#Tamlin didn’t burn your houses down

[wallflowers-in-the-wind]

If people can like Disney Villains, Voldemort, Rhysand, or literally any villain in the history of forever and the world still exists. People liking Tamlin is not going to cause the damn apocalypse.

[sarawritestories]

Unwavering Presence Chapter 5

Cassian X Archeron Sister

Summary: Y/N falls into a routine and finds her place in the Night Court. Even gets to have a one on one moment with the renowned Spymaster. But her anxiety spikes when Rhys and Mor Bring Feyre back urgently from the Spring Court

Content Warning; Nothing comes to mind

Word Count: 3.1

Masterlist Chapter 4

The next few days I was able to fall into a routine. Mornings were dedicated to training with Cassian, where I could feel my body getting stronger little by little. The more I trained, I found that the nightmares were kept at bay. Lunches were spent with Rhys. He was casually asking me questions about Feyre. Her favorite color, if she had any favorite meals before we lost our fortune, any embarrassing stories I could share. Along with that he would lay out the King of Hybern’s plan and how he wanted to take the Human lands back. He gave me more information than Tamlin and Lucien were willing to share.   Then Mor would take me to the closest café before we explored the town and all the shops.

After a long day of working out Mor made sure to take me clothes shopping to make sure I had a sufficient wardrobe even though we had gone shopping the day before. My hands were full of the bags from today’s excursion as walked toward the dimly lit sitting room of the town house. Azriel was lounging on the sofa staring at the fire in quiet contemplation, a glass of whiskey in his hand. “Hey, Az.” I dropped the bags and his head moved toward the thudding sound. He tilted his head, his mouth pressed in a tight line as his gaze met mine, a silent question in the air. “Mor made me buy every item that I glanced at for longer than 5 seconds.” He huffed out a breathy laugh, but I noticed how his shadows perked at the sound of the blonde female’s name.

Azriel lips quirked, and he reached over to the end table of the sofa and grabbed an empty glass and filled it with the Amber liquid and held it out for me patting the spot next to him. I dragged my feet over to him and grabbed the drink in thanks for taking a seat on the other end of the sofa, my back resting on the arm rest where I’m facing the spymaster. I hadn’t spent a lot of time with the Spymaster, he had been out doing some missions and I only got to see him in passing. “Thanks!” he nodded and clinked his glass with my own. I took a sip and let the burn of the amber liquid warm my throat. I watched as the shadows swirled around his shoulders and his wings; they were magnificent. “Have you always had your shadows.

Azriel took a sip of his drink, “For as long as I can remember.”  He looked at me mischief in his eyes as a breath of cold kissed the back of neck and both of my wrists. Looking down at the sudden temperature change I found his shadows swirled around my arms like the night mist kissing my skin and tickling the back of my neck causing me to giggle. I lifted my free hand and watched as the shadows slid around my arm and through my fingers the scent of citrus and the night breeze wafted through my nose.

I was entranced by their movements and the sensation of them along my skin, “They’re so beautiful.”

I could feel the sofa move and I didn’t need to look to see he was shifting, not used to the compliment I paid his shadows. Though he whispered through his glass, “Thanks,” throwing back the rest of the liquid. He didn’t even flinch from the burn of the alcohol as I tore my eyes from the shadows that were now settling into my hands. Azriel stared back into the fire, his hand idly twisting his glass around his knee. The firelight accentuated the white scars covering his hands. Cassian left out how Azriel got those scars when he talked about how he and Az met, and I would never pry, but he looked glum. There was a haunted look gracing his features and it unsettled something deep in me.

I set my own glass down the whiskey long forgotten and scooted closer to Az. I was about to reach out and looped my arm around his and I caught how he tensed at my reached-out arm, and I retracted my arm the shadows pulling it in protest. As if they wanted me to reach my hand out. “I’m so sorry, Azriel,” I scooted back from him. The shadows left my arms and returned to their master. “I should have asked if it was ok to touch you.” I sighed and looked up at the ceiling guilt building in my gut. “I tend to want to link arms or hold hands or hug anyone who may be feeling sad. I’ve never been good with words but when I sense someone’s sad,” I looked at Azriel, “Or brooding.” Az snorted, but I pressed forward, “Feyre was never one to talk about her feelings including hard messy feelings, but I always knew when she needed me to hold her hand or be nearby. Apparently knowing I was there good enough for her.” Az nodded his head as in understanding.

I scooted once more to create more distance and clasp my hands together and looked at the fire letting the silence blanket us. My thoughts went back to Feyre and how lonely and afraid she might have been feeling. The anxiousness she might be feeling thinking that I’m dead. She was already falling apart while I was there, Tamlin happy to let her wither away. I closed my eyes and tried to level my breathing. The new month was approaching, and I would be able to see her. Would she be angry that I wasn’t dead or think that I ran away and abandoned her. What if she thou-

I blinked once, twice, and was able to acknowledge that a scarred hand over my clasped ones. The softness of them going against the raised skin covering them along with the warmth they provided. The warmth contrasted with the cool kisses his shadows skittering over my cheeks I finally met the Hazel eyes of Azriel that were so much like Cassian’s but different he had more flecks of green. “Your heartrate spiked; you were thinking so hard It was as I could see every thought that appeared in your head.”

Slinking one hand out of his grasp keeping one hand in his deciding the intertwining my fingers with his. There is a silent moment before he weaved his fingers through mine.” I smiled looking back at our entwined hands. “You remind me of Cassian you know.” My head snapped back to the Shadowsinger and he smiled, “When Rhys and Cass found me, and then tormented me like the pricks they are. Whenever I was stressed or scared, Cass would always put a hand on me should or bump shoulders with me. Especially In those first few months when I was free from my imprisonment. He always wanted me to know that he was there and that he had my back.” He gave me another small smile, “Because he knew that I didn’t talk especially big messy feelings.” I smiled as he threw my words back at me.

I leaned my head on his shoulder, “He’s a good male.” I whispered.

He pressed his cheek against the top of my head, “You’re a good woman, Y/N.” I felt the shadows swirl around our entwined hands, “You’re a good sister.”

I closed my eyes for a breath moment and let his scent calm me. “I wish that were the truth, Az.” I lifted my heads and gave him a small smile, “What kind of sister lets her twin get her neck snapped?” I yawned and was met with his concerned look, and I waved him off. “So, Mor’s pretty huh?”

Az groaned and leaned his head on the back of the couch, “Have you always been a busy body like this?”

I smiled at him, “For as long as I can remember, Shadowsinger.” I threw his words back at him. “Don’t worry. I won’t press you on it. She is gorgeous but that’s coming from a plain human girl. Everyone here is extremely pretty.” He rolled his eyes but gave her a smile. “I’m heading to bed, the last thing I want is for Cassian to make me run for being late.”

“Or have water splashed on you in bed. He’s notorious for that.” I snorted to myself, “I’ll be joining you guys tomorrow. Not that you mind the alone time with our general.” Heat crept in my face, “I just want to get some training in before I’m heading out again.”

“You’ll be a nice addition.” I bite my lip, “Do you like your position, Az?”

Azriel furrowed his brow, “I do. Why do you ask?”

I shrugged, “It just seems like being Spymaster can be lonely. I know you have known the Inner Circle for centuries, but if you ever want to talk, I’m around.” I blow him a kiss, “Good Night, Spymaster.”

“Good Night, Y/N.”

***

The next morning, I stepped out in the blazing sun to see the two Illyrian’s shirtless and sparring. Sweat coated both of their brows. Two predators were circling around ready to strike and I could not help but stare in awe. Azriel’s eyes flicked to me and back to Cassian whose back was to me his wings tucked back tightly, hair up in a bun. Azriel shifted his features into one of worry and Cassian spun in my direction and he immediately recognized his mistake. Azriel took the opportunity to strike fist hitting the middle of his back, Cassian barely flinched in pain.

He turned back to the Shadowsinger and went in straight for an attack. Punch. Dodge, sweep of the leg, The way Cassian fought was like the way Nesta would dance on the ballroom floor and there was a pang of sadness that hit my chest at the thought of my sister. I wondered if either of them missed me or Feyre. I honestly doubted it as they never really cared of my presence before so my absence would not make a difference doesn’t mean that I didn’t miss them and wished for Elain to brush my hair or Nesta to read me a story like they did when we were small.

A grunt pulled me from those thoughts to find Cassian putting Azriel in a chokehold, Cassian’s wings flared in triumph. “You gonna tap, Az.”

Az smirked and gave me a playful wink, “Not a chance.” Quickly Az stuck his leg and wrapped it around Cassian’s knee and twisted his body and Cassian found himself on his back and Cassian had just enough time to tuck his wings so that it wouldn’t scrape going down. Az in a snap had his hand to Cassian’s throat keeping his wings tucked.

Cassian’s eyes shifted toward me ever so slightly and an idea bloomed in my head. I gave him a wink and made a show of stumbling causing. Azriel didn’t take his eyes off his prey, and I let the world tilt on its access and collapse on the floor the sun blazing on my cheeks and behind my eye lids. I could hear feet shifting and shuffling. A scarred hand grazed my cheek, “Shit, Y/N” Panic laced in his voice, and I opened one of my eyes to see Azriel flaring his wings to block the sun from my face.

Azriel gazed back at me in a daze and Cassian placed him back in a headlock. Azriel eyes shone shock. “Do you yield, Shadowsinger?” I teased a playful smirk gracing my lips.

Azriel reluctantly tapped Cassian’s arms and the General released his friend. “You’re an evil little thing, Archeron.” Azriel rose and walked over to the water station. I remained lying down and enjoyed the sun on my face.

Shadows blocked my sunlight and then Leather and Sandal wood wafted over me. “What a clever little stunt you pulled, Princess.” I opened my eyes to see Cassian, basically touching his nose to mine. His eyes gleamed brightly and there was a sense of pride in his face, a smile wide across his handsome tan face. “Clever wicked, Woman.” He whispered, nudging his nose with mine and I smiled placing my hands on his chest and lightly pushing so I could sit up. He got to his feet and held out a hand,

I placed my hand in his and he hoisted me up and I stood up with such speed I ran into his chest. He wrapped an arm around my waist, to stabilize me, “You, okay?” He asked concern worn on his features.

I nodded and the General released me from his grasp. “I have to say I was hoping you would get what I was trying to do.” He chuckled as he put his shirt back on.

“Oh, he got it alright, He will always find a reason to cheat. Since we were children.” Azriel grumbled. Handing some water to his brother.

Before Cassian could argue Mor ran through the door with urgency, her eyes scouring until her brown eyes locked on mine, “Y/N we have a problem. Tamlin locked Feyre in a manor, she freaked out. Rhys could feel her pain, her fae power erupted. I brought her to Rhys.”

A hand slid around my waist, as the words sank in. “Is she okay?”

Mor’s lips formed in a tight line, “She’s unconscious but we got her out of the manor.”

My hand slid over the one on my waist to ground me. “Where is she?”

“Rhys took her to the House of Wind.”

“Cassian.” I whispered.

Cassian had me in his arms in an instant, “Hang on.” He instructed me and I wrapped my arms around his neck as he shot to the sky. My grip on him tightened and I closed my eyes as the speed we were going made my eyes water.

Time moved slowly even though Cassian was flying at rapid speeds. Feyre was alone when she was abandoned by Tamlin, and I wasn’t there. I am no better than Tamlin leaving her on her own. “Stop.” Cassian gritted. I opened my eyes, “Its not your fault.” He said as he landed on the balcony of one of the rooms. He placed me down and I was about to run find Rhys when his hand gripped my arm, “Princess, listen to me.” I paused, “This. Is. Not. Your fault. Tamlin did this, not you. You don’t need to shoulder this burden.”

I bit my lip and gave him a curt nod; the General released my arm and I darted to go find Rhys. I ran through the hall and followed the pull that I always have for my sister. I slammed open the door and Rhys stood his eyes rimmed red. “Y/N.” His voice was drowned out by my sister’s unconscious body. Her breath rising and falling.

Y/N, she’s fine. She had a major panic attack. She’s just sleeping it off.

I sat at the foot of the bed and gripped my sister’s ankle and rubbed my thumb. Her chest rising and falling in even Rhythm.

“Y/N did you eat?” Rhys asked, his voice hoarse.

“Rhysand.” I whispered and his hand gripped my shoulder and gives it a comforting squeeze, “Shut up. I just want to be with my sister.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No. Stay.”

Rhys moved a chair next to the one he was sitting on, a purple lounge chair a chair that could accommodate wings. “That chair is yours when you want to move. I’ll go bring you some food.” I nodded as he walked out and shut the door behind him.

Once the door closed, did I let the tears fall as I squeezed her ankle, “Feyre, I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

I sighed and moved to the chair and sat there while I watched her chest rise and fall afraid if I look away she’s going to stop.

***

I was sitting on the large chair Rhys left for me, my knees tucked to my chest watching the rise and fall of Feyre's chest. I hadn't kept track of the hours and meals missed, just the even breathing of my slumbering sister. I could feel Rhys behind me he had not been able to sit down, and they came back from the Spring Court. I lifted my arm out of my palm open. Rhys slid his hand into mine. "She'll be okay, Rhys."

 "I know," His voice was hoarse. I felt his lips abnormally dry on the top of my hand, "Get some sleep. She's not going to wake up anytime soon."

"I'm fine." I leaned my head on the back of the chair.

There was a prolonged silence, Rhys's thumb swiping the top of my hand when there was a knock on the door, and door creaked open and a familiar deep voice filled the room, "Y/N, can I steal you?"

 I didn't look at Cassian focused on Feyre's pale gaunt face guilt overriding my system, "No, I won't leave her." The door shut, and Rhys released my hand. Boot thudded on the tile, and I could feel the General's gold flecked eyes on me.

"Princess, you need to sleep."

A tan hand tucked a strand of hair behind me, "I can't leave her. Not when this is my fault." My voice was hollow to my own ears as I reached out and stroked my sisters, overheated cheek and leaning back.

 A sigh rang in the room, and strong arms lifted me from the chair, and before I could protest, Cassian was sitting where I was adjusting his wings in a comfortable position and placing me on his lap. “What are you doing?”

His toned, muscled hands tucked me close, and he maneuvered his wings to provide warmth “I know when I’m not going to win a battle. So, I’m compromising.”

The comforting smell of Leather and Sandalwood flooded my nose, and calm and exhaustion ran through my bones. I stilled and whispered, “Why?”

 Cassian pressed his forehead to mine and whispered, “You take care of all your loved ones. Someone needs to take care of you. Someone to remind you this is not your fault, and you shouldn't punish yourself because of what happened. Rhys is here. You are not the only one who wants and can take care of your sister." He pulled away, and I finally met his gaze. He patted his shoulder, indicating where I should lay my head, and I obeyed the silent command. "Good, now close your eyes, Princess." I did and let the sounds of the fire pull me under, and I swore I felt gentle lips upon my forehead.

***

Cassian POV

The steady heartbeat of Y/N's chest almost lulls me to sleep when Rhys softly speaks, "I'm going to need you to go to Windhaven."

I softly swore working hard not to wake up the sleeping woman in my arms, "Are you kidding me?"

Rhys looked exhausted and rubbed his face, "We are going to need the Illyrians you'll need to spend some time there to make them more willing to join the cause." I formed a tight line on my lips. "It's bad Cass."

I adjust my arm so that I could cradle Y/N's head as she adjusts and sighs contently. "What about Y/N and Feyre?"

Rhys looked at the woman in my arms, "Y/N will be training with Az he's coming home tomorrow. Feyre, will need time and I'll take care of her. Though Y/N is going to fight me on it."

I chuckled, "Probably. She loves fiercely and she's so protective of the people she loves."

Rhys gives a waned smile, "Just like someone else I know."

"Prick."

"You love me." Rhys leaned against his chair. "Rest Cass, you'll need your strength"

"You too, Rhys." and I took in the sweet Jasmine scent of Y/N and placed my head against the head rest and fell asleep, with Y/N tucked tightly in my arms.

Chapter 6

Story Tags: @hellodarling1357 @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @esposadomd @sleepylunarwolf @stressed-reader @kylaisra @marvelouslovely-barnes @magicstrengthandcourage @spideytingley @awkardnerd @donttellthecats @tastydewdrops @vermillionwinter @asweetblueberry2 @bunnyredgirl @homeslices @azriels-mate2 @oksloan3 @wallacewillow0773638 @fandom-crashlanding @writingstreetspirit @hannzoaks @minnieloo @tuggboatfishin @judig92 @atrxidxs @dustyinkpages @secretlyhers @mxblobby @blogforficslol @historygeekqueen @turtleshavesoulmates @scooobies @anuttellaa @earth-to-lottie @slytherintaco @fxckmiup @tinystarfishgalaxy @chessebookgirl

[writingmuses]

Love Potion 

Request: Based on a request for an IC x Reader, either a sex pollen fic or a magic potion fic (I may or may not do a sex pollen fic in the future 👀)

Elain x Reader, Nessian X Reader, Azriel x Reader, some mentions of Lucien X Reader (maybe I’ll do a prequel?) → a little bit for everyone. 

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, minors do not engage. Self-pleasure, fingering, grinding, breast play, p in v, biting, mentions of being under the influence. 100% consensual. ANGST.

Use of she/her for the reader. The reader is Rhy’s sister. 

Literal Porn with plot for the sake of porn but there is a lot of potential angst to turn this into an actual fic if anyone's interested by the end (so much drama to unpack). 

Synopsis: Reader accidentally drinks a love potion.  As desire courses through Y/Ns veins, and her inhibitions lower, she encounters the different members of the Inner Court.

Word count: 15.7K (WHOOPS)

-MOR-

“What is it?” Mor asks, gently tapping on the side of the glass pitcher. She brings her hands to her knees and lowers herself down to eye level with the fluid inside. She watches the plum-coloured liquid swirl within the glass, glimmering with tiny flecks of gold, dancing around one another to music that does not exist, suspended in infinite motion. 

She must admit that it is beautiful. That, however,  just makes her all the more suspicious. Mor blows an annoying stray curl out of her face and swivels to meet her cousin’s eyes. Rhysand’s violet gaze is clouded and dark, full of irritation. That means, Mor notes, that her dearest cousin is already aware of what’s inside the pitcher that has been gifted to her High Lady. 

“Yes, Lucien, do indulge my cousin and tell everyone about the swill you have brought into my home," Rhys voice clips. Lucien had arrived at the River House mere minutes ago, holding a large oak tray. On that tray sat the pitcher containing the mystery liquid, one ridiculously bejewelled challis, a single red rose, and, a note addressed to the High Lady:

Dearest Feyre,

I hope you are well and safe.

I apologize for my dismissal of your title as High Lady earlier this year. You are more worthy than any other female I have come across in my many centuries. 

I understand now that you would make a wondrous High Lady in any court. 

I am sending this note with Lucien along with my finest tea as a token of peace and as a toast to you in your new role. I would love for you to sample the wine and write me back letting me know how it made you feel. 

Please do not tell Rhysand of my gift to you, for I fear he would not understand this gesture between friends. 

I count the seconds to your reply.

All my love, 

Tamlin 

Lucien is quite pale. His normally bronzed skin looks ashy and his eyes are sullen. “Rhys… I-I know what you must be thinking.” The male clears his throat, worrying his bottom lip,“I’m sure he just wasn’t in his right mind - or maybe he didn’t know the properties of the liquid. Tam-” 

Darkness begins to creep out from behind Rhys, his face stony.“Do not mention that name in my house right now, Lucien. I have half a mind to winnow over to Spring and gut the coward where he stands.” Rhys holds the note in his hands and quickly crumples it into a tight ball. “Do not make excuses for that vile creature.” His eyes burn with fury as he sends the balled up note careening through the air, and right into the roaring fireplace.

Almost all of the inner court was gathered around the two males, standing tense and mystified at this interaction. Everyone is dressed in fine clothes and gathered at the River house for family dinner. “I’m confused,” Mor queries again, “Rhys, please tell us what is happening?” 

Feyre approaches her mate, resting a gentle hand on his bicep. He turns to look at her. Their eyes locked in a way only a pair of mates could. The two converse internally, and after a moment, Feyre gasps aloud. “A love potion? Rhys, truly?” 

“What the fuck?” Cassian chimes in, brows furrowed, attention turning to the ginger male. “Why the fuck would you bring this to us,” Cassian takes a lumbering step towards Lucien. Mor takes a step forward as well, gripping the General's arm, not in the mood to have dinner ruined just yet.  “Were you in on it?” Cassian barks to the son of Autumn.

“Cauldron no!” Lucien slinks back a step, eyes glued to his worn leather boots, trying to dissipate some of the tension in the room. “I brought it here to show you that Tamlin is desperate - and not above resorting to such vile means.” He clears his throat and looks up to Feyre, a small, apologetic smile on his lips. “I brought this here to warn you that Tamlin will likely try again and that you need to be on your guard.” 

It is Mor now, who takes another step forward, rage simmering beneath her skin. “Likely story you prick. I’ll-” she starts, but she is cut off by a hand on her shoulder. The High Lady had made her way over to Mor, now gripping her shoulder with a delicate hand. 

“He’s telling the truth,” Feyre concludes. She eyes Rhys, another one of their private discussions taking place within the confines of their own minds. “Lucien showed us.” 

“Feyre darling is correct," Rhys sighs, "Our dear friend Lucien here, while foolish - meant well.” the anger in his eyes disperses as Rhys nods a brief thanks to the ginger fae. “Besides,” he ponders, “ this love potion would have no ill effect on our dear High Lady.” 

“Now how’d you figure that Rhys?” Mor raises a brow at her cousin. 

“Because the High Dunce of Spring still believes I have Feyre under my evil spell.” Rhys wiggles his fingers at his mate, dry humour dancing in his eyes. “You see, the particular love potion good ol Tam picked out is called Affectus Revelare, also known as Feelings Revealed." Rhys gestures at the pitcher. "The potion itself is quite rare and rather ancient even by fae standards, which is why I'm not surprised none of you recognized it. Even you Az.” Rhys nods to the shadow singer in the corner. Azriel, who prides himself on his diverse knowledge of poisons, spells and potions, nods in thanks, upset with himself for not having been able to place the potion immediately. 

“I think I've heard of it,” Mor muses, all eyes on her now. “It works to remove inhibition. To allow those who drink it to reveal their true feelings? It is strong, and able to cut through most other potions or spells. Which is probably why Tamlin selected it." Her cousin nods in agreement. She continues, "However, to my knowledge, it went out of favour a long time ago because of the side effects.” She turns back to her cousin and he nods in agreement. 

“What side effects?” Cassian asks. 

“Think of it as a magic truth serum. However, this truth serum removes  any suppression of morals and makes its drinker uncontrollably horny.” Rhys says in a strained voice. “Unstoppably so. The only way to get the urges to dissipate is to have a way with the object of the drinker’s strongest affections.”

The jaws around the room hang low. Cassian lets out a startled cough. Azriel is the first to recover from the uncomfortable silence, his shadows flying around his head as he quickly mutters to them. Some of his shadows disappear into thin air, Mor assumes they are presumably off to keep further tabs on the High Lord of Spring.

“So Tamlin thought what? That I would drink this so-called love potion, break the “evil curse” you’ve trapped me under, again, and then come running back into his arms?” Feyre was full-on laughing now and it was contagious. She wiped her eyes as tears formed as she fought to control her deep belly laugh. 

“And right into his bed.” 

Rhys slings an arm around Feyre’s shoulder and starts to turn her away from Tamlin’s ‘gift’. He kissed the top of her head, a signature smirk returning to his face. His eyes were clear and bright once again. “All that potion would have done is make you find me even more irresistible than I already am," he coos. 

“I don’t know how that could be possible.” 

