#Lord Devlon x reader smut

[tadpolesonalgae]

Lord Devlon x Illyrian!reader: Give Me What I Want.[*]

A/N: I thank you so deeply for making this request and opening my eyes to this male, oml—

Warnings: slight brat taming (woah!), wing play, dom/sub dynamics (kinda)

Arms fly over his shoulders, gripping to steady yourself as you jerk your knee upward, aiming at the soft organ between his legs.

A low snarl rips from his chest, a broad, calloused palm biting into your thigh, keeping you from slamming it home. He twists your leg to the side, pulling it up over his hip, stepping into you so you’re tipping backward—forced to desperately cling to him to keep from falling to the kitchen floor.

“Let me go, brute,” you hiss, digging your nails into the muscle cording his shoulders, hanging from his strength. “I would sooner sleep outside this winter than visit your blasted brother again. He makes a pass at me every time you look away.”

“If you’d stop seducing him with those eyes of yours, there wouldn’t be a problem,” he growls, free arm wrapping around your waist, keeping you within his warmth. “I can’t take you anywhere without something happening.”

“You’re putting this on me?” You snarl, arms aching from holding him so tight, having spent the afternoon drying the various pots and pans from lunch, then immediately switching to preparing dinner, which is laying untouched atop the table. “Don’t you feel any sense of protection for your wife? Your own brother is trying to steal me out from right beneath your nose, ‘Lo. Aren’t you embarrassed? Ashamed? I’m not some common whore to be traded about, no matter how you like to say so.”

Rough fingertips splay across your ribs, skating beside your breast, possessively. “He knows what would happen to him if he so much as touched something of mine. If advances have been made, you have only yourself to blame, temptress that you are.”

“That’s your answer?” You hiss. “That it’s my fault your brother keeps trying to take liberties with me? You should train your dogs better.”

Devlon growls in warning. “He is my brother, and you will show him the respect he deserves. He is a fully fledged warrior, and you will do well to treat him as one.” He pulls you tighter to his body, your back straining with the curve, gritting your teeth against the ache. “Or do I need to remind you of your placement in this world?” You snarl your disagreement, hands raising to the thick, dark locks of his hair, nails scraping over his scalp. “I will submit to my husband, and my husband only. If you know so thoroughly that I am yours, why tolerate any other male attempting to put his hands on me. Do you have no sense of possession? As your wife, I would expect more aggression from you, but clearly this brother of yours has something over you if you’re at his mercy—”

“I will not have you sewing discord within my family, witch.” Lip curls at the title, hands lowering from his hair, trailing down his back, just grazing the great wings—

The second you do, Illyrian instinct kicks in, and he goes for the throat. Muscle tenses, then you turn soft and pliable in his arms. Calloused fingers stroke over the sensitive skin placatingly, as if calming a beast through scratching behind its ears. Heat flushes your cheeks, legs trembling, arms turning weak and limp as the stimulation settles in the pit of your belly.

“Don’t… Quit it, ‘Lo,” you pant, shooting him a scathing glare. He can’t just do this every time you have an argument. And yet it always seems to end with you flipped on your back, a larger pair of wings hiding you from the world, your fingers running through his hair while his hips grind against your own.

Hands fall away from his wings, instead pulling to your chest, attempting to squirm out of his dominating hold, feeling all of a sudden as though his hands are all over your body, touching the curve of your hip, the softness of your waist, the hollow of your throat. “We aren’t done with this argument,” you manage, heat already pounding between your legs.

“Argument?” He pulls you tighter to his chest, lips brushing the shell of your ear, “you speak of a children’s sparring match like it’s a war.”

Grit your teeth. “Stop infantilising me. You don’t give me proper attention, or the topics I bring up. A good husband listens to his wife.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says dismissively, though his hands have slowed on your wings. You’re grateful for the reprieve.

“You’re being dense,” you snap, regaining enough to control to steady yourself with the one leg that’s still planted on the floor. “I would’ve though as warlord you would understand when to pick your battles—you’re always saying that makes a good warrior.”

“You think we were battling?” He sneers, pulling your thigh tighter over his hip. “You’d be on the floor painted black and blue if we were.”

“This house is my battle ground,” you hiss sharply, anger flaring in your blood at the nonchalance he spoke about hurting you with. “As your wife, home and family are my designated areas. You don’t hear me asking what you spoke about during those meetings of yours, because I know my place. And I don’t expect your help in the kitchen other than perhaps giving me coin to buy the necessary materials, because that isn’t your place. Your brother’s actions are an attack on our family, and as a relatively dignified male, I expect you to defend it.” You finish, keeping your attention locked with his sharp hazel eyes.

Dark brows furrow as his attention pierces into you, the edges of his mouth twisted in an almost permanent frown. You fight to keep from shifting in his hold as he judges your points.

“Unnervingly sound reasoning, as usual,” he mutters, relenting at last. Lips quirk in triumph, making him shoot you a dark glance, fingers biting into your thigh. “I suppose it’s not acceptable for him to put his hands on my wife, even if provoked.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you snap, heat finally receding enough for you to be rational. “Where did that idea even come from? I’ve been nothing but loyal to you.” He snarls roughly at that, hips pressing into your abdomen. “Don’t lie to me, wife. Do you even understand the strain you put on me to resist taking you before our wedding night?”

Lips part as heat flows between you, something hard and stiff pressing into you, the shape of his arousal more prominent that it was before. “What are you talking about?” You breathe, his mouth poised to devour your own. A muscle feathers in his jaw, and you can feel the strength contained within his warrior’s body seeping into your own. “You know what I’m talking about,” he growls. “You are female. You should hold no power over me.”

You can do nothing but stare up into his hazel eyes, two siphons glittering on either shoulder, blazing storm-cloud grey. “And yet every day drove me deeper into madness. Every day I was denied you, deprived of you.” Lips brush over your own, a roughened promise whispered in secret. “I could have killed on our wedding day, with how intense that strain was.”

He had seemed ill-tempered—you’d assumed he was simply innately miserable, rather than it being out of impatience. “‘Lo…” you plead, softly, breathlessly.

“It should not be me that feels that way alone,” he growls, hand sliding up between your wings, your spine arching. “I should not be the one subject to you.”

“Yet here you are,” you manage, wishing he would shut up and put his mouth over your own already. He snarls, silencing you. “Can you even comprehend the need I have for you? Understand a fraction of the longing I feel for you? How my bones groan to have you near?”

The world around him falls away, negative space. “Show me,” you breathe, “show me.”

Hot lips press over your own, hand releasing your leg in favour of sliding beneath your ass, hauling you upward. Thighs wrap tight around his hips, your hands cupping his jaw as he groans up into the kiss, head tipped back to go deeper. Fingers thread through the thickness of his dark hair, rolling your hips against him, hands dipping lower. Skating over his shoulders, down his back.

He snarls into your mouth as your nails graze the base of his wings, the tendons shuddering beneath the feather-light touch. His hold loosens, allowing you to slide down a little, his arousal pressing flush to your centre. Hips buck as you attach your mouth to his neck, your Lord stalking from the kitchen, prowling through your house so he can bed you. Teeth scrape over a pulse point, hands squeezing your ass in response, shifting you in his arms so your centre rubs over him.

Forearm slides beneath you, hand gripping the nape of your neck, unlatching your mouth from his throat. Siphons burn the colour of thunder-clouds, hazel sharp as it pierces into you. “Hands and knees,” he grits out. “On the double.”

Neither of you dare waste a second. The moment he releases you, ties are loosened, clothes are strewn across the floor, wings flare for balance as you’re practically shoved onto the bed. Feel the heavy weight of his cock between your legs, one arm sliding down your front, calloused fingers plying you apart enough so you’ll be able to take him. “‘Lo, please…” you pant, tightening around his digits as they slide in and out, curling softly against spots he knows you like.

Pleasure weakens your muscles, lowering onto your forearms, wings twitching near their tips, shuddering as heat pulses between your legs. “I need you relaxed,” he grits out, your spine curving at the rough drag of the syllables. “I am relaxed,” you pant, “do it.”

Your Lord curses under his breath, then pulls away; you whine at the emptiness. It’s transformed into a moan when the tip of his cock presses to your entrance instead, poised to fill you up—if he would just push his hips forward. You hiss, telling him to get on with it, but he only slides in the first inch or so, nowhere near enough yet. “What are you doing?” You manage breathlessly, attempting to shift to peer at him, but he holds you still.

“Do you feel how badly you want that?” He growls, pulling out a little more. You could scream at him to slam in, but it won’t get you anywhere, so you nod your head instead, choosing compliance over disobedience. “Imagine constantly feeling that need every time someone so much as walked in the same room as you. Do you see how cruel you were?” A moan slips from your lips, his hand rising from between your legs to grip your breast, thumbing at the sensitive peak of your nipple. “I’m sorry, ‘Lo,” you pant, practically trembling beneath his hands. “I’m so sorry…”

“I bet you’re fucking sorry,” he snarls. “Not so nice being on the receiving end, is it?”

Swallow thickly, heartbeat spiking at the vulgar language. “Please, ‘Lo. Please, I need you.” Fingers pinch the sensitive skin. “Of course you do.”

Then he slides in, and you’re pressed forward, making room for him until his hips are tight against the backs of your thighs. Eyes roll with pleasure, harsh pants of relieve spilling from your lips as you clamp down on him. Words blur and fumble, a strange mesh of pleading sounds pouring into the air, the duvet doing nothing to muffle them. “That’s better,” he groans, drawing his hips back in favour of slamming in. You cry out, pleasure rocking your mind as he sets a punishing pace, hips smacking against your thighs, cock touching those previously stimulated spots, having you tighten around him.

Canines scrape over the junction of your neck and shoulder, finding the part he likes, where you’ll struggle to conceal the mark. Teeth bite down and you moan, wings fluttering in pleasure as he presses against them, pinning them to your back. Vision blurs with the stimulation, tears brimming along your lashes, bursting with the need to have him this deep inside you at all times, to be so utterly and completely full there’s hardly room for breath.

Your husband pulls away, gripping you by the hips, slamming you back against him in time with the rough pace he’s chosen. Cries spill helplessly from your chest as he puts his weight behind each thrust, grinding his hips against you so he’ll touch more of the lovely, mouth-watering places inside you. You try to cover your mouth but he’s having none of it, one hand fisting in your hair as he tugs you upright, forcing your spine to curve to his will as he pounds into you.

Waves of dizzying pleasure crest over your skin, a scream whimpering from your mouth as you flutter around his cock, sending him over the edge. He snarls as it hits him, release spurting into you, feeling the thick liquid spill deep inside, filling you up and stuffing you full. Eyes slide shut, pushing tears down your cheeks while muscles spasm from overstimulation. The last waves finish, and his grip loosens on you, allowing you to collapse down into the mattress, exhausted.

The bed dips to your left as he settles beside you, one great wing splaying across your back, tucking you beneath it. Take your time to regain your strength, before rolling closer, your own wings folding to allow you to press into the sturdy heat of his side. “What about supper?” You question quietly, eyes still shut as you bask in the aftermath. He grunts noncommittally. “We can eat later.”

As if on cue, your stomach rumbles, hunger beginning to make an appearance now your mind is unoccupied. You groan, brows narrowing into a frown before you sigh, making to push up from the bed. His wing presses you down, keeping you laying comfortably on your front. “I’ll get it,” he mutters, standing and moving to kitchen.

When he returns, you’ve burrowed under the covers, closer to his side than your own, eyes shut, breathing deep and even. He rolls his eyes, setting the plates down on the tables either side your large bed.

You’ll wake up in an hour or so, once you’re sufficiently rested.

Then it’ll be time for round two.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Bonus Part — Fin x Reader.

Summary: A reimagining of how things would have gone if Reader had decided she wanted Fin — despite him being her friend’s father.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Heavy on the smut. 18+, minors dni. Some jealous and possessiveness. Mentions of forbidden relationships/affairs. If the choices Reader makes in this are something you’re against, I urge you not to read! 🫶🏻

Rita’s is like no other place you’ve been — or seen — before.

Is this what you’ve missed out on, trapped within the frozen maw of Windhaven? There is no place like this there, of such vibrancy and euphoria. The music, the coloured faelights, the energy — it all makes you feel…on top of the world.

Like there’s life outside the misery you’ve known.

Mor knocks a shot back, grimacing as she slams the empty glass onto the bar. A sudden burst of giggles leaves her as she says, “My father would have my head if he could see me right now. Literally.”

You don’t doubt that for a second, because Mor looks resplendent, not just in her natural beauty, but her joy. She has danced and drank and kissed and danced some more. And seeing her like this…it makes you glad that she convinced you to come out with her tonight.

“My father would have my head, too,” you tell her over the music. “I’m surprised he hasn’t already.”

At that, she rolls her eyes, and she reaches for two more shots. “Here’s to saying fuck the males,” she knocks her glass against yours. “May they all perish.”

You’ll happily drink to that. With the alcohol that has you in its grip, you’re buzzed on thoughts of storming back to Windhaven and confronting all your demons. Confronting anyone and everyone who has ever hurt you and made you feel less than you are. Your father. Lord Devlon. Azriel—

You banish that thought as the liquid slides down your throat with a satisfying burn. You are in Velaris, not Windhaven. A new place with new people, where anything feels possible. The thought is heady and dizzying.

Someone calls Mor’s name, and she glances over her shoulder, her beautiful eyes lighting up again. You truly don’t know how often she’s able to escape the Hewn City and get away to Velaris, but judging by the amount of friends she’s introduced you to tonight, she’s certainly made her mark here.

“Let’s go dance with them!” Mor yells over the music, grabbing your hand.

You think that dancing might be the answer to everything you’ve never known, and so you gladly follow; gladly throw yourself into the thrall of the busy floor.

But that’s when you see him.

