyes, lost behind the blinding light, were drawn to the shadows. They whispered, and you listened. The words they spoke, the languages that flowed amongst them, were lost on you, but they still attracted your attention. Your fingertips ached in desperation to reach out further, but a hand of absolute darkness shot out and gripped your wrist in a surprisingly strong hold. Whatever lurked beneath the shadowy surface in front of you was tangible, real.

"Who are you?" A low, husky voice filled the silence between you, but you didn't have the words to respond. "How did you summon me here?"

The deep voice sent a spidery tingle down your spine, and your disguised wings fluttered behind you on instinct. This was dangerous, yet you were rooted to your spot.

It might have been a lost cause to respond, since your words would probably be lost on this shrouded enigma just like theirs were on you, but you tried anyway. "I don't know what--I can't understand you." It wasn't much, but you certainly weren't going to offer up anything else before you knew giving more information wouldn't just lead to your wings being hacked off, or worse.

Despite your response, or lack thereof, the collection of shadows that held onto you quickly retreated. The loss of their restraint had you stumbling back, more from the shock of their realness than any force that would have kept you at their mercy. Before you could fall back and gracelessly land on your backside, a whoosh of air sounded from somewhere behind as you landed on a summoned armchair. You weren't sure where the aged-leather seat had come from, but the alternative of the solid blackness beneath your feet had you grateful.

Sitting down put you at a disadvantage, and you knew that you needed to push yourself back up. Death was always a promise, even in sleep or whatever lied between. You hadn't succumbed to Death's mercy yet, even with every odd working against you since the war, and you certainly wouldn't meet your end at the hands of a shadow.

Shooting up from your seated position, a new found burst of energy surpassing the exhaustion that had left an ache in your bones only seconds, minutes, hours before, you lunged towards the inky pit of moving shadows. You had decided for yourself that your companion was a foe, a smarter move than falling for whatever trap could've been planned. However, before you could even wrap your hands of bright starlight around the general vagueness of where a neck might be disguised in the shadows, you were pulled away and thrusted ack into your physical slumbering body.

The next time you awoke, it was to light streaming in through your window and the sounds of a bustling city floating up to your apartment. You heard your feathered wings rustle behind you, and a flash of black told you that whatever had you lit up in your dream was gone. You were normal, and safe.

Well, as safe as you could be in your home with a crown of thorns permanently tattooed against your damp forehead and a stuttering heart that ached to return to the darkness.

Part 2

[persieee-yoohoo]

Easy to Love, Easier to Betray

Pair: Tarquin x Reader

Word Count: 2,093

Warnings: maybe ooc?, no smut, language

Summary: You had never been to the Summer Court before, but Rhysand finally gave in to your incessant bothering and brought you along with Amren and Feyre. Unaware of the real reason behind the Night Court's visit, you played your unknown role well and got along with Tarquin a little too easily. When the truth is revealed and people are betrayed, will anything be enough to bring two people back together? (Sort-of retelling of the Summer Court visit for half of the Book of Breathings and several events that followed.)

Note: unedited sorry xoxo, more people need to respect my babygirl Tarquin tysm

Also available: ao3

You’d read countless books about the Summer Court in your lifetime, but no amount of literature could have prepared you for its true beauty. Falling in line beside Rhysand, Amren, and Feyre, a unified front rather than a hierarchy of power, you focused more on the sights around you than the company that you were set to meet. The water from the glittering sea below shifted at the command of the soft breeze while birds swooped around, and a salty scent floated up to you as you rushed to keep up. It was unlike anything you’d ever experienced, and your heart squeezed at the awe the new environment sparked in you.

The reason for why you’d been called on to attend this meeting was still a mystery that floated in the back of your mind, but you didn’t want to question your High Lord’s reasons if it meant you got to experience the wonders of another court. It was Azriel that pulled you from an assignment early at the behest of Rhys, and the Shadowsinger offered practically no answers to any of the questions you threw at him. His small smirk and shrug had you rolling your eyes, but you'd been quickly whisked up to your room at the House of Wind before you could get into it with him. Your familiar Illyrian leathers were practically ripped from your body as Nuala and Cerridwen dressed you in something more becoming and fitting for the tropical weather of the warm seasonal court, which you were grateful for as you stood on the tan-stone walkway already sweating.