“Oh Feyre darling, please, we have company.” Rhys groans and nuzzles deeply into his High Lady’s neck, laying kiss after kiss along her pulse point. He pulls his lips from her neck with great effort, and only after poor innocent Elain clears her throat uncomfortably. “Let’s bring this up to the House of Wind for now, we can further investigate the source of this potion tomorrow. I would be very interested to find out where Tamlin was able to source such a thing.” He nods to Cassian who scoops up the tray and heads towards the door. “Everyone meet back here for dinner in 10.” 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-CASSIAN-

“I’ll drop this off, I need to pick up Nes anyways. I’ll be right back.” Cassian walks out the door and spreads his wings wide. With powerful strokes, he is up and into the air. In a few short minutes, he touches down on the stone balcony of the House of Wind. Not a single drop of the potion has spilled, and he smiles triumphantly. Nesta sits at the table, a smutty romance novel gripped in her hands. She looks up at him with a smile but worry quickly crosses her face and her eyes drift to the tray in his hands. 

“Don’t worry Nes,” he reassures her. “I didn’t get you anything. This was a gift for your sister, I wouldn’t dream of such a sweeping gesture. I know that you much prefers other methods of celebration,” Cassian says with a wink.

“Who’s it from?” Nesta closes her book, and rises from the table. 

“From Tamlin, of all males.” He sets the tray down on the tabletop, the bejewelled challis rattling against the pitcher at the sudden movements.

“A gift? From Tamlin?” 

“It’s a long story. Let’s head down to dinner, I’ll tell you on the way.” With that, Cassian scoops his beautiful mate into his arms. Her arms lock around his neck as he shoots off into the sky and back towards the River House. The love potion left on the table to be dealt with tomorrow. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

-Y/N-

You winnow out of the sky a number of feet above the House of Wind and begin to make the unceremonious crash down to the balcony. You quickly generate a tiny cloud of sparkling night with a single thought to slow your descent.

I am so running late. 

You had been away in the Summer Court for three weeks visiting your dear friend, Tarquin. The High Lord of Summer and you had bonded over your shared love of the ocean, gossip and fruity drinks many decades ago. He now invited you every couple of months for a visit to his vacation villa, where you would swim, eat and share the juiciest, most jaw-dropping tidbits from your respective courts. You are the only one of the inner circle ever to be invited. This, of course, made Cassian infinitely jealous. 

You loved your visits with the High Lord of Summer. The weight on your shoulders would slip away, even if it was just for a few days and you would both be free of responsibilities. However, this visit had been mostly diplomatic and unfortunately, you had found yourself roped into weeks of dinners and meetings. Working on updating trade agreements between the courts, while important, had been dreadfully boring. So much so that as you had left, Tarquin made the promise that this trip didn’t count and that you would meet up again in two months' time for a redo.

You feel dead tired. What you truly need is a hot bath and good long sleep. But tonight is family dinner and you are excited to see everyone. No work talk, that would wait until tomorrow, but it was rare to have a moment where we were all together, wine flowing and laughs ringing through the River House. You wouldn’t miss it for the world. 

You pass into the dining room and drop your large satchel on the table beside one of Nesta's books. Beside her book, sat a pitcher of tea you assumed Nesta had made for herself during her afternoon reading session. You giggle at the rose laid out next to it. Nesta truly was a romantic at heart. You scoop it up and admired the luscious red of the petals. It was just like Nes to indulge herself in the finer things, especially amidst one of her reading frenzies. 

You twirled the delicate blossom in your hand and inhale the scent deeply, when suddenly you hiccup in pain. Looking down at your hand you realize one of the thorns had sliced your finger. You quickly drop the flower and bring your finger to your mouth, sucking the coppery drops of blood. The cut is shallow and heals instantly, the tiny pink scar disappearing right under your gaze. With the flower now forgotten, you turn your attention to the tea. 

You quickly scan the room, as if Nesta would appear out of thin air at any moment and berate you for taking what wasn’t yours. The thought made you let out a nervous chuckle. If Nes is putting out fancy flowers with her drink, then the tea she selected must be simply divine. 

Don’t mind if I do!

You grasp the gaudy bejewelled challis in one hand and picked up the crystal pitcher with the other. You pour yourself a large cup. As the liquid pours from one vessel to another, you can’t help but admire the way it sparkles and shimmers, almost like stardust suspended in liquid - not unlike your own magic. 

With a little cheers in the air, you take your first taste.

A low moan erupts from the back of your throat. Never have you tasted anything so divine. Hints of rose and lavender, honeysuckle and almond, rose and hibiscus. But also something deeper, and tangier, a musk of dark earth and fresh rain. It tasted of desire and warmth, of friction and longing. The flavour overwhelms your senses, and becomes all-encompassing. 

You take a second small sip. Another groan involuntarily passes your lips. 

Then a third and fourth sip, both larger, more eager.

You take a fifth, and down the rest of your cup.

Now, in a frenzy, you refill the challis and drain it all in one gulp. 

Again. And again. And again. It is as if you are in a trance, unable to stop yourself, needing to feel the sweet nectar pass your lips, and slide down your throat. The mesmerising liquid burns deliciously as you drink and drink and drink until the pitcher is empty. 

As quickly as it had begun, it was over. With the pitcher empty, your desire to consume was gone. Your hands shake as you place the challis and pitcher back onto the tray. Your memories of what has just transpired are hazy. In one breath all memory of drinking the tea was gone. In the next breath, you remember it is family dinner. You quickly grab your bag and shuffle up to your room. Throwing the bag into the corner, you turn to the mirror to address your appearance. The dress you don is a light sea foam green, a slit running all the way up to your hip bone, and a low V neckline descending down almost to your navel. As it was currently winter in Velaris, you would need to change into some warmer clothes. As you reach around to unclasp your dress, you are suddenly hit with an intense feeling of warmth. Your face flushes and in the mirror you see sweat form at your temples. It lasts only for a second before your temperature begins to regulates, but it was enough to convince you to stay in the cooler summer garment. I must just be tired. 

You head back out to the balcony ready to go meet your family. You leap off the ledge and as you enter a free fall, you sigh in relief, letting the chilled air cool you down as you let out a blissful sigh. You catch yourself on a cloud of starlight, pulling out of your free fall and making your way towards the River House. 

You land just outside the border of the River House. As you pass through the boundary and up the front steps you are hit again with another wave of heat. This time it is stronger. You brace yourself on the handrail. Did I spend too much time in the sun? you pondered, thinking back on your time in the Summer Court. You had not spent more time than usual. 

I must just be overtired from my long trip. Right as you reach this conclusion, the heat rapidly dissipates, returning your body to normal once again.

 There was no further time for contemplation as the front door swung open and Cassian comes into view. "Oh, mighty adventurer,” he mocks with a salute, “welcome home!” He bellows loudly. You jump up the last two steps and he immediately pulls you in for a deep hug. Your face buries into the side of his neck. You had missed him dearly while you were away, but of course, you would never tell him that. 

But, what starts as a friendly welcome home, quickly changes course. 

Suddenly, the smell of sandalwood and crackling embers surrounds you, invading all of your senses. This was Cassian’s scent, something you smelt daily for 400 years, and have never thought twice about. But now all of a sudden, he is the only thing you want to smell. You huff in his scent and feel your body warm and tingle.  What the hell? you cry internally. You know you should pull away. But instead, you have the irresistible urge to lick the thick, long column of his neck, and you nearly do. That’s not the only thing that’s long and thick I want to be licking, you muse, and your core throbs. You have no idea what is happening. Cassian, Cassian, Cassian your mind repeats over and over. Lick him, bite him, claim him. You bite your lips, teeth surely drawing blood. Anything to keep your mouth from latching onto him. You need him. You take a shuddering breath, his scent dancing in your lungs as you- 

You’re pulled out of your twisted mind as Cassian adds, “Now, get the fuck inside before you catch your death.”

 You quickly pull away from the General and look down. You had forgotten that you were still in your summer attire. An outfit that while gorgeous was not equipped to handle the Velaris winter you were currently experiencing. You risk a glance back up to Cassian, he smiles gesturing inside the house. Luckily he didn’t seem to notice the massive loss of judgement you had just experienced. You do not have feelings for Cassian. That much you know to be true, at least not anymore. Right? You reassure yourself once again that you must just be tired, that your brain was playing tricks. 

You shake your head to clear your thoughts as you step through the door. You failed to notice how Cassian’s nose flared as you passed him.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Everyone greats you as you enter the dining room. Luckily, your head seems to remain on straight, as no further desire of Cassian clouds your brain. Your brother and his wife offer you both a quick hug, with the promise to debrief tomorrow, you all take your seat at the dinner table. You have strategically placed yourself as far from Cassian as possible, sandwiched in between Feyre and Mor. You hear the chair across from you slide out and you look up to meet the shadowsinger’s eyes as he slips into the chair. You had not seen him when you arrived. But now you see him - more clearly than ever before. 

He offers you a small smile. “How was your visit to Summer, Y/N?”

You don’t hear his question. You are too busy staring at his mouth. Plump lips, tinged slightly red from the cup of wine he’s been sipping out of. His tongue darts out, coating his lips in a glossy sheen. You wonder how those lips would feel against yours… against your breasts… against your core. You blink slowly, noticing his lips are still moving. Oh, the things those lips could do. Suddenly, you feel a hand squeeze your elbow. You yelp and turn to see Feyre grasping your arm. 

“Are you alright Y/N?” She frowns softly, concern dancing in her eyes. 

“P-perfectly” You mutter, blinking rapidly, looking anywhere but towards the shadowsinger. 

“Are you sure? Azriel’s been trying to talk to you for a good minute.” 

“J-just tired.” You assure them. “Think I spent too much time in the sun.” You raise your shoulders in a shrug, mumbling. 

“I’m relieved to hear you’re not intentionally ignoring me,” Azriel quips trying to meet your eye once again. 

“Never.” You say, still not meeting his eye, picking up your wine glass and drinking deeply. “Never.”

And it’s true. Normally, you would never ignore the shadowsinger. You had known him for over 400 years and loved him for 200. Being 80 years younger than your brother Rhys meant that you had grown up with the three of them as your primary moral figures. Rhys was your brother who acted like a father, Cassian your best friend, and Azriel your fiercest protector. And you loved them all for 200 years until something began to change. You had developed a crush on Cassian from an early age. With his broad and muscular chest, and his lushes locks, he sure knew how to make a female swoon. But he was your best friend, and that came first. Your bond with Azriel, now that was even more complicated. He had an uncanny way of being able to see you, to truly see all of you. You loved him as something more, something different than the infatuation you felt with Cass. You yearned for Azriel, and for a time you thought that maybe he desired you too. 

But nothing ever came of it. Maybe it was because he had watched you grow up? Or perhaps it was because you were Rhy’s little sister? You didn’t know. But you’ve been a grown female for four mortal life cycles, and both of those excuses didn’t hold any water as far as you were concerned. 

After 150 years of you pining away while he pined away for your cousin, you finally thought he was seeing you as you are, the female who could obliterate enemies with a thought, the female who held the court together while Rhys was under the mountain, the female who was not just her brother’s little sister, but an equal. 

Then the Archerons arrived. 

And you loved them all dearly. Feyre making your brother’s heart sing, Nesta having Cassian wrapped around her little finger, and Elain. Elain, who was a gentle breeze on a warm night. A breath of fresh air amidst the fog. Elain. Who was gorgeous and talented and funny. And while you may have thought those things, so did Azriel. You could only assume as he never did confide in you, but his glances lingered. Yours lingered as well, but more so in appreciation, in lust. Not in love as you suspected the shadowsinger’s did.

And there she was now, sitting beside Azriel, looking perfect as always. Hair smooth and glossy. Eyes big and bright, the richest, most delicious shade of brown you had ever seen. A long slender neck and cleavage that heaved tight against her bodice with each breath, as if her milky flesh was a moment away from bursting- 

The sound of breaking glass yanked you out of your lustful thoughts. You looked around for the source of the noise before you realize that it was you. Your wine glass once, in your hand was now in 100 pieces on the floor beside you, a small puddle of red wine at your feet. 

“Y/N/N are you alright?” Rhys had made his way towards you in the blink of an eye. He snapped his fingers and the glass, and the puddle of red disappeared. He leaned down to your height, pressing his palm to your forehead. “I think you might have a slight fever.” 

“I’m so sorry about the mess, I don’t know where my mind went!” Yes, you do. “ I think I must just be overtired.” You offer a tight smile.  “Too much sun.” you offer as an excuse. Yes, too much sun and now you’re a delirious fool. 

Rhys only nods fondly, “Maybe you should head to bed kiddo.” You’re so eager to get out of there that you don’t even snark back about him calling you a kid. 

“Good idea.” You raise from your chair, and you feel the arousal that had been unknowingly collecting at your core, begin to coat your thighs. You had to get out of there before you were scented. Family dinner nights meant everyone was staying at the River House. Luckily for you, that meant you didn’t have far to go. You turn and hightail it out of there, not noticing how the shadowsinger across from you holds his breath as you scurry away. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once you are up the stairs and out of sight, you kick off your shoes and run. You run down the hallway and around the corner to your chambers. You swing open the door and slam it shut behind you. Leaning against the wooden door, you take a shuddering breath. What is wrong with me? 

You were no stranger to love and lust. But you had never had quite such a visceral reaction. For so many different fae. At the same time. You are hot all over now and it is as if there is fire in your veins. Your breath is shaky. You need to get a grip. Blinking hard, you make your way to the washroom, and fill the tub with icy cold water. 

Your fingers grapple with the claps on the dress, fighting to release yourself. You give up, snapping your fingers, the dress disappearing, leaving you bare, and still burning. You sit at the edge of the tub before quickly sliding your feet below the surface. The shock of the cold hits your brain and for a moment you stop thinking. But it is not enough as you feel another wave of arousal dripping from your core. You know you are going to regret this, but you also don’t know what will happen next if you don’t. You take a deep breath and fully submerge your body. All you feel is cold. Alll you feel is ice. The fire under your skin tames. The lustful thoughts vanish. It is just you and the cold. Relief floods your bones as your face breaks the surface. 

You lean your head against the rim of the tub, happy to be rid of your dirtiest thoughts. You lay in the cold water until the warmth of your body has rendered it tepid. You finally feel in control of yourself again. You heave your relaxed body out of the tub and wrap yourself in a fluffy white towel. Tucking the ends under your armpit, you move back into your bed chamber. The towel drops to the floor as you walk up to your wardrobe and pull on a simple silk nightgown, as dark as the night sky, dressing cool to avoid any future heat spells, hopefully. 

You hastily scramble into bed and slide under your silk sheets. Exhaustion hitting you. You lay on your back, eyes closed as you slowly drift off to sleep. With not a single thought, your mind is finally quiet.

And then it’s back. 

Heart hammering, your eyes fly open. Searing heat spreads through your entire body. Heat radiates from your core all the way to your fingertips. Your desire is bruning you from the inside. The heat wants to be fed, wants to consume. 

Wants to be consumed. 

Is it that simple? you ask yourself. Would self-pleasure finally rid you of this torment? It had been a few weeks since you had last found release, the time spent in Summer Court kept you too busy for simple pleasure. But it was not like you had not gone this long before, in fact, you had gone much longer and never with any issue. You craved the touch of another, but you suppose your body will hardly care where the pleasure comes from. Your nipples harden at the very thought. Decision made. 

 Arousal is now weeping from your core as your thighs clench together. As if with minds of their own, your hands pull the sheets off your body, exposing your skin to the night air. Your nipples pebble even harder, straining deliciously against the silk of your nightgown. You palm one of your breasts, the action causing shockwaves of pleasure to roll through your body. 

Your other hand comes up and palms the other, a strangled moan leaving your lips. Your fingers dance along your left breast and encircle your nipple over the glossy material of your nightgown.  You were still too hot. You quickly pull the straps down your arms. As your nipples meet the cold air, you could weep with joy. Your hands, finally able to touch your bare skin ghost over the sensitive flesh before your fingers are quickly clamping around your left nipple in a tight pinch. Your thighs clench again, as your core pulses, as if with a heartbeat of its own. You give your nipple another delicious twirl. 

Your other hand travels down and down and down until it reaches the hem of your nightgown. Without a moment's hesitation, you pull the material up to your waist. Your arousal coats your thighs, as your hand move closer to your core, fingers disappearing between your legs. 

The moment your fingers touch your clit, your hips buck wildly, back straining off the bed. Your fingers swirl around it again and again and again, the friction causing strangled moans to escape your throat, hips thrusting up wildly. 

Your skin gleams in the moonlight, the heat building inside of you. Your eyes screw shut in pleasure. This time as your hand swirls around your clit, your other hand, still clinging to your breast, gives your nipple a sharp torturous twist. Pleasure and pain unite and suddenly you’re shaking as release barrels through you, your orgasm so intense your whole body shakes as you ride wave after wave of pleasure. 

As you come down from your high, your body trembles with exertion. 

But it is not enough.

Breathing deeply, your hand, now coated in your juices slides back down between your legs, and this time, you slide two fingers inside. You thrust in and out sharply. Setting a torturous pace and your fingers sink deep into your cunt, curling expertly inside you. In a matter of moments, you are overcome with another orgasm. Again and again and again, you work your body to climax.

It is never enough.

Your body gives out sometime between the eighth and tenth orgasm, releasing you into a dreamless sleep. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You awaken groggy, and unsure of your surroundings. The fog clears with a couple of blinks of your eyes and you realize you are in your bed at the River House. Looking down you see you are laid out, your nightgown askew and your thighs sticky.

And then it all comes flooding back. 

How you pleasured yourself over and over again, the pace never relenting, just like the hunger for release did not relent. You had fucked yourself into oblivion. 

But, it appears to have worked. Laying still you realise that your mind has returned to blissful silence once again. Finally free. No thoughts of lust or desire, just calm and slight confusion. Now more awake, you glance out the window and see that the moon is still high in the sky. It was late, but still a long way off until morning. 

Confusion still runs through your bones. The intense need you felt earlier had come on so fast and strong, a hurricane of arousal. But it appears that the skies have now cleared, feeling content and more like yourself you huff and slowly sit up. Your stomach growls painfully, starved from the exertion and the lack of dinner. You could also do with a wash. Food first, you decide. 

No one should be out and about the house at this hour, but just in case, you slip the nightgown over your head. The material is coated in your slick. Already ruined, you use the dress to clean up the arousal on your thighs. You refuse to think about how good the silken material feels against your inner thighs. You make your way to your dresser, and this time you pull out a pair of plain grey underwear and a long black t-shirt. The t-shirt fell down to your mid-thigh. 

You make your way to the door and pry it open slowly, so as not to wake anyone else. Elain also has a room in this wing, and she was a notoriously light sleeper. You begin to pad down the hallway lightly, the marble cold against your bare feet. You feel a cold breeze wafting down the hall. Someone must have forgotten to close the balcony doors, you think. But then again, who would have opened the windows in the middle of winter? Snow had yet to fall, but the cool winter air had definitely arrived. More alert, you slowly make your way towards the open balcony doors, arms close to your sides, fists clenched. 

Your arms lower immediately when you see who stands out on the balcony. You would recognize her shapely figure anywhere. 

Elain stands with her back to you. She is wearing a blush-coloured pair of wide-legged pyjama pants,a shawl embroidered with flowers covers her shoulders. Her hair is unbound and glows like individual strands of gold. You feel your stomach tighten. She looks beautiful. You shake your head, trying to rid it of any other thought beyond concern. You gently rap your knuckles on the doorframe. Elain, still not fully tuned in to her new fae senses, jumps and spins around quickly. Her hand comes up to clutch onto her heaving chest. You could see her breath slow when she sees who it is, hand falling back down to her side. 

You make eye contact with her, deep chestnut eyes meeting your own. And then her chest starts heaving again, and it takes all your strength to keep your eyes from wandering. You look up at the night sky instead.

“Elain, honey what are you doing out here, you’ll catch your death.” She looks at you nervously as you approach. Your feet tingle in protest at the cold stone beneath you. 

“Erm- nothing. I just needed some fresh air,” you reach for her hand. She laces her hand in yours, eyes squeezing shut, “and some quiet.” 

“But it is-” oh. Oh no. She had heard you. Your cheeks flush scarlett as you try to pull away. “Elain, I am so, so sorry. I didn’t realize I was so…” You trail off. Her hand tightens around yours, rooting you into place. Her fingers are frigid from being out here on the balcony for Cauldron knows how long. 

“Loud.” She finishes your sentence. “The walls are quite thin.”

“I am sorry Elain for disturbing your sleep. I’m not sure what has come over me. It won’t happen again, I promise.” Are you happy with yourself? Poor, delicate Elain was awoken by the sounds of you touching yourself. Poor, gorgeous Elain had to escape outside in order to avoid hearing the sounds you made. Poor, delicious Elain- and oh did she look delicious. She wore a thin white camisole underneath her shawl. She wore no bra underneath, her nipples rock hard from the biting winter air. Oh how much you wanted to devour her.

You freeze again and fight against your mind. Not again. Not now. But it is Elain’s next words that have your lustful thoughts winning once again. 

“I wasn’t sleeping.” Elain’s eyes met yours again, darker, more intense. “You, pleasured yourself for over 2 hours, did you know that?” Her sentence tumbled out. “Two hours without stop. Two hours of sheer pleasure.”

“Again, Elain I am so sorry but we should discuss this inside, we’ll catch our deaths out here”. You go to pull her along with you, back into the warmth of the hallway. She releases your hand.

“I never have, you know.” Her voice sounded far away now, mind far away.

“Never what Elain?”

“Never-” She trails off again. You finally catch on, and the fire within your belly reignites. 

“Never touched yourself?” She lets out a slight giggle at your question and looks down at her slipper-clad feet. 

“No, I’ve definitely tried to self-pleasure.” She shakes her head. “In fact I tried just tonight, listening to you.” It is your cheeks that burn red hot now. You swallow deeply at her confession. Did she touch herself to the sound of you? “But,” she continues, “I’ve never been able to make myself…reach completion. Never. I don’t know if there’s something wrong with me. I want to, gods do I want to. But, it just never happens.” Her voice shakes, and as she looks away again, you can see her eyes shining with tears. “I have been getting a lot closer with Lucien. I do think he is an honourable man.. Male, I mean. But I do not wish to saddle him with a mate who does not know what she is doing. He has lived centuries, and I do not even know how to please myself, never mind him.” 

“You do not owe him anything, you know? There is nothing wrong with you, and if he is truly a good male, then he will not be bothered by any experience you do or do not have. There is so much more to a relationship than sex.” She is one of the most perfect creatures in existence. That male should be so very lucky for dirt under her shoes never mind anything else. 

“I do know that. I do. But, I think this is something I have to do for myself first. Before I look towards a future with Lucien.” 

“What is it you need to do?” You lick your lips. 

“I want to feel good like you made yourself feel.” 

“Do you want me to make you feel good, Elain?” 

“I want you to make me feel alive.” 

And then she is vaulting towards you, hands grasping your shoulders, and then her lips are on yours. 

She tastes of jasmine and honey. A taste you never thought you would experience. But here she is, this perfect female, and Cauldron she was kissing you. Her plump, rosy lips are soft and firm. Her nails dig gently into your shoulders, and you can now smell her arousal, sharp and heady. Your core clenches in response. Your arms come around and encircle her waist, pulling her body tight against yours. You can feel her nipples against your own chest. She is freezing, and burning all at once. 

The kiss ends and she pulls her lips away. Foreheads pressed together she looks at you through her brows. Your eyes meet and understanding passes through you. Your heads give a little nod, and she nods her own in response. Your hand finds hers and you gently pull her over to the corner of the balcony, to a long chaise lounge, the cold forgotten. She sits gently, legs swinging up onto the chaise, head tilting back, exposing the pale tender flesh of her neck. Her shawl falls off her shoulders. You now stand at the edge of the chaise, eying her up and down. You can feel the desire within you trying to surge, to consume. But you reign it in. This is not about you. 

It is all about Elain.  ”Let me bring you back to life,” you say as you gently spread her legs, and crawl up in between them. You align yourself perfectly, foreheads touching once again. “If anything is too much El, you let me know.” She nods again and tilts her head until her lips meet yours. The second kiss is slower, and more passionate. Her lips part and your tongue slides in, dancing upon hers. 