Something…some deep power…compels you to look up. Coaxes your eyes to that area a level above, where the city’s VIP guests spend copious amounts of money on copious amounts of alcohol and drink it from their cushy velvet booths. They’re reserved for associates of the High Lord, a not-so-formal place to meet to discuss not-so-casual things.

But none of that matters. There could be an entire circus up there right now, and still all you would notice is — him.

He notices you, too.

The High Lord’s eyes zero in on you from up above. You watch, rooted to the spot, as he takes in the sight of you, from your braided back hair, to your painted face, your dress and the legs exposed by them. He looks like…like he’s finally setting his sights upon an image that was merely fantasy up until now.

He braces his arms on the balustrade. And he just stares.

You want to know what he’s doing here. Whether he’s at Rita’s for business or…or for pleasure. You’ve heard that there are rooms upstairs for people willing to pay the price. Perhaps there’s a lover up there with him somewhere, waiting to explore every last inch of that glorious, sculpted body—

The bleating jealousy that makes your heart twist is…unexpected. And not ideal; not one bit.

He is Rhysand’s father. Things may have been fucked up royally with Azriel, and you may have been burned by the experience — but Fin is Rhysand’s father.

Your friend’s father.

Your friend’s father who has just so happened to help keep you feeling alive these past weeks. With his layers-deep allure, the sweet, sweet words that roll off his tongue. His hospitality, his generosity. His kindness. All of it, you’d attributed to him being a natural charmer, a High Lord who knows precisely what to say, what to do.

It strikes you in that moment — just how much it’s all sunk its way into your bones and made you feel…dangerous.

He watches you like a cat with a mouse. Watches as somebody grabs your hand and yanks you into the tightly knit dancing bodies. The music pulses through you from head to toe, a frenzied tune of strings and keys that somehow come together to create the feeling of being borne aloft. Being on top of the world.

As you become lost to the sensation of dance, you’re glad to forget all your thoughts about Fin. You don’t want to wonder what he’s doing here. You don’t want to imagine what those strong, rough hands might get up to, where they might venture.

You become sandwiched between two males who dance with you in a way that makes you forget your wings were ever stolen. They touch you and touch each other, and you welcome it all, happy to be someone, somewhere, else. At least for a while.

But there’s suddenly a foreign touch to your shoulder. That of a cold, meaty hand that stills your movements and draws your attention. The two males happily slink away and begin grinding on each other, and you spin on the spot to find a tall, stocky male who looks like he punches people in the face for the hell of it.

“Y/N?” He checks, and you nod. “The High Lord wishes to speak with you. Upstairs.”

You glance over your shoulder, eyes searching for Mor and finding her just as she’s following a male and female to a cloaked-off area at the back. That’ll be her occupied for the remainder of the night. You’re officially going solo.

But not for long. Not as the bouncer juts his chin in the direction of the staircase and begins to lead you there. Perhaps it makes you a fool, but you follow without a word.

He pulls back a rope and gestures for you to go on up, and then he’s refastening it behind you and turning back to train a keen eye on the dance floor. It’s purely the alcohol that hits you with enough of an ego to climb those stairs like you belong amongst the chandeliers and velvet booths.

But you look good — amazing, even. You know you do. And looking like this, things like scars and other insecurities seem so trivial. You’ve taken back the right to feel as beautiful as you are. You wear your Illyrian features proudly, and you’re pretty and lithe and graceful—

And your heel catches on the top step of the staircase, almost sending you sprawling to the floor — if not for the warm hand that catches your elbow.

“Easy.” Fin rasps into your ear, setting you steady on your feet.

Your numbed, inebriated senses are not immune to the effect of his voice, it would seem. The deep baritone, rough as jagged rock, pushes its way into your skin, your veins, and spreads far faster than any alcohol could.

“Pardon me, my Lord,” you answer, and you’re unable to shove down the hysterical giggle that claws up your throat. “Fuck, you’re the High Lord.”

He cocks a dark eyebrow. “And you are drunk.”

“The whiskey they serve here is immense.”

“I’ll be sure to extend your compliments to Rita herself.”

Is that, you wonder, who he’s up here meeting? Perhaps the elusive Rita is a close associate of his. Perhaps they do deals in both business and pleasure.

And taking in your fill of the High Lord right now, in a dark button-up shirt and fitted breeches of a slate grey, you would not blame Rita one little bit.

Gods, he’s exquisite. Rhysand may resemble Roza more than he does Fin, but…with two parents of such stunning beauty, it’s no wonder your friend is as handsome as he is.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” you make no secret of the way your eyes linger on him. Tonight is dangerous, and you’re enjoying it.

“Nor I, you,” he narrows his gaze down at you. “Imagine my surprise, considering that when I left the palace earlier this evening, you were curled up in the library with a book. And yet, here you are. Wearing…” mahogany eyes take in the short cut of your dress, “…that.”

“Mor surprised me with a visit.”

“My niece ought to be more careful not to press her father’s buttons too much,” a muscle in his chiselled jaw ticks. “And I think you ought to be more careful not to push mine.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Bold. So foolishly bold of you. You’ll regret it once sober, you’re sure. “Was there a particular reason you summoned me up here, my Lord? I was rather enjoying dancing.”

“I noticed. And I’m taking you home.”

“What—”

Before you can even finish the word, Fin’s gripping your elbow again, and darkness sweeps you away.

Being winnowed while drunk is not a fun experience.

You feel the cosmic, air-light step from one place to another. Your stomach lurches, your head spinning. You can barely get a hold of yourself as you cling to Fin and prepare your feet to touch solid ground.

And then the darkness is gone, and you’re back in the toasty, warm glow of the palace’s library. Your knees buckle, trying to drag you to the floor, but Fin keeps you upright.

“What the…” you gawp up at him. “Why did you bring me home?”

He ensures you’re able to stand on your feet before pushing away from you. Doesn’t even look at you as he commands, “Get to bed.”

“I was enjoying myself.”

“Just as those males were enjoying you, too. You’re drunk and you need to sleep it off. Get to bed.”

He strides towards the door, his knuckles white from how hard he grips the hilt of the sword sheathed at his side. But sword or no, you refuse to give up so easily.

“No,” you say simply. “I will not.”

Fin stops. Goes still. And then he turns back to you.

His temper is clear on his face, but he doesn’t storm back over like you’re half expecting him to. Instead, his eyes shutter, and he seems to take a deep, soothing breath. When he’s looking at you once more, he flicks his wrist in your direction.

And immediately, gone is the haze of the alcohol.

Immediately, you’re completely lucid, completely steady on your feet. Not a lick of inebriation remains, as if you had, indeed, slept it off.

“Did you just sober me up?” you’re outraged by the mere idea.

“Yes.” Fin admits shamelessly. “Now you won’t fall victim to a hangover in the morning — a favour from me, to you, and I ask you in return to get to bed. And don’t even think about trying to venture back out. I’ll know.”

Your blood boils. And the anger isn’t simply because of your ruined fun, but because…because it stings, the way Fin is treating you with such contempt. Scolding you like you’re little more than a petulant child. He’s been nothing but wonderful since you came to Velaris, and yet now, he speaks to you like…like most of the males back in Windhaven do.

It makes you see red.

“What right have you to dictate how I spend my evening?” you snap. “I was under the impression that my free time is my own, and if I wish to go and get drunk and dance like a fool, that is up to me.”

Cold, beautiful anger hardens Fin’s face. He stalks closer, squeezing the hilt of that sword so, so tightly. “What right have I? This is my home. My city. My court. I am your High Lord, and you choose to behave in such a way when I’ve opened my home to you and offered you refuge? When I’ve given you a place to run to and left my resources at your disposal?”

You rock back on the heels of your feet, staring at him. Every word lands a hit — as good as if he’d nocked them in a bow and fired them right at your heart. It stings. Gods, it stings. You want the careless oblivion of the alcohol back.

Because you grapple daily with the pain, the anxiety, of feeling unwanted. And you…you had begun to think that Fin actually cared for you. Actually enjoyed your company as much as you enjoyed his.

You’d begun to care about his thoughts and feelings where you were concerned. And begun to believe that it wasn’t just the hospitality and courtesy that he would dole out to any runt on the street.

His eyes seem to track the way your expression changes, your shoulders slump. You swallow. The anger is replaced, simply, by hurt.

“If I am a burden, my Lord, I apologise,” you rasp. “I don’t intend to be one. I appreciate your generosity, and I…I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused.”

You hope you can keep your tears at bay long enough to escape to your room. You’re pelted with shame, embarrassment, hurt. You step forward and hurry past the High Lord, desperate to book it out of there, to get to bed.

But his hand encloses around your wrist, tugging you to a stop. And he says, quietly, “wait.”

That hand on your wrist holds the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

You pin your gaze to the ground, unable to look at Fin. You hear him swallow.

“That isn’t—” his voice is gravelly. “I didn’t mean that.”

You don’t think you can speak. You remain a statue beneath his touch.

But so gently — such a contrast to the whirlwind of his actions before — he’s walking you backwards. Slow and careful. You feel your back hit the wall, and he lets go of your wrist and seems to curl his fists at his sides. There’s a desperation to the action that only then coaxes you to look up at him.

His expression is…pleading. For what, you’re not sure.

“You are the furthest thing from a burden,” he says, quietly, on an exhale. “Your presence here is very much welcomed, I assure you.”

You don’t dare breathe a word. Every last bit of your very sober courage is being thrown into maintaining eye contact. There’s none to spare for speaking.

But your lack of response seems to trouble Fin. His eyes rake over your face, searching for something. He swallows again.

And then his eyes shutter, and he whispers, “Mother above, what are you doing to me?”

You don’t know how to answer him — whether he’s even talking to you at all. He takes in a very slow, very deep breath, as though it’s the only thing that’s stopping him from…doing something. What, you’re not sure.

But you can feel it, sense it — the ferocity with which he’s swallowing down words and holding himself back. Like he wants so badly to say something, but can’t.

His eyes open, clearer than they were seconds before, and he says in a far gentler tone, “Get to bed, Y/N,” he inclines his head. “Sleep well.”

With tense, squared shoulders, he turns — and it’s you, this time, that stops him. You halt him with a hand on his arm, and you could swear you feel the muscles flex under his touch.

“Wait,” you say, not ready to let him go, not prepared to leave things between you like this. “Stay and talk with me for a while.”

His jaw clenches like he’s gritting his teeth. “That isn’t a good idea.”

“Why? We talk all the time, you and I. And there are clearly things you’re holding back from saying—”

Your words are cut short as he suddenly meets your gaze with the intensity of a blazing fire. You think it might burn you. You hope it will.

“It’s a bad idea,” he grounds out, gutturally, “not because of what I want to say. But because of what I want to do.”

“What—”

“You are my son’s close friend. You are Roza’s guest,” he tugs his arm out from under your hand. “You are far younger than I am. I am trying my hardest — I have been trying my hardest — to be a good male. And right now, a good male would take his leave and go to bed, so I bid you goodnight, Y/N.”

“Fin—”

“I hope you sleep well.”

“Fin,” you grab for him again. “What if I don’t want you to be a good male?”

Beneath your touch, he stops. Goes preternaturally still.

Words punch out of you with terrifying gall — and truth. “What if I want you to do those things—”

Quick as a flash, he’s pivoting, and he has the upper hand. Has you pressed so tightly up against the wall, his body boxing you in.

And gods, the feel of it might set you on fire. A brush of your hands, a kiss on the backs of your fingers — they’re nothing compared to the weight and press of his muscles against your body. You want your clothes to melt away, and his, too. You want your hands on his bare, hot skin.

“I don’t think you realise what you’re saying,” he growls.

“I do,” you breathe. “I am completely sober. Completely clear of mind. And I am telling you, Fin, I want you—”

A strangled noise is the only warning you get before the High Lord’s mouth is on yours.

The kiss is pure power. It passes from him, into you, roils through your veins and makes you feel like somebody remarkable. It’s the cloak of darkness and the kiss of sin. Of somebody capable of very, very bad things.

And it’s immediately addicting. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to get enough.

You claw at his shirt, tugging him closer, closer, and his broad hands cup your face as his mouth devours yours.

This kiss…it’s been building. The need for it has been working its way beneath your skin for a while. All the heated glances, the late-night conversations. All the thoughts, in the dead of night, of what Fin might be doing in his own bed. Wondering whether he was thinking of you.

It’s so, so forbidden. So wrong. But it feels so godsdamn right.

And the way Fin’s tongue slides between your lips and strokes into your mouth — it tells you that he feels it, too.

Your hands glide from his waist, round to his back, and you yank him harder against you. So desperate are you to feel him. Feel what you think you do to him.

He makes another low noise. And then he’s tearing his mouth from yours. But he lingers close, your foreheads touching.

“Better than I’ve been imagining,” he pants, his hands still clutching your face. “Much better.”

“You’ve imagined kissing me?” You know he has.

“I have imagined,” his thumbs sweep your cheeks, “doing all sorts of things with you, Y/N. Things that would make even the most salacious of a person blush.”

Such a relief — to know that it’s not all just some wild fantasy you’ve cooked up in your mind. That you’re not just some wayward, longing young female who craves the affections of an older male to patch her deep wounds.

No, it’s not that. It’s desire. It’s need. And it burns inside your veins until you think you might erupt into flames.

“I’ve imagined them, too,” you say, without a lick of shame.

Once again, his eyes are shuttering. Once again, he takes that slow, steadying breath. And as you watch him do so, you can’t bear the thought of him still grappling with right and wrong. You can’t bear the thought of him squaring his shoulders and walking out of here, leaving your lips bruised, your body aching, your heart hurting. You can’t bear it—

“I want you to do those things,” you lift your chin, gaze unflinching. “I want you to touch me.”

Fin’s eyes reopen.

He stares at you.