You knew you stood out against your companions for your attire, but one look from Tarquin had you worrying about the speed of which your cheeks warmed rather than how you resembled someone of his court rather than your own. The color of your clothes matched the shade of his eyes almost perfectly, and you wondered if the shadow twins had planned that.

“What a pleasure, Rhysand. You brought such beautiful company with you.” It was Tarquin who spoke first, but you knew the members of his own court that accompanied him were each silently assessing their guests. His voice was deep and rich, pulling your attention to hang onto every word he said while you ignored what everyone else was speaking about.

“I figured some eye candy in the form of my emissary and my trusted friend would do us both some good while we discussed things.” Rhysand gestured to both Feyre and Amren, but his introduction stopped there. It was a trap to have interest drawn to you, and by the way Tarquin only gave brief smiles to the others before settling on you, the young High Lord was ensnared.

“Don’t you agree, Tarquin?”

Tarquin barely looked away from you, even as you stood beside the striking beauty of the recently made-fae Feyre Cursebreaker. By the way Rhysand smirked down the line, unbeknownst to you as you met the dark-skinned fae’s stare, that perhaps was the plan overall.

“Of course.” As if it were even possible, your blush deepens as you noticed how wide Tarquin’s pupils had blown in your presence. What had been several feet of distance between opposing court members seemed like mere inches as you continued your stare down. No one dared to look away first, to give into the other. It was hypnotizing, and if you were any less of a proper being, you might’ve drooled. “Do I get the pleasure of knowing your name and who you are to the Night Court?”

While Tarquin's first words were addressed to Rhys, his next were said directly to you. His voice barely dropping an octave but full of new, unbridled emotion. You didn’t know what was going on, but you were running the risk of losing yourself in the deep sea of the High Lord's eyes if you didn’t look away soon.

Whether you were taking too long to respond or you truly had started to drool, Feyre's discreet elbow to your side pulled you from the spell that Tarquin’s beauty had put you under and you finally looked away. Your senses rushed back to you and the sound of the crashing waves deep below finally sang by your ears in a comforting melody once again.

“Y/N,” you pointedly chose not to indulge him on your position within the court, especially since you worked under Azriel time to time as a spy. “It’s a pleasure to be here. Adriata has been a dream destination for years, and it's taken me this long to wear Rhys down into bringing me along on a trip. My presence here is just a display of his pity, no doubt.” Your words held up surprisingly strong as you spoke, but you still couldn’t bear to look back at Tarquin. His gaze remained on you, that much you knew, but you refused to give in again. Rhysand let out a bark of laughter at your words, but didn't discredit what you said. You were sure that he had more than pity as a reason for bringing you along, but that bastard was always scheming.

“I assure you that the pleasure is all mine, Y/N.”

No amount of time that you could possibly ever spend in the Summer Court would be enough to loosen the hold it’s beauty had on you. You wished for every excursion to be longer and every meeting to be more drawn out. In fact, it took every ounce of will you had just to keep yourself from begging Rhysand to find more ways to stall them from returning home.

It was your eyes that held the most emotion for the new environment you’d found yourself in. No amount of skill or training could keep your glances schooled into indifferent stares. No, you looked at everything with a mix of awe and premature longing for what you’d miss the most upon your return to the Night Court.

“Does my court not agree with you, Y/N?” Tarquin's voice was as gentle as the breeze that caressed your bare arms, and you knew it was a sound that you would't mind hearing everyday for the rest of your life. “You always seem so sad when you’re looking around.”

The spot next to you on the boat that had been unoccupied moments ago was now taken by Summer Lord, who smiled at you like he knew that your longing stares meant quite the opposite of what his words were hinting at.