After an eternity you separate, a thin trail of saliva connecting you. You pepper kisses to her cheek, her nose, and her chin, working your way down her throat until you arrive at the place just above her collarbone. Your lips clamp onto the sensitive flesh, and you hear Elain moan in response. It is music to your ears. As you lap at her neck, your fingers begin to trace down the length of her torso, eliciting sighs and pleasure. You run your fingertips gently down the valley between her breasts, down past her navel and along her hip bone, stopping at the hem of her camisole. Your mouth comes away and you make eye contact once again. Elain is in control, and you pause, waiting for her consent to continue. 

“Please.” Her breath is coming in quick pants as she begs. Your fingers grab the hem and Elain leans forward and lifts her arms. You make quick work of pulling it over her head, tossing it to the side. Her skin glows like the stars in the sky. Her large breasts are firm and aching to be touched.

Elain’s teeth clench at the exposure to the cold, but the moan that follows is enough to spur you on. Your mouth trails more kisses along her collarbone and down between her breasts. Elain’s hands wind into your hair, holding you close. You look up at her and wink, and then your lips enclose around one of her perfect, pert nipples. Elain lets out a breathy gasp at the sensation of your hot mouth upon her breast. Your tongue swirls around her peak, a chorus of gasps and moans spilling from Elain’s lips.

Your lips detach with a pop, and the cold air blows against the wet bud. Elain lets out another sharp gasp and she cries out “More. Cauldron please, more!” Her chest is heaving. One of your hands comes up and cups her other breast, and you slowly slink down the chaise. Your tongue trails against her skin as it follows the same path your fingers had made, down between her breasts, all the way down to her navel. Your tongue swirls around it, the thin trail of saliva igniting Elain’s skin despite the cold. You continue your path down until your lips reach the hem of her pants. You breathe deeply. “You smell so gods damned good El.” Her hands untangle from your hair and go to grab the hem of your shirt, you quickly stop her. “This isn’t for me El, this is all for you. Let me make you feel good.” Elain nods, briefly and her hands relent, moving up to cup her own breasts instead. You pull the tie on her pants gently and hook your thumbs into the waist. You see a patch of wetness on the crotch of her pants and your question is answered as you gently pull them down her legs. No panties. 

Her pants and slippers are now discarded and you take a moment to drink her in. She is exquisite. Her hair lays around her like a halo of gold. Her skin shines as bright as a star. Her hands work her supple breasts and her eyes are lidded and dark with desire. Your eyes skim lower, to her round hips, thick and shapely. And then your eyes fall to the patch of dark curls above her core, and then further still to the glistening arousal coating her thighs as she squeezes them together. 

You move up to capture her lips in yours once more before you drift lower again. Your hands grasp her thighs and you gently spread her legs. She is so beautiful. You bend her knees and they part, on either side of your head as your mouth approaches her sex. You blow a gentle breath across her clit, and you see her cunt pulse in response. “Gods, Y/N, please. Please!” 

Your hands wrap tighter around her thighs and you taste her. The salty taste of arousal pulls a groan out of your own throat. Your tongue circles her clit, and one of her hands finds your hair again, and her hips buck in response. Her thighs clamp around your head, as you suck her clit hard. You pull her even closer, your tongue travels lower, and traces around her opening, before diving in. Thrusting your tongue in and out of her core, she is moaning your name like a prayer, hips gyrating against your face, fucking your tongue deeper inside of her. She rides your tongue hard, in a state of euphoria. 

Breathless, you pull your mouth away and you move back up to her lips. “You taste divine.” You say simply and then your lips are on hers again, and she is moaning from the taste of her own slick upon your tongue. One of your hands smooths gentle circles against her cheek. “Still with me?” you ask. She nods and catches your lips again. Your hand trails down her side, giving her hips a gentle squeeze before drifting through the thick soft curls guarding her core. Your hand slips between her legs as your fingers circle her clit. A new wave of arousal drips from her cunt as your hand moves further down. You hold her gaze as your finger slowly enters her. Her teeth clamp onto her bottom lip and she groans. 

You start slow and quickly gain speed as her hips rock against your wrist. Meeting you thrust for thrust. You add a second finger and spread her deliciously. Fingers curl inside her, meeting the spongey flesh that makes Elain scream. 

“Oh, oh, gods, yes, yes,” you hear Elain gasp over and over again. You lower yourself back down as your other hand grips her pubic hair tight, your thumb goes to her clit, rubbing at a relentless pace and you watch her come undone. 

She screams in such pleasure, again and again, her core clenches around your soaked fingers. Her juices squirt and coat your t-shirt-covered chest. You continue to circle her clit, extending her orgasm as long as possible. She comes down from her high, her pants slowing, and you withdraw your hands. You lean up and capture her lips with yours once more. 

“Are you ok?” You ask. Looking into her eyes, you see they are alight with pleasure and joy. 

“What does this mean?” Elain worries her bottom lip. 

“It doesn’t have to mean anything El. This was about you finding yourself through pleasure.”

“Gods, Y/N that was- that was perfect”. A smile now shines brightly upon her lips. “Thank you-” You cut off her thanks with another quick peck on her lips. 

“Do not thank me Elain Archeron. Thank yourself for deciding to put your body and your pleasure first. If anything I should be thanking you for allowing me to come along on this journey with you.” Her smile is mirrored on your own face. “Lucien is going to be a very lucky male, El. You are perfect in every way.” 

Sitting up now, she throws her arms around you, squeezing you tight. She pulls away and looks down at the dampness coating your shirt. “I was not aware women- I mean females could do such things.” She traces the dark stain slowly, running her fingers along the slopes of your breast. 

“Some do,” you confirm, “if encouraged enough. Everyone is different, and I know that if you decide to, Lucien will worship everything about you.” She smiles again and pulls you in for another hug. You knew that this was not the start of a fling or romance with Elain. But instead, it had been a self-awakening, and she had allowed you to lead her through it. You were beyond honoured to help. 

“But how do you know that he- Lucien will like it. Like me.” 

“I have a confession of my own El.” You clear your throat, praying to the cauldron you weren’t about to say the wrong thing. “Lucien and I are about the same age. When we were growing up, we met on occasion at different events, and quickly developed a rapport.”  Elain quirked a brow. “We, well, we fucked. A lot.” Elain’s jaw drops. Your core clenches at the memories. Lucien’s mouth on yours, on your cunt. His member thrusting in and out of you, sloppiness and uncertainty turned to precision and strength as the years went on. You fight to tamper the flames of arousal within yourself. This is not the time or place. “We were each other's firsts and we experimented over the years. But that was well over three and a half centuries before you were born. It was so long ago that I don’t want you to think anything of it! We are friends now, have been for the last 300 years, nothing more, I promise.” And it was true.. The memories you had made together, were definitely special, cherished, and enough to turn your crank some days, but the actual male, was your friend and was now mated to another. “What I am trying to say, is that I can guarantee that you are everything he will ever desire.”

“Me and Lucien both lost our virginity to the same female?” she questions finally. You nod, eying Elain again. Hoping beyond hope that she does not take the news badly. To your surprise, she begins to chuckle, which turns into a cackle, which turns into a full-body fit of laughter, and you find yourself joining in. You both laugh and laugh while holding each other close. Eventually the fit winds down and with a few last giggles, Elain sighs, “I’m not sure why, but it seems very fitting.” You hum in agreement.

Elain’s eyes drooped in relaxation and exhaustion and she lays her head on your shoulder. 

The next moments happen in a blur. You help her to her feet, gather her clothes and you both make the quick, and risky walk back into the hall and into her chambers. Luckily the hallway is empty. 

You sit her on the bed and start a fire. Heading to her bathing chamber, you wet a cloth with warm water. Returning to find Elain still perched on the edge of her bed, you gesture for her to lean back. She obliges and you begin to cleanse her skin gently. Nothing save for respect and adoration floats between you now. You tuck her naked body gently under the covers and kiss her forehead.  Swiping your thumb against her cheek you whisper softly, “Good night El. Sweet dreams.”

Her eyes crack open and you hear her mumble, “Are you sure you don’t want me to try-” 

 You shush her. “This was a big moment for you El. I expect nothing in return.” She smiles again deeply. 

“Thank you, Y/N. Thank you for helping me find myself.” With that, Elain drifts off to sleep and you head out the door and back to your own chambers. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back behind the closed door of your room, you stand frozen. The last few hours of your night running through your head. From the moment you arrived at the River House, something was different. You were different. Less… restricted. You’d felt no such feelings while away in the Summer Court. Your mind races, searching for an answer but coming up short. 

It was then that your stomach let out a loud growl. You missed dinner. You had been on your way to the kitchen when you encountered Elain. You scoff at yourself and your forgetfulness. You pull the shirt stained with Elain’s juices over your head, letting it join your previously discarded nightgown on the floor. Your panties were damp, but with the way the evening was progressing, you figured you’d end up just soaking another pair later, and opted to keep them on. Strolling over to your wardrobe for the third time tonight, not bothering with another shirt or nightdress, you pull on a simple grey robe. The material is thin but warm, enough to reheat your body after your outdoor escapade. 

Feet still bare, you head back out into the hallway and slowly pad down the empty corridor. You make it halfway down the stairs before you hear it. 

“Are you going to be a good boy, for me?” a female’s voice floats from the kitchen. You grip the railing and take a fractured breath. 

“Yes, my Lady. I promise I’ll be such a good boy.” Your core clenches as you recognize the low gravelly voice. For Cauldon’s sake. You should turn away, head back upstairs and forget the words you had just heard coming from the kitchen. But some unknown force, the same force that had emboldened you all night, urges you forward. Each step has your stomach clenching in anticipation. 

Eventually, you arrive at the threshold to the kitchen and your jaw drops. 

In the centre of the room sits Cassian, arms tied behind him to the back of his chair. His wings flare lightly to the sides. He is dressed in nothing but a pair of black undershorts. His bare back is to you, muscles rippling as he squirms, testing the limits of his bindings. 

On the counter is Nesta. You take in her figure and decide that they do indeed call her the Lady Death for a reason. Nesta lays atop the counter, body barely covered by a tight blood-red nightgown, garters on her thighs and red stilettos on her feet. Her hair is twisted into a crown of braids. She lays on her side, head propped up on her hand. In from of her sits a bowl of strawberries. Her hand dances above the bowl before plucking a strawberry from the pile. She brings it to her lips, tongue darting out to taste the berry. Staring into Cassian’s eyes she takes a bite. You and Cassian gasp in unison. 

Nesta’s head jerks in your direction and her steely eyes lock on yours. Caught in your act of voyeurism, you want to look away, look anywhere but at the female, shame should be bubbling through your veins. But it isn’t. You feel no shame. Only desire. Desire spreads through your body, a familiar feeling over the last few hours. Your cunt pulses with every second you stand there, rooted in the doorway, staring at the scene in front of you.

“Who is it Nes?” Cassian questions, trying to gauge his mate’s response to their intruder. You know he could break his binds easily if necessary. Something glimmers in the eldest Archeron’s eyes. Her nostrils flair and her lips quirk in a smirk.

“I’m surprised you can’t smell her yet.” Nesta answers, pushing herself up and into a seated position. You can see Cassian’s back shift as he takes in a deep breath. 

“Y/N.” 

Fuck. They can smell your arousal. 

“I’m sorry for the intrusion,” you have no idea where the sudden confidence has come from and you surprise yourself as you continue, “I seem to have interrupted a late-night snack.” 

The two mates lock eyes again, a whole conversation happening without words. Nesta eventually breaks the stare and returns her eyes to yours. “You’re looking a bit peckish yourself Y/N. You’re welcome to join us.” Mother above. “Come,” Nesta holds her half-eaten strawberry out towards you, “come have a bite.” Your gut tightens.

Your feet move before your brain can fully process what you are doing. It takes you 10 steps to pass Cassian, still tied to the chair, and another 3 to reach Nesta’s outstretched fingers. She parts her thighs so that your body can slide in between them. You gasp as her hand comes up to grasp your chin. Your legs tremble as Nesta leans in and whispers, “you are hungry, aren’t you?”

“Starved.” You manage to choke out. 

The tension is palpable as Nesta brings her strawberry up to your mouth. She traces the bow of your lips with the strawberries dripping flesh. “Open.” She commands. You do as you’re told and you take a bite of the tender fruit, its juice dancing on your tongue. It is Cassian now who lets out a low groan. In a moment you are flooded with sandalwood and lust as Cassian’s arousal hits your nose, and surges throughout the room, mixing with your own. You finally look over to the Illyrian, and what you see makes you hold your breath. A male who normally exudes strength, the General and Commander of your brother’s armies, Lord of Bloodshed, reduced to a squirming mess. Lust glows in his eyes and he looks from Nesta to you. 

“What do you think General?” Cassian squirms again at the use of his title. “I think she is still hungry, don’t you agree?” He lets out a low whine and his hazel eyes lock back on yours, both a reflection of lust and desire. 

“What do you say, Y/N?” he asks, voice low. The innuendos vanish as he probes you for further confirmation. He is making sure you are truly consenting to join in on whatever this was. You lied to yourself when you were shocked by your lust for Cassian earlier this evening, as you did in fact find him incredibly attractive, only more so now that he was entirely whipped by the bewitching Lady Death. It took you less than a second to answer him, the desire you had walked hand in hand with all evening flaring within you.

 “Yes,” you say. 

Nesta’s hand curls more firmly against your chin, turning your head back to hers. “Delectable,” she says. And then her lips are ghosting yours, breath mingling as your eyes flutter shut. You feel her tongue trace the same path of the strawberry, up and around the bow of your lips, and sweeping across the small gape of your mouth. 

Your hands instinctively come up to encircle her waist. 

Nesta’s lips leave you immediately, and you feel her arm reach down and give you a sharp smack on your ass. The sounds reverberate through the kitchen. You let out a hiss and your eyes fly open. “Unh unh kitten, no touching,” Nesta says, as she pulls your arms back down to your sides “don’t make me punish you.” 

You’re pretty sure your eyes roll into the back of your head at her words, and your thighs clench as wave after wave of desire crashes in you. “Yes, my Lady,” you murmur back. You hear Cassian let out another low groan as he shifts in his chair. 

“There’s a good kitten,” Nesta smiles, “now why don’t we give the General a little treat.” You hum in response. Nesta spins you around so that your back now falls against her. Your head falls into the crook of her neck as you eye Cassian once again. He looks up at the two of you through hooded eyes. You tilt your head slightly to the side and inhale Nesta’s scent of steel and pomegranate. “I want you to ride his thigh,” she says and the world stops for a moment. You stop breathing and you’re sure that Cassian does the same. Are you really about to do this with your best friend? The step forward you take is answer enough. You’re only another foot away from the Illyrian when Nesta’s voice rings out from behind you again, “Oh, and kitten,” you can hear the smirk in her voice, “drop your panties.” 

“Yes, Lady.” You reach under your robe and slowly slide your panties down your legs. You can see the dark patch made by the arousal now coating your thighs. Panties on the floor, the room is awash with a new wave of your potent arousal. Another low growl tears through Cassian’s lips. 

Cassian sits with his legs spread. His thighs are thick and muscular, the tanned skin shifting as you approach. Now standing in front of him, you quickly shift so that one of your legs is on either side of his left leg. Using his shoulders for leverage, you slowly lower yourself down onto the General’s thigh. The heat of his leg causes your breath to hitch. Cassian whimpers as the juices from your bare cunt weep onto his leg. You begin to move then, slow torturous gyrations as you get a feel for the large corded muscle beneath you. As your core soaks the General’s leg, you begin to pick up speed, rocking back and forth as the pleasure builds. 

“Good girl.” Nesta approaches you from behind. “Isn’t she being such a good Kitten, General?” 

“Mhm,” Cassian grunts, “so good.” His breath is coming out in pants, just as forceful as your own. 

“And Kitten, isn’t the General being such a good boy?” 

“Such a good boy,” you squeak out, your clit rubbing against his muscle. 

“I think he deserves a little treat.” From behind you, Nesta reaches between you and Cassian and palms his engorged member, straining painfully in his underwear. Cassian bellows in relief at the touch. Nesta’s fingers dip below the hem of his shorts and pull them down. Cassian’s cock springs free, slapping his stomach. His cock is massive and rock-hard. Long, and girthy with thick veins running along his shaft, his tip a dusky pink. It pulses in time with your ruts against his leg. Your nails dig into the soft flesh of his shoulders as your pupils blow wide with lust. Nesta pumps his shaft once, then again in rapid succession before her hand releases her mate's member. The General whines at the loss of contact, rutting up into the air, desperate for friction, precum gathering at his tip. You don’t dare indulge him without permission from your Lady Death, but your cunt throbs at the thought of punishment.

Nesta’s hands now travel to your body. Her nails graze up your thighs, against your curved hips, and up to your shoulders. She squeezes them gently before her hands travel further, up your neck and into your hair, brushing it all to one side. Her mouth lowers to your neck and she licks a long strip up your sweat-soaked flesh. She hums in delight at the taste, nuzzling the crook of your neck as she whispers into your ear. “Do you like looking at your best friend’s cock, kitten?” 

You let out a breathy moan, not able to form any words as you ride the General’s thigh into oblivion.  Nesta tuts and her hands grip your hips painfully, stopping the delicious friction. It was your turn to whine in protest, core aching at the loss. “Use your words kitten.” 

“Yes.” you whine, as you try to regain momentum. Nesta squeezes your hips harder.

“Yes, what.” Her tone is sharp. 

“Yes, Lady.” And then you are free again, hips moving wildly as you chant Yes, Yes, Yes. 

“Good kitten.” Lady Death places a kiss at the corner of your mouth. “You’ve seen his. Now it’s your turn to show us yours.” With that, her hands descend between you and the General once again, travelling to the tie at your waist. With a sharp tug, the rope comes loose, and your robe opens. Your nipples harden at the exposure. 

Cassian groans and the tip of his cock weeps at the sight. Your breasts rock back and forth in time with your thrusts. Cassian pulls on his restraints, desperate to touch them, to touch you. “Please.” He moans. The General bucks into the air again and again, “Please, Please Lady, Please”. 

Your hips gyrate faster, and you feel your release approaching. Nesta, still behind you, leans down and bites the lobe of your ear. “Come for me, kitten.” 

And then you are toppling over the edge. Your orgasm rips through you and you scream in delight. The General is right behind you, wings flaring and release thundering as he cums all over your chest. Your hips do not slow as you ride out every wave of pleasure. The three of you were so lost in the moment you had not heard the approaching footsteps.

“What the Fuck is this?” 

Your hips still, and from your position on Cassian’s lap, you open your eyes gaze dragging over the tips of his wings and to the doorway. 

And there stands Azriel, shadows swarming around him in a frenzy. 

“Az.” you croak, voice horse from screaming. The look of astonishment and anger in his eyes have you trying to stand up, to go to him and try to explain, but Nesta keeps a firm pressure on your shoulders, keeping you astride her mate. Confusion runs through you as you look up to meet her eyes, and youquickly understand her actions.

Cassian’s wings currently shielded your naked body, now dripping in his cum from Azriel’s view. As if in understanding, Cassian’s wings flare a little wider, ensuring full coverage of his mate and yourself.

“Brother,” Cassian replies, trying to keep the fucked out tone from his voice, “I do believe you’ve caught us at a bad time.”��

“Y/N? What sort of sick-, Why would you-, You know I-, Y/N, really Cass?” Azriel tries to form a coherent sentence. 

It’s Nesta that responds. “She is not your property, shadowsinger. You do not own her.”

“You took advantage of h-” Azriel roars. 

You roar right back. 

“I wanted this Azriel! I wanted this with every fibre of my being. All three of us chose to be here. Nesta is right, you do not own me. We are three consenting adults. The only one who has no right to be here right now is you.”  Your gaze pierces his, and you can see the hurt on his face. “Now, get out,” you spit, and he disappears into his shadows without another word. 

With the shadowsinger gone, Cassian’s wings lower, and your head falls to rest on his sweaty chest. "Well, fuck me." Cassian grunts, his nose burying into your hair. You feel his chest rise and fall, the powerful thumps of his heart slowing with your own. 

“I believe she just did, my dear mate.” Nesta muses, she slinks around the pair of you, coming up behind Cassian, and resting her head on his other shoulder. Your mixed arousal hangs heavy in the air, a reminder of the dalliance that had played out in the kitchen of the River House. 

You want more. You want to feel Cass’s lips upon your own. You want to lick the sweat down his pectorals and taste the cum that was now pooling between your breasts. You wanted to feast upon Lady Death herself, and to have her feast upon you, to feel her sharp tongue against your cunt. This new development in your relationship felt natural. It felt right.  You wanted to spend hours exploring the line between pleasure and pain, exhilaration and humiliation, domination and submission. You want more, and you can see in their eyes that they want more too. 

But the tone has shifted, and you have Azriel to thank for that. 

You sit up straight and push your wobbly legs up into a standing position. Cassian hisses as the air blows across the cooling slick left behind on his thigh. “Y/N,” he mumbles, “that was-”

“Incredible,” you finish for him, “that was pretty damn incredible.” You pull your robe closed and retie the stay at your waist. Nesta leans down and unties the bindings on her mate's wrists, he too rises to a standing position, retucking his spent cock into his underwear. Nesta slides her arm through his and the mates regard you appreciatively. 

“I hope you don’t-”, Nesta trails off, words like glue in her mouth, “have any regrets?” 

“Never,” you confirm. “My only regret is that we were interrupted.” You stare at the small smile that replaces the concern on Nesta’s features. You lean up and give them both a kiss on the cheek. “Good night my Lady. Good night General”. You stand back and give them a wink, “Let’s do this again soon, yeah?” 

Come daylight, there would likely be some serious conversations to be had. But that could wait. For now, you turn on your heels and make your way back to the stairs. 

“We’ll see you soon, kitten.” 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-Azriel-

Azriel winnows himself out into the estate gardens. His mind races and his shadows swarm, blocking out the light of the moon. His scarred hands are shaking, and with horror, rage or sadness he is unsure. 

Cassian and Nesta… and Y/N? 

He is baffled by what he saw transpiring in the kitchen. 

He had been out on an after-dinner patrol and had arrived late into the night. He was used to the carnal activities of his brother and his mate and was keen on ignoring their sounds of pleasure when an unfamiliar cry of indulgence had piqued his interest. A third? he had wondered. But as his morbid curiosity had propelled him forward, he had realized that the new voice was not unfamiliar in the slightest. It was the voice of all his desire. The voice that had lived in his mind and in his dreams for the last 250 years. He reached the threshold to the kitchen and his worst nightmare was confirmed. 

There had sat Cassian with his back to him, hands tied to the chair behind him. Nesta stood in front of him, a devilish grin on her face as she watched the events unfold. And there, saddled between the two, was Y/N. Her eyes closed, she violently rocked back and forth atop Cassian. He could not see what was happening in its entirety from behind his brother’s wings, but he could smell the heady scent of arousal oozing from every pore of the trios' bodies. 

Azriel had watched Nesta lean over and whisper something in Y/N’s ear. 

And then Y/N and Cassian were coming undone. Azriel stood, unable to move as he watched the female he loved, cum atop his brother. He couldn’t take it.

“What the Fuck is this?” The question tore out of his throat before he could stop it. 

And then you had opened your eyes and whispered his name, and for a moment he allowed himself to imagine what it would have been like to be in Cassian’s place. To have felt you come undone for him…on him…with him. 

But she hadn’t been with him. Y/N had chosen his brother and his brother’s mate of all the Fae in the Gods damned Court. He could not recollect the words he had spoken after that, anger and despair had blinded him. He was going to be sick. 