His throat bobs.

You have never seen somebody look so wild, so ravenous. There is heat everywhere, in his stare and in his taut body. His eyes flick down to your lips.

That mere glance at them is the deciding factor, it would seem.

He growls, the sound not at all one you’ve ever heard from a person, and he yanks you up into his arms and kisses you again.

So naturally, your arms twine around his neck, your legs locking around his waist. You can feel the strength of him against you, in the way he holds you. You can taste his crackling power.

He doesn’t falter in the kiss nor his steps as he carries you away from the wall, and you’re suddenly being placed down on the library’s desk, sending books and parchment and pens and ink pots flying. They all clatter loudly to the floor, and neither of you care.

But Fin does pull away to look at you, and there’s wicked, boyish charm in his eyes as the corners of his mouth twitch up. He merely says, “Oops.”

You surge up and kiss him again.

He sighs into it, like your mouth is the answer to all his questions. And when heated hands land on your thighs, you part them, allow him to slot his body in between. The mere feel of it has you pushing up against him, finding him hard—

But again, he pulls away. He scans your face and rasps, “Tell me you’re sure.”

You do not balk from his intensity. From the fact that this is the fucking High Lord of your court, who was changing this world and building a reputation long before you were a mere thought in your parents’ minds. You do not balk from the fact that there are a million different reasons that this is wrong.

You think only about the fact that it feels right.

And that translates into your voice as you say, firmly, “I’m sure.”

You think you see the words course through his body. They change something — forever.

“This isn’t about Roza,” he breathes — breathes heavily, like it’s taking everything to tamp down on the desire to devour you then and there. To say what needs to be said.

You shake your head, “No.”

“Nor is it about Rhysand.”

“No.”

“It’s about me and you.” He destroys what little gap exists between your bodies, his hardness pushing through his breeches, right up against your centre. His hands brace on the desk, either side of you. “And gods, I want you, Y/N. I want you so much, I can scarcely bear it.”

“Have me,” is all you manage — before he strikes.

You think, hope, that his mouth might find yours again — but he’s barely brushing it before his lips settle on your jaw. His hands travel up your legs, fingers biting into the flesh. They find your hips, thumbs delivering explorative sweeps. They tug your dress up as they climb, exposing more of you to the warmth of the room. Exposing more skin that you know he wants to lay claim to.

And when the hem of your dress is ruched around your waist, you smile — at your little wildcard exposed. That he finds no underwear hiding what sits between your legs.

Your choice to forgo a pair seems almost foretelling, now — like some part of you knew the night would end like this, and you wanted to be ready.

Fin’s eyes dip to your slick, exposed cunt. The hunger in them is almost intimidating. You open your legs just a little wider—

But his rough hand is gripping your chin, almost hard enough to hurt. And he snarls deeply, “It drove me to madness — seeing those two males dancing with you. Touching you.”

Pleasure bolts down your spine, and from the way his nostrils flare, you know the scent of your arousal is consuming him.

“Did it?” you stare back at him, welcoming the discomfort of his brutal grip.

“I wanted them dead. I wanted to draw my sword and gut them for even looking your way. For touching what I want to be mine.”

That pleasure again — skittering over your skin. His words do something to you. You bite down on a moan.

“It is yours,” you tilt your chin up to him, smiling when he immediately glances to your lips. “Take it.”

“I warn you,” he lowers his face to yours, “I don’t like to share.”

“And I warn you, High Lord,” you watch as your words land, drawing a deep, raw scent from him. “Neither do I.”

With a growl, he snaps. The kiss he gives you is not slow or sweet. His hand continues to grip your face, and his mouth attacks yours, his tongue sliding between your lips. You can’t help your moan, this time, as his taste overpowers you — a taste that you can only describe as pure thunder.

But it ends too soon, as he begins to leave a trail of heated kisses and bites and sucks along your jaw, down your neck, your collarbones. Your head falls back, and the touches are like little zips of lightning — lightning cleaving through the night sky.

“Pretty dress,” he hums against your skin — and that’s all the warning you get before that dress is ripped apart. Torn to ribbons.

No part of you is left to Fin’s imagination.

He tears his mouth from you and steps back to drink you in.

Instinct roars at you to curl in on yourself and hide. To remember that you are scarred, and flawed, and not to the liking of many — including yourself, a lot of the time.

But something about Fin’s weighty, scorching stare stops you from moving a muscle.

You lift your chin and hide nothing as he takes his fill. His eyes travel a journey from the top of your head and down — down your face, your neck, your breasts. Down your stomach, your waist, your hips. Down to that fine dusting of hair on your pelvis that tracks a thin path to—

Fin drops to his knees with a low noise. His hands wrap around your legs and prise them further apart.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he levels his face with the very centre of you, and your breath hitches in your throat at the sight.

The sight of the High Lord on his knees before you — on his knees for you.

As though he senses the direction of your thoughts, his eyes flick up, and he smiles.

And then he dives in.

His tongue wastes no time in sinking between your folds, licking a broad stripe right up the centre of you. At the first stroke, your head falls back, your arms wobbling where they’re braced on the desk.

“Look at me,” Fin growls. “Only me.”

His voice of pure High Lord power drags your eyes back to him. And thank the fucking Mother it does.

You see everything in the way he feasts on you. His tongue laps at your wetness, and it coats his lips, his chin, coats him in you. The damp heat of his tongue is liquid fire. It promises to scorch you, end you, and rise you anew like a phoenix from the ashes.

Your fingers sink into the strands of Fin’s hair and tug. Judging by the noise he makes, the way his pace picks up, you think he likes it.

He utterly fucking devours you, like he’s fought a centuries-long wait to do so. And whatever magic commands his mouth — you know you cannot possibly last against it.

“Oh, gods,” your moan breaks from you, hips bucking up. You think your voice might be loud, but you don’t care. “Fuck—Fin.”

It all happens at once — his name falling from your lips, the growl rumbling in his throat, the flicking of his tongue against your clit and the finger he plunges into you, curls inside you. Every part of it is lightning strikes to your veins, and you come apart, utterly break.

Your climax slams into you and steals your breath. You’re nothing but a gasping, panting, trembling shell. Your mind is somewhere else entirely.

With your head falling back, eyes pinned to the ceiling, chest heaving, you don’t catch the swiftness with which Fin stands, licking your wetness from his lips. With which his clothes are gone in a blink of an eye.

But then he commands, “Look at me.”

It’s the second time he’s said it. Your head lolls forward once more.

You swallow the breaths you’re still trying to get down. Try to stop your body fucking shaking.

But it’s no wonder it does, as you look at him.

Your High Lord is nothing short of exquisite. He is art. Your fantasies have done him no justice.

That golden skin of his seems to attract the glowing light of the room. It bathes him, but it does not steal the attention. It outlines every fine plane of his body, the sculpted muscles on show, the nicks of injuries that have scarred and silvered over time.

There is not a single part of him that isn’t pure, refined power. And when your gaze drops to below his waist…a shudder wracks through you.

His cock stands hard and leaking at the head. You watch, your mouth watering, as he wraps a hand around its length and gives a long stroke.

“Fin—”

“When you look at me like that,” he prowls closer, “there is no way I can consider this forbidden.”

He’s within reach. Your fingers inch towards him. You want to touch him, taste him—

But he curls a hand around yours and stops you in your tracks.

“Not tonight,” he says. Pure promise is laced within the words. “No playing tonight.”

As if he hadn’t just played with you. You want to protest, to get your fucking mouth around that considerable length, but his hand tightens around yours.

And then he’s flipping you over, so fast that you don’t have time to even register it. You land on your front, your belly and breasts pressed against the desk. Fin lays his palm against your back and drags it slowly down. And in the wake of his touch, he leaves kisses. Kisses to your shoulder, your back. They’re…soft. Tender.

“Have I disappointed you?” he murmurs against your shoulder, folding his body over yours. You don’t think it’s an accident that the head of his cock nudges that sweet area between your legs.

It’s all you can do to breathe, “I wanted to taste you.”

“And you will,” he drops the brush of a kiss to your skin. “But now is not time for that.”

You don’t need him to tell you what now is the time for. Not as his hands find the flesh of your hips, and he yanks you to the very edge of the desk, moving with you. The feel of him so close to where you want him is downright cruel.

“Have you thought about me fucking you?” he asks, those hands travelling to rove your ass.

Your nails bite into the desk as you answer, “Yes.”

“Did I make you scream?”

You bite down on your lip at the feeling of him spreading you apart, opening you up to him. “Yes.”

You feel it — his cock sliding between your folds. Not pushing in, but dragging torturously against your sex. From your entrance, up to your clit. The head of his cock pushes against it.

And the moan that rips from you is downright filth, as he rolls his hips and allows your wetness to slicken his length. It feels so fucking good. To you, and to him.

A breath shudders out of him, and he purrs, “Are you going to scream for me now?”

“Fuck yes,” the words tumble from your lips. “I want you, Fin.”

Just like that, his restraint snaps. The High Lord strikes.

He drags his length through your folds and enters you with a single, powerful thrust.

A shout leaves you, and you’re clawing at the desk, trying to keep your grip against the pleasure that courses through you. Fin fills you and stretches you. He pulls out and slams back in to the hilt.

“Fuck me, you’re tight,” he growls, his hands sinking back into your hips. He begins a steady thrusting, sliding in and out of you with a drag that makes you feel every glorious inch of him. “Gods.”

“So good,” you pant. “Want you harder.”

The plea seems to make him groan, and he wastes no time in picking up the pace. His hands bite into your skin as he fucks you faster, harder, your moans and pleas and curses falling from your lips without any nudging from you. The pleasure is all-consuming. In seconds, it’s buried within your veins.

“You like that?” The grit in his voice has you clenching around him. He’s so fucking filthy, so fucking sultry, as he snarls, “you going to be a good girl and come for me?”

Gods, yes, you are. Already, release is coiling tightly within you, and it’s a force entirely of its own right, inching closer and cresting the hill, ready to sink its claws into you. Fin’s cock hits deep, and out of nowhere, his palm is flying through the air and making contact with your ass cheek. That is all it takes.

The pleasure of it all is too much — the sting of the slap, the depth and thrall of his thrusts, the way he growls and grunts as he lays claim to your body, your pleasure.

You cry out, your orgasm blasting through you with unstoppable force. The long strokes of Fin’s cock fuck you through it, through earth-shattering pleasure, through what feels like a mind-altering experience.

“My filthy girl,” he pulls out of you suddenly, and though your cunt still clenches and twitches, desperate for more, more, more, he flips your trembling body onto its back once more and tugs you up, slipping back between your legs. “Fuck, I can’t tell you how relentlessly I’ve thought about making you scream for me like that.”

Past words, you can only reach up and pull his head down to yours to capture him in a kiss. Your taste still coats the tongue that he slides between your lips. It spurs you on to deepen it, luxuriate in the feel of it. And you become so lost in it that you tug hard at the strands of his hair when he enters you again in one great, sweeping thrust.

His arm folds around your back, hand grasping at your shoulder, and it seems to afford him perfect purchase to pound into you. Sounds fill the air of his skin slapping against yours, of the breaths and moans you huff into each other’s mouths. You think the two of you, together, might be loud enough, forceful enough, to bring the City of Starlight to rubble around you.

Fin’s lips tear away from yours, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck. His thrusts are growing quicker, sloppier, reaching a feverous pinnacle that will surely break.

“Fuck, you’re going to make me come, Y/N,” his sweat-slick brow presses against your neck. “Taking me so well like this. Squeezing me like this. You’re going to make me fucking blow.”

You want that — more than anything. To feel the power of him spilling into you.

You squeeze your thighs against his, dragging your free hand — the one not sunken in his hair — down the muscles of his shoulders, his back, his waist — to his ass, where you dig your nails into the tight, toned flesh and encourage him to pump into you harder, faster. The feel of it makes Fin shout.

“Come for me,” you choke around your pleasure. “Please, Fin…want you to come.”

An animalistic growl rips from him, and he slams into you one, two, three more times, and then stills, throwing his head back with a roar that shakes the library. Hot, thick ropes of his seed seem endless as they’re unleashed inside you.

The force of it shatters you both, you think. With his trembling as thorough as yours, your nails are still raking over his skin as his brow presses to the crook of your neck. Strands of hair stick to the back of his. Your fingertips smooth over them tenderly.

It feels like eons that you stay there like that, holding each other up from collapsing under the weight of your mutual release. You want to hold him like this, always. You don’t care what others may have to say about it, what they may deem to be wrong about it. You want him.

He pulls back, as though sensing the thought. Meets your eyes. For a beat or two, he simply studies your face, something like clarity on his own.

And then he dips down and drops a kiss to your brow. Such a tender act, in the wake of such passion.

 No words are needed. Not as he scoops you up into his arms, leaving behind the mess the two of you have created. There’s a flash, and he’s winnowed you to your bedroom. A fire roars to life immediately. Fin places you down on the bed.

You watch through hooded eyes as he makes his way into the bathroom. Moments later, he’s returning with a warm, damp washcloth, and he perches beside you.

“Open your legs for me,” he whispers, and you do.

The High Lord of the Night Court is gentle as air as he takes care of you, wiping between your thighs and delivering soft, soothing strokes to your skin. A pleasant soreness sits in your lower belly. He leans down and presses a kiss there like he knows just that.

And then he’s sitting up, and it frightens you — the thought of him walking away, of this ending here and now.

So you lay a hand on his arm, breathing, “Stay with me.”

He pauses, eyes roaming your face like he’s assuring himself you mean it. And then he dips his chin.

“I would be honoured,” he rasps.

And thus, the affair begins.

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

The need you and Fin have for each other is…insatiable.

Every moment he’s away, you’re thinking of him, longing for the moment he’ll appear in your room and rip your clothes off. If anyone else in the palace — staff, servants, associates — are aware of what’s going on, they don’t give it away. And that suits you just fine.