“Of course not!” You spoke quickly, too fast for your own liking but you felt the need to defend your mood. While your face must’ve appeared to be a storm of gloom, you were rather a precursor for heartbreak. “On the contrary, my Lord. I find your court to be most agreeable.”

You barely gave an effort to look around for Rhysand, least he overhear you, when you continued, “In fact, I’d say that I find myself drawn more here than I do my home.”

The skills you’d been taught by your spymaster aided you in noticing the subtle way Tarquin reacted, tracking the small stutter of his heartbeat and the slight widening of his eyes. “Is that so? Should I expect Adriata to be a future forwarding address for our correspondences?”

It had been a nonchalant statement, a cocky inference that they’d remain acquainted after their visit ended, but you saw past its simplicity for what it was: a challenge. It sparked something within you, something that you’d tried and failed to douse since you first locked eyes with the High Lord. Your prior hesitance was lost to the remembered eagerness for more.

“You wouldn’t hand-deliver your love letters to my doorstep if I traded allegiances? I suppose that I’ll have to rethink my plan after all. I’m sure someone in Velaris would wait on my stoop for my attention.” Any present company was forgotten as you both continued the game that had been started upon your arrival. Whatever the rules had been before, if there had been any, were forgotten and you were stranded with just Tarquin next to you. His warmth threatened to suffocate you as you sat beside him, but you didn’t even dare to move away.

“Love letters? Why would I need to write my feelings out and deliver them in person when I could just say them to you?” You didn’t know when, too focused on his words than his actions, but Tarquin’s lips had moved directly next to your left ear and they were teasing you with their proximity. His hot breath against the side of your face sent a shiver down your spine, and you didn’t even need to look at your feet as they curled in your shoes at the feeling. “Is that what you want? For me to whisper sweet nothings in your ear while I confess my feelings of love?”

“I don’t want sweet nothings,” you practically choked on your words. It was becoming too difficult to contain yourself and work on stringing together words. “I want promises, Tarquin. What can you promise me?”

Whatever response your question could’ve pulled from the High Lord’s soft lips was interrupted by the reappearance of Feyre and the silent fury that radiated off of her. It took little intelligence to know that Rhys was the unfortunate cause to her worsening mood. You didn’t try to ask her then, not in their mixed company and especially not in your heightened state, but definitely later. The both of you needed to catch up and you couldn’t lie that some advice would be nice for how to deal with a High Lord. That would all have to wait, though, as you got up and ventured to the opposite side of the boat deck. First, you needed to make it off that damned boat with your dignity still in check.

Your efforts to talk to Feyre after you were rooted back on land were thwarted by her eagerness to escape to her room. Her speed was a worthy opponent to yours, and you ended up slightly out of breath as you followed behind her to your assigned set of rooms.

The slam of her doors kept you away, and you found yourself slipping into your own room rather than risk another heated conversation with Tarquin so soon after your last. You’d barely made it out alive the last time, with lust weighing you down at the hushed words from the High Lord before Feyre’s opportune interruption.

With Feyre shut away to her lonesome and Rhys off who knows where, probably skulking or seducing, you changed from your day outfit into something more comfortable for the warm night that was quickly approaching. The soft cotton of your night clothes hung loosely off your body, and you barely cared as you took dinner in your room. There was more of the court to indulge yourself in, and you wanted to further enjoy the summery ambiance that made its way through your open balcony doors.

Maybe you indulged in too much wine, having polished a whole bottle by yourself during your meal, but could’ve sworn you imagined a piece of paper appear atop an empty space of your dinner tray, scrawled with unfamiliar script.

I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s impossible.

It was probably still the wine that had you imagining yourself responding, filling your own response beneath the written words.

Perhaps you’re just not trying hard enough, High Lord.

You didn’t have the same confidence from earlier to admit that the richness of his skin and the vastness of his eyes hadn’t left your mind either, but the small distance between you both had left you a coward.

Spend the day with me tomorrow. After our meetings, stay with me. I’ll fulfill whatever your heart desires if it lies within my means.