He shoots up into the sky and heads to the House of Wind. He needs to be away from them all so that he doesn’t do anything else he would regret. His wings flap hard and fast, the cold air slicing against their membranes painfully. Good, he thinks to himself. He lands on the balcony at the House of Wind too soon, and he drops hard onto the marble floor. He needs to hit something so that he doesn’t hit his brother in the face. 

Azriel stalks his way through the dining room with the intent of heading up to the sparring ring, when a shadow curls around his ear. Stop, it whispers, not right. The table. Azriel whirls back around and surveys his surroundings. His eyes narrow in on the table. On the table sits a book, likely left by Nesta, and the tray Lucien brought. The tray that holds the love potion. Correction, the tray that held the love potion. Azriel seizes the pitcher off of the tray. Empty. His mind races once again. Who would have taken it? Why not take the whole tray, the pitcher at the very least? Maybe, Cerrdiwen or Nuala dumped it out? No, they haven’t been up here today. Azriel has no idea what is going on.

His nose twitches as it perceives a faint scent. He turns back to the tray inspecting it closely. The jug and challis were bone dry, with not a drop of the elixir left. The note was long gone, burned to ash by his brother upon Lucien’s arrival earlier this evening. He turns his eyes then to the rose. The rose, which upon further inspection housed thorns coated in a thin layer of dried blood. 

Y/N’s blood. 

Y/N who was been at the Summer Court until right before dinner, 

Y/N who had missed the discussion about the contents of the pitcher, 

Y/N who had likely stopped by the House of Wind to drop off her bags before joining the family at dinner. 

Y/N, who he had just been riding Cassian into oblivion. 

“Fuck.” 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-Y/N-

You once again find yourself leaning against your bedroom door. 

“What the glorious fuck was that?” you ask aloud, letting out a nervous chuckle. You had just participated in a three-sum with your best friend and his mate. Your best friend and his mate. Cassian and Nesta. The General and his Lady Death. 

The names alone make you shiver. 

The memory of your core ground against Cassian’s well-muscled thigh, Nesta whispering sin in your ear makes you clench your teeth, and your thighs. You let out a frustrated moan. This lustful hunger just won’t LEAVE, and the chance of further ministrations was halted by that winged fuck, Azriel. Azriel, whose eyes you had held as you road out your climax. Azriel, who had looked devastated as he saw you astride his brother. Had he been devastated? You wondered, or disappointed. 

He has no right to be disappointed in anything that you do. He held no claim to your body, or to your heart. Well, he held no claim to your body and if he had known about the space he occupied in your heart, after all this time, and still had not acted upon it, well then he did not deserve even a sliver of the adoration you felt. Let him be disappointed, it was none of your concern. 

He was none of your concern. Not his thoughts of your activities, nor his distaste for your actions. His glowing eyes did not deserve to behold you. His plush lips did not deserve to taste you. His rough fingers did not deserve to slip below the waistline of your panties, and- 

Another frustrated groan tears through your throat as your knees quake, thighs snapping together, desperate for friction. You push off the door with a huff, walking towards your bathroom. You need to wash Cassian’s seed off of your body. You undo the tie at your waist and allow the now cum stained garment to join the others on the floor. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remember that you had had panties on when you entered the kitchen. You can only hope that Nes and Cass had grabbed them during clean-up. 

You draw yourself another ice-cold bath and submerge yourself fully. The cold water distracts your mind as you scrub your body and hair. Once you are thoroughly cleansed, you step out of the tub, wrap yourself in a fresh towel and you make your way back to your damn wardrobe. You pray to the Cauldron that this is your last outfit change of the night. You pull out a blue pyjama set with tight but pliant shorts and a cropped camisole. Not bothering with undergarments you quickly pull your clothes on and flop onto the bed. 

You pull the covers up to your chin, mind blissfully blank from the cold bath… Until those glowing hazel eyes and sensuous lips hurtle around the walls of your mind. You think of his toned chest, glistening with sweat in the sparring ring, the curve of his wings as he holds himself with deadly precision. His intoxicating scent of night-chilled mist and cedar is almost upon your tongue as you imagine what it would be like for the shadowsinger to interrogate you like one of his prisoners. Cauldron boil me. Your hand travels to the hem of your shorts, and then lower still to your already slick slit. Your fingers easily find your swollen clit, and begin to swirl around it delectably. Your other hand comes up to palm your breast, when suddenly you hear a knock at your door. 

Your fingers still.

You don’t answer, hoping that the nuisance will get the hint. You hear another sharp knock at the door, followed by a muffled voice. “Y/N, please let me in. It’s important.” The slight rise in his tone, has you muttering a quick ‘enter’. The door swings open and the shadowsinger slinks in, a fae light bobbing behind him.

His nose is immediately overwhelmed with scent. The heady scent of your arousal was emanating from every surface in the room. It was intoxicating the spymaster, your scent driving him to the edge of his wits.

An edge he is quickly pulled back from as he smells his brother’s scent intermingling, as well as the scent of another, Elain. He eyes the pile of soiled clothing on the floor, the evidence that confirms his suspicions. “Gods, Y/N.” He clears his throat. “I know you were not feeling yourself tonight, but-” he starts. Your eyes widen in surprise. 

“Incorrect shadowsinger,” you stare at him, “I feel more myself than I ever have. Just more-”

“Free of inhibition?” he supplies. 

“Suppose I was. What concern is it of yours?” Your lips purse.

“I figured you deserve to know what was happening.” Azriel moves to your bed, sitting on the edge. He reaches into the pocket of his leathers and produces a single crumpled red rose. All of a sudden forgotten memory floods your mind. A pitcher full of plum-coloured starlight. The burn of it on your lips, down your throat. You remember drinking and drinking until there was nothing left. The urge you felt to drink, warped and resurged as the desire for Elain, for Cassian and Nesta, and for Azriel. Your hand twitches at the thought, fingers still primed over your clit. 

“So what was that mystery beverage, you all so lovingly forgot to label?” 

Azriel snorts before replying, “Affectus Revelare.”

“No shit?” Bewilderment shines in your eyes.

“It’s a love potion of sorts-” 

“I’m well aware of its side effects.” And you were, having heard stories of its potency from your brother. “I had just never seen it in person.” 

Azriel huffs, trying hard to keep his face void of emotion. “I’d assume then that you know that any intense feelings of pleasure you acted upon while under its influence, were no fault of your own.” 

“Let me make one thing absolutely clear, Azriel.” Your voice cut like glass, eyes as sharp as steel. “Anything I did tonight, I did because I wanted to. The bullshit spell does nothing but bring to the surface feelings I already have. I have no regrets about what I have done or will do tonight.” Azriel looks as though he is swallowing a mouthful of marbles. 

“Right,” he hastily stands, “I suppose now that you are feeling…better, I should probably let you get some sleep.” He treads to the door, head low, shadows tight against his silhouette. 

You should let him go, let you both stew overnight, and then try talking again. It is the smart thing to do. In spite of that, you curse your horny mouth as it opens and words fly out, “Who says I’m feeling better?” 

He freezes two paces from the door. Whipping around to face you again, his eyes are alight with panic. You pull your stilled hand out of your shorts and sit up. The blanket pools at your waist, your puckered nipples on full display from underneath your shirt. Your hand, still coated in your slick shines under the fae light. He looks from your face to your chest, to your sex-slicked hand and back again. He blinks and his nostrils flare, likely scenting the new wave of arousal that was coursing through your veins. 

In a flash he is back at your bedside, the back of his hand coming up and resting on your forehead. He is mumbling to himself. Cauldron, he’s having more mood swings than I am. “Care to share what the Hell you’re doing Azriel?” 

“It must have been laced with something else,” he grimaces, “another tonic or elixir maybe. Something to increase potency,” he swallows. “Did you… finish when you were in the kitchen?”

“You were there, Az… You saw me… You know I did.”

“Well, it’s not a matter of your partner reaching completion. If Elain and Cassian both-”

You were unnerved that he knew about Elain as well. “Az, what are you trying to tell me?”

“Maybe you need to, erm, try again? Or perhaps, it is Nesta and not Cassian you truly desire? Perhaps if you-” 

“Azriel. Stop with your nonsense ramblings.”

“No, Y/N. You don’t understand! Something must be wrong. Your desires should be satiated by now. Once you bedded the true object of your affection, the potion was supposed to wear off.” His eyes met yours, and you could see that his mind was running a mile a minute. He was still upset, but now concern sat at the front of his mind. 

“I assume you tried with Elain first, and when that didn’t relieve your symptoms, you finally gave in to your basal instincts and realized it was Cassian, not Elain you truly desired.” Anger clouded your vision as he continues to spew utter garbage. “But you should be feeling better after your session in the kitchen. I should wake Rhys, perhaps he-”

You vault up to a kneeling position, shoving him with both hands. He staggers back a step.

“The hell you will! Do. Not. Wake my brother. What would be your plan for that anyways? ‘Oh Rhys, wake up! Your sister can’t stop fucking the other members of your Court! Oh please Rhys, come and get your little sister under control before she gets her horny over us all’ Ya, great plan Az.” Your eyes are burning with rage now, and your cunt  pulses with a heartbeat of its own. You were yelling and you couldn’t make yourself stop. “Even so, everything I did tonight was something everyone involved consented to. There was no primal urge forcing me to finger fuck myself for hours, to fuck Elain, to ride Cassian. It was me. I wanted those things, and they wanted them too. And it was beautiful and passionate, and intense. I desired them all, hell I still do.” You take a deep breath. “But, did you, even for one second use your tiny brain to think that maybe Elain or Cassian or Nesta aren’t the dominant object of my affection? You stupid Illyrian brute.” 

“Who’s left Y/N? Who? Who could it possibly be? Amren? Lucien?” Azriel’s hands fist into the blankets on your bed, his shadows flying, his words disjointed as his mind can’t stop racing. He doesn't notice that he too is now yelling. “Oh, it’s Lucien, isn’t it? I know you used to fuck but come on-”

“IT'S YOU, YOU INSOLENT ASSHOLE.” 

Time stops as you watch the shadowsinger’s mask crack. You see a hundred different emotions ripple across his face, joy, wonder, thrill and love? But then you also see, confusion, anger, jealousy, betrayal, sorrow, and disgust. “Y/N,” he whispers, voice horse and cracked, “Y/N, you don’t want me- you can’t want me.” 

“For Cauldron’s sake Azriel, I have loved you for the last two centuries! I wept and pined for you as you obsessed over Mor, and then I agonized over you as your affection turned to Elain. Not that I can blame you-”

“I have no interest in Elain.” He declares, eyes locked on yours. “I never did.”

“Bullshit.” You snort, “I’ve seen the way you stare at her, the way you follow her around-” 

“I stared because you stared, Y/N. I followed because you followed. Elain is lovely, but it was you, not I, who obviously fell for her charms.”  

You are at a loss for words now. Your jaw twitches. What does this mean? He wasn’t watching Elain. He doesn’t love Elain. Your entire body felt aflame. Sweat was gathering at the base of your neck leaving your hair damp. You wanted to combust, thigh trembling at this admission. Your nipples are taut, pressing tightly against your top. Your breath is shaky, “What are you telling me Azriel?” 

“I-I, okay look,” Azriel grinds his teeth, “It doesn’t matter. What I’m telling you is that you are mistaken. It is not me you want.” He takes a step closer to you, his knees grazing the edge of your bed.

“Oh, I’m mistaken?” You lift yourself higher on your knees, edging closer to the Illyrian in front of you.

“Yes.” 

You can feel his breath on your face. 

“Then prove it.” 

His lips crash down onto yours. The kiss is hard and rough, but his lips are as soft as velvet. His hands are at your waist, and he is pulling you up until you are flush with his chest. You gasp, and Azriel’s tongue surges forward into your open mouth, dominating your tongue with his own. Your hands snake up to his hair and pull hard at his black curls, bringing his body even closer to yours.

You pull both of your bodies back towards the bed, lips never separating. You work to unfasten his leathers, as you do. Agile fingers make quick work, and soon his chest is bare and heaving, his tattoos stark against his skin under the fae light. Tiny scars dance across his torso as his muscles ripple, and he pulls you to the head of the bed. He kneels above you now, one knee between your legs, hands resting on either side of your head as he braces himself. He begins to pull away from the kiss, so you nip his lip, a shrill whine leaving your throat. A bead of bright red blood wells on his lip. His eyes open, and you see that his pupils are blown wide. He watches your tongue dart out to lick the crimson ichor. His mouth clashes with yours once again, his body pinning you to the bed, as the coppery tang of blood mixes in your mouths. The elixir in your veins sings at the taste of his blood. Him. The very taste you craved. 

You roll your hips against him and you can feel the bulge in his pants. Azriel growls, and he brings a hand down to your hips to halt your movements. His hand then travels up your body, leaving a burning trail up to the edge of your shirt. His hand stills for but a moment and you lift your back off of the bed in answer. Your lips separate once more as his hands pull the thin material up and over your head. He beholds your naked flesh as if he were a male damned to the gallows. As if you would be the last sight he sees. You hear him mutter under his breath, a plea or a prayer, but you can’t quite make it out. 

“Az.” 

He unleashes himself on you. 

His lips devour yours, a battle of teeth and tongues. His mouth moves down your neck, leaving hard wet kisses in his wake. He reaches the crook of your neck, mouth suckling your skin. His teeth brush the bruise that is forming there. And then he is clamping his teeth into your flesh. The force of the bite makes your body tremble. The sharp pain causes a scream to rip through your lungs, your hands fly up to grasp his shoulder blades, your nails shredding against his skin. The pain fades to a deep throb, pulsing in time with your needy cunt. 

Your neck stings as his mouth pulls away. He offers you a smirk and you can see your blood in his mouth. He’s on you again, lips trailing down your collarbone to the valley between your breasts. His tongue trails lazy strokes against your dewy flesh before his lips clamp around one of your pert nipples. He groans at the taste of your flesh, his tongue flicking against it. You let out a shriek of ecstasy, your hips bucking up against his groin. You thrust against him, desperate for friction. His hand gives your other breast a rough squeeze in response. 

“Please Az. I need you.” You were gasping the words, stuttering with every hard suck, “I need you inside me. Now.” 

 His lips leave your breast with a diabolical pop. “Patience, little one.” A small smile graces his lips, “Not until I’ve tasted your sweet cunt.” 

The weight of his body leaves you, but before you can question him, you feel two strong hands clamp around your ankles, pulling you to the edge of the bed. Azriel’s thumbs hook into the waistband of your shorts, and they quickly join the pile of discarded clothes on the floor. 

You lay completely bare before him. He spreads your legs, and he falls to his knees, eyes in line with your dripping cunt. Your arousal has seeped down your thighs and to the bedsheets below. He utters your name in worship as he lowers his mouth to your core. 

He feasts like a man starved, drowning in your arousal as your thighs clamp around his head, your core pulsing with the need to be filled. His tongue flicks against your clit, sending shockwave after shockwave of pleasure through you. His scarred hands clamp around your thighs as he pulls you impossibly closer. His tongue thrusts into your hole and you see white. You are so close to the edge, so close to climax.

“Az-. Az! Please, Please Cauldron, please. I’m close.” You’re moaning, pulling at his hair to make him look up at you.  “Please, I want to cum with your inside me.” 

His fingers lessen their grip, and his mouth leave your sex. His lips are glistening with your juices, as his hands travel to the buckles at his thigh, removing the sheath containing Truth-Teller, next he works the ties of his boots and pants, both are quickly discarded. With a tug of his undershorts, the Spymaster of the Night Court stands before you in all of his glory, and he is magnificent. 

His cock throbs against his stomach as he watches you watch him. He fists his rock-hard length and he looks at you with a question burning in his eyes, giving you a chance to turn him away. But you need him, you burn for him. 

“I need you inside of me Azriel.” You can feel the head of his cock brush against your folds, your head falling back and you whine at the contact, “Fuck me. Gods fuck me.” His cock rubs against your sex a few more times, your slick lubricating his length, and then he is slowly pushing inside of you. 

Your cunt stretches, and you’re not sure if you’re moaning in pain or in rapturous pleasure. He stills for a moment, halfway inside you, letting your body acclimate to his thick member. He leans down and leaves a chaste kiss against your lips. 

“Ready?” he asks, voice low, strained with the effort to remain still. 

“Yes.”

He pulls his cock out all the way out, and with a buck of his hips, completely sheaths himself inside of you. Again and again, his hips slam against yours, cock pistoning in and out of you. His cock fills you completely, your cunt stretched as far as it can, and each vein along his shaft rubs deliciously against you. The tip of his cock brushes against your spongey tissue and you whail in bliss. 

“Harder.”

He complies, his hips fracturing against your pelvis, driving him further inside of you. Your hands reach around and grab his ass, driving him even deeper. The fae lights are flickering in and out, the bed is shaking, cracking against the wall, and you are screaming, and screaming, insane from the pleasure.

You plummet over the edge, wailing his name as your orgasm cleaves you in two. 

Azriel follows you over the cliff, his wings flare wide, and he lets out a roar as his thick cum paints your insides. His pace begins to slow as he continues to thrust in and out, prolonging your pleasure. He stills inside of you but doesn’t pull out immediately, taking his time to fully unsheath himself, savouring the feeling of you around him. 

“Y/N…” his voice is hoarse. He starts to pull away, but you just lean in and capture his lips with another kiss. 

“Let’s talk about what this means later Az. For now,” your eyes shine bright in the moonlight and it takes his breath away, “for now, can you just hold me?” He nods and swallows hard. Shimming up to the head of the bed, you both slide under your covers, he tucks you into his side, arm draped around your waist. Your head rests on his chest, and you breathe in the scent of his sweat and musk. 

You can feel his come slowly trickle down your leg. 

You feel complete and satiated. The roar in your veins from the potion has gone, left in its place was love. Your eyes feel heavy and you begin to drift off to sleep. “Told you so,” you mumble. You’re fast asleep now, and miss the look of regret that crosses the Shadowsingers face.

.

.

.

Hours later you awaken to an empty bed. 

[positivelyruined]

In line with @sonics-atelier’s post.

Why did Tamlin lock Feyre in the house?

Well,

A) There’s a violently dark high lord in their midst who can appear and disappear at will. Warding off his home was much easier than doing it to his country. Because Prythian is the world, Spring is the district. Which, by the way, that makes Tamlin’s place as a high lord equivalent to a king.

B) She fights the mating bond so hard that she continually puts herself in danger. Reckless, impulsive, and used to running on the road not taken — that sounds like Feyre to me. Feyre as she should be refuses to be defined by anything or anyone but herself. This, also, is why she balks at marrying Tamlin. Even without Rhysand’s interference — her character should struggle with the idea of marriage.

Is it of a lesser force than a mating bond? Yes.

Can it still be used to control someone? Yes.

C) It still comes down to a bottom line — no one should be imprisoned for someone else’s crime. Yet, is a lock on a door true imprisonment? To lock your door is to be intelligent, aware, and realistic. It is an acknowledgement of the danger, without deprivation of the freedom to open it.

When you love someone, what do you do when they are in danger? You stand in front of them. You fight for them. You give them a safe place. No, this is not done perfectly, but it is from a genuine care for another person’s well being. One of my favorite TV relationships that executes this trope perfectly is Liv and Major, from iZombie.

They are both constantly sacrificing and compelling the other to be safe. They fight for what is right, even when they disagree about how it should be done. Their relationship hangs in the balance until the end of the story. When their world goes to war, they find their unique roles in it. Sometimes, they fight on what appears to be opposing sides. Yet, they are made for one another. In the end, they sit down and realize that they would have never made it through the experience without the influence of their partner. In deep respect, friendship, and genuine care — they continually strive (together and apart) to improve society, fight for justice and fight for a world where they can be together.

I never used names in that paragraph. Doesn’t it scream Feylin?

Can’t you say that Tamlin is constantly sacrificing to keep Feyre safe? Including separating himself from her when his magic becomes too strong to control.

Couldn’t you say that Feyre compels him? She refuses to go out a quitter. She runs into danger, facing unknown consequences, because he is in danger.

He respects her desire to be wild.

Yet, he knows her deep, inner need to be safe.

She respects his ability to put others above himself, but she knows that secretly all he needs is to be given care, affection, and kindness.

Together, they were meant to have built up a Spring Court that is a home to the wild people, the refugees, and the abandoned.

Because in knowing what it is like to be completely alone — they continually return to one another. When she has pushed herself too far, she runs back to him for safety. When he has given too much, she takes the burdens off his shoulders and reminds him that if you cannot care for yourself…you cannot care for anyone else.

Together — they are two of the most dangerous fairies that you could cross — because they balance one another. Tamlin and Feyre were designed (by accident) to compliment one another as a team — a badass, “I would let the world burn if the fire didn’t touch you,” team.

In public, they are iron and steel. In private, they melt for one another until every locked door and broken fence in their hearts can mend.

That is what SJM destroyed in ACOMAF. That was the sheer potential that this couple had. That is what makes ACOTAR a stand alone book.

Instead,

The dear and dead to us author decided to replace her characters with shallow imitations of what they could have been.

So, let’s be real. Feylin was destroyed by the simple fact that ACOTAR has a sense of right and wrong. ACOMAF obliterates that narrative.

[theostrophywife]

mariposa.

i just need a quick fix, i ain't gonna miss this we've already crossed that line before, i won't get addicted tell me lies girl say it softly, you'll be sayin take it off me

author's note: you guys know how much i adore lucien. i'm absolutely unwell just thinking about our overprotective, feisty fox boy. there's also a surprise guest appearance that i think ya'll will appreciate 😏 song inspiration: lacrimosa by matt kent.

The rhythmic pounding of hollow drums echoed throughout the spring manor, its seductive beat beckoning you to come outside and join in on the festivities. Your gaze flickered to the shimmering lock placed on your bedroom door as Tamlin’s warning echoed in the dark and empty bedchamber. 

Stay in your room.

You huffed, crossing your arms. Who the hell was he to tell you what to do? Tamlin may be the High Lord of the Spring Court, but it didn’t grant him the right to forbid you from attending Calanmai. Especially not after you spent the whole day being paraded around the countless lords seeking your hand in marriage only to then be tucked away when your presence was no longer convenient.

No, that simply wouldn’t do. 

With a wicked grin, you pulled a rhinestone pin out of your hair and knelt in front of the door. You whispered an incantation and the pin glowed brightly as you rattled it against the lock. With a flick of your wrist, the door propped open. You peered out into the hallway and confirmed that the coast was clear before carefully creeping through the quiet house. 

The spring manor was empty for the night. There wasn’t a single servant present to stop you from making your way downstairs. They were all probably at Calanmai already, dancing and drinking and doing all the things that Tamlin had barred you from doing. He already had the Great Rite to worry about, your brother had said. The High Lord didn’t need his troublesome little sister getting in the way of his duties. 

You would make him regret it. 

The thought put a spring in your step as you strolled through the gardens, taking in the balmy evening and the cool spring breeze. First thing was first, you needed to conceal your identity if you hoped to avoid being spotted by your brother or any of his cronies. With a wisp of magic, conjured an intricate golden mask, its ornate swirls and whorls fanning out into deep yellows and oranges as white spots dotted the edges of the black borders and veins. The accessory matched your copper dress perfectly. As you placed the mask over your eyes, the wings flickered and mimicked the graceful movements of a monarch butterfly.

Donning a satisfied smile, you crossed the clearing that would lead you to the festivities. Your skirts whispered against the earth as you winnowed atop the hill at the edge of the manor. Down below, you watched as High Fae and faeries alike danced around the fires lighting up the lush landscape. 

The savage beat of the drums summoned you across the grassy knoll and you gladly surrendered to its call. Smoke curled through the air and enveloped you in its intoxicating haze as you reached the heart of the crowd. Someone grabbed you by the waist, dragging you into the throng of dancing bodies circling the large bonfire burning at the center of the field. 

There was something magnetic about the movements, a ritual awakening deep within your bones as magic unfurled its golden glow through your entire being. You tipped your head back and laughed, twirling in dizzying circles as you changed partners again and again. One of them—a handsome dryad—handed you a goblet filled with a golden, sparkling liquid. 