You can’t get enough. You’re giddy with it. Giddy from the multiple, interesting circumstances you’ve landed yourself in.

Like when you lured him out of a meeting and dropped to your knees in a fucking broom closet, taking his cock into your mouth until he was canting his hips forward and spilling down your throat. Or when he fucked you on the balcony of his personal quarters, your body pressed up against the balustrade, the two of you open to the elements and your moans loud enough to reach the stars above you and the city below you. Or when he took you to watch the ballet, and up in the cushy surrounds of your private viewing box, you watched the performance with him deep inside you, his fingers indolently playing with your clit, his low voice in your ear reminding you to keep quiet.

It’s…exciting. Enthralling. It changes everything.

And as he pulls out of you now, sweaty and panting, and collapses beside you in his bed, you’re not sure you could ever tire of this feeling.

He wants you. He wants you so ferociously, like nobody has ever wanted you before.

As you catch your breaths, he props his head up with his hand and stares at you through hooded eyes, glazed with lust. He leans down and grazes a kiss to your mouth.

“I don’t know how to make it stop,” he ponders as he pulls back, moving a hand to brush his fingers over your breast. “All this need — wanting you constantly.”

You lean up on your elbows, tilting your head, “Do you want it to stop?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Never.”

Never. Never is a very long time. It makes your stomach flip — the enormity of it.

Fin circles the tip of his forefinger around your pebbled nipple, watching with predatory fascination as he adds, “But this will, inevitably, blow up in our faces at some point. We haven’t exactly been secretive — not that I want to be. But people will talk.”

You lean up to brush your mouth over his. “Let them talk,” you say, and kiss him.

Immediately, he melts into the kiss. Your mouth seems to have an effect on him that you never thought yourself capable of. Always draws a long, pleasured sigh from him as he sinks into it, welcomes it.

He kisses you and kisses you, so greedily, so desperately. His hand snakes up to cup your cheek. He’s already hardening against your leg.

But he pulls away, dropping his forehead against yours. And he breathes, “Make a bargain with me.”

You trace a thumb over his bottom lip. You’ve never made a Night Court bargain before; never had reason to. “What bargain?”

“When this blows up in our faces,” he grips your hand, folding his own over it, “we face it together. You and I.”

“You and I?”

“You and I” he kisses your hand. “I don’t claim to be perfect. I don’t try to be. I can be brutal and callous, and I can lie and play games,” another kiss. “But not with you. Never with you. I will look after you. Take care of you. I’ll be whatever you need me to be.”

Words that you’ve always longed for someone to say to you. Words that should not be taken lightly, should not be said without meaning.

But you know he means them. You can tell he does.

You watch closely as your fingers interlace with his. And you whisper, “Together?”

Fin’s thumb sweeps over yours. “Together. We’ll face it together.”

“Then it’s a bargain.”

A flash of splintering pain zips around your midriff. You glance down to find the tattoo now inked there. The black line that draws a perfect circle around your waist, like a trail of night-kissed lightning.

You look up at Fin to find a roguish smile playing on his lips.

“Oh, I like that,” he hums.

And then he’s leaning down and pressing kisses to that circlet signifying your promise to one another. Kisses the entirety of it, flipping you on your front in the process.

And kisses lower, until you’re screaming for him again.

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-a-girlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl

[thatacotargirl]

Shadows and Surprises (6)

Part 6 of Azriel x Reader fanfic!

Summary: Azriel meets y/n at Rita's and spends a single night of passion with you before heading your separate ways. Only, the Mother had different ideas.

Warnings: none.

Tag list - @nickishadow139 @dee-writes-smut @minnieoo @st4r-girl-official

@courtofjurdan @mirandasidefics @lilah-asteria @nyxbranwenn @impossibelle

@mybestfriendmademe @hauntedstudentobservationus @julesofvolterra @acourtofbatboydreams @rogersbarnesxx

@skylarkalchemist @sidthedollface2 @aehllitas-blog @fullmoon-94

Azriel's POV

"There is nothing that needs to be done, Azriel".

Rhysand was trying to reassure the pacing Azriel that you were, indeed, safe in Velaris. He had provided you with unconditional refuge in the city in case your father or uncle tried to have you removed back to Illyria.

"She has refuge here, and they have no claim to her anyway. She is safe in Velaris, as is the child".

Azriel still felt the panic deep in his bones, and felt them shake when he was reminded of his child. It wasn't only you that needed protection now, it was his sweet unborn baby.

"Neither Darius nor Devlon can do anything about this", Cassian reassured him, but it didn't stop Azriel's pacing.

"We need to do something about this Rhys, he injured her, he cut off her wings".

"Az, believe me, if we could go and take them to the Hewn City right now I'd do it in a heartbeat - but we need to do this strategically. And we can't hurt y/n in the process".

Azriel knew Rhysand was right, but it didn't make it any easier to accept. However, fighting with his brother wasn't going to help him either, and he needed all the support he could get right now, even if he found it hard to admit that. He let his head sag in resignation that, right now, he could do nothing more.

"I need to speak with you both, actually".

Azriel raised his head to look at his High Lord, who looked paler and more withdrawn than usual.

"Feyre is in Velaris".

-

Y/N's POV

After another morning spent training with Cassian before he went for a meeting with Rhysand, you were exhausted. Cassian was careful to make sure you stayed within your level of comfort and kept hydrated, but there was no denying that being pregnant and trying to exercise with an Illyrian warrior was a tough feat.

You walked through the House of Wind to find it surprisingly quiet; with Azriel having joined Cassian in Rhysand's office for the meeting. It was a rare opportunity to find yourself in peace and quiet, with the three males doting on you every time you walked into a new room, so you figured you'd make the most of it and enjoy a quiet afternoon in the living room with a book.

You walked in and froze. There, sat on one of the sofas, was a female you had never seen before and who looked equally as petrified to have run into you.

"Hi, I'm y/n", you offer, keeping your distance from the female whose fear scented the air so strongly you had to hold back a gag.

"Feyre", she replied.

"Are you here with?....." you gesture behind you, trying to figure out why she was currently sat in the living room.

"Rhysand".

"Ah".

You avoid each other's eyes as you stand in awkward silence, not knowing how best to address the situation. It was at that moment that your unborn baby decided to make a move for the pair of you, and gave you a gentle kick. It didn't feel like much, maybe just a gas bubble, but one discernible enough that you knew it was the life inside you. You gasp and your hand flew to your stomach. Although your belly was hidden under the jumper you were wearing, you knew the scent of pregnancy was noticeable to everyone, and you watched as Feyre jumped into action.

"Are you ok?", she asked, reaching out towards you but not quite touching you.

"I think, I think the baby moved, maybe, or maybe it was gas, or both? I don't know I don't know what it's meant to feel like", you laugh as you hear your voice getting higher and higher with excitement and panic. Moments like this made your pregnancy feel so much more real.

You looked at Feyre, whose eyes had softened and fear had dissipated. Her hand was still outstretched in the air, so you decided to reach forward to take it and place it on your bump. At that moment, your baby decided to throw in another kick, and Feyre gasped as she too felt the very, very tiny flutter of your stomach.

"You're the first person to feel the baby kick", you smile at her. She returns with a warm smile of her own, her hand still resting on your stomach.

-

It is sometime later, the two of you sat engrossed in conversation, when the males walk into the room. You peer around the edge of the sofa and see Rhysand standing tall, shoulders back, face pale. He looked worried, stressed, and you can only guess it is because of Feyre. You giggle, the mighty High Lord being taken for a loop by the small female sat opposite you.

"I see you've met Feyre", he says, walking to stand in front of you both. Azriel and Cassian follow.

"I have, she's wonderful!", you exclaim, giving Feyre a beaming smile, which she gladly returns. Feyre looks at the Illyrians with apprehension, but you're pleased that the scent of her fear is nowhere to be found - if not for her, but for your own nausea.

Rhys looks pleased that you seem to have taken Feyre under your wing.

"Feyre will be staying here for the foreseeable future".

You sense a tension in the atmosphere, but you don't pry. It's not your place if they don't wish to talk about why Feyre is here and why Rhysand is standing before you both looking constipated. Cassian must notice the tension too, because he jumps into the conversation.

"Dinner, anyone?"

-

Mor wasn't around, so dinner was solely for the 3 males, you, and Feyre. You deliberately sat Feyre at the edge of the table with only yourself next to her, if only to comfort her. Azriel sat opposite you, Rhys opposite Feyre, and Cassian at the head of the table. Conversations were kept light, no mention of Feyre's sudden appearance in Velaris was made, nor any mentions of yours and Azriel's relationship. Feyre hadn't asked who fathered your baby, and you had no idea how to explain the situation, so you were grateful it hadn't come up.

You were talking to Feyre about a book you had both loved, when you felt a wisp of something in your hair. You reach your hand up and pull it back with surprise, as a shadow had wrapped itself around your wrist. You looked at Azriel, who looked equally as shocked.

Suddenly, a flurry of shadows entangled themselves in your hair, around your limbs, and brushing up against your stomach. You could see Azriel trying to draw them back, becoming more and more frustrated at their ignoring him, and you couldn't help the laugh that came out. Watching the notorious Spymaster of the Night Court flustered because his shadows were disobeying him was funnier than you cared to admit. You could see Rhys and Cassian trying to stifle their laughs, and Feyre watching intently as the shadows drew your hair up into different hairstyles and played with your necklace.

"They're ok, Az. Let them be", you cooed, letting the shadows dance around your fingers. Azriel gave up trying to command them back to him, and instead indulged in watching the way you interacted with them, almost like you were playing with them.

A few darted off out of the room and came back a few moments later holding onto a purple paper bag. You saw the way that Azriel paled and lunged for the bag, but the shadows dodged, dropping the bag on your lap instead. You looked up to Azriel, his eyes wide, and thanked the shadows for bringing it to you.

"Is this for me?", you asked. He nodded, but you could clearly see he was uncomfortable. You decided he'd been through enough tonight.

"Thank you, and thank you sweet shadows" you cooed at them, placing the bag on the floor. If it was a gift, Azriel clearly wasn't ready for you to have it, so you weren't going to embarrass him by opening it at the table in front of everyone.

"Dessert?" you asked, smiling at Feyre, trying to change the conversation. Azriel looked at you gratefully as Cassian pounced on the chocolate marble cake that appeared on the table.

-

You had subtly handed the bag back to Azriel at the end of dinner before departing for your bedroom. You were even more exhausted now, having not been able to get in an afternoon nap. You showed Feyre to her room, gave her a few of your favourite books that she hadn't read and a glass of water, and had settled in to your own bed. Just as you went to switch off your light, you heard a knock at the door.

"Come in", you called, thinking it might be Feyre. The Illyrian wings that filled the doorway told you otherwise.

"Az?" you asked, sitting up in bed. Azriel was standing in the door, clutching the bag in his hand.

"You can have this now. I didn't know when to give it to you, but I guess the shadows want you to have it today". He handed you the bag and you took it happily.

"They've never done that, you know".

"Done what?"

"Disobeyed me to go to someone else. They've never done that. They seemed enthralled by you".

You chuckle.

"Maybe because they know I'm carrying your baby?". Azriel looked away wistfully, before nodding.

"Yeah, that must be it".

You pulled the tissue paper out of the bag before your hands touched soft fabric. You pulled out a small bundle of black and unfurled it to reveal a teeny, tiny baby grow. The back had small slits to fit small wings and it adopted on a celestial pattern - with the words "Our Little Star" in silver embroidery on the front.

"I know you wanted the first piece of clothing the baby had to be special, I hope I didn't overstep".

The tears that had lined your eyes now spilled, and you opened your arms to engulf him in a hug.

"You didn't, Az. This is beautiful, thank you". You stayed like that for a few minutes, holding each other, before Azriel stepped back.

"I'll let you get some sleep".

"Ok, thank you again Az".

He smiled and left your bedroom. Your eyes fell to the beautiful baby grow and you held it to your chest, feeling more love than you had ever felt in your entire life. As if feeling it too, you felt another little flutter, and smiled to yourself.

You carefully placed the baby grow on your dresser and settled back down, your eyes heavy. As you lulled into a deep sleep, you felt the gentle caress of a shadow stroking your arm and, once you were asleep, it nuzzled itself into your open hand.

[b0xerdancer-writes]

Snow White Peaks

Cassian x Illyrian!Reader

Summary: Cassian meets a strange female when investigating a random note from her summoning her 'Brother' Rhysand. He falls for her and the two have a child together only he doesn't know it. When he finds out he swears to be there from now on.

Warnings: 18+, implied semi-graphic smut but not full scenes, war, sub!Cassian, bullying, physical violence.

Word Count: 10,113

Notes: There will most definitely be a part two of Cassian bonding with his son and getting his wish of wanting to be there for firsts of a child. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Illyria: The northernmost region of the Night Court. A few barren rocky islets, steppes, mountain ranges, and most importantly the camps. 

There were 6 major camps nestled within the mountain peaks: Windhaven and Ironcrest being the most well known; the other four: Blackrock ran by Lord Caston, Snowhollow ran by Lord Edoril, Ebonhold ran by Lord Varyn, and Highgarde ran by Lord Soldril, were all lesser known but still trained members of the Night Courts armies. 

However, there was one more major camp, the Angelsrest. Rhysand’s father had commissioned the camp and swore it into secrecy and under protection. It was a camp for gifted Illyrians; he had tried to send Azriel there once but Devlon had his talons into him and refused to send him off. In reality it was a privately funded and specialized unit of powerful illyrians that were trained as a back pocket weapon for the High Lord.