You gulped down more wine at that. The warm embrace of the wine protected your stuttering heart as you picked up the waiting quill and turned the scrap paper around to begin a response. It took three tries, two scratched out beginnings before you settled on something.

As you wish. Tomorrow, I’m yours.

[persieee-yoohoo]

The Witching Hour (Eddie Munson x Gen!Reader)

Pt.1 

AN: this is my first fanfic. it’ll be kinda slow at first, sorry about that!

Disclaimers/Warnings: Swearing? Steve Harrington serving looks in a wedding dress? Pre-S4 events?

Summary: A confrontation on Halloween night circa 1985 makes you finally acknowledge what it is about Eddie Munson that keeps you so enamored. Maybe it’s the disguise of your costume or the spiked punch that makes you brave, but neither of you are saying goodbye for the night without some sort of heated exchange. 

“I feel ridiculous. Do I look ridiculous?” Steve fidgeted in front of the floor-length mirror fastened to the back of your bedroom door, doing an awkward 360-turn to check all of his angles. The height of the mirror hadn’t been originally hung with the male’s towering height in mind, so Steve was contorting his body to make sure he saw both his done-up hair and his accentuated ass. “Won’t people think it’s weird I’m wearing a wedding dress? I mean, who’s really going to recognize me as Marion? At least you have the hat and the whip.”

The pair of you had decided to go to some big Halloween party in Hawkins, or at least Steve had begged and you had begrudgingly agreed with the understanding that you got to choose the costumes with absolutely no objections. Hence, the white wedding dress with puffy sleeves that matched Marion’s iconic Lost Ark outfit that Steve was surprisingly pulling off. 

“You’d look better if you stopped worrying too much. Really, you look great and you’ll be recognizable as long as we stick together. No running off this time Harrington, I mean it.” You gave him a final glance over, making sure nothing else needed to be teased or altered. Upon deciding that he was perfect, you nudged him with your hip and took his spot in front of your mirror. Your own costume was nearly just as perfect, except for the absence of your hat and whip. Both were staple accessories of Indiana Jones, but not ones you were going to adorn until you got to the party. 

“When is Robin coming to get her costume?” Your eyes focused on the discarded costume that was visible in the mirror’s reflection, waiting to be fitted and altered  just like Steve’s had before he came over. To complete the group’s look, you had come up with the idea of making Robin the big tumbling rock from the beginning scene of the 1981 film. Robin didn’t have any objects to the idea, especially since none of her band friends would be there to witness any foreseeable embarrassment and she was just accompanying you both to drink. 

“Oh-uh..” Steve, still focusing on his appearance in the sliver of mirror space he had left, gave a half-hearted reply to your inquiry. “We’re picking her up. She’s still at school or something for band.”

You should have known, especially since Robin had talked your ear off at lunch about Vickie. Maybe you would’ve remembered that obvious fact if you also hadn’t spent a chunk of lunch watching one of Eddie Munson’s animated spiels around the lunchroom. The walking on tables and exaggerated movements never ceased to capture your attention, and that day was no different. Robin would have been better off talking to a wall while you ate up the sight of the school’s freak with the rest of Hellfire club.

It’s not like you were into the super-senior, you just gave into the spectacle that he spent his days at the school performing. His actions always garnered the attention of others, and you didn’t put up much of an effort to ignore him. Eddie Munson was just someone that you liked to watch, secretly or obviously. Unbeknownst to you, however, Eddie knew of your observation and relished in the attention of your dazzling eyes. 

“Let’s go get our boulder then, shall we?”

--

"Ow! You pricked me, Y/N!” Robin yelped and jumped away from you as you both stood in the parking lot of Hawkins High. Since Robin hadn’t made it to your house for alterations, you brought your travel kit with you to make do. You figured you’d just make any adjustments once the three of you made it to the party, but Steve vetoed that immediately. He said it would’ve been “un-cool” to pull out a sewing kit at a high school party. 