The drink was unlike anything you’ve ever tasted before. You could feel the edges of your vision blurring, every thought and worry ebbing and flowing through your mind, and your surroundings turned fuzzy as though someone had placed a lace veil over your eyes. The carefree feeling it brought was delicious and addicting so you drained the drink down to its last drop, greedily licking the sparkling remnants off your lips. 

The dryad you were currently dancing with twirled you across the field and you clumsily stumbled across the soft grass before a pair of strong arms steadied you. 

You looked up to thank the stranger, but the words died in your throat as soon as you beheld the male standing before you. He was the embodiment of sensuality and seduction with raven hair as dark as night and golden brown skin gleaming against the backdrop of the burning bonfire, the flames mimicking the intricate tattoos peeking out above his perfectly fitted tunic. Fine clothing adorned his body, its deep ebony color matching the shimmer of darkness that seemed to waft through his shoulders like the night sky. 

But it was his eyes—those deep violet eyes that shimmered with amusement that seemed to set off your internal alarm. Danger lurked behind that amethyst gaze.

“Be careful, little butterfly.” A voice as smooth as velvet drawled. “We wouldn’t want you flying away now, do we?” 

With feline grace, the male placed one hand on the small of your back and the other on your shoulder as he swept you across the crowd. This dance wasn’t like the wild, jovial traditional dance of the Spring Court. It was smooth and steady, every twist and turn performed with calculated precision. A lethal waltz with an equally lethal partner. 

The stranger spun you around and the silks of your skirts hugged his dark trousers as he reeled you back into his arms. 

“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of being introduced,” the handsome male purred. “Where has the High Lord been hiding a treasure like yourself, my lady?” 

You swallowed thickly. The music and laughter echoed all around you, but they sounded slow and distorted as though your mind had been dipped in a jar of honey. Faces blurred in your periphery and dragged across the forefront of your consciousness like molasses, there and gone with the blink of an eye. It took a considerable amount of effort to bring your focus back to the stranger.

“I’m new to the Spring Court.” 

It wasn’t technically a lie, given that you’d only just made your formal debut a week ago. The stranger raised a brow, but if he had any qualms regarding your statement, he didn’t voice them. 

“Allow me to extend the warmest of welcomes, then.” He took a gloved hand and pressed his lips against your knuckles, mischief sparkling in those star kissed eyes. “My name is Rhysand.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rhysand,” you said with a shy smile. “I’m—”

“Spoken for,” said a voice from behind you. 

A figure emerged from the trees, tall and lean and all too familiar. A flash of scarlet glimmered in the night as Lucien came into view. 

Of all people, it had to be your brother’s best friend catching you sneaking out of the manor and dancing with the most beautiful male you’ve ever laid eyes on. Still, there was the matter of the stupid little prattling of your heart as you turned to face the handsome red headed male.

Despite the increasing effects of that damned faerie wine, the sight of Lucien never failed to take your breath away. 

As befitting an emissary, he was dressed in fine clothing of a deep, rich green that accentuated the crimson locks flowing behind his back. Intricate braids crowned his head as soft tendrils kissed the planes of his elegant face. His sparkling amber and golden mechanical eye affixed on you. A heated spark flashed through his gaze, but it was gone before you could decipher its meaning. 

You’ve fancied Lucien for as long as you could remember. At first, it had been a harmless little thing. You were so young when you first met and he’d always had that older, mysterious allure made even more enticing by the fact that Lucien was forbidden fruit. He was Tamlin’s best friend and constant companion and you were the younger sister with an innocent crush.

But now that you were both fully grown, the tension between you and Lucien was anything but.

“Calanmai is for invited guests only,” Lucien said sharply, his shoulders tensing. "And the last time I checked, you weren't on the list."

A lazy smile tugged on Rhysand’s lips. “Now, now, Lucien. Is that any way for an emissary to address a High Lord?” That violet gaze winked down at you. “Especially not in the presence of a beautiful maiden.”

Lucien gritted his teeth. “The lady is spoken for.”

Now that was interesting. Lucien could’ve easily identified you as Tamlin’s sister, but he chose not to. Perhaps he didn’t want word of your escape to reach your brother.

“Stunning creatures, butterflies.” Rhysand said with a knowing smile, reaching out to caress your mask. Lucien bristled, but the High Lord of the Night Court only smirked seductively. “Though I’ve found that they tend to get restless if not properly stimulated.” 

Lucien angled himself between you and the handsome stranger. “My lady has had enough excitement for one night.” 

You frowned, glaring at your friend’s back. You wanted to dance and laugh and drink until dawn. You wanted to feel the wind in your hair and the music in your chest, the warmth of the alcohol spreading through your body and making you relaxed and pliant, but as Lucien pinned his gaze on you, the fear and concern swimming in his eyes kept you from speaking.

“It’s time to escort you back to the manor,” Lucien announced with finality. He spoke into the smoky night, not once looking at you. An argument sat on the tip of your tongue, but you thought better of it as your friend's fists clenched at his side.

Violet eyes met your own as Rhysand dipped into a bow. He kissed your hand once more, making you blush fiercely. “Until we meet again, little butterfly.”

You watched as the male sauntered away, but not before winking back at you with a sultry grin. 

Without a word, Lucien grabbed your wrist and winnowed into thin air. The sudden transition was jarring and you barely had time to gather your wits before you were being ushered through the doors of the manor. The black and white chequered marble floors blurred beneath your feet as you and Lucien passed through like a furious wind, his deep auburn hair nearly whipping against your cheek as he stomped up the sweeping staircase. 

He didn’t look back once. Didn’t speak as he threw the door open and watched you walk through the threshold. Alone in your bedchambers, Lucien whirled around with barely contained rage coloring his handsome face. 

“Are you fucking insane?” The Autumn Court male finally spoke as you plopped down on the bed, the aftereffects of all the dancing and drinking weighing heavy on your body. “Do you know how utterly idiotic it was to venture out alone? On Calanmai, of all nights! You’re lucky that it was me who found you and not Tamlin.”

“And dancing with Rhysand—Rhysand of all fucking people!”

“At least he bothered to talk to me!” you yelled, voice hoarse and strained. “All you and Tamlin ever do is lock me in here like I’m some child that needs to be constantly coddled.” 

“Could you blame us?” he said harshly. “One night on your own and you managed to attract the attention of the most dangerous male in all of Prythian. Rhysand may have flashed you pretty smiles and flowery words, but it doesn’t change the beast that lurks within. He is the High Lord of the Night Court. He could have ripped your mind apart without lifting a single finger.”

You blanched at the realization. “I—I didn’t know.”

“That’s precisely the point,” your friend snapped. “You jump into things headfirst without any regard for your safety.” Lucien released a shaky breath, his hand trembling as he raked his fingers through his hair. “If anything happened to you…”

The worry dancing in his eyes momentarily sobered you. Enough for you to take his hand and squeeze in reassurance. “I’m fine, Lucien. Rhysand didn’t do anything to me. We just danced, that’s all.”

His grip tightened around your wrist. “He made you smile. Made you laugh. And he called you little butterfly,” Lucien said the last word softly, but it laid heavy between you. 

“It was because of the mask—”

A burning fire raged within Lucien. “I don’t give a damn why. He doesn’t have the right.” He titled your chin up, forcing you to look at him. “Only I get to call you that, mariposa.”

You whimpered at the gruffness of his voice. Mariposa was Lucien's nickname for you and he usually said it with soft fondness, but the there was nothing gentle about the way he was wielding it now.

There was a part of you that knew Lucien was angry. His words echoed, but they didn’t fully register and were instead swallowed up by the haze clouding your mind. The only thing you could focus on was how badly the room was spinning and how your internal temperature seemed to spike higher and higher as Lucien pulled back to pace in front of the crackling hearth.

Heat blossomed in your core and snaked its fiery tendrils throughout your body, making you feel flushed and overheated. Your skin felt too hot and your dress too suffocating as you crumpled into a nearby chair. You hadn’t even noticed that your hands were shaking until you haphazardly wiped the sweat off of your brow. 

“Y/N?” Lucien’s voice sounded hollow and distant even though he was kneeling right beside you. You blinked, murmuring softly as he took your face in his hands. Gone was the wrath and fury from earlier, replaced now by worry and concern. “You’re burning up.”

His mechanical eye focused on the golden flecks covering your mouth. Lucien cursed lowly as he wiped his thumb across your bottom lip. The action made you shiver and you involuntarily leaned into his touch, his warmth, his scent. It felt good, so good, to have him touching you. 

“Did the High Lord give you anything to drink?” Lucien tilted your chin and you groaned, lashes fluttering against your cheek as his rough, calloused hands brushed against your skin. “Think, Y/N. I need you to answer me, sweetheart.”

You blinked, recalling the goblet of wine. “No, no, it wasn’t Rhys. It was another male. A dryad. Your fingers brushed against the flecks on your mouth and you furrowed your brows in confusion at Lucien’s deep frown. “He gave me some wine. It was gold and sweet.”

“That bloody bastard.” Your friend’s tone was sharp and biting, anger rippling through him in waves. 

“Why?” you asked as spots blurred your vision. “I feel fuzzy and warm and it’s so godsdamned stuffy in this room. What’s happening to me, Lucien?”

“You drank Amortis,” Lucien explained. 

The mention of the potion sent a course of panic through you, but it was swallowed up again by the flame of desire burning hotter and hotter underneath your friend’s intense gaze. Somewhere in the abscesses of your brain, you knew that this was bad. 

Amortis was an aphrodisiac used as an aid during the mating rituals of Calanmai. You vaguely recalled learning about it during your lessons about the Great Rite, but you’d been too drunk on faerie wine and music for the significance of the drink to register.

“The dryad must have slipped it into your wine when you weren’t looking.” His expression darkened, a snarl rippling through his chest. “I’m going to rip him apart bit by bit. Tamlin can have what’s left.”

His eyes widened. “Oh gods, I have to tell Tam.”

You shook your head and tugged at his wrist. “No,” you pleaded. If Tamlin heard about any of this, he’d never let you out of his sight again. “Please don’t tell my brother, Lu.” 

Lucien softened at your given nickname for him. Try as he might, the Autumn Court male couldn’t deny that he had a soft spot for you. Having known you your entire life, he was just as protective over you as Tamlin was. Growing up with brothers, he hadn’t been prepared for the antics and schemes that you always seemed to get yourself into. You were trouble personified and you had him completely wrapped around your finger. 

Always have, always will.  

So he sighed in defeat. 

“Fine,” Lucien conceded. “But we have to do something. You’re burning up.” 

“A shower,” you suggested. “I need a cold shower.”

Your friend helped you onto your feet and escorted you into the large bathroom attached to your bedchambers. The marble tiled shower hissed and groaned as Lucien eased the handles. Mist fogged up the mirror and you leaned against the countertop, wriggling out of your shoes. 

The effects of the potion reached its peak and took full control of your body. Every sensation felt intensified as you doubled over in pain. You nearly ripped the dress off of your body, leaving you in nothing but your lace underclothes as you stepped into the cold shower. 

Curled up into a fetal position, you hugged your knees to your chest and allowed the freezing water to cool your body temperature. Lucien knelt down beside you and wrapped an arm against your shoulder, stroking your hair and murmuring words of comfort. 

The warmth of the Autumn Court male enveloped you in cinnamon and sunshine. Whether it was the Amortis or your natural attraction to Lucien, you found yourself leaning in closer and nuzzling into his neck. His grip on your shoulder tightened as your lips brushed against his skin. 

“Y/N.” 

A fiery tendril curled around your finger as you looked up and met Lucien’s gaze. Water fell in rapid droplets, soaking through his white shirt and clinging onto his golden-brown skin. You traced the scar above his brow and his eyes fluttered close in response. Lucien’s ragged breathing filled the room as you traced the elegant planes of his face, your thumb brushing against his lips. They looked so lush and inviting, you wanted nothing more than to lean in and take a bite. 

You tilted your chin up, nuzzling your nose against his. An inch closer and his lips would be on yours. Lucien's lashes kissed your cheek as his eyes fluttered open. Meeting his burning gaze was like looking directly at the sun.

“I want to kiss you,” you whispered. 

A flash of something dark and dangerous glimmered in Lucien’s hypnotic stare before he clamped down on your wrist. For a second, you could see the conflict raging within him. He wanted this as much as you did. All he needed to do was give in. The shower above you hissed and Lucien blinked, snapping out of whatever moment the two of you had been in the midst of.

He pulled away, clearing his throat. “It’s just the effects of Amortis.” 

“Amortis lowers your inhibitions,” you countered. “But it doesn’t alter your desires, which means I’d want to kiss you even if I were sober.”

Lucien gently removed your hand from his face and set it on your lap. “Maybe so,” he mused before reaching up to turn the shower handle. “But I’m not going to kiss you tonight. Not like this.”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “Why? Because I’m Tamlin’s pesky little sister who’s had an embarrassing crush on you for centuries?” 

The redhead pinned you against the tiled wall, his stare burning holes into your skin. “Because I care about you. Because the first time I kiss you won’t be because you accidentally consumed an aphrodisiac.” He braced his palms on either side of your head and you swallowed at how much he towered over you, how easily he caged you in. “When I finally kiss you, mariposa, it won’t just be a kiss. It’ll be everything and there’ll be no going back from it. So I need you to be sure.” 

A shiver crawled up your spine. “I am sure,” you said softly. “I’ve always been sure about you, Lucien.”

He smiled. A devastating sort of smile that sent sunlight into the cracks of your soul. “Then tell me in the morning, little butterfly.”

Dawn broke over the horizon as golden rays speared through the bruised sky. Someone had left the curtains in your bedchambers spread apart. Probably you. Or maybe it was Lucien. 

Lucien. 

Memories from the night before flooded your thoughts. After your embarrassing confession, Lucien had helped you get dressed and carried you to bed. You shot up in the large four poster bed, rustling the pillows and blankets that he’d carefully tucked you into. A glimpse of red snagged your attention and you found your friend sprawled across a velvet lounge chair, his long legs hanging over the edge. 

The sound of your shuffling roused the red haired male from sleep. He pitched forward, alarm spreading through his face when he found you staring at him. Lucien crossed the room in two strides and knelt beside your bed. He scanned your features, gently cradling your chin between his fingers. 

“I’m fine, Lu.” 

Relief washed over your friend. There was something endearing about the way he fretted over you. 

“Never scare me like that again,” Lucien said. 

You grinned. “I think that’s the last time I ever drink Amortis. Though I can’t promise to stay out of trouble.”

Lucien sighed deeply, running a hand through his fiery locks. “I’m serious, Y/N. In all of my immortal existence, I’ve never felt terror like I did when I saw you dancing with Rhysand.”

“Is the High Lord truly that horrifying?” 

“I wasn’t scared of him,” Lucien said. There was no bravado in the statement, just pure honesty as he fixed his gaze on you. “I was scared for him. Of what I wanted to do to him for simply breathing the same air as you.”

You swallowed thickly. “What you said last night…what I said last night. I meant it, Lucien.” 

Lucien went still as death, his mechanical eye whirring to life as he scanned over you. Checking for any traces of Amortis. Confirming that you weren’t still under its spell. Your heart pounded in your chest as you caressed his cheek. 

“I’m not under any spell,” you whispered softly. “What I feel, it’s real. I wanted to kiss you last night and I still want to kiss you this morning. I’m sure, Lucien.” 

His slender fingers curled gently around your wrist, his breathing low and ragged as he brought his gaze up to you. There was something primal and possessive in those eyes. 

“I won’t insult you by attempting to describe how I feel about you in words,” he declared, his voice like honeyed wine ebbing through your very core. “I’ll just show you instead.”

Lucien’s slender fingers curled through your unbound hair, tilting your head at just the right angle before he gently pressed his lips against yours. The kiss ignited a fire within your core. It was soft and sweet yet demanding and possessive. You could tell that Lucien was barely restraining himself by the way his breath hitched as your lips met. 

You melted into his touch as he brought you closer, setting you on his lap as he leaned against the headboard. Centuries of curiosity was satisfied as you raked your fingers through his hair, the feel of it smooth and silky like you’d always imagined. Shy pecks turned into lingering heated kisses as you explored one another. Lucien groaned when you shifted your hips, greedily leaning down to taste more of him. 

He tugged you by the top of your thighs, placing you chest to chest. The sunlight streaming in from the window crowned him in glorious day, his auburn hair shining brightly like a living flame as though Lucien was the embodiment of fire itself. There was a wildness in him that drew you in like a moth to a flame. 

Lucien stroked your cheek tenderly as though he were convincing himself that you weren’t just a figment of his imagination. His features softened as you took his hand and kissed his fingertips. 

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed. “You put the flowers in this court to shame with the way you bloom.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest, filling you with a wave of emotions. It was a rare occasion for you to be rendered speechless, but Lucien was more than capable of stunning you into complete silence. 

You pressed your lips against his in response, the kiss turning urgent as you poured all of the words you weren’t able to articulate into one single action. Lucien groaned as you gently tugged on his bottom lip. He teased his tongue past the seam of your lips and you gladly obliged, welcoming him in. 

There was no trace of his restraint from earlier as Lucien flipped you over, pinning you underneath him as he completely devoured you. It was in that moment that you realized that you’ve never been properly kissed. Because this…this paled in comparison to every other kiss you’ve ever had. 

It nearly knocked the breath out of you. From the way that Lucien’s chest was rising and falling, you weren’t the only one. As the kiss deepened, the desire to feel him, to truly feel him, became overwhelming. You tugged on the hem of his shirt and Lucien pulled away to allow you to pull it off of him. 

He toyed with the straps of the nightgown that he had helped you change into a few hours ago, a question in his expression. You merely nodded and shrugged out of the silky material. Lucien watched as you laid yourself bare before him, his fingers brushing against your delicate skin. 

You tugged at the front of his trousers and he gently wrapped his fingers around your wrist. “Are you sure?” 

“I told you, Lucien.” You said, meeting his burning gaze. “I’ve always been sure about you. I want this. I want you.”

“I want you, too,” he whispered. “More than anyone has ever wanted anything in this entire realm.” 

“So take me.”

Lucien didn’t need to be told twice. He kissed you again but this time it was desperate and full of need. His hands roamed over your body, tracing every line and curve with devotion. Lucien kissed every surface of skin as though he were committing your body to memory. His fingers dipped low as he parted your legs, groaning when he found you wet and ready for him. 

You watched as he lined himself up at your entrance. Every move was filled with tenderness. Lucien teased the tip in, his gaze never leaving yours while he eased his cock inside of you. His length stretched you beyond your limit, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Once he filled you to the hilt, he paused. 

“Are you alright?”

You nodded, brushing a stray strand of red hair from his cheek. “Never better.”

Your friend smiled before slowly pulling out, monitoring your reactions as he established a steady pace. By no means were you inexperienced, but as Lucien rolled his hips into yours, it felt like you’d been starved of touch your whole life. He seemed to echo the sentiment as awe and bewilderment took over his features. 

It had never felt like this with anyone else. 

The way he touched you was full of devotion as though your body was a temple and he was making his burnt offerings upon the altar. Lucien lavished you with worship, his large hands easing your leg up so he could angle himself deeper. You moaned as he brushed against a particularly sensitive spot. 

“Gods, Lucien.”

His forehead dropped to yours, eyes blazing with fire. You didn’t have to say the words. Lucien knew exactly what you meant. “I know,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours. “I know, sweetheart.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist as he buried his face into the crook of your shoulder, his breathing ragged. His muscles tensed underneath your fingertips as you raked your nails across his back. Lucien growled into your mouth as you dragged him down beside you, flipping positions so that you were perched on his lap. 

His skin glistened in the early morning light, beads of sweat glimmering like crystals along his perfectly sculpted torso. You braced your hands on his chest and rode him slowly, moving your hips back and forth while he watched through heavy lids. A large hand clamped down on your right hip hard enough to bruise, but you kept the steady rhythm as the male underneath you groaned. 

From this angle, the friction on your clit combined with Lucien’s upward thrusts unraveled that familiar feeling in your core. Lucien felt you clench around him and he sat upright, sucking harshly at your neck. 

“Let go, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” he whispered gently. You closed your eyes, giving into the rush of sensations. “That’s it. I want to watch you come undone.”

The impact made your vision blur with white heat. For a split second, you felt as though you were floating above your body, watching as you writhed in pleasure. Lucien’s voice brought you back and you relished the way your name tumbled so prettily from his mouth, like the prayer of a devoted believer. He roared as he finished, his head lolling against the crook of your neck. 

At some point, his braids had come undone and you giggled as crimson locks tickled your cheek. Lucien lifted his head, observing you with a soft smile. Behind him, the sun reached its peak over the horizon and formed a golden crown upon his head. 

You propped an elbow up against your pillow, a small smile spreading across your lips as you admired the male beside you. 

Lucien grinned back, brushing his nose against your cheek. “What are you thinking about, mariposa?”

“I’m thinking that I should endanger myself more often if this is what it leads to.”

The redhead frowned, flicking your nose. “You do seem to have a special talent for attracting trouble.” 

You shrugged lazily. “I attract a lot of things. Including stubborn, possessive redheads.”

Lucien chuckled before pulling you into his chest. His arm snaked around your waist as he nuzzled against the back of your neck. 

“Falling for you is by far the most reckless thing I’ve ever done,” he whispered softly. You turned slightly, worry marking your features. Lucien smoothed the creases on your forehead. “But I don’t regret it. Not one bit.”

You sighed in relief, melting back into his arms. Comfortable silence stretched between you as the reality of what you’d just done settled. Lucien was right. There was no going back from this. 

The spring manor came to life, voices filtering in and out as everyone started preparing for the day. You turned to fully face him, speaking the words that you were both thinking. 

“What are we gonna tell my brother, Lu?”

Lucien brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “We’ll tell him the truth. That this was inevitable. That nothing in this realm could’ve kept me away from you.”

“Are you sure about this?” Your heart pounded in your chest as you met his gaze. “About me?” 

“I am sure,” he said with a smile. “I’ve always been sure about you.”

As he echoed your words from last night, you leaned in to kiss him. You were part thrilled, part terrified of whatever came next. 

But as long as Lucien was by your side, you were ready to face the dawn of a new day.

taglist: @viradeity @moony-thoughts @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @demirunner @swansworth @heart-defendor @momlo @mali22 @roselensage @searchingford@nessianxgwynriel@azriels-angels@brekkershadowsinger@morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @mattte-black @marina468 @lillithathecathecat @highladyofillyria

[kindasleepywriter]

Bird of Prey - Chapter 10: Cold as Ice

Bird of Prey masterlist. Azriel x Reader.

Chapter summary: An unexpected provocation reveals a hidden part of you.

Story rating: Mature - Minors DNI

Warnings: None.

Word count: 1.7k

You were honestly starting to wonder what kind of magic was infused into the city’s water supply. Couldn’t there be a single day where nothing happened, where you got to just live without another unprecedented event taking place?

Velaris didn’t follow the rules of statistical probabilities and it upset you to no end. The impossible amount of mating bonds, the general number of all-powerful magic wielders, and now the appearance of your apparently hidden gifts… Maybe that’s why the rest of the world was so bleak, it all had to be balanced out somehow.

A break was all you wanted. Some sleep, maybe. Time to read a book.

Instead, immediately after realizing you had summoned your own shadows, Azriel had brought you to a small house that bordered the city, explaining along the way the Night court’s tentative alliance with Eris. The Vansera hadn’t exactly been kind to you during your stay in Autumn, a high contender for the title of the brother you hated most, but you knew he wasn’t completely on board with the way Beron handled his court… despite following his every order. Except for Jesminda, of course. Even he had found it unnecessarily cruel. What happened to her… you still had nightmares about her death, about your screams and Lucien’s broken pleas for mercy.