Angelsrest was founded behind the other camplords' backs, Rhysands father had been keeping an eye on the war camps and villages since he had found his mate with her wings about to be clipped. He had found one village hidden back away from the other camps, hundreds if not thousands of miles from any other village or camp. The entire mindset and tradition of these illyrians, while similar to the others at their core, held a much higher regard for gods and their spirituality. 

He explored the village and introduced himself to the illyrians there who greeted him with open arms; they showed him around, fed him, let him examine their way of life, They answered any questions he had without hesitation. One thing, however, caught his attention; at the top of the camp where the Lords house normally stood was an elegantly painted and decorated temple like home.

“What's in there?” The High lord had asked a female working on tanning a hide.

“Oh! That's the ladies house, the white mother.” She had chirped back.

“The white mother?” He furrowed his brows.

“She talks to the mother and the night father, the old gods before the Cauldron. They rewarded us for our devotion by gifting us and her with a child from the skies itself. The starchild we call her.” The female explained.

“Why do you call her the starchild?” The High Lord was utterly confused, he had never heard anything like this before.

“There was old legends and lore eons ago when Illyrians first made their homes here that the night father guided every lord at the time to where their village or camp now stands, it's said our first lord was led here, where a star had fallen from the sky and landed amongst the snow. He nursed the star to health and kept trying to return her home to the night father, the stars are his children you see?” She hummed brightly. “As a gift for returning his child, he granted him powers of the stars; however, it turned his wings white in the process.  The night father declared that as payment every child of his bloodline would have the gift as well.”

“Ahh, Starchild makes sense now.” the high lord nodded.

“She's the last starchild. Her mother married into the bloodline but her father passed away recently after a hunting patrol went awry.” The female looked down, grief evident in her face.

“Oh, I apologize for the loss.” The lord mumbled.

“I can introduce you to the starchild if you wish? Her mother is out hunting right now so the child is with the elders and other babes.” The female offered, standing from the hide rack.

“Please, I’m intrigued by the story if I am being honest with you.” The lord thanked her.

The two walked silently through the sprawling houses and buildings, till they came to a large hut. Older males and women sat on stools and padded chairs, long since having served their community. The laughter and echoes of children rang out as they ran around the room, at the center a white winged female leading them to their next adventure.  Her wings white with a faint purple to the membranes, sparkled like freshly fallen snow; she held them high and proudly, they were much larger than any of the other childrens and she had to adjust them regularly so the tips wouldn’t drag against the wood flooring.

“Stardust, come here please.” The female beside him chirped. 

The child apologized and dismissed herself from the group, clearly only around 10 years of age. She approached the two sweetly introducing herself to the lord in front of her, he introduced himself back and shook her tiny hand.

It was the first time he had met her, and it surely wasn’t the last time; he would make regular check-ins with the small community and on the small female, who grew close to him like she was his own daughter. When Rhys was born he brought the babe out for her to meet, she held him excitedly while the lord told her about Velaris and his court and the other war camps and villages he had explored. As she grew so did her wings and personality, she had to hold her wings higher and higher on her shoulders as the tips of the talons started touching the ground; she used it to her advantage though as an extremely fast and strong flier, the day she had beaten all the records in her village she eagerly showed the lord.

Her powers continued to manifest  and expand and by 16 she was one of the top in her village, the lord invited her to Velaris and his home for her birthday where she had gotten to see a 5 year old Rhys. The lord offered to have her taught war tactics, to have someone teach her how to fight; she took the offer eagerly and began reporting to a general weekly till she was 20 and had learned everything the male could teach her.

By her 21st year the lord had called her into the mountains above her village and deep into a wooded plateau, she remembered males from her village would be up here for hours working on something; she asked him if their work had something to do with what he had to show her, when he agreed with thoughts she grew excited to see the years worth of work the villagers had put in.  The two marched through the powdered snow and worn path till they reached a clearing, a large wooden fence with the sign reading Angelsrest greeted them; she looked eagerly over to the lord, he motioned for her to explore the newly built war-camp.

“Why did you decide to build a camp out here father?” She inquired.

“As a gift. For you.” He replied. “You will be the lady of the camp, the first Illyrian female to run a war-camp.” 

She looked back at him, her wings flared slightly then relaxed. “Why me?”

“You have surpassed my expectations, it would be a shame if your talents were to go unharnessed.” He smiled. “I have seen you working with the children in your village, I wanted to give you the opportunity to really train.” 

She pulled him into a hug and thanked him, promising her best work for him. From then on the war camp began to take form, a mix of illyrians from her village and those the lord would pull from other camps and villages; those with powers much like his ‘shooting star’ as he called her. The camp was ideal from the get go, wing clipping had been banned, all illyrians within her camp were talented and trained equally.

Then the first tragedy of her life struck, her mother succumbed to wounds like her father had; the lord took her to Velaris and officially adopted her.  By the time Rhys was old enough to join Windhaven Angelsrest was in full swing, an assortment of various powerful illyrians making their home there. 

Then came the letter, written in a cursive panicked sprawl from the lord she now called father; detailing his plans to avenge the loss of his wife and biological daughter, he apologized for any wrongs he may have cause her and told her he had a bad feeling as he readied himself to go after their killers. He detailed how he had sworn Rhys to keep the camp running and protected under her rule as lord, the lord had his son swear to keep his eye out for talented illyrians and bring them to her for training. Rhys had only met her a handful of times as he grew up and being forced to swear her protection had startled him as he realized how much his father truly cared for his adoptive sister in the mountains. 

The day Rhys appeared at Angelsrest and saw how much progress the camp had made with their training, the white winged female had caught him off guard. Rhys had only become high lord a week prior and was touching bases with every camp but the atmosphere was different; every illyrian respected her and even though she stood taller than Rhys did at that point with almost double his wingspan he understood their fathers fascination with the power she possessed, she carried nearly double the siphons he and his brothers did. She commanded respect without actually commanding it, her actions made those around her want to follow her. She toured him around the camp's facilities, showed off their training, and her top warriors. 

Eventually a female with tiny wings joined  the two as they toured, folders and paperwork in her hands that she passed off to her white winged superior to approve. The small winged female was introduced as her deputy and second in command of the camp, while her wings had stopped growing as a child she had become incredibly intelligent and had adapted to be able to winnow or blink incredible distances. 

After Rhys had decided the tour sufficient, he apologized for her loss and swallowed a breath sharply; her wings flared slightly as she tried to keep her composure, her brother's attitude towards their father and his legacy having angered her.

“Like I said, your camp will continue to operate as is and we would like you to remain here unless called to Velaris or another camp for a meeting. If I ever need an update or anything I will send one of my inner circle to check in with you.” The younger male nodded and disappeared from the front of the camp.

The white winged female and her deputy turned back to the lively camp behind them, those in training pausing to greet the two; they climbed the steps of the main building while discussing the matters at hand and how to further continue their training. The meeting with her brother was the start of changing tides.

She wouldn’t see the male she called brother or his circle for nearly 4-5 hundred years, gifted and powerful Illyrians would appear at the front of the camp explaining they were dropped off by the new highlord; she would bring them in show them the ropes and introduce them to the others training at the camp. Then came the silence, 30 years of no new illyrians at their door; so she sent letters to Velaris looking for her brother and summoning him for a meeting, one of his generals came instead.

+

“Ferelith, any update on a letter back from Velaris?” I asked my deputy while looking over several pieces of paperwork from businesses within my camp and village.

“No mam.” She responded looking up from behind her own paperwork, her small wings fluttering quickly behind her.

“Fere, I told you no formalities.” I hummed back to her.

“And you will have to tell me every day my lady.” Ferelith responded back with a chirp.

I snorted and there was a knock on the study door, a younger male I remembered by the name Leander who harnessed some power that was capable of animal communication, stepped into the study looking extremely pale and panicked. He was from a village near camp Windhaven, had been brought to my camp when he was 15 after he had nearly been hanged for stealing a sheep that was in immense pain from improper feed and bloating.

“Mam.” he saluted.

“Leander? What’s the matter child?” I looked up from my desk, watching as the male panted, his wings taught against his back.

“The General! He’s outside, mam. The Lord of Bloodshed.” Leander shifted anxiously from foot to foot.

“Thank you Leander, you are dismissed. Ferelith come, we have a guest to greet.” I stood, pushing the stool under the desk, flaring my wings every so slightly as I adjusted them up my back.

I slipped from my study and pushed the grand doors open, eyeing down the male standing in the center courtyard; his wings were flared out in an intimidation tactic and a grand Red siphon set in the center of his chest.

I took a breath in and squared my shoulders staring down at the male in the center of my camp. “Lord of Bloodshed, what brings you to my camp?” 

His eyes widened as he stared back up at me, “So I see the rumors are true my lady. I’ve received your letter meant for the High Lord, he is otherwise preoccupied at the moment.”

I scoffed and continued down the steps till I stood eye to eye with him. “My own brother is too preoccupied to see to his own affairs? Let alone a deal he was sworn into?” 

The male tensed, his wings flaring like I had insulted him personally. “If you wish to further discuss the matters at hand, let me pull you aside and we can speak on it in private.”

He still had to look up at me by about a head and a half,my eyes raked up and down the male as a means to size him up; watching as he subconsciously made small movements that told me he found me intimidating: small eye movements between me and the snow covered ground, miniscule movements of his wings to make himself smaller in my gaze, and he turned his head ever so slightly like he would turn and run if I came at him aggressively. It made me want to smirk, instead I decided to test my observation further. 

I glared at him a bit harsher than I had before and flared my wings, watching as his throat bobbed. “Fine, this way then.”

I turned to the side, giving him space to climb the stairs beside me. His wings were tight and tense against his back as he climbed them, and as soon as he had passed me I turned to walk beside him up the bath to my house. 

After he had stepped through the grand door frame I looked over my shoulder to Ferelith. “Please see to the training regimens and check in with the shops while I attend this meeting.”

She simply nodded and turned; trodding down the wooden steps and towards the training ring. I  shut the door behind us, the faelights flickering from the chilled wind blowing in. He stood in the center of the entryway, uneased he shifted on his feet; I motioned to the study I had been sitting in earlier and he shuffled in.

Rounding my desk I pulled the stool back out and adjusted myself on it. I motioned for the padded chair in front of me that was specially made for illyrian wings;He sat and adjusted his wings, I greeted him with a smile and leaned onto my elbows.

“So, Lord of Bloodshed, tell me why my brother is too preoccupied to make good on our deal.” My tone was venomous as I smiled at him.

He straightened in his seat. “There's been some commotion in the Courts of Prythian, Rhys has done his best to keep Illyria out of it so you wouldn't know and wouldn’t have heard anything. He went to a meeting held by some kind of emissary slash general of the King of Hybern. Lots of the high lords and their people did, none of them have been back yet but we know they are alive from what Tamlin, the High Lord of Spring, has told us. She put a curse on him and his court held the rest of the lords hostage. We are waiting to find out more.” Cassian sighed. “We haven't heard from Rhys just as long as you, we didn’t even know about your deal and what it's about or this camp. No one even knew Rhys had another sister till your letter came.” 

I sighed and rubbed my temples. “That would explain the radio silence. Ask away.”

“First, why are your wings white?” Cassian questioned.

“My ancestors made a deal with the Night father, surely you've heard the mythology of him?” I asked.

Cassian nodded. “Vaguely yeah, didn't he show the ancient illyrians where to make their homes?”

“Precisely, the village I came from that I’m sure you saw when flying in, has a special connection with the Night Father. I implore you to find our archivist in the village below if you wish to know the lore to the full extent.” I half explained and he nodded intently.

“So, if you're Rhys’s sister and older than him, why didn’t you become lord or lady if you were the heir?” Cassian questioned.

“Adopted sister, my father died before I was born and my mother died shortly after the founding of this camp. Our father took interest in me when I was incredibly young, my powers made an impression on him and it was before Rhys’s birth. He had originally just wanted to see me trained correctly but became invested and we grew a bond like that of a father and his child. I'm not his true heir, even though he expressed his desire for that before he passed.” I motioned to the painting that had been gifted to me with the camp, a picture of father and I that he had painted.

Cassian nodded. “Rhys hasn't told us a thing about this camp or an outstanding deal with it, I've only heard rumors from the other camps I’ve visited.” 

I sighed. “The deal is that he and any high lord in the future, as long as this camp is running, will bring gifted and powerful Illyrians here to be trained. The camp has been kept out of major eyes and ears due to the fact it's a back pocket weapon for the high lords.”

Cassian tilted his head in questioning “Then why are you not on our regular camp regulation trips?” 

“Camp regulations? What does my dear brother have you check?” I asked.

“Like females being trained, wing clipping is banned, stuff like that.” Cassian shrugged.

“Then that is part of why Rhys hasn’t had any of you do a check here, those have been in place here since before Rhys was born my village never did that and when the camp was built that rule carried over.  It's been hard to break some of the males ,who came from camps and villages where that was practice, out of that mindset; and we have females here who were already clipped before they joined us but everyone gets equal training and opportunities as long as they want too. Some opt out and wish to work the shops instead, that is not frowned on either as it supports the camp further.” I said entirely disinterested, turning back to the paperwork on my desk. 

“I mean that's true, I was able to tell from mere observation. But! Normally we still check in every so often and observe training or join in on a session of training.” Cassian rebutted 

“Your high lord cares not for the camps or real change would have taken place by now. You only check them when you receive a complaint or a rumor reaches your ears.” I retorted without looking up from my desk.

Cassian growled and stormed towards the desk, slamming his hands on the wood. “Quit talking down on Rhys, you have no right! I’m sorry that he got the bigger stick and he ended up being dear ol daddy’s favorite; your not any better than he is, fuck I’d say from the attitude you have given me since the start you are worse than he is.”

My eyes flicked up to him, and I raised a brow at him. “You have 3 seconds to return to your seat.”