You weren’t the most popular, really only getting mixed up with Steve’s reputation due to long-standing family friendships, but you listened to him anyways. After all, he was showing up in a wedding dress, so you could keep your sewing kit to yourself for a few hours. 

“Stop moving then! Rob, you’re worse than Steve. I’m almost done.” As you pulled Robin back to you , you huffed and went back in with the safety pins to shorten the straps holding up the paper mache boulder. “Steve, no one is here. You can get out of the car, you know?”

“No way! I know for a fact that Dustin’s stupid little group is meeting right now. I don’t need that butthead seeing me like this. He’d have a field day, Y/N.” Steve scoffed and stayed right where he was in the car. He kept the engine going, allowing some music to filter out of the open windows, and kept impatiently giving you reminders to get a move on. There was only so much of a grace period that arriving late actually seemed cool and not pretentious. 

With one last adjustment, you closed your travel kit and threw it through the back car window. You carefully got Robin out of the boulder costume so she could ride in the car comfortably and placed it on the seat next to her.  Rounding the car to make your way to the passenger side, you’re all nearly in the clear when the side doors to the school slam open with loud hoots and yells bellowing out.

“Shit! Y/N, get in the car! We—” “Steve! STEVE!” “Dammit.”

You were nearly convinced that Steve would leave you there for not being fast enough, and you thought you saw his hand hesitate over the gear shift, but he ultimately decided against that particular intrusive thought. Instead, Steve prepared himself for the Henderson Attack and you gave him an apologetic smile. You mouth a quick ‘sorry’ to him, but quickly move on from him to seek out a familiar face. 

Dustin rushed the car, slamming his hands down on the hood as if to further deter the glorified babysitter from leaving. It took everything in you to not laugh, and you nearly did when your eyes settled upon Eddie’s snickering form. The wild-haired dungeon master stayed a few feet back from the car. He was closer to his van than Steve’s car, but he still didn’t ditch the younger group members. 

You watched him, just like you did in the lunch room, and prayed he didn’t look back at you while you were in a silly Halloween costume. Eddie’s aesthetic of flashy rings and leather jackets trumped your knock-off Indiana Jones ten times over. Sure, he had just come from playing a heated fantasy game with a bunch of underclassman, but he still exuded an untouchable vibe. 

“Woah—Y/N! Is that a whip?” Dustin’s loud mouth and lack of filter dragged your focus back to the car, where your whip and hat were both set on display on top of the dashboard. Steve had to swat away Dustin’s hand from reaching in through his driver-side window and you quickly got in the car to take the accessories into the safety of your arms. “Where did you get a whip?”

“They’re vital to the costume.” You consider putting the hat on to give a better glimpse of who you’re impersonating, but think better of it when you feel the eyes of everyone, including Eddie, staring at you through Steve’s open window. The warmth of your blushing cheeks is not lost on you, or Steve, and you tap the watch on your wrist. “Time to go, Steve!”

You don’t really know what Steve said or did for Dustin to safely step away from the car, but you felt the car lurch forward as Steve promptly began driving. The brunet had asked you the same question when you first showed him the prop weapon, but you’d just been vague. You didn’t want to give your best friend the satisfaction of a vanilla answer, even if the truth was as simple as a cheap find from the shop. Giving him a non-answer kept him guessing, which was payback enough for all the stuff he’d put you through when he whined and groaned about his failed rendezvous. 

“Did any of us consider bringing a camera to immortalize the day Y/N L/N got Steve Harrington in a wedding dress?” As Robin spoke up from the backseat, you pivoted in the passenger seat to meet her stare. You opened your mouth to reply, but no words came out as your gaze landed on the lone figure that leaned against his clanky van. Eddie wasn’t joking around with the other members of Hellfire as they waited for their own rides, he was just looking after Steve’s car as it sped out of the parking lot. 

In a moment of complete stupidity, you raised your hand and waved. Whether Eddie saw your movements through the back window or not, you didn’t stick around to see. Instead, you turned back around in your seat to look straight ahead, completely missing the way the freak of Hawkins High had raised his hand to return the gesture. 

--