Now that you knew Eris wanted to overthrow Beron… Well, you couldn’t help but wonder how long he’d been planning for this. He’d alerted Tamlin of the hunt three of his brothers had embarked on after you and Lucien fled, saving both of your lives, but he’d never shown any ounce of concern for either of you before then.

You didn’t know what to think, and you found comfort in the fact that he was still under tight surveillance in the city.

As for your powers, you’d spent the afternoon trying to summon shadows with Azriel’s help, but you were faced with the same absence of power inside you. The frustration you’d felt had only multiplied, feeling like you did during your childhood training, just an utter disappointment to others. You’d gone to bed with an empty stomach, unable to choke down food while stewing in your self-hatred. This was just another thing you were bad at, another proof of your worthlessness. None of Az’s encouragements had even made a dent in the storm cloud that seemed to follow you around.

With your tentative approval, Azriel had asked Nesta to come help the day after, explaining that perhaps the way she summoned her powers would be more useful. Apart from Cassian, she was the only one who you’d interacted with, without too many problems. Your time together in the House of Wind had mostly consisted of silence, but you preferred that over her mate’s incessant chatter.

You hadn’t made any more progress with her .

You sat crossed legged on the living room floor across from the Valkyrie, who mirrored your position. You were exhausted from the mental strain, body tensed so tight that your muscles ached, not to mention the headache gradually turning into a full-blown migraine. This felt useless.

“It’s like trying to bucket water from a dry well.” you gritted through clenched teeth, your frown a permanent fixture since the day before. “I’ve tried every manner known to man to access my supposed powers. They’re not there.”

Nesta tutted. “You need to stop thinking about it as some pocket inside you that you need to reach. It’s a part of your very being and you don’t need to ‘find it’, you need to find the way to wield yourself as a weapon.”

Your fists clenched so hard you felt the familiar burn of your fingernails digging into your palms, a hint of metal hanging in the air. You had all the theoretical knowledge about having magical abilities, you’d heard it a million times before from too many people. The only thing you felt was exasperation simmering into anger.

“I know that Nesta,” you muttered, “but this is useless. I’m not one of you guys, I’m no more useful than a well-trained hound could be. That fact has been shoved in my face my entire life and it’s all I’ve ever been, you’re both wasting your time trying to make me come up with abilities I don’t truly have.”

“Okay, this pity party stops here.” she hissed, done with your self-hatred. You opened your eyes in shock when you felt her moving towards you rapidly. You didn’t even have time to react before she forcibly opened your hands, revealing the drops of blood that slowly dripped from your palms, and shoved you backwards to the ground. You tried to fight against her grip, but she held you in a position of weakness, your legs pinned in their crossed position.

“Nesta, what-” you heard Azriel call, unable to complete his sentence.

“You are going to take the stick out of your ass and stop acting like a child!” she snapped close to your face. “Do you think I care about your daddy issues? Get over yourself and listen.”

“Let go, Nesta.” you warned, your anger fully taking flame as you tried to roll over her. How dare she try to make light of what happened to you? You carried your past like you carried your wings, every second of your life was shadowed by it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” you yelled.

The way Azriel was watching this unfold so casually didn’t go unnoticed and only fueled the flames inside you. A little help would’ve been appreciated, but you both knew you’d never be able to ask for it. Maybe that was exactly why he didn’t help, you thought.

“You think you’re the only who’s had a difficult life?” Nesta continued, “That we all lived in grand castles and mansions drinking tea until you arrived? We’ve starved, died, sacrificed it all for Prythian, for our own. Some of us died fighting Amarantha and Hybern while you hid in your little caves. You can hate the Inner Circle all you want, but your excuses don’t mean a thing to me when you’ve been sitting on your ass for centuries whining about your life.”

Blood pounded in your ears, drowning out all other sounds, and you saw red. You finally managed to kick your legs free with a hiss and hooked one around her hips, using the force of your wings to propel your movement forward as you flipped her under you. You twisted your hands out of her grip, all pretense of niceness long gone, and pinned her wrists above her while your knees held her legs down.

“You think I wanted to stand by?” you shouted, so close to her face your noses almost touched. “You think I reveled in the fact that the entirety of Prythian was under siege? Every day I saw people die, every day I wanted to skin Amarantha and Hybern alive, but no one wanted me. Autumn would’ve sold me out in a minute, the Illyrians wanted me dead, and Dawn had already kicked me out! Any place I went, I would’ve been a big red target for people to attack, and I couldn’t take Amarantha and Hybern down alone with my little dagger, don’t you get that? I couldn’t. do. SHIT.”

Your grip on her tightened when she grinned at your words, the picture of satisfaction as you heaved in fury over her. This wasn’t a joke! You couldn’t believe the audacity she’d shown, the disrespect. Did she think making an enemy of you would fix this shitshow? If aggression is what she wanted, she’d get it.

“No abilities, huh?” she said, sarcasm dripping from her every word as your hold on her tightened even more. Any tighter and you knew you’d feel her delicate wrists snap under your fingers, and you were tempted to do so. She looked up to where you clutched her wrists. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You glanced up and gasped. Your hold on her was burning, an icy dance of white flames travelling over her skin and yours, the wood underneath charring from the cold. Her skin remained untouched, as did yours, but the feeling of warmth in your fingers was rapidly leaching away, the circulation of your hands clearly taking a hit.

You jumped back in shock, the flames ceasing the instant you let go of her and scrambled away from her on your ass so fast your wings and head crashed against the wall behind you. A sharp pain shot through your skull and back, echoes of past pains resonating within you again.  

“What the hell was that?” you cried, shaking off your disorientation and flexing your hands as you tried to get blood running through them again. It was like you’d dunked them in icy water, and the floor was even worse off. When you’d released her, the movement against the iced surface had caused it to break into chips of wood, frozen pieces of the blackened floor scattered everywhere.

Azriel rushed over to you, taking your icy hands in his own, trying to bring back some warmth in them.

You barely even noticed; your now watery eyes still fixed on the destruction before you.

“That, my dear, is power,” Nesta snickered and brushed herself off, “more specifically, my power.”

You didn’t understand, your mind grasping at straws trying to comprehend what had just happened. “Was that you?”, you asked shakily.

“Oh no, that was all you.”

If you thought you were confused before, you were absolutely lost now. “But how could I, how did I… What?” you stuttered. You’d been the cause of the floor’s damage, the frozen wood still emitting a cold smoke.

Azriel, who was still holding and rubbing your hands softly as feeling gradually returned to them, turned to you. “I think we’ve been approaching it all wrong.” he said, realization clear in his voice. He laughed slightly. “This must be why you couldn’t produce abilities of your own, Dove. You don’t have your own source of power, because you’re able to bend someone else’s to your will.”

“But what does that mean?” you pleaded, still unable to grasp the implications of it. Was that why you’d been able to summon the shadows, to create that barrier of storm, to burn a door handle, but how could you, without touching the person who provided their magic? Azriel, Feyre, Lucien… they’d all been in your proximity when you’d wielded their powers.

Azriel chuckled more at your question. “It means Rhysand is going to have an aneurysm.”

nothing says "relaxing" quite like your roomate taunting you in a blind rage

Banner created by the amazing @saradika!

Taglist: @sapphenaa @minnieoo @weasleyreidstyles

[shadowqueenjude]

“Bitch” wow! I don’t see the reason for getting so heated over these characters. They don’t actually exist you know? You’re not defending anyone’s honour or being some saint here. I didn’t mean anything in a bad way, I was trying to have a rational conversation because I’ve never come across an IC hater and wanted to know why you didn’t like them. But obviously having a rational conversation is out of your zone of abilities since it didn’t take a lot for you to get down to name calling. My only suggestion to you because I truly wish the best for you is control that anger and learn to listen to other people before someone shows you your place. It won’t be nice. Good luck bbg 💜💜

You're the one coming in anon and shitting on characters that I like. What did you expect??? I'm going to defend my characters, obviously. You want my dissertation on why I hate each member of the Inner Circle? Let's start with captain asshole Rhysand: Rhysand: Sexually assaulted Feyre, did not apologize, licked Amarantha's boots for fifty years to "protect" no one since he only rules 1/3 of his court. He claims to be uber powerful yet he can't control misogyny within 2/3 of his court. But it's totally fine to go into Tarquin's house, steal an important possession, then act superior later when his wife's antics in Spring caused Summer to be invaded. Pretends to give his wife a "choice" while not giving her crucial information, i.e. that he wouldn't be helping her out with the Weaver at all. Locked Lucien in a house, made rape jokes about his mother, altogether treated him like shit for no reason. Then the Inner Circle acts all shocked and furious that their "masks" as "bad guys" fooled everyone and act violent towards literally everyone not Inner Circle there. Rhysand forcibly shut Tamlin's mouth, Feyre burned Lucien and Eris's innocent mother, Azriel nearly choked Eris to death. Ironically, Cassian acted the most sane here. After Tamlin saved Feyre and Rhysand's lives multiple times, Rhysand has the gall to tell Tamlin to kill himself despite knowing they'll need him as an ally, which is a terrible thing to do and also made Lucien's life harder. ACOSF he locks Nesta in a house and hides the malignant nature of his wife's pregnancy from her. That's just the gist of it. Cassian: Rhysand's dog. He need to grow a fucking spine. He never defends Nesta in front of Rhysand, and constantly abuses her physically and mentally. Won't let her eat sugar, forces her to train, tells her everyone hates her, makes her hike a fucking mountain for having the nerve to disobey rhysand and tell feyre the truth she deserved to hear. Then again in HOFAS not defending Nesta in front of Rhysand when he was screaming at her for giving away the trove and telling her she should've killed Bryce instead. THAT. IS. YOUR. MATE. He treats all the women in his life better than her, like mor and feyre. Azriel: A fucking weirdo violent creep. He needs to man tf up and admit Lucien is the superior man. His creeping on Mor for 500 years when she's clearly not interested is not cute. Nor is choking Eris to death in an important political meeting. Nor is treating Elain like a helpless object and masturbating to a gag gift he gave her. I'lL dEfEaT hIm WiTh LiTtLe EfFoRt boi stfu no you can't and Lucien has done NOTHING to you. I have absolutely ZERO respect for a character who treats the nicest guy in the series like that. Elain is not a child to be fought over. He's so pathetically jealous that Lucien is a good dude and has a mate and is better than him at everything. He needs to admit his homoerotic desire for Lucien and get it over with. Or let Eris humble him. Either way. Mor: the biggest hypocrite of all time. I aM a DrEaMeR aNd I gOt OuT so did it ever occur to you that maybe you're not the only dreamer? You're not even going to try to save good people stuck under the Court of Nightmares or ask your High Lord to? You just write them off because you're the only good one? And you want to throw Nesta into the court of nightmares? You don't do shit when Cassian is harassing Nesta? You're a bitch and not a girl's girl at all. If there's ANYTHING women should be united on, it's creepy dudes. ESPECIALLY if one of them is your best friend. Amren: this bitch should've stayed dead after ACOWAR. How dare she talk to Nesta the way she did in ACOSF? She KNEW how much Nesta was hurting and she did it anyway. She's over 15 thousand years old. What a bitch. They're all part of an elitist establishment and the epitome of modern politics that needs to be destroyed. Oh, I'm sorry? Should I apologize for saying "bitch" when you're the one coming in hot on my anons? How about you get a life besides harassing people who disagree with you first?

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

hey love! for the acotar smut prompts would u consider 2, 8, and 11 for azriel or lucien <3

Here you go, love! I chose 8 & 11 for Lucien, hope that’s okay. I feel like it went off on a bit of a tangent so I hope you like it lol💋

—————————————————————————

The meeting was not supposed to get this out of hand.

You’d promised Rhysand — explicitly promised him — that you’d be on your best behaviour while delivering a message to the Spring Court. And you truly had intended to cordially deliver it to Tamlin and leave.

Until you’d bumped into Lucien — your past love.

Things had been idyllic between you. You’d loved him fiercely, just as he’d loved you. Until after the war, when he’d decided to return to the Spring Court. To return his loyalty to Tamlin — even after everything had happened — rather than remain with you in the Night Court. It had cleaved the two of you apart, and things hadn’t been so idyllic since then.

Six horrible, miserable months had passed since. And you weren’t stupid enough to believe it just a coincidence that Rhys had elected you to deliver his message and risk running into Lucien.

Which was precisely what had occurred. And it hadn’t taken long for tensions to become fraught. You couldn’t bear to face him, to sit in the same room as him and the male who had come between you. Your quick temper may have got the better of you.

You’d made your exit on a particularly colourful parting, and were hurrying back through the house when you heard rushed, thudding footsteps following. You sped up, trying to cross the length of the tea room and reach the glass double doors to the garden, but Lucien was hot on your trail.

“Get back here, Y/N.” He snarled at you from behind. “We’re not done talking.”

“Oh yes we are.” You snapped back, shaking with rage. “I’m leaving.”

You needed to get out of there. Needed to be far away from Lucien and Tamlin and the damn Spring Court before you did something really stupid. Like burn the entire estate down.

Or show Lucien just how much he’d hurt you.

“Hey,” he caught up to you, grabbing your hand. “I don’t want to fight. I just want us to talk.”

You stopped, rounding on him. Ripped your hand away. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“We’ll I have plenty to say to you. I’ve written about a thousand letters—”

“And I burned them all.” You sneered. “Every single one of them.”

Lucien’s eyes flared. He glared down at you, face a picture of fury laced with hurt. “I understand why you’re angry—”

“No you don’t!”

Your voice was hoarse from the shouting you’d already done, but you pushed yourself, loud words echoing through the room. Lucien blinked at you.

“You don’t understand a fucking thing—”

You words were cut short as Lucien grabbed your face in his hands, crushing your lips against his in a passionate kiss and stealing the breath from your lungs. His touch on you was searing, and you faltered, almost lost yourself—

You shoved against his chest, parting him from you. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

“Drop the damn act, Y/N.” His chest was heaving. “I think you’re forgetting how well I know you. How easily I can read you. You may act like you hate me, but deep down, you want me to touch you. You love me and I love you—”

“I can’t stand you!” You screamed, shoving at his chest again.

His jaw ticked, and suddenly he was yanking you against him, walking the two of you towards the huge wall of windows that overlooked the gardens. You were sure the staff could hear your yelling, were probably peeking out from around hedges and trees to see what the fuss was, but your anger made it impossible for you to care.

“Yell at me again,” Lucien hissed, “and I’ll give you a reason to scream.”

You stared at him — gaped at him — and he stared back. Both of you were trembling, breathing heavily. You hated him and loved him and wanted him, and you wished his words didn’t have the power to set you on fire.

But they did. And they had.

The two of you surged forward at the same time, meeting in a hard, rough kiss. Lucien had always had the ability to turn the direction of your moods within seconds. Anger became lust, and suddenly, you couldn’t kiss him hard enough, couldn’t undress him fast enough.

Your back hit the window with a resounding smack, and Lucien’s strong hands ripped your shirt open, buttons scattering over the floor. His lips seared yours as he moved to the laces on your breeches, and he tugged at them harshly, yanking them down as quickly as he possibly could.

“Gods,” You huffed into his mouth, tugging at his hair. “This is a terrible idea.”

His hands faltered. “You want me to stop?”

“No.”

“Good,” he growled. “Because I wanna fuck you against the glass so everyone can see how well you take it.”

His delicious, filthy words drew a moan from your throat, and you ripped at his clothes hungrily, freeing the long, hard length of him.

You hissed between your teeth. You missed this. Missed him. And if you didn’t have him inside you immediately—

“Turn around.” His eyes flashed with need, darting down to your parted shirt, your bare breasts.

You did as he said.

His arms came around you, one kneading your breast and the other sliding between your legs, his fingers sliding inside you. And then he was pushing you up against the window, your cheek pressed to the glass.

“Have you missed this?” His hair tickled your skin as he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, pumping his fingers. “Missed me touching you? Fucking you?”

“Yes.” You admitted on a gasp. “You’re still an asshole, though.”

He pulled his fingers out of you. And the loss was quickly replaced with the head of his cock, slipping between your folds.

“Be that as it may,” he said quietly, “I’m an asshole who loves you. Who’s missed you. Missed my girl.”

The tip pushed into you, and you sucked in a sharp breath, biting your lip. “I bet you’ve been fucking any female that comes near—”

He slipped further into you, causing your words to die in your throat. He pinched your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “I haven’t fucked anyone.” He said, pushing and pushing. “It’s just been me and my hand and thoughts of you.”

You couldn’t help moaning. At him, his words, the feel of him filling you. The image of him fisting at his cock whilst thinking of you.

“What kind of thoughts?” You tipped your head back, resting it against him.

As he stilled, allowing you to adjust to him fully inside of you, he released your breast, sliding his hand down to toy with your clit. Your hips jerked at the sensation, both too much and not enough.

“How you feel around my cock,” he growled, pulling out and thrusting back in. “The noises you make. Your facial expressions. How hard you make me cum.”

“Gods,” you moaned, reaching back to thread your fingers in his hair. “Yes.”

His hips picked up, fingers working at your clit harder, faster. “And all the different places and different ways we’ve fucked. Although,” He growled, “we’ve never done it against a window like this. Does it get you off? Knowing that people are probably watching me fuck you?”

Gods, it did. And it got Lucien off just as much, evidently, as he released a gruff sound and began to relentlessly pound into you.

“Fuck, just like that.” He hissed, skin loudly slapping yours. “Feel good? Are you gonna cum for me, my girl?”

You were long beyond the ability to form any more words, only filthy, needy noises escaping you. And when Lucien pressed down on your clit and truly let loose on you, you absolutely fucking lost it.

A scream tore through you, your hands tugging at his hair as he fucked you through your orgasm. You were clenching around him, begging him to fall over that edge with you. You wanted to feel him cumming, to know that he was close behind you—

“Fuck,” He kissed your neck, his voice shaking. “I’m so close. So close.”

You moaned, still clenching around him. Somehow managed to find your raspy, fucked-out voice. “I haven’t…” you gasped, moving your hips perfectly with his, “fucked anyone else either, you know.”

Those very words seemed to be the one that sent him freefalling into utter bliss.

He grabbed at your hips, and managed a few more staggered thrusts before he roared his release into your neck and spilled inside you. He filled you up completely, and he seemed unable to hold himself up any longer as he collapsed against you, pushing you closer up to the glass.

Moments passed of silence. And then he kissed your neck. Your cheek. Ran a gentle hand over your shoulder.

“Neither of us are fucking anyone else.” He said. “Ever.”

[taylors-fourth-cat-meow]

Answering this ask because my clumsy ass deleted the draft of the ans as well as the ask idek how that happened

HERE'S THE COMMENTARY ON ACOFAS CHAPTER 11: THE ONE WHERE RHYISE VISITS A SUICIDAL TAMLIN AND TELLS HIM TO ROT IN HELL 🥰

A tomb.

This place was a tomb.

How can someone be proud of doing something cruel to someone? If they are the saints they claim to be why do this to Tamlin bro? Istg i will NEVER to this understand how on earth did the editors agree to the plotline of the destruction of Spring Court?

Lucien had not come here to make amends during Solstice, I realized as Tamlin opened the door to the dark library.

Lucien had come here out of pity. Mercy.

Bruh why? why? wud he underestimate their bond like that? he speaks as if they hadnt been each others only family for centuries

Tamlin claiming an ornate cushioned chair on one side of it. The only thing he had that was close to a throne these days.

oh fck u little shit atleast tamlin doesnt OPPRESS his people!!

“If you’ve come to gloat, you can spare yourself the effort.”

Tamlin is so non-combative here and people still have the audacity to say Rhysie is the bigger male????

“Do you see any sentries around to do it?”

Even they had abandoned him. Interesting. “Feyre did her work

thoroughly, didn’t she.”

THATS NOT SOMETHING TO BE FUCKING PROUD OF RHYSIE

ISTG this asshole someone needs to kick him in the balls. HARD.

I smiled. “Oh, no. That was all her. Clever, isn’t she.”

No sir she is a dumb teenage girl who taught to destroy a court DURING WARTIME?

tbh if Spring wouldn't have fallen the war would have never gone down i said what i said.

I didn’t smile as I countered with, “I suppose you think I should be

thanking you, for stepping up to assist in reviving me.”

“I have no illusions that the day you thank me for anything, Rhysand, is the day the burning fires of hell go cold.”

my boi tamlin is so savage like??

SLAY

Tamlin deserved what he’d brought upon himself, this husk of a life.

He deserved every empty room, every snarl of thorns, every meal he had to hunt for himself.

Seriously? Tamlin, sweetheart, for the love of good kick this man and his bat dick pls.

Tamlin had burned them long ago, Feyre had told me. It made no

difference. He’d been there that day.

I really want to emphasize that Tamlin DID NOT take part in their death.

Had given his father and brothers the information on where my sister and mother would be waiting for me to meet them. And done nothing to help them as they were butchered.

BRO????

U expect a boy to go against his evil, physically abusive father? NO, strike that.

U WANT A BOY TO GO AGAINT A HIGH LORD?

No tell me? how was Tamlin supposed to fight a HIGH LORD and his brother??? Three against one??

And even if he tried to help them? we will never know? we get only rhysie's side of the story never tamlin's pov

“You brought every bit of this upon yourself,”

Yes yes lets go tell a suicidal person he brought every bit of his misery on himself

Yeh lets all applaud him

“You won,” he spat, sitting forward. “You got your mate. Is that not

enough?”

"No."

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK???

MANNNNNNNNNNNNNN

I WANT TO SCRATCH MY EYEBALLS RHYSIE'S EYEBALLS OUT AT THIS POINT

"You deserve everything that has befallen you. You deserve this pathetic, empty house, your ravaged lands. I don’t care if you offered that kernel of life to save me, I don’t care if you still love my mate. I don’t care that you saved her from Hybern, or a thousand enemies before that.”

THIS UNGRATEFUL LITTLE BITCH?!?!?!?!?

PLSSSSSSSSS

Why doesnt he care that tamlin has saved BOTH their lives on MULTIPLE occasions???

at this point 50% of the IC owe their life to tamlin

“I hope you live the rest of your miserable life alone here. It’s a far more satisfying end than slaughtering you.”

well he isnt even strong enough to keep his people in line and not a hair's breath away from rebellion, i doubt he'll be able to slaughter the HL who tore apart Amarantha, who fought a hundred of Hybern's monsters and soldiers in their camp ALONE, at the same time helping feyre escape AND was able to "drag" another highlord to war

*Drops mike*

But Tamlin only stared. And after a heartbeat, his eyes lowered to the

desk. “Get out.”

Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you the bigger male

Tamlin didn’t have shields around the house. None to prevent anyone from winnowing in, to guard against enemies appearing in his bedroom and

slitting his throat.

It was almost as if he was waiting for someone to do it.

This breaks my heart so much. No, Tamlimn doesnt deserve this. NO ONE deserves this. Imagine being OKAY with someone being suicidal?!

[acourtofthought]

"Elain would make a terrible High Lady"

"I've seen Rhysand do such ... horrible things, seen him play the dark prince over and over."

"I am here to help you fight against Hybern." "Bullshit," Cassian muttered.

"You'd be all too happy for war, considering how well you made out in the last one." "No one says war can't be lucrative," Helion countered.

I waited for it - for the blow that would surely doom us. We were thieves who had deceived him, we had come to his house in peace and stolen from him, had ripped into their minds to ensure our success.

One moment, Azriel was seated. The next, he'd blasted through Eris's shield with a flare of blue light and tackled him backward, wood shattering beneath them. / "Call of your overgrown bat," Beron ordered Rhys. Rhys was enjoying it, bargainw ith Eris or no - could have ended it seconds ago.

"You're a coward," I breathed to the High Lord of Autumn. Beron just said, "The same could be claimed of you." My stomach churned. "I don't need to explain myself to you." "No, but perhaps to that girl's family - but they're dead, too, aren't they? Butchered and burned to death in their own beds.

There was still much work to be done, trust to build.

The High Lords quarreled the most about the possibility of a new wall. And with every word of it, just as Helion said, that temporary allegiance frayed and snapped.