He scoffed and as he went to return to his rant. I flared my wings as a warning and stood up quick enough my stool clattered to the floor behind me. I used my speed to gain advantage against him while he wasn't paying any attention, pinning his head against my desk  by the side of his neck. His cheek was red squished against the wooden desk and his own wings flared as he struggled against my hold.

“Collect yourself General, before you regret it.” I hissed back at him.

His eyes widened as he looked towards me stunned. I narrowed my eyes on the male. 

“You may stay a few days if you wish to conduct your little observation further. But I warn you General if you cross any line here I will correct you. Remember whose camp you are in.” I growled down at him.

He growled back and tried to stand up and fight against my hold, I strengthened my hold and pressed his cheek harder against the desk; splinters threatened his skin and my desk creaked as it threatened to give way, my grip on the male finally loosened when he whimpered. I scoffed and released him walking out of my office and back out into the snowy campgrounds. 

+

Cassian’s visit was relatively uneventful, everything checked out regulations wise but he needed to know more about the strange white winged female whose life he had barged into at her request for the male he called brother. He didn’t necessarily like her and her tendency to drag Rhysand but something about her he found intimidating and interesting, like there was something more just around the corner she was hiding. He found any excuse to stay, even if it meant butting heads with her; he often lost the fights if he pushed her boundaries but he was hoping to push her over an edge, hoping it would cause her to mess up and reveal something. He had requested a walk-through of every building in the camp, finding something as simple as a loose board as a cause for concern. He had written to Azriel after a week telling him it would be awhile before he returned; saying the camp needed more observation and he wanted to make sure training was up to date, any excuse in the book really. 

It had been a month of Cassian and the Lady of the camp butting heads, when Cassian realized why he was so intrigued at pissing her off.

The first time was when he started his every building must be checked and looked over, he had spent the day being in her way; he followed her room to room looking at every minor detail. He knew he was close when her eyes kept flicking up to him and then shed rub her temples, he finally got her to yell at him by flapping or ‘adjusting’ his wings knocking papers from her desk when she took a drink of hot tea. She had stood abruptly and pinned him to the wall, yelling at him her office was off limits until she had completed her tasks for the day; she had dragged him out of her office and tossed him to the floor just outside it, slamming the doors shut.  He had lain on the floor for about 10 minutes with a victorious smile on his face, before he had finally got up to finish his walk through. 

The next day he had followed her to a meeting with her own generals, he had learned their names were Saros and Larissa, under the excuse he would like to be able to ask them questions about their regiment. She had agreed with a sigh, and hiked out to the ring with him at her heels. The meeting had started fine but when everything had checked out he had to find some way to annoy her, so questions he would ask. Everytime she would start to ask about something he would interrupt with his own question. ‘How do you specifically train for their powers?’, ‘Do you spend the same amount of time with every individual during personal training hours or is it based on that person's needs?’. All questions that would make sense for  him to be asking, but simply inconveniencing her.  He watched as her wings tensed and flared but she couldn’t do anything as it was all standard stuff he needed to know. He walked away from the meeting with a smirk and a swagger in his hips.

He would often follow her for about half an hour a day at the start, if she was walking around camp he was at her heel and if she stopped to talk to a member of the camp he was behind her mimicking her every movement. If she was in her office he was making small humming noises while ‘reading’ books from her shelf, ignoring her when she snipped at him to stop the annoying noises, he would kick his feet up on the coffee table much to her annoyance, ask personal questions, and fidget with kick knacks around her office until she forced him out of the office and away from her. 

Some of his proudest moments were when he was able to publicly embarrass or aggravate her. The first time he had gotten the rush from his new favorite pastime she had been in a meeting with the shopkeepers in a new conference room he had yet to see, he had been walking around admiring the art and artifacts compiled here. It was a public conference hall anyone in camp could reserve and use, everyone had pitched in to decorate it and it was actually quite a sight Cassian had to admit. They were deep in negotiations when Cassian had stopped paying attention and simply admired the surroundings; he had run into a pillar holding an ornate sculpture of ‘Her Highness’. He had spun on his heels when he realized the statue was falling, he had reached out to stop the fall but was a second late as it clattered to the floor and shattered. Everyone had looked over to Cassian as the shatter had cut off the female he enjoyed annoying ever so much, all eyes were on him and her as her wings flared; she let out a loud sigh, wings pulled closer to her back and she pinched the bridge of her nose. 

It had been unintentional but he was delighted when she sighed loudly “Meeting dismissed, we will reconvene later this week”

The second time he had publicly embarrassed her was a night in the mess hall. He had eaten in there with the other warriors everyday since he had arrived and he was a welcomed presence in the hall with his humor and antics. It had given him nostalgia to his days in Windhaven, to which he would tell stories of what he and his brothers had gotten up to in their own camp. She had walked into the mess hall, wings glittering like fresh powdered snow in the faelights, her small deputy at her side. They had both conversed their entire way through the line, paying him and the others barely any mind beside small hellos as they carried on back and forth. 

When the two sat down she had taken a bite and hummed, nearly moaning, as she took a bite of the beef. “I'm telling you Ferelith Beef and noodle night never fails to impress. I never miss it, by the father, this is my favorite meal we have, probably the best as well.”

The small female beside her nodded along, chirping back and Cassian took a bite of his own plate, chewing on the egg noodles he smirked at his opening. He cleared his throat, everyone turning to look at him wide eyed.

With a scoff he stood and made his way over to her. “The best? Don’t be ridiculous. If this is the best you have, I feel sorry for your warriors.” He shrugged and took his fork stabbing into her meat. “The meat is tough and you have to chew for ages to get through it. The noodles? Wayyyyy too doughy. Don’t even get me started on the broth, this is probably some of the worst gruel I’ve had.” He popped the piece into his mouth, and the room went super quiet, tension thick enough even Truth Teller wouldn’t have been able to cut it. 

To be honest, he was lying through his teeth, but being able to embarrass her like this was well worth it. This was probably one of the best meals he had ever had while in a camp, it was definitely better than what Windhaven called gruel. He looked around a smirk on his face, to see everyone still and tense. 

“If you don’t like it, General, you are free to leave at any time.” He didn;t like this he decided, her tone was cold and venomous. A silent anger on her features as she stood, plate in hand and walked from the mess hall.

Ferelith was still before she swiped up her own tray and scrambled after the head of camp. When the doors shut behind the small female he turned to the group of males he had been sitting with.

His brows furrowed in worry, “Why are you all so silent? What did I do?”

One of the males he had recognized as one of the generals from the training ring grimaced as he spoke. “The recipe for the beef and noodle gruel is her mothers, they were incredibly close.” 

Cassian winced. “I fucked up didn’t I?”

The males all nodded rapidly till one of them, the small male he had seen when he first landed into camp, an Oleander or something similar if he recalled correctly, spoke up. “Mr. Cassian sir, Lord of Bloodshed sir. If I may ask, what do you have against her? I just have noticed you seem to take joy in making her upset. She's a good leader sir, she doesn’t deserve whatever this is.”

There was a murmur of agreement and Cassian sighed. “To be honest, it started as a game  because she looked down on Rhys and I simply wanted under her skin, now though it's just kinda grown into a habit.” A partial lie but he wasn’t going to admit the truth, he could barely admit the truth to himself.

The small male spoke up again. “I just think, Casian sir, that you should maybe apologize to her, she does her best keeping up with everything here.”

“Right, Right. I’ll do it tomorrow and give her some time to cool off. I'm heading to my room. I'll see everyone in the morning for breakfast.” Cassian waved them off, dropping his own plate and tray off with the dishwasher. 

She had been nice enough to put him up in the guest room of her own house, he pulled the grand door open just enough to slip inside and moved up the stairs. He slipped into the dark room, not bothering to crawl under the covers, he kicked off his boots and slipped into warm night clothes, laying on top of the bed and staring at the ceiling contemplating everything. He finally had to admit it to himself and accept the fact the entire reason for annoying her was because he enjoyed the change of pace, enjoyed her being able to overpower him and put him in place. The first time she had shoved him against the desk had him realizing it made his pant tighten in the crotch, only seconded by the time she threw him out of her study and onto the floor resulting in the same reaction. 

He must have fallen asleep, because hew awoke to a small clatter and a mumbled “Fuck.” from the downstairs kitchen.

He dragged himself out of bed and down the stairs finding her nursing a cut finger and a broken glass. 

He leaned on the doorframe with his arms crossed. “You okay?” He yawned.

She turned to glare at him. “What do you want? Come to insult me some more?” 

“Honestly? No, I was investigating the loud noise that woke me up. Look I’m sorry okay, I realize I pushed too far.”  He shrugged and took a few steps into the kitchen, leaning against the island counters opposite her. 

+

I watched Cassian round the islands and lean against the counters, I’ve had enough of his shit this past month. 

“Other than that, what the FUCK  do you want with me Cassian? You push and push and are only ever satisfied after I lash out at you or you embarrass me.  Why?” I hissed at him.

Cassian shifted from foot to foot and sighed before straightening his stance and swiping the hair from his face. He moved to lean over the sink with me, taking my hand in his and rinsing the now dried blood from my finger.

He sighed. “If I’m being 100% honest, this month has made me realize something about myself. It took me awhile to accept it but after I realized I pushed too far tonight I had to face it and figured I’d confront you about it in the morning or just leave tomorrow but seems the mother or the father, I know he's a more important figure to you, have deemed me to confront you about it tonight. Maybe confront is the wrong word…” Cassian rambled on.

“What are you talking about Cassian? Just answer my question already.” I tried to hiss at him but was ultimately stunned by his gentleness.

“Maybe confess is a better word here. Yeah. I wanted to confess to you about it tonight.” He nodded and I furrowed my brows at him.

“What are you on about? What is it you wish to confess, Oh Great General?” I rolled my eyes.

Cassian pulled the hand he was holding to his chest, my palm laying flat against the muscular skin. “I’ve come to realize I like it when you put me in place, I like that you can overpower me with a flick of your wrist. It's haunted me since the day you pinned me to the desk. I had to test my theory and was only proven right when you tossed me on the floor outside of your study, when I had the same reaction I didnt wanna accept it but the thrill of getting you to lash out at me like that; often times physically overpowering me, was incredibly addicting.”

I could feel his heart pounding. “Cassian.” I warned, but his puppy dog eyes as I looked down at him I gave in, a heat beginning to grow in my cheeks and I sighed. “And what was this reaction you speak about?” 

Those same puppy dog eyes greeted me with a nervous smile, he pulled at my wrist guiding my hand to the crotch of the sweatpants he wore. I turned my head to look down on him with a half-assed glare, he shifted slightly and I could feel him strain against my hand. 

“Ah I see.” I hummed. “And what would you like me to do about it?” 

The worry in his eyes turned a bit hopeful. “I’m normally the one incharge in these situations so this is kinda new to me but I’m not afraid to let a pretty and strong girl top me, if I get a request… make me forget my own name?” 

He turned his head slightly to the side exposing his neck, a habit of submission and obedience in illyrians. I looked down at him through my lashes with a smirk, id torture him back for what he out me through .

“And why would I do that Cass?” I stepped closer to him, my free hand coming to his chin to make him look up at me.

His eyes widened again and he swallowed an anxious breath. “I can relieve some of your stress. I’ll let you do whatever you want to, however you want me. I can take what you give me and if I get a bit too cocky or bratty just put me back in my place.”

I tilted my head with a chuckledirecred at him, he shifted again and I smirked. “And how do I know you could do whatever I want?” 

He licked his lips, his voice heavy with want. “You've seen me train, you know I have enough stamina for it. I’ve been at death's doorstep plenty of times if you are worried about being too rough: Don’t. Look, I can't believe I’m saying this, I can be your good boy if that’s what you’d like. Mam, respectfully, if you'd let me I promise I can blow your back out.”

I smiled down at him and I felt him throb when venom coated every word that fell from my mouth. “Then get upstairs. I want you on your knees by the end of my bed, you have a whole month of torture to make up for. I’ll be up there shortly, be shirtless when I get up there; pants optional since I know you don’t have anything under them.” 

I dropped his chin from my hand and squeezed him with my other, he groaned loudly, choking out his words as he tried to maintain his composure. “Yes mam.” 

He slipped out of the kitchen and I slipped into my office, scribbling out a small note for Ferelith to reschedule any and all appointments I had as I would be otherwise preoccupied and resting. Sitting the note on her desk pinned it by the corner with her paperweight and stepped out of the study, making sure the door clicking would be audible on the third floor where my room was. The third floor consisted of only my room, and was purposefully made so I could completely stretch my wings out. I slinked up the stairs, not a board creaking under foot. I wanted him on edge like I had been all month since his antics started, he would have heard the door shut and he would know I was coming up the stairs; but he wouldn’t know when and with how my bed was positioned he would have his back to the door.

The halls were dark, and I pushed the door to my room open slowly so it wouldn’t creak. Cassian was sitting facing the bed, his wings flared out and completely stripped. He must have felt me behind him as he straightened up how he was sitting and I heard his breathing stutter. I slipped into the space between his wings and ran my hands from the knuckle in his wings to the base, where the membranous skin met with his tanner skin. His back arched and he moaned loudly, I leaned down behind him and wrapped my arms around his neck.

I ran my hand under his chin and across his throat, I felt his throat bob as I leaned down and whispered in his ear. “Boo.” 

My grasp tightened on his throat and from my vantage point over his shoulder I watched his member twitch, satisfied with his reaction I nipped at his ear and pulled back. 

He moved to follow me but I gave him a warning look, he begged with his eyes and they would have been enough for me to give in had I not had a plan. “Mam.” 

“Now, now, Cassian, you have a lot to make up for. Before I give you the attention you so desperately want you have to apologize for your behavior.” I chastised him.

He whimpered, “I’m sorry for my behavior my Lady. I’ll make up for it I promise.” 