"We need the humans in other territories to trust us, if we can ever hope to achieve lasting peace." "Then perhaps Jurian and Vassa should deal with them."

"The Illyrians are pieces of shit," he said too quietly. I opened my mouth and shut it. / "They're hypocrites." "And what would you have me do, then? Disband the largest army in Prythian?" Azriel didn't answer.

"Your mate should have known better than to kick a downed male." "I can't say I'm particularly sorry that he did." "You will need Tamlin as an ally before the dust has settled. Tread carefully." I didn't want to think about it, consider it, today. Any day. "My business with him is done." "Yours might be, but Rhys's isn't. And you'd do well to remind your mate of that fact."

And though he roams these lands, he does not see or care for the neglect he passes, the lawlessness, the vulnerability.

I find the "Elain would make a terrible High Lady" arguments odd. The above is just a small list of what the leadership in Prythian looks like and the actions of those that report directly to a High Lord (who should be able to expect certain behaviors from his inner circle in important meetings or in regards to an entire group of their people). I'm not even trying to suggest that anyone is a bad High Lord, clearly Rhys and his ICs actions are meant to read as amusing and entertaining or warranted. And I think in certain situations there's only choosing between the lesser of two evils.

But it's evident that no one is perfect, that even the current High Lords are capable of mistakes and drama. And with so many strong personalities currently in charge, there is space for someone who approaches things in a different manner.

She had come alive here, and her joy was infectious. There wasn’t a servant or gardener who didn’t smile at her, and even the brusque head cook found excuses to bring her plates of cookies and tarts at various points in the day.

She had looked at that cottage with hope. I had looked at it with nothing but hatred. And I knew which one of us had been stronger.

She was generous, loving, and kind.

Elain had taken charge of planning

Elain, to my surprise, had a horse, a satchel of food, and supplies ready when I hurried down the stairs.

She put a hand on Nesta's knee. "Feyre gave and gave - for years. Let us now help her. Help ... others."

A lady - that's what Elain would become. What she was risking for this. (Lady?!? As in High Lady?! Possible foreshadowing???)

"I'll do it," Elain said, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders. She didn't wait for either of us before she strode out, graceful as a doe.

My sister Elain can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles.

Elain sat a little higher as she said to Cassian, "And as for Feyre's hunting during those years, it was not Nesta's neglect alone that is to blame. We were scared, and had received no training, and everything had been taken, and we failed her. Both of us."

Nesta went on, utterly unimpressed by any of us, "I assume you'll want to stay the night." I said, "If it's not too much trouble, then yes. We'll leave after breakfast tomorrow." Nesta didn't smile, but Elain beamed.

But Elain's cry - a warning. A warning to - . To my right, now exposed, Tamlin ran for me. To grab me at last.

Then Elain said quietly, "We could move them to Graysen's estate." "His father has high walls - made of thick stone. With space for plenty of people and supplies." "There are escape tunnels," Elain whispered. "Perhaps it is better than nothing." A glance between the Illyrians. "We can set up a guard - " Cassian began. "No," Elain interrupted, her voice louder than I'd heard it in months. "They...Graysen and his father..." Cassian's jaw tightened. "Then we cloak -" "They have hounds. Bred and trained to hunt you. Detect you." / Elain considered. "I can speak to him." "No," I said - at the same moment Nesta did. But Elain cut us of. "If - if you, and they" - a glance at Rhys, my friends - "come with me, your Fae scents might distract the dogs." "Glamour me," Elain said - to Rhys. "Make me look human. Just long enough to convince him to open his gates to those seeking sanctuary. Perhaps even let you set those wards around the estate." "This could end very badly, Elain." "It's already ended badly. Now it's just a matter of deciding how we meet the consequences." "Wisely said," Mor offered, smiling softly at Elain.

Then she was gone - shoulders a little squarer.

Elain offered a half smile. "I suppose that war makes wanting things like that unimportant."

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king's neck as she snarled in his ear, "Don't you touch my sister."

Elain swept in, apron gone and hair re-braided. "Please don't wait on my account," she said, taking the seat at the head of the table.

"It's their tradition though," Elain countered, her face still flushed with the cold. "One that they fought and died to protect in the war. Perhaps that's the better way to think of it, rather than feeling guilty. To remember that this day means something to them. All of them, regardless of who has more, who has less, and in celebrating the traditions, even through the presents, we honor those who fought for it's very existence, for the peace this city now has." For a moment I just stared at my sister, the wisdom she'd spoken. Not a whisper of those oracular abilities. Just clear eyes and an open expression.

"I asked Nuala to do it in that order," Elain said as the others gathered round. "Because you're the foundation, the one who lifts us. You always have been.

Elain, mourn as she might for the life she would have had with Graysen, had found a place, a role here. Tending to the gardens of Feyre's veritable palace on the river, helping other residents of Velaris restore their own destroyed gardens.

She had purpose, and joy, and friends. But those things had always come easily to her sister. Had always made Elain special.

When Rhys spoke like that, it was more of a command than a question. Elain waved a hand in dismissal.

"Using me."

"Elain showed some teeth."

"Don't forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one's hands dirty along the way".

And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her. But she hadn't hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that she was part of this court - and would do whatever was needed.

Nesta was wrong, Cassian realized, to think Elain as loyal and loving as a dog. Elain saw every single thing Nesta had done, and understood why.

Let's recap. Elain owns up to her mistakes, gives credit where credit is due, is wise, observant, easily makes friends, can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles, is willing to help out a people she only just became one of (and grew up fearing), brave when the situation calls for it, takes charge and pushes back on topics she thinks are important and is now offering herself up to dangerous situations. I also think it's important to note her diplomatic nature. Whereas Feyre and Nesta spent their childhood at one another's throats and hating their father, Elain managed a decent relationship to all three. No, she's not in a place to rule an entire court all on her own but neither was Feyre, that's why she had a partner by her side to help her learn (as Elain would too, these are romance books after all).

Prythian doesn't need another ruler who is willing to burn relationships in order to achieve a specific end result. No shade to Rhys, he's extremely self sacrificing and someone needs to fill the role that he does.

But we don't need another Rhys and Feyre, another Beron, another Tamlin, or even Tarquin (who while being a good male, doesn't really seem to go out of his way to interact with other courts). It needs a set of rulers who are better at negotiating peace between not only the courts but the human lands and those on the continent.

We know Lucien is set up to be a High Lord at some point (though something would need to happen to Helion for him to begin ruling in Day) and Elain is his mate. We know Tamlin is not currently any sort of leader to Spring so that means there could be a vacancy there. I doubt SJM told us that Elain's scent was a "promise of Spring" and that "the Spring Court had been made for someone like Elain" for absolutely no reason.

Of the possible future pairings, who would make more sense ruling the Fae in either Spring or Day?

Vassa and Lucien? Vassa who is a human Queen and has shown absolutely no interest in the needs of the fae after the war?

Az and Gwyn? Neither Gwyn or Az have been given hints that they'd be leaders of a court nor do they currently have anything to do with Day Court or Spring. Yes, Gwyn has Spring heritage through her grandmother but she doesn't have a connection to the political system there, nor does Az. Not like Lucien.

I think there is a huge amount of evidence showing why Elain would make an excellent leader and that's not even accounting for the fact that mates are equals. Even if in some weird twist she and Lucien don't end up together, it doesn't change that fact.

Mates are reflections of one another.

Rhys was the most powerful High Lord in Prythian's history, Feyre became his High Lady with the power of all 7 High Lords, both having a darkness to them.

Cassian is one of the strongest Illyrian's and the general of the Illyrians. Nesta had the power of death and is set to be the general of the Valkyries.

Lucien is a High Lords heir, showing the markers of such (knocking Cassian from his rage with a single word) AND has strong fire powers through his mothers line. Through Lucien we learned that High Lords are a different breed and through the Suriel we learned that they are not merely powerful, they are Power.

Elain as his mate would need to be a match to Lucien's power and even if she were not a High Lady chosen by the magic, there is little chance Lucien would not make her his High Lady as Rhys made Feyre his, meaning she would be a ruler by his side.

Diminishing all that we know of Elain and what we know of mates, claiming she'd be a horrible ruler though SJM mated her to a future High Lord, it's fandom pettiness born of hatred for her character.

[acourtofladydeath]

Poly+ ACOTAR Week Day 1: Beginnings

All his life Nyx has been raised by his parents, Rhysand and Feyre, and their mate Tamlin. One day he decides to ask him mom how their bonds snapped and she is more than happy to oblige.

Inspired by the storytelling in "The Princess Bride" and "How I Met Your Mother" this is angsty, fluffy fun.

So excited to kick off the first day of @polyacotarweek with one of my favorite trios, Feytamsand. Start reading below, or read the entire fic on AO3 here!

“Mom!” I shouted through the hall of the River House. It was her day off, which probably meant she was painting. The River House had a state of the art studio for her to work in, but she typically painted wherever inspiration struck. Which means she could be anywhere. 

The house was entirely too large. Something I loved growing up when I wanted to hide, but hated when I needed to find them. Sure, we could mind speak, but once I walked in on my parents having daemati sex, something I literally didn't know existed before then. After that, I refused to communicate that way unless there was an emergency. 

“In here Nyxie!” She called back from the library at the end of the hall. It had a huge window overlooking the Sidra and sunset. Throughout the day light cast through the window, ricocheting through the room. As it traveled it glanced across the wide array of books, some gilded and some plain, painting the floor in its own way. With the kaleidoscope of colors and dancing light, it was one of mom’s favorite spots to paint. Aunt Nes spent most of her time here when she visited, but today it was just mom. 

“What’s up, baby?” Mom said as I walked in. Covered head to toe in paint, she turned to look at me and wiped even more on her apron and one of her mate’s old shirts. Now which one, I wasn’t quite sure. But judging by those giant, billowy sleeves and the gauzy white linen fabric I had a pretty good guess. 

“I’m not a baby anymore,” I scoffed from the doorway. There was no way I’d get any closer to her like this. Last time she hugged me while painting it took three baths to get it all off and my clothes had to be burned. 

“Nyx you are thirteen, you are definitely still my baby. Even a hundred years from now you’ll still be my baby. I’m your mother, that’s how it goes.” She smiled softly at me then, one of those smiles that told me she was thinking about the past and the future all at once. They were my favorites. 

“What did you need? Or did you just want to watch me paint?” My mom asked, slight worry in her eyes. I’d never been great at schooling my expressions like dad was, mom and I had that in common. We both wore our emotions on our sleeves for all to see. 

I sighed, settling in to ask the question that had been gnawing at me for some time now. “One of the kids at school said something today that bothered me,” I rubbed at the muscles in the back of my neck with one hand, my gaze cast down on the floor as I tried to find the right words. 

It took me several long breaths, but mom waited patiently even as I felt her own anxiety build. “They said…” I let out a long sigh, there really was no good way to say this. “They said it’s not fair that I have two High Lords for parents, or for you to have two mates. And it’s not the first time, either.” 

Mom wrung her apron uneasily between her paint streaked hands, her art now completely forgotten as she focused on me. “I’m sorry you’re having to deal with this love. We knew people might say things like this, Nyx. I wish I had better answers for you, but the Mother gave your fathers and I each two mates.” She looked up at me with apology in her eyes, something I never intended and didn’t need to hear from her again. “I never wanted it to affect you negatively though.” 

“I know mom, and I know we’ve talked it to death.” I ran a frustrated hand through my hair. “It’s just still a lot, you know?” A thought struck me then. I knew my parents were all mates, I knew they’d met around the time of Amarantha’s reign under the mountain. We’d had a lot of conversations that time so I wasn’t caught off guard if other kids or parents mentioned it, but still…

“How’d you all find out anyway?” 

Mom cocked her head slightly to the side, her brow furrowed just a bit. “What do you mean?”

“How’d you find out you’re all mates? I mean, we’ve talked about the mountain and how you met them, but I’ve never really heard the full story of how your bonds snapped.” 

A secretive smile slid across her face then, and my mom straightened her head toward me. “Would you like to hear the full story? I think you’re old enough now.”

“Only if you promise to spare the gross bits…” I said, internally cringing as the unbidden image of mentally walking in on them flashed through my mind again. Fighting back a shudder at the memory I continued,  "But I am pretty curious.” I smiled slightly, and her own brightened wide enough to light the whole room. 

“Are you too old to sit on mom’s lap for story time? I can change out of my paint clothes first, I know you’ve taken after your dad with how much you care for your clothes.” she asks, humor alight in her words. 

I feel the heat of a blush on my cheeks as I answer. “Definitely too old for sitting on your lap…but maybe not for the couch…” She knew what I meant. When I had bad dreams or hard days at school, sometimes I’d lay on the couch, head in her lap. It felt too juvenile to use the word ‘cuddles’ but I guess that’s what it was. A kid’s allowed to cuddle his mom right? 

A few minutes later, mom was back wearing leggings and one of her favorite sweaters. She sat on the couch next to the big window in the library and patted the seat next to her, warmth filling the space between us. I pushed off the wall from where I stood and went to join her. As I settled in, she began her story. “Alright Nyx, let’s start from the beginning. Here’s the story of how I met your fathers.” 

Continue reading at the first cut on AO3.

Please let me know if you would like off or on my taglist!: @pippsmcgee @born-to-riot @chunkypossum @bubybubsters @queercontrarian @yanny-77 @fieldofdaisiies @iftheshoef1tz @secret-third-thing

[draguta]

.a court of fate fortune | four.

pairing: lucien vanserra x fem!reader

summary: | book two | lovers separated, powers that won't be controlled, a doomed wedding. with the threat of war looming over prythian, lucien, Y/N, tamlin, and rhysand's inner circle must scramble to find allies and prepare themselves for what is to come. but Y/N only has one aim; to find her way back to lucien, and protect him at all costs.

chapter warnings: smut, 18+, minors dni, masturbation

chapter word count: 3031

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Wedding

Dreams filled with auburn hair and golden-russet eyes; really you should have expected it. They came every night. But this time it was different, this time they woke you, not with sadness, not with frustration or anger, but with longing, with arousal.

The sheets clung to your sweat-coated body, too hot, too heavy against you. You kicked them off, not caring that the silk fell to the floor; that was a problem for later. The only thing you could focus on now was the burning ache in your lower stomach, one that you had grown far too familiar with as the weeks passed.

You allowed your fingers to trail down your body, over your breasts, cupping them and tweaking the nipples as you went, tracing gentle lines over your stomach, your navel, your abdomen, until they dipped under your nightdress.

Sleep evaded Lucien.

It was the wedding in the morning, and as much as he pretended to be excited for it, pretended to be happy for his friends, it was impossible. Not when he was so unhappy himself.

Not without her.

His mind betrayed him, flooding him with images of her - of her smile, echoes of her laughter, her skin smooth and soft under his touch, of her face contorted into pleasure beneath him.

He shifted uncomfortably, his length straining in his breeches. He chuckled - really he should have known that even just thinking about her in that situation would have him painfully hard in seconds. That was the power that she had over him. And he was more than willing to succumb to that power whenever and however she wished.

He pulled at the laces of his breeches, hissing through his teeth as he wrapped a hand around his length, running a thumb over the tip - a bead of his arousal was already seeping from there.

He closed his eyes, thinking of her, conjuring those images, those memories of her and the night they had shared together - the night when he had realised just how much he really loved her. And he began to move his hand.

Your room was filled with nothing but your breath moans, whispers of Lucien’s name slipping from the tip of your tongue, and the scent of your arousal, your body reacting to how much, exactly, you missed him.

Your fingers circled that little bud as you screwed your eyes shut tightly. You drew your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down hard to quell the cries of pleasure that you knew would be heard throughout the house. When you reached up, twirling your nipple between your fingers, your back arched and you fell over the edge.

And as the bliss rippled over your entire body, you found something else there. Not just your own pleasure, but another wave of bliss from somewhere in the chest. One that didn’t belong to you, but rather someone that you were connected to, bound to.

Lucien.

He was feeling pleasure himself - he was bringing himself over the edge - and as if fate had decreed it, he had finished at the same time as you without even knowing. You could only hope that it was you he was thinking about. That extra push washed over him, prolonging your own pleasure, something that you knew he wouldn’t be able to feel.

When you finally came down from your high, you didn’t feel as complete as you had hoped. No, you felt…frustrated. Because you had felt him through that bond once more, just as Rhys could feel Feyre, just as you had felt Lucien earlier that day, but he couldn’t feel you. He couldn’t know that you were thinking about him, that it was thoughts of him bringing you to release.

You huffed, flopping back against the mattress. You had to get out of that room, had to find a way to get out your frustrations that didn’t involve thinking about him. Had to feel the relief of fresh air away from the stuffiness of your bedroom.

The training area was, much to your surprise, not empty, despite the late hour. In fact, there were two bodies, black membranous wings looking so magnificent in the moonlight, sparring in the ring, their grunts echoing through the night. They faltered when you appeared in the doorway, now dressed in a loose shirt and leggings. Azriel’s eyes fell to you first, and then Cassian turned to look at you, their shirtless bodies glimmering with sweat.

“What are you doing awake?” Cassian asked, raising an eyebrow. Your fingers fidgeted awkwardly as you looked over at them.

“I just wanted to…let out some anger,” you said quietly, eyes flickering to Azriel for a moment. Cassian narrowed his own eyes, but eventually nodded, turning to motion to the ring that they were standing in.

“Come on then,” he said as Azriel began to move from the ring, grabbing a towel from the corner to wipe a sweat from his forehead. “Let’s do it.”

You swallowed, wondering if perhaps you should just head back to bed and try to sleep it off, or seek Rhys out somewhere for a late-night drink and confide your problems in him. But your feet moved without your brain, and before you knew it, you were in the ring facing Cassian, hunched into a fighting stance.

“What’s got you so worked up?” Cassian asked as you took the first lunge forward, missing him as he jumped out of the way easily. You could almost hear Azriel smirking behind you. “Is it because of Feyre?”

“No,” you bit out, gritting your teeth as you flew a leg up toward him, one that he caught and threw back to the ground. “It’s about someone else.”

“Someone else?” Azriel asked, raising an eyebrow. “You mean the person that you cry about?”

You spun to glare at him, cheeks reddening. That unbroken promise between you that he would never utter to anyone how you cried so often while he sat with you, now broken.

“You weren’t meant to-”

“We’re friends now,” Cassian said as he jumped up behind you and grabbed you around the waist, one arm around your upper chest, holding you in place. You thrashed and writhed to get away, but Cassian was the stronger fae by far. “You can tell us.”

You winced, wriggling once more, but eventually gave up and slumped into his grip. “I miss him.”

“Who?” Azriel asked, cocking his head to the side.

You hesitated - did you admit to them that Lucien was your mate? No, that was something that you wanted to keep for yourself for a while. Even Lucein didn’t know yet, and it wouldn’t be fair to him for these two Illyrians to know before he did.

“Lucien.” His name was a whisper, a twinge of pain slipping from your tongue, a stabbing ache through your chest as if Cassian had taken one of his Illyrian blades and stabbed it straight into your back.

“Ha!” Cassian burst out. “That’s who you’ve been crying about?”

Your face scowled, and Azriel’s eyes widened slightly - he could see the anger building up inside you, and he knew exactly what happened when you got angry. You shoved at Cassian harshly, falling forward and rounding on him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You growled. Azriel took a step forward, as if waiting for the situation to get out of hand, waiting for him to need to step in.

“Nothing,” Cassian shrugged, eyes narrowing as he took in your stance, your clenched fists. “I just didn’t think he’d really be your type. He’s a good male, from what I’ve heard, he’s just a little…normal, unremarkable.”

You exploded. Those tendrils of red smoke shot from your hands in a second, latching themselves around his wrists, his ankles, his throat, pulling him up from the ground and into the air. He choked, hands gripping at the smoke around his neck, wings flapping desperately as if he hoped he might simply fly away from it.

“Let me make one thing clear,” you spat, taking a determined step toward him, bright red eyes boring into him. Azril was behind you now, pulling at your arm, shadows seeping from around his body, wrapping themselves around the red smoke, mixing and mingling, battling for dominance. “Lucien is anything but unremarkable. Lucien is everything you little Illyrians will never be.”

“Stop, he didn’t mean it,” Azriel said firmly, pulling back on your arm as his hand hovered on the hilt of his blade. “Let him go. You’re killing him.”

And you were - his face had turned an alarming shade of red, the veins in his neck and forehead popping out with a force. You flicked your gaze to Azriel for a moment, red eyes meeting hazel, and he gave you a slow, low nod.

“Listen to me,” you said, turning back to the General. “Never insult Lucien in my presence again. Is that understood?”

Cassian nodded firmly, as best he could, and finally you called the smoke back to you, Cassian falling to the ground, heaving for air and clutching his throat. The marks of the smoke would heal quickly you knew, but the burn of his words would stay with you for a long time.

“I-I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I-I didn’t mean to offend you.”

But Azriel wasn’t looking at his brother, didn’t rush to check if he was okay. He simply stared at you intently, watching the tears that began to well in your eyes, the way your brow and lips that had, moments ago, been twisted in anger, now scrunched in sadness; in despair.

And when your knees buckled, and you went crashing to the floor, it was he that caught you, just as Rhys flew down and landed on the balcony, his and Cassian’s eyes wide.

And you screamed loud enough to shake the mountains.

You had been there in your room, sleeping the morning away at Rhys’ order, trying to find some semblance of rest after the night before. Cassian had barely said a word as Azriel and Rhys carried you back to your room and tucked you into bed, body still shaking with each sob, each thought of him. Rhys had chosen to cancel your morning training with him and Azirel, instead opting to meet with the two Illyrian warriors instead, leaving you to wallow in your own self-pity.

That was when there was a gentle knock on your bedroom door, and after you groaned in reply, the door clicked open. To your surprise, a mass of long dark hair poked inside, a pair of hazel eyes finding you in an instant.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” Cassian said gently, “but I thought you ought to know.”

You sat up in bed, raising an eyebrow expectantly. No doubt Rhys was sending you away somewhere for attacking his General; it would be the least you deserved.

“Rhys is going to the Spring Court to fetch Feyre,” he continued through a small sigh. “He’s leaving now.”

I was out of bed in an instant, pushing past him to the door, but I paused, looking back. “Cassian, I-I’m sorry for what I did,” you whispered quietly. “I should never have done that.”

Cassian smiled softly. “No apologies needed, I was out of line,” he said. “Just…maybe don’t do it again?”

You reached up, planting a little ‘X’ on your chest above where your heart was - a silent problem. And then you were rushing down the hall, coming to a short stop at the door a little way down and knocking firmly, insistently, until it swung open, revealing a rather dishevelled and confused looking Azriel. He opened his mouth to question you, but you spoke first.

“I need you to take me to the Spring Court,” you stated; not a question but almost a command. If Rhys was going to fetch Feyre then that meant there was something wrong, and you’d be damned to Hell before you let Lucien get caught up in whatever it was.

Azriel’s eyes trailed down your form, taking in your nightdress, and your clenched fists; clearly he could tell that you had just rolled from bed. “Do you really think that’s a good idea? After last night-”

“We can go and stay to the side, and only interfere if necessary,” you pleaded. “And if we’re not needed, or if my powers become too unruly, then you can bring me back here without argument. I just…I need to make sure they’re okay.”

‘Lucien,’ you thought. ‘I need to make sure Lucien is okay.’

You didn’t seem to need to say that aloud; Azriel understood well enough. A second later his lips thinned, and he nodded. “Fine,” he said. “But if you give me any reason at all, I’m bringing you straight back here. Go and get dressed.”

Lucien sighed. The last place he wanted to be right now was a damned wedding. Not when everyone else here looked so happy and so excited, and he felt so…hollow. He did what was expected of him, however. He postured and posed, and wore that mask of the exquisite couriter that he had perfected over the years.

There were people everywhere, from High Lords themselves and their families, to the servant who Ianthe had allowed to take up the few rows at the very back of the ceremony before they had to rush off and prepare everything for the reception afterward.