I chuckled. “How cute yet how pathetic it is that you think that's all the apology you need to make up for what you’ve done.”

I rounded his frame and sat on the foot of my bed, wings stretched out either side of me.  He moved to crawl towards me but I planted my toes into his chest and he stopped to look up at me desperately. 

I raked my eyes over him, finally allowing him to crawl towards me with a simple order. “Come here and strip me, I don't wish to do the work myself.”

He nodded. “Yes mam.”

After he stripped me, he spent hours between my legs at my order; hours that were spent between his mouth as a punishment for his slander and when I was satisfied he had made up for that I finally let him use his cock that he was so proud of, he had let it do his thinking for him and would learn better than that. He had spent several hours nestled between my legs pounding into me and seeking my praise, till I grew bored and pressed his back into the comforter. We had finished our night with him below me, wings spread out either side of him and his fingers dug into the flesh of my thighs. His hips followed mine the closer he got to his final release, whimpers, moans, and pleads left his mouth in rapid succession.

I had finally acknowledged his approaching climax with a smile on my face. “That's it baby” I crooned at him, “Now be a good boy for me and cum for me.” 

He had roared in response, his hips slamming up into mine, his hands slipping from my thighs and up to the base of my wings; his nails dug into the line where the membrane turned into tougher skin, it had been just enough to push me over the edge for the final time tonight. My head was thrown back and my hips stuttered, my wings flared open to their full extent as I screamed out his name; coming down from the high I panted out goodboy like a mantra to him but he seemed otherwise mesmerized as he stared into my wings, the soft faelights glittered against them and he ran his fingers softly over the pronounced bone.I had pulled myself off of him and collapsed beside him, he curled up into my side with his head resting between my collarbone and breast. We had fallen asleep together wrapped up in the comforter in the early hours of the morning.

It was well past noon when we were woken up by Ferelith knocking at the door. I sat up and moved to climb out of the bed, Cassian deep in slumber grumbled and tried to pull me back into the bed beside him. I pushed his bangs out of his face with a smile and wrapped my robe around my frame, Ferelith was smirking when I opened my door.

“I’ve got a letter for Cassian here.” She teased in a knowing tone. 

“And you knew he was up here how?”I quizzed.

“You said you were preoccupied and obviously that letter was from after I had left last night. It only made sense to me.” She chirped back smugly.

I took the letter from her hand. 

“Thank you Fere, you are dismissed.” I grumbled back.

She turned and walked away with a hop in her step and I shut the door softly, turning to find Cassian groggy and laying on his stomach propped up on his elbows.

“What's going on, love?” He mumbled and yawned.

“You’ve got a letter, from a…” I looked over the letter and turned it in my hands reading it off to him. “From an Azriel.”

Cassian perked up and pulled himself from bed. “Let me see.” 

I passed him the piece of parchment and raked my eyes over his body, noting he could do with putting a bit of weight on, a dad bod would do him some justice.

“Fuck.” Cassian cursed as he read the letter over.

“What's wrong?” I asked, raising one brow.

“Azriel needs me to report back in, or else he's sending a spy team out.” Cassian mumbled.

“So? Go back to Velaris, that's your home you can always swing by the camp when you have free time. I’m not gonna bar you from the camp, many of my warriors and villagers like your presence.” I shrugged, pulling on my day clothes. 

“I figured I would have a day or two more before I would have to go back.” Cassian sighed.

“So go report back to the shadowsinger, that's what he is right? My father tried to bring him here once but Devlon refused to release him.  Report to him, give it a couple days, and when you get a chance swing up here.” I snapped the buttons on my side closed. “I can clear my schedule for the day with my good boy.” I tilted his chin up and planted a quick kiss on his lips, he pouted when I pulled away.

“You sure? I wouldn't want to get in the way of camp duties.” He looked up at me with those golden hazel puppy dog eyes. 

“I’m sure Cass. You are always welcome here, and you are always welcome in my bed.”  I tilted his chin up to me with a smile.

He smirked and wiggled his eyebrows back at me. I snorted and pushed him away. I moved to sit on a padded sofa and began lacing my boots back up. He stepped into the space behind me and placed kisses along the edge of my wings till he reached the leathers on my back. I shooed him away and he pouted dramatically as he began dressing into his own leathers. 

We slid down both flights of stairs. Ferelith had the door propped the study over, wiggling her own brows at me, I kissed Cassian farewell and slipped into my study while he slipped out the door. Ferelith looked awfully smug as she smiled up at me.

“What are you smug about?” I grilled her.

“Oh just that I definitely called Cassian having a thing for you, and now Leander, Saros, AND Larissa all owe me their cookies for a week.” She replied smuggly.

“You four placed bets on if Cassian liked me? Based on his actions purposely pissing me off?” I gave her a look of disbelief.

“Well there's more logic to it than that. Leander agreed with me but bet it would take longer. The other two disagreed but Saros said you would kick him out of the camp.” Ferelith chirped.

“Over the fucking mess hall’s cookies?” I furrowed my brows.

“Yup.” She smiled.

“Fucking mess hall cookies.” I sighed.

+

Over the next 5 years Cassian visited off and on, his final visit however felt off; he was anxious and on edge the entire three days he stayed with me.

“What's wrong?” I mumbled sitting against the headboard.

Cassian was laying on his stomach with his head in my lap, The silk sheets exposing the upper portion of his naked body as he bathed his wings in the rays of sun that came through the windows. 

“Something just feels off, like something wrong is happening. I'm worried about Rhys, it's been 45 years, Az’s spies can't even get anywhere near the mountain yet. I dont know im just a big ball of anxiety and at the same time its making me want to be protective over you and all of my family.” Cassian sighed nuzzling against my stomach and thighs. 

I ran my fingers through his hair, “I’m sure it will all be okay Cass.” 

Oh how wrong I was on that, it would not be okay. It would not be okay for at least 6 more years. I had ended up pregnant after Cassian's last visit, I had waited to tell him till the next time he appeared at my doorstep; but he didnt show, I got letters from him for sure. After our child had been born, a male that was undeniably ours, with Cassian’s tanned skin, hazel eyes, and black hair but my massive and white wings. 

I had ended up never truly telling Cassian, even when I had seen him for a split moment during the war with hybern. I had seen him in passing, dragging Larissa into a medtent while he was dragged into a medtent by Azriel and Rhys. The other two had no clue about the real nature of our relationship, that he had fathered the next heir of the star children’s bloodline.

By the time Rhys had released my squadron to go back to Angelsrest, I had yet to see Cassian but had got the privilege to meet my sister in law Feyre. I missed my boy, I had named him Rigel, after a star in the sky above my camp; and was just ready to go home and have him back in my arms. I dismissed the thought of searching for Cassian and regrouped with my generals.

My wings had ended up being fairly tattered around the edges of the membrane, the flight home was rough with the cold biting at the new wounds. We all landed and Rigel was bouncing beside Ferelith, he called out for me and jumped into my arms. Thankfully my camp suffered no major losses, it was handy being a specialist team with advanced training, our worst injury had been Larissa’s wing: A sword had gone through one of them and ripped a major hole through it, thankfully a healer managed to get the wing to heal itself back together with minor scarring.

Life continued on as it had before the war, before Cassian, with the addition of Rigel in the child classes we held. Everything had been food until Rhysand appeared at the front of camp. Solstice preparations were in progress, headed by a heavily pregnant Ferelith; she had been hooking up with Saros apparently since the bet.

I had come out of my study to force her to take a break when Rhys smiled at me, everyone in camp stilled and watched on silently; my wings flared in warning. The entire camp stayed silent until a loud cry broke out, I knew that cry… it was Rigel. I fought down my panic, as Ferelith waddled forward clutching Rigel in her grasp the best she could. His wings were scratched up and bloody, Saros was heading the children's class and was teaching them how to fly today; Rigel must have had a bad crash. Ferelith stilled when she saw Rhys there, but I motioned for Rigel to be brought up to me.

“Momma!” Rigel had cried in my arms and Rhys’s eyes widened.

“Sister… May we speak in private?” Rhys suggested eyed locked onto Rigel.

I motioned for him to join me in my home, but instead of my office I led him into a toy cluttered living room. I rocked Rigel and looked over his wings, Rhys sat stiffly across from me and his eyes never left Rigel’s tear-stained face. 

“He looks inexplicably like Cassian.” Rhys bluntly stated.

“That's because he is Cassian’s” I snipped back at Rhys.

“How?” Rhys mumbled. 

“Surely you know how babes are made, Rhys.” I said sarcastically.

“You know what I mean sister.” He deadpanned.

“About 11 years ago now, I sent a letter to you but you were under the mountain. Cassian came instead. We hit it off from there, about 6 years ago now I gave birth to Rigel here.” I replied.

Rigel’s sniffles slowed and he looked over at Rhys. “Rigel baby, this is your uncle Rhysand.” 

Rugel waved at rhys and yawned, Rhys waved back and Rigel began rubbing at his eyes trying to fight off the exhaustion crying caused. 

“He is astonishing. Does Cass know?” Rhys mumbled again.

“No I tried to tell him through letters but he never showed back up here, then at the war the only time I saw him was when you were dragging him into the med kit. I just resigned myself to keeping silent about it from Cassian.”I shrugged and Rigel nuzzled into my arm, soft snores coming from him.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Rhys sighed. 

“It's fine. You came here for a reason brother, what's wrong?” I changed the subject as quickly as I could.

“Well, originally I came here because both Feyre and I have been on this family united kick, and I suggested we invite you to Solstice. Feyre agreed, you see, it's also her birthday.” Rhys rambled. “But now with Rigel in the picture I believe you should come even more. It would be one hell of a solstice present.” 

“Only if Rigel is welcome will I come and I will leave if there is any drama over him.” I stood my ground.

“GREAT! Wonderful! Absolutely! That is expected of you my dear sister, we can't wait to see you there, I’ll show you from the House of the Wind then?” Rhsy stood excitedly.

I nodded in agreement, the solstice was only a week away. I would have to prepare both myself and Rigel for the emotional roller coaster this very well could be. 

When the week passed I strapped Rigel into fur covered leathers His wings were large, yes, and he could keep himself in the air for short periods of time and he could glide for sure, but he wouldn’t be able to make the flight between Velaris and our camp by himself, I had instructed him if he was tired to call out for me and I'd carry him. We would stay at the mountain house on solstice eve and Rhys would bring us down on solstice morning.  He had written to me to tell everyone to expect to buy a present for a male illyrian child and for his sister.  He had told me he bluffed when any of them asked, since he had explained I was his adopted sister who ran a camp for talented illyrians in the mountains and told them I had taken Rigel under my wing. He knew they would know the truth of his parentage the second they saw us but it was easier to bluff until we met them in person, so Cassian would still be surprised and Rigel would get solstice presents.  Rigel tired out about a quarter of the way through the flight and I carried him the rest of the way to Velaris.

I had bought Rigel a set of play armor with siphons and a fake sword, for Rhys I had gotten him a sculpture from one of our artists i had seen him eyeing when he invited me to solstice, Cassian's gift was Rigel, i didn't know much of the others so I let Rhys pick out gifts for me. 

Rhys was at the house with Feyre when I landed, both of them greeting me happily. Rigel was awake and jumped out of my arms to greet Rhys and Feyre. The latters eye widened as she processed who his sire had been.

“Oh my god he's Cassian’s isn't he?” She asked quickly.

Both Rhys and I nodded.

“Ohhhhhkay well tomorrow is going to be exciting.” Feyre sighed. “Get some rest you two we will see you in the morning.” 

Rhys showed us to our rooms before he showed himself out. I tucked Rigel into his bed, and was tucking myself into my own when a knock came from my balcony door; Cassian was standing outside with an eager smile on his face. I motioned for him to enter my room and he did so eagerly, throwing himself into my arms.

“Hey there momma, I figured I should call you that now since you’ve taken that boy under your wing now.” Cassian purred in my arms as I played with his hair.

“Actually Cass, about that…” I mumbled. 

“What’s up Momma?”  Cass hummed.

“Come with me Cass, I want you to meet him, I think you two will get along.” I purred back at him.

Cassian agreed, and I pulled him into Rigel’s room. Rigel was fast asleep on his stomach, wings neatly tucked over the blanket to hold it in place. Cassian slinked forward and moved Rigel’s bangs from his face. 

Cass sat at the side of his bed, running his fingers through the boy's hair. “He’s got your wings, you didn’t just take him under yours he is yours.” 

“That he is Cass, but you’ve recognized something else too haven’t you.” I stepped forward lowering myself onto my knees in front of Cassian.

“He looks so familiar yet so different, like looking in a mirror.” Cassian mumbled.

“You know why that is right Cass?” I placed my hand on his knee and he looked over to me with those caramel puppy dog eyes.

“He's mine isn’t he?” Cassian had tears welling in his eyes.

“Yeah, Cassian, he is yours. I wanted to tell you earlier but you weren't able to come to the camp despite all my urging, and then the next time I saw you Rhysand and azriel were dragging you into a med tent.” I replied sadly.

“I could have had so much more time with you, I could have had a life with you earlier… Oh mother, I’ve missed so much of his life that I can’t make up for.” Cassian began quietly sobbing, as to not wake the child he now knew was his son.

“You can still be there for him Cass, I’m sure there is still room in our lives for you.” I mumbled.

“I’d love that. I really would. I’m just so sorry I couldn’t have been there earlier. I’ve been so miserable here doing Feyre and Rhys’s bidding. Feyre’s sister is my mate you see, but I have never wanted anything to do with her, and she's miserable to be around. I’ve thought about breaking it plenty of times and now you have just given me a solid reason to.” Cassian wiped his tears and grasped my hands in his.

“Cass…”I gave him a look of pity.

“You’d still have me then wouldn’t you? There would still be room for me wouldn’t there?” Cassian whimpered.

“Oh Cassian! Of course there is, like I told you there will always be a place open for you with me.”  I pulled him down into a chaste kiss.

“I wish I could have been there for his younger years, I’ve missed so many milestones already.” Cassian sighed.

“Don’t worry Daddy, there's always more milestones ahead.” I soother him with an added nickname, he whimpered out a sob.

‘Can we have another one too? I wanna be there for the firsts at least once, I wanna be able to support you through everything at least once.” He begged softly.

“Oh my good boy of course we can, now lets go climb into bed, get some good sleep and in the morning we can go out together to the house. You can take Rigel with you to the snowball fight you told me about.” I mused.

“Rigel? That’s his name?” I nodded to Cassian’s question. “That’s the name of the star above your camp isn’t it? The star the father sent to guide you home?” Cassian sniffled.

“Yes, I named him after that star.” I nodded.

He pulled me up from the floor and spun me around. “To bed then?”

“To bed.” I nodded.

“So we can face tomorrow as a family united.” Cassian smiled brightly and pulled me into a kiss.

I knew from here on out Rigel and I’s lives would change forever, and Cassian would fit right into it as our missing pieces. Tomorrow I would let Cassian introduce himself to Rigel and the two could bond over the snowball fight with Rhysand and Azriel. Everything is going to be okay, and Cassian would make sure of that, he had purpose and reason now; he was excited to move forward with his son and to help bring in a new one and raise it, this time he would be there for the firsts he’d make sure of that.

Taglist: @lilah-asteria

[nattblacklupin]

Never was much of a romantic 2

Pairing: Cassian x fem! illyrian! Reader

Summary: Cassian and Y/N found out they are mates. (Part two would recommend reading Part one, but it can be read as stand-alone)

Warnings: The first half is fluff the second smut (you can choose which one you will read or if both)(MDNI 18+ for the second half), praise kink, Cassian calls Reader slut (in nice way), p in v, oral fem receiving, lots of dirty talk (like lot lot), dry humping, thigh riding, kinda rough

Part one ● masterlist

Y/N couldn't contain her shock - you're telling her that the god who stands in front of her, general of the night court armies, Lord of bloodshed is her mate?

Not just her saviour or for some time her idol. But her mate.

"You're my mate," you stated as if it wasn't obvious, as if it was some dirty secret you both share. ,,and you're mine, " responded Cassian with the same intensity, his face slowly turning into one of pure happiness. His hands found your waist and tugged you closer to him. Your chest on his as you looked at his lips. They were full and pink, and you wondered how they would feel on yours. Cassian, luckily, didn't let you wait for long and closed the gap that was bettwen you two.

His kiss was everything except what you expected. He kissed you gently, like he was scared he's gonna break you, like you would disappear under his touch, and all of this would be just dream. Dream from whose you both would wake up gasping, wishing for more.

Both of you parted breathing heavily. "I swear to protect you till my last breath. No one will hurt you now, " Cassian said like his whole life purpose now was you and your safety. "Hm, I would for sure like that general"

His whole body stiffed, and you knew that the title did something to him. Cause the next second, his lips were back at yours with more intensity than before.

"You two should get room before I personally kick you out of there," both of you ignored Devlon. Like he wasn't there, the only thing that mattered was your newfound bond. Devlon probably took it as his sign to leave, of course not without babbling to himself. But you couldn't bring yourself to care. He can give you harder training or force you to not train tomorrow. Now cassian was the only one who mattered.

"He was probably right, sweetheart." You just nodded, too breathless to even answer. He laughed at that "such a effect I hold over you, and we didn't even start property yet"

You gave him look full of suprise "you...really want to accept the bond with me?" Cassian looked at you like you had two heads."I just made out with you in the middle of illyrian camp, and you thought I would reject you?" You looked away in shame. He was right. If he didn't want you, he would leave a long time ago.

He put his hand on your cheek, and you melted in his touch.

,,sweetie, I swear to Mother that I will be there for you no matter what. Not even death can keep me away from you now that I finally have you. I will kill for you. Just one word and whole word will fall down to your knees. I promise to worship you as a goodness you are. " his forehead met yours in a gesture that made his words sound even more genuine.

You couldn't help the words that left you afterwards, maybe it was too fast. Maybe you two were rushing things, being careless. But at the end of the day, he was your mate, and your love should last forever.

"I love you, Cassian." his smile grew bigger, and he kissed the top of your nose.

"I love you more"

(Smut from now)

You didn't even know when you got to your cabin or how Cassian knew where to go, but you were glad that you got there.

His lips never left yours while he navigated you to the closest surface. He put his hands on your waist and put you on the cabin you have in your hallway.

"First time with your mate, and you won't even take me in bed?" You said breathlessly while running your hand over his whole frame. His muscles flexed under your hands when he whispered in your ear "Don't worry mate, I will take you everywhere in this house, in every fucking position until you can't remember anything other than me. I will keep you on my cock till it molds into you and no one will ever satisfy you as I do"

You clenched your thighs at his words, and your arousal could be smelled everywhere. "I will take good care of you. Treat you really well. " His kisses moved from your lips to your neck, and he didn't stop there. In moment your shirt was laying on the ground, you didn't care, you didn't care that at the end of the night you probably are going to need new furniture, you didn't care that the whole camp will hear both of you. Nothing was more important than his lips on your neck.

Your hands tugged at his hair when he put you on his thigh. "C'mon baby, show me what you got." That was the last motivation you needed as you slowly started to move your hips. He put his hands on your hips and helped you move faster.

"That's right, you're doing a good job." You started moving even faster. Muscles on his thigh pleasurably stimulating your clit making you moan Cassians name like a prayer. "Yeah baby, that's it." You felt yourself coming closer to the edge, your moans getting louder and your breaths getting more rigid, when suddenly everything stopped. "Cass -" you whimper. "Sorry, sweetheart, but your first orgasm is going to be on my tongue." He whispers in your lips while going down on his knees.

He hooks his fingers in the band of your pants and slowly takes them down, edging you and making you irritated at him. First, he doesn't let you come, and then he's slow with it, too.

"Cassian... please." You never was the type to beg, but for this man, you would do everything he asked you to. "Don't be impatient, baby," He looks up while kissing your inner thigh. "I will give you everything you desire"

Gods were on your side cause it didn't take him that much time to take down your underwear. Through you half lidded eyes, you looked at him. He looked so pretty on his knees just for you. His hair falls from his bun just perfectly, and his hazel eyes look at you with a look that nearly brings you to knees with him. "You're so pretty," you said at the same time his tongue took first lick of your cunt. His licks were gentle and careful. Like he was on battlefield, thinking of all possibilities, making plans to win the battle. He for sure was making plans to win this battle.

His licks stayed gentle only for some while, which you couldn't help but be glad for. There is no room for patience when you have this beautiful man under you. His lips curled around your clitoris while his finger slowly made way into you and started moving and stretching you out. You tried to hold in your moans, covering your mouth with your hands to let out only a minimum of the sounds you're making, too embarrassed about how this man makes you feel in way no one else ever did. But soon, your hands were against the wall in iron grip. "Never hide your moans from me. They are the most beautiful melody I ever heard, " that made you moan louder. Cassian hummed in approval against your clitoris and it was the last thing you needed to come.

You swear you never came so hard like now. Cassian slowly stood up, his mouth shining in light from your juices. He licks around his mouth, looking like a starved man. "You taste delicious, my little mate." Without giving you time to respond, he took you in his arms and walked to your bedroom.

He put you on your bed and took off the rest of his clothes as fast as he could. He leaned towards you, his lips meeting yours in another fight of dominance, even if you both knew who would win. "Take me, take me now, Cassian." He smiled against your lips while teasing your entrance with his tip. "Magic word?"

"Please, I beg you, fuck me like there is no tomorrow. Fuck me like I'm nothing more than your slut" Cassian pushed himself into you in one thrust "someone would like to be my slut, hm" he hummed while staying still inside of you, making sure you're ready for him. "Yes, please,"

He didn't need anything more and started moving inside of you. Both of you moaned loudly at that sensation and couldn't keep your moans to yourself. "Yeah that's good, my pretty little slut. Go on moan for me, let the whole Windhaven hear who you belong to"

His eyes were buried in yours. One of his hands was holding your hand while the other was massaging your boob. He thought that you looked like divine goodness, goodness at his mercy, goodness that belongs to him. He will thank the mother for the rest of his life for giving you him. He couldn't help himself but get faster and rougher. The thought of you being just his made him feral.

"Cass I-" his hand caressed your face "I know sweetheart, come on my cock" With loud moan you had your second orgams of the night which totally wasn't the last one.

Your cunt was clenching him so good he couldn't help but cum right after you. With last powerful thrust of his hips, he filled you up and then fell next to you. You turned to him and cuddled to his side. "That was something," you said breathlessly, never feeling such pleasure as you did with him. "I want round two." Cassian laughed at you and, with a smile on his face, kissed you till you both were breathless.

"Your wish is my command"

[readychilledwine]

After reading your beron fic… if you wrote Arobynn Hamel or Lord Devlon smut… 👀 I’m not saying I’d eat it up but let me just stay over here with my daddy issues HAH

👀👀👀 noted..

(I have amarantha x reader x dark!Rhys, Pollux x Hunt's sister reader, Apollion x reader. I can add them to my list of bad guys we'd like to ride)

[tadpolesonalgae]

Lord Devlon x reader: Give Me What I Want.[*] - Sneak Peek!

A/N: I would be very happy to write for him more frequently. Also, this fic is going up tonight at 19:00 (England) so I hope you enjoy!! :)

Warnings: smut

‘He snarls into your mouth as your nails graze the base of his wings, the tendons shuddering beneath the feather-light touch. His hold loosens, allowing you to slide down a little, his arousal pressing flush to your centre. Hips buck as you attach your mouth to his neck, your Lord stalking from the kitchen, prowling through your house so he can bed you. Teeth scrape over a pulse point, hands squeezing your ass in response, shifting you in his arms so your centre rubs over him.

Forearm slides beneath you, hand gripping the nape of your neck, unlatching your mouth from his throat. Siphons burn the colour of thunder-clouds, hazel sharp as it pierces into you. “Hands and knees,” he grits out. “On the double.”’

[nattblacklupin]

Fierce protector

Pairing: Lord Devlon x fem!reader

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, illyrian soilders inappropriately touching reader (nothing too intense), fighting? (Not really, but still), kinda suggestive at the end but no smut

Summary: Lord Devlon protects his mate no matter what

Masterlist

Everyone in Windhaven was scared of Lord Devlon, one wrong move or word, and he will destroy you the next training. He was especially fierce about training the women in the camp, his mate helped him realise they could be good and useful fighters too. Now it takes one bad word about any woman in the camp, and you got it. Training or, in worst case, punishment that will surely teach everyone their place.

Today was one of these days, and Devlon wasn't letting them go easy today. They spoke too openly about his mate. They should be glad he didn't kill them. Just the thought of yesterday events was making him see red.

He was waiting for his mate to finish her shift in the pub. He told her uncountable times she didn't have to work and that he will take care of her, but she refused every time. Devlon wasn't happy about it, but if his mate wishes to work, he will have it and respect it. His mate matters to him the most and if he has to stay in her pub whole shift just to scare of drunk horny warriors then let it be like that, anything just too see her smile at the end of the day.

Today started as a normal night for both of them. Y/N made sure everyone got their drinks while he was making sure she is alright. The men can get quite handsy, which he totally won't tolerate, not with any woman and totally not with his mate.

"Hello pretty, could you please give us three shots?" One of the soilders yelled at you. He immediately turned to them. It's not something new that men compliment you. He himself does that nearly every day. But he was keeping eye on them. Young warriors often didn't know when to keep their mouth shut. Their table was close to Devlon, so no word that left they shameful mouth didn't miss him. He was still left with a cold mind. Let them fantasise. You would never even get close to them in that way.

You were used to drunk men, their words just pointless part in your night. Their order was quickly done, and you started walking to their table. On your way, you shot Devlon quick smile. You missed him - like it isn't only half an hour since you last kissed him.

Everything was going smoothly, and they didn't do anything stupid till you were leaving them to take care of other orders. One of them whistled and slapped your ass. In a second, his hand was grabbed by your mate, and the soilder was on the ground.

"You wanna try that again?" Devlon growed at him. How dares he touch his mate like that? Only he can do that. The illyrian soldier was nearly peeing his pants while begging for forgiveness. Devlon didn't see through his anger, all his instincts were screaming at him to protect mate and kill any potentional threat to her.

,,Devlon, love, let him go. You can punish him on the training tomorrow. But don't let him destroy the night today. " You knew how to calm down your husband. These little angry scenes were nearly on a daily routine. Devlon could control himself, just not when it came to you, his only weakness.

,,let's go home, love. " you said and took his hand to slowly lead him away from the soilder. He luckily did let go, and his hand went around your waist. ,,talk to my mate like that one more time, and I will literally kill you." He was dead serious when he said that ,,that goes for all of you."

You quickly nodded at your coworker so they knew you were leaving. Everyone was probably happy that you decided to leave sooner, and they didn't have to deal with their angry commander.

The moment you left the pub, you kissed him. The kiss was fast and heated. Nothing sweet about it, but at the moment, you knew that Devlon needed to calm himself somehow, with what you will gladly help him further at home. Your lips left his, and you looked up to smile at him.

,,my fierce protector."

[tadpolesonalgae]

i never knew i would enjoy lord devlon smut

i’m obsessed 😋😋

I’m glad you like it!! Hopefully a there’ll be some more for him in the future!! 🧡💛

(I’m planning on writing a Devlon x Archeron sister reader one at some point where they’re mates since that was the initial request—I think it would also be hilarious for the bat boys to see Devlon acting soft around his mate after growing up with him being an absolute terror😭)