Tamlin himself was greeting those in the front row, shaking their hands and questioning politely about their families, repeating over and over again how blessed he felt to have found his betrothed. Tamlin had always been the perfect courtier - always knew what to say and how to say it to keep himself in the good graces of the other court representatives. Lucien preferred to be himself when he made allies and affiliations with other courts. He had found that there was no better time to discuss business with a High Lord than over wine in the sitting room.

A small nod from Ianthe, much to Lucien’s displeasure, told him that Feyre was ready and waiting behind the patio doors. He clapped a hand down on Tamlin’s shoulder. “It’s time.”

Tamlin moved to reposition himself on the dais, and Lucien took his place just a few strides to the right of him, the picture of a beaming groomsman. The hundreds of guests took their seats, waiting patiently, and when those patio doors opened, and every head flicked in her direction, Feyre finally appeared.

Lucien couldn’t help but admit that she looked rather ridiculous. Tamlin had told him as much, had said that the dress Ianthe had picked out for her was nothing short of hideous, and Lucien had to agree with him. Her slight frame was almost completely lost within the poofy skirt and floaty sleeves, and frills and tule. And her face; she looked almost…terrified. Lucien didn’t blame her; he wouldn’t want all of those eyes on him either.

She took a tentative step down the stairs, slowly but surely making her way down the aisle as the guests rose to their feet. Music played from somewhere, although where, Lucien wasn’t sure; likely some kind of trick on Ianthe’s part to keep up the appearance tha Feyre and Tamlin were the Cauldron’s gift to Prythian.

Each hesitant step became slower, more calculated, more unsure. Lucien could see it, could read it on her face, even if Tamlin, grinning at his side, seemed completely oblivious.

And then, just as Feyre reached a rather large cluster of red petals in the aisle, she stopped.

The air around them seemed to still, even the breeze noting that this newly made fae should not be disturbed, should not be pushed in any direction, even by the wind itself.

She wasn’t going to come; Lucien knew that in an instant. It became so clear when she glanced up at Tamlin, gaze boring into his and if she were seeing him for the very first time, and then flickered to Ianthe, and then finally to him. Her pleas were written in each and every line that furrowed itself on her forehead with her frown.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ he was sure she was saying to him. ‘I’m panicking. Help me.’

Lucien took a small step forward, raising a hand toward her - to do what, he wasn’t sure, but his body seemed to move without thought or direction. He had to get to her, had to help her. But Tamlin was raising a hand also, extending it toward her, palm raised upward, waiting for her to take it.

She was shaking now, seemingly unable to stop. Lucien wanted to reach to her, to tell her that it was okay, that everything would be fine. But Tamlin was in the way, as he had always been in the way when it came to Y/N, and now when it came to helping his friend.

“Feyre,” Tamlin said, voice surprisingly calm and steady as he reached further toward her. She looked to Lucien once more.

‘Save me - please save me,’ her un-uttered words cried. ‘Get me out. End this.’

Tamlin took a step toward her, and Feyre recoiled back, and in that moment Lucien knew that he had to do something.

“Come bride, and be joined with your true love,” Ianthe said from behind him as Lucien slipped past Tamlin and stepped down from the dais, ready to take Feyre’s hands and let her tell him exactly what it was she needed. “Come bride, and let good triumph at last.”

But he didn’t have time to make it to Feyre, not as thunder crashed from behind her, loud enough to leave Lucien’s ear ringing, and draw cries of fear from the attending guests. Darkness began to pool around the wedding venue, around the gardens themselves.Feyre was left at the very heart of that darkness.

And as those swirls of darkness dissipated slightly, Lucien’s stomach dropped further than it ever had before. Because there, brushing down his jacket and wearing a smug smile that told Lucien exactly how much he thought everyone else was beneath him, was someone all-too familiar.

“Hello, Feyre darling.”

Taglist

Complete: | @loveshineslikethesky | @elleclairez | @lostpirateinwonderland | @judig92 | @old-enough-to-know-better73 | @atrashsith

Lucien Vanserra: | @luna-foxglove | @lumos-barnes | @cumuluscranium |

[1nksta1neddesk]

A Court of Readers and Dreamers

Chapter 10: Stare Into Forever

The next day passed with no word from either Lucien or Tamlin, which left me with a whole day to sit in the library until Alis fetched me for a lonely dinner that I left from as quickly as possible.

The morning of Calanmai had my blood thrumming since the moment I had woken up, a book denting my side from where I had fallen asleep on top of it. I stayed in my room until late morning, dressing in the clothes I had hidden after a boiling bath that left my skin radiating steam.

Alis weaved my hair into a crown after a late lunch, speckled with wildflowers that I hadn’t registered her placing between the strands. Now I stood in front of the mirror, looking at my face framed with petals of daisies and small blooms of yellow chrysanthemums. It didn’t fully compliment my clothes, though I supposed they were meant to make me look more like I belonged in Spring Court while my clothes were a subtle opposition to it.

My eyes moved from the flowers held around my head and down to the outfit that adorned me, despite Alis’ protests when she had seen me that morning. Flowing dark cotton pants, just shy of black with the complimenting white thread that hemmed it, the cuffs at the ankles gathering the fabric in elegant pleats that dispersed as the pants traveled up farther. Ties held the waistband close to my skin. Where the waistband ended just below my navel, an equally flowing blouse started, hanging from my shoulders where it had no sleeves, the side of my arms bare to the open air where they showcased the speckling of freckles that had formed from countless hours in the perpetual spring sun. The blouse shimmered silver with soft casts of blue and purple only to be seen when catching light at certain angles.

I looked positively Night Court, if it wasn’t for those yellow and white sparks at my head ,that I was starting to convince myself they looked like burning stars. I looked back at Alis, grinning in a way that had her face pinching.

“I do wish you would let me put you in a dress, if only just once.” I scrunch my nose at her playfully before I adjusted an imaginary piece of stray hair. The first thump of a drum from across those rolling hills beat sent my heart fluttering.

I shooed Alis off, telling her to enjoy the Rite and that she deserved the night off. She was reluctant untill she was past the door of my room, at which point she gave a shallow dip of her head accompanied with a thank you before she disappeared down the hall. I closed the door behind her, rushing over to the window and drawing back the curtains that dampened those thunderous beats.

One beat, a call, followed by two quickly after one another, an answer. They called for whoever may be to come to them, to revel in them, but I resisted, if only for now. I sat down in the chair that usually belonged to the breakfast table, and let the rays of sun that were still high in the sky warm the back of my shoulders as I slipped on my usual boots that hugged close enough to my leg to not disrupt the pleats of the pants as I hid them.

I was alone for maybe 30 minutes before I heard a knock on my door. I got up slowly and opened the door as casually as I could, hopeful my plans weren't compromised. Tamlin stood there, baldric across his bare chest as he heaved a breath, shifting the red fletched arrows that sat just behind his shoulder. I watched him as he looked back at me, each assessing each other's attire.

“Can I help you with anything Tam?” I said with the sweetest voice I could, as naturally as I could, as his eyes raked down the blouse. More specifically to the tanned cleavage that was exposed from the top buttons being undone as I had been pacing with anticipation sparked anxiety.

His voice was gruff as his eyes traveled back to meet mine, catching at my lips for a moment that I did not miss. “Stay in the house, no matter what tonight. Lock your door even, tonight is not a night for human company amongst faeries.”

I nodded my head, slightly shielding my body behind the door that was still just partially opened as I did so. “I will keep that in mind High Lord, enjoy the Rite.” I moved to fully shut the door, but his hand caught it.

“I mean it Feyre, stay in your chambers” He retracted his hand and was already gone as I peered through the crack in the door at the hallway. I loosed a tense breath and backed away from the door as I let it click shut. I moved back towards the window just in time to see Tamlin stalking through the garden.

Predator, pure predator as he moved, quickly disappearing to where the first trails of smoke swirled in the sky. I let the cooling spring night air kiss my face, carrying the twinge of smoke and the growing scent of rose and cut grass as I still stared to where those bonfires now burned.

I let night fall, let the thumps of the drums guide me as I let time slip by as I moved my feet, finding an old rhythm as they called for me. Come it whispered into my blood, Come See . My stomach growled as I drank water from the pitcher that had become a constant companion on that breakfast table. I let hours tick by, occasionally falling to my bed to scream into one of the pillows whenever the emotions boiling in my chest became too much.

10 o’clock hit as I was running out of the garden doors, dark cloak billowing around me as I was halfway careful to not cause too much noise as I snuck into the stables. Ceres, the white horse I had been riding since my first day in spring, already had her head lounging out of the stall, eager for treats as she heard my feet. Luckily I had taken to riding her bareback on patrols, and was quickly atop her.

With no need for a guide she set off, a soft trot over foot hills. I sat low on her back, pulling the hood of the cape as far forward as it would go to hide the smooth arches of my ear. The scent of smoke and flowering blooms was quickly growing stronger as I brought Ceres to the edge of the gamepark woods that I had hidden in two days before. I dismounted from her and she understood my intention as she found a comfortable spot in the wooded grasses to lay down in.

I could not see the faces of the faeries around me as I passed, that dense glamor still in my senses as I skirted around the edge of those blazing flames. Past the drums, past the mingling faeries around the mouth of the shadowed cave, to stand by the tree line, still just barely in the glow of the fires.

I waited, ignoring the faeries around as I watched the flickers of flame from my distance. Minutes passed where nothing happened and my legs were starting to tingle. A grumble as I shifted the weight on my legs, and of course it was the moment I felt ready to complain about the waiting when a hand grabbed me and spun me around.

Three pict males were behind me, two flanking the central one grasping my arm, who smiled down at me, revealing pointed teeth. “Human woman,” he murmured, running an eye over me, my free hand itching to gather the fabric of the cloak to cover wherever his eyes touched. “We’ve not seen one of you for a while.”

I was doubting my plan as I tried to shake his hand from my arm as I looked at the two behind him. “Leave me alone Bastards” that gripped tighten as he pulled me further towards him.

“Why? Can we not enjoy some fire night revelries with such a sweet prize ” Fiery fear lit my veins as I definitely knew this was a mistake. Another pict hand pulled my hood back before plucking a flower from the braid that was still twisted at the top of my head.

I cursed at them, “Let me go.” I did my best to hiss at them, ripping my still free arm away as I felt fingers ghost at the skin.

“Bold words for a human on Calanmai.” The third one hissed in my ear as it caught the arm I jerked away as the one in front of me. “Once the Rite’s performed, we’ll have some fun, won’t we? A treat—such a treat—to find a human woman here.”

That one in front of me, the ring leader, placed its other hand at my hip, roving up to the skin under my blouse at my waist. I did not hesitate the moment I felt the thin fingers at my skin as I slammed my head forward, knocking our heads together with a crack. The hand jerked away as the owner grabbed at his head, his other hand still at my arm tightening painfully as I saw a small well of black blood on its forehead. I smiled at the small victory for having a hard head before more hands were on me, restricting as much as leading me towards the woods.

I pushed back, kicking at the shin of the one that held me, but those fingers did not loosen. I pulled back, broadcasting the fear of a cornered animal around me as the hands on me tightened, bruising now as I was slowly tugged towards the forest line. I dug the heels of my boots into the ground while I twisted my arms and torso around, trying to break from their grip.

Two twin lines of ripped grass followed behind us as I resisted more. I kicked at them more, trying to rip my arms away from their bruising grips, but every time I knocked a hand away, another was somewhere else, sharp nails scratching at my skin. He was supposed to be here already, swooping in like Prince Charming saving a Damsel as that tree line grew nearer and nearer, meters turning to feet.

One of the hands landed over my mouth as I went to shout at them, and on impulse I opened my mouth and bit down on two of those bony fingers, oily blood spilling into my mouth as bone crunched. The creature shrieked as I spat the vile blood out of my mouth, sputtering as the two others faltered, two hands pushing me towards the shadows as another one faltered at seeing its ilk cradle a mangled hand. My legs knocked together and with the open space behind me, I fell.

The expectation of stony dirt under me was replaced by a large hand under each of my arms. I tilted my head back and couldn’t control the smile that spread across my face at the glimpse of violet eyes under neatly slick black hair. He eased me back to my feet as the faeries stared with wide eyes at the presence of the High Lord behind me.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” His voice eased the pounding of my heart, replacing it with a new fear that simmered at my skin. Rhys’ hand shifted from my side as he took a step to stand next to me, a warm arm draped over my shoulders. I resisted the urge to turn my head up at him, at least not while I kept my eyes on the three soon to be dead faeries in front of us.

“Thank you for finding her for me,” he said, and if his voice was so smooth that the silk of my tunic felt like burlap against my skin,“Enjoy the Rite.” Threat loomed in his words as the males stumbled back, turning and pushing against each other as they scurried like rats back towards the fire.

With them gone I let my shoulder sag just a bit and twisted in Rhys’ arm, enough to keep its comfortable place and for me to peer up at him.

I had imagined him beautiful for years, but even after months of adjusting to the Fae beauty of Lucien and Tamlin my breath was stolen from my lungs. Short black hair gleamed under the barest flickers of fire light, his pale skin contrasting it like the moon in the night. I wanted to wince at the wane look of his skin, knowing the deep tan it should be holding if not for Amarantha holding him in her claws. But still I admired his sharp features, shadows pooling to smooth out the exhaustion that coated every beautiful feature. He looked me up and down, sensual and calculating at the same time.

I would never be able to chase his image from my mind, not as I slept, not as I woke, and definitely not as I spoke to him.

“Oh shit- hey.” I stuttered out, and I looked into his eyes and thanked every god I could and couldn’t name that I had made Tamlin de-glamor me as I stared into star-flecked night. They were blue, deep and unending as they twinged with violets and indigo, their depth speaking of light years as small splatters of silver peered through at me. Amusement sent the stars in his eyes shivering, twinkling like diamonds held on invisible strings.

“What is a mortal woman doing here on Fire Night?” Each word sent shivers licked up my spine at the lover's drawl coming from his mouth as he continued to bare his eyes into me. A smirk teased the corner of his lips as I replied.

“Enjoying the revelries before those pict bastards thought my presence was an open invitation,” I said, the words clipped and irritated as I dusted faked dirt from my pants and tunic. I spat out another wad of black tinged saliva as I inspected myself, hoping I would not have any lingering bruises from where they had gripped me.

“Oh, such profanity from such a lovely mouth. A mouth that I’m sure you know how to use if the hand of one of those bastards was any tell.”A pause where he stepped back and evaluated me. I tried to stand taller as he spoke again, “How does a mortal woman end up here on Fire Night?” I tried my best to look casual as I shrugged.

“My friend brought me, we live near.” Obvious lies that echoed Feyre’s. I knew he wouldn’t buy them, knew they would entice him as I saw echoes of pulsing shadows behind him, festering in his own cast light.

“And who is this friend?” Despite him not moving it felt as though he was leaning over me.

“No one you would know, but we will be staying for a few days, just for the celebrations.” I had my string cast and was slowly reeling it in with a giant shark at the other end of it. A moment of silence, both of us contemplating what to say next. Luckily I was not the one who had to break it,

“You're welcome.” He said as he looked away from me, picking at a non-existent piece of lint from his black tunic, “For saving you.”

It was enough for me to joke, set up a repertoire that I saw past that concrete mask, “Saved me? You must be mistaken, I think you saved those picts from me.” I pushed back the side of the cloak, revealing a low belt that held a glittering hunting knife. “Truely a stain on the world, males like that.”

I knew there was no guilt for the life of those bastards, still I reassured as a half cocked grin pulled his cheek back. I wished I could see him lively, with his family, a full grin across that achingly beautiful face filled with the color of sun and his wings spread and free. I realized I would sacrifice it all for him to have that, for the rest of Prythian to have that freedom, even if I was lost to the sands of eternity to achieve it. But I would let myself have tonight, an easy night where I could pretend the male in front of me wasn’t destined to someone else, someone I had replaced.

“I’ll remember not to save you next time, less I end up the one with the knife in me.” A mocking tilt of his head down, not a bow but close enough with the court eyes I knew watched for him. “Aren’t humans usually terrified of us? And aren’t you, for that matter, supposed to keep to your side of the wall?”

The question only caught me off guard for a moment before I waved a hand out dismissively, “So are you fae but plenty of you slip through anyway, at least I came to enjoy wine and food.” Wrong, my stomach felt hollow since I had skipped dinner in my impatience and was staunchly sober as I did not trust whatever was held by those tables I had seen faeries congregate as I slipped by the edges of the firelight.

“Food and drink will take a long while to come back. May I escort you somewhere in the meantime?” The beats of the drums steadied my heart as I looked at the arm he had offered me. Time was drawing near to where I had to flee back to the house, away from the High lord that was coming back from his hunt. I took the arm he offered, leaning against the warmth of the muscle I could feel beneath it.

“No thank you, I think I will turn in soon.”I saw a flicker of disappointment across his eyes, and knew I couldn’t walk away, not yet, “Though, I do think it would be a shame if I did not get a dance with my knight in shining armor.” I looked at his clothes, fine and pitch black, and unclipped my cloak to fold it just inside the glow of firelight. His tunic had silver threads at the seams, an inversion to the blouse I wore myself. He grinned down at me as he stepped back, his hand falling into place with mine before he spun me along with the music.

Though I knew this was dangerous for him, I flowed along with him. His hand was at my waist and I held his other as we fell deeper into the shadows of the woods, branches above us. Gaps in the leaves showed shining stars as my neck craned back and I laughed out to the sky. It was fun to let go, to enjoy the company of a male I knew I could trust.

His hands tightened against me, urging me to look back at those violet eyes. If the stars above truly were souls from the afterlife, I would not think it so cruel for me to become one of the ones held in his eye. His arms swept wide and we seperated for a moment, his hand guided me into a twirl. I felt the wind kiss at the skin that was revealed as the movement caught the silver fabric, careening it around me. I savored the cold kiss as he twisted me back in, his arm settling back down at my waist.

I bumped my hip, sliding his arm back to where I could now clasp both hands. This time I pulled him with me as I twisted, our feet hit the ground with heavy thumps that complimented the drums, and I almost recognized the beat to a song before a hand was pulling me away from him. I let out a small cry of shock at the loss of those warm hands before I was being placed behind a familiar male body, a wall of frazzled red hair before me.

Lucien was now holding me, pushing me behind him slightly as he looked at Rhys. “You were not invited, Rhysand.” He snarled it out and I tried to soothe a hand down his arm before he turned to me slightly, his metal eye staying fixed on Rhys. I saw those starry eyes sharpen at Lucien's bristle before he was smoothing out his shirt.

“I wasn’t aware that Calanmai had become private, Emissary.” Cold words, any warmth from his interactions with me gone. Still they held that feline tilt as Lucien still walled between us. I could feel the tension rising as Lucien paused, and interjected myself.

“I should not have asked you for a dance when I was already taken. Enjoy the Rite, sir.” A stiff nod from Lucien and I was pulling him away from Rhys, into the crowd of lesser faeries again. Lucien took over the path we were taking the moment we entered the swelling crowd, taking us to the opposite side of the celebration, back towards the game park.

“What were you thinking, Feyre?” His voice was seething as his grip on my arm tightened.

“I was thinking that I deserved to party along with everyone else.” I pulled the mask of an indignant mortal girl over myself as I ripped my arm from his grasp and crossed it across my chest.

“Idiot!” He was shouting now and a few faeries on the fringe looked towards us. “You were told to stay in your rooms! You useless Human fool.” I couldn’t protest as I was shucked over his shoulder. I pounded at his back as wind tore past us as he was running back towards the manor. The drums faded into the distant as their speed changed, beats closing in on eachother. I had been so lost in enjoying the small glimpse of Rhys that I had lost sense of time, lost sense of being.

Lucien only stopped running once we were in the manor, the grand hallway before us as he set me down. His hair was messy as he looked at me, anger making the personal glamor he had over himself shift for just a moment, hair blazing and eyes going molten.

His hands were at my shoulders as he lightly shook me, “You idiot! Didn’t he tell you to stay in your rooms?” Shame burned my ears and cheeks red like when I had come home past curfew.

I bowed my head as I apologized, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.” I looked back up at Lucien as his hands fell away from me, and found him rubbing at his temples.

“Go to your room, I have to go back out there and try and keep the blood spill to a minimum for when he smells you but cannot find you.” I did feel bad as I apologized again, he left and I half ran to my room, not knowing how far off Tamlin was.

I locked my door that night, closing the window that was almost always open, and slid one of the heavy bedside tables in front of the door. I fell asleep reading of herbs found in each court, alert for any sound. I had multiple hours of quiet sleep before a snarling in the halls roused me. I only quickly made sure the lock was in place along with the table before I slept again, a soft hum of a lullaby blocking out the occasional scrape of sharp claws against a distant corridor wall.

[iambutmortal]

No Slow Dancing in the Dark

Summary: Feyre will do anything to get out of the Spring Court, including make a deal with the God of Night. Rhys is willing to do whatever it takes to make her his.

Pairing: Feysand

Word Count: 6k

Content Warning: Dubious Consent, Public Sex

Read on AO3

The biggest possible thanks to @ladynestas​ for beta reading

The sun was shining when the God of Night came to get his wife.

Rhys strode into the Spring Manor, hands tucked in the pockets of his black jacket, the picture of casual grace, to find Feyre sitting alone at the table. The curtains were pulled shut against the sun, casting the room in darkness that wouldn’t be unfamiliar in his own palace. He watched from the doorway as she picked listlessly at the food piled up on her plate, spearing a piece of fruit and inspecting it before setting it back down.

He hadn’t seen her in twenty years, not since her wedding to Tamlin, but she was just as lovely. If he didn’t know she was a goddess, he could almost pretend she was an exceptionally pretty mortal, blessed with large blue eyes and light brown hair so shiny it almost looked golden.

Truly the only thing that gave away her immortality was the subtle glow that seemed to emanate from within her, illuminating the dark room.

In a world of monsters, Feyre stood alone among them all, uniquely lovely. She could've walked straight out of one of those paintings Rhys knew she liked to make under the cover of darkness.

But Feyre’s beauty was not the reason he’d come.

“The goddess of art wants to make a deal,” Rhys all but purred, interrupting whatever contemplation Feyre was in the midst of. 

She turned to face him, taking in the dark clothing, the eyes devoid of pupils, nothing but swirling galaxies and the purest black of night.

Rhys expected trembling, to see terror etched across every inch of her body. It’s what always happened when he appeared, ready to fulfill the bargain they hadn’t actually expected him to make.

But Feyre just cocked her head, more curious than anything.

“There you are,” she said, setting her fork on the table, that piece of fruit still on it. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I’m not a dog to be summoned.”

Feyre glanced out the window, at the sliver of sunlight peeking through the gap in the curtains. “Odd for the God of Night to show up in the middle of the day.”

A smirk spread across Rhys’ face. “If I showed up every time someone tried to make a bargain in the middle of the night, I’d have no time for anything else.”

Feyre’s gaze was cool, assessing. “And? Has mine sufficiently intrigued you?”

She knew it did. It was so rare for another God to call on him, for them to need anything from him.  What had caused the pretty little wife of Spring to run into the woods in the pitch black of darkness, to light the offering candle that must have cost a small fortune, smuggled in without her husband being any the wiser, to offer herself up to him. The gods were told to fear him, knew better than to make a fool's deal. So what was so bad it had sent her to him?

 “Remind me of your terms,” Rhys said, instead of asking the questions he burned to.

Feyre lifted her chin in defiance, staring him down. Rhys just waited. Let her see what she wanted, see the God of Night who wanted nothing but to make others miserable.

She broke first. “I want out of this house, this court.”

“Things not going well with Tamlin?” Rhys asked. “Strange, you seem to get along so well at night.”

Feyre’s cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink. “Have you been watching me?”

Rhys’ chuckle was pure danger. “Darling, I hear everything that goes on in the dark.” He tapped a finger against his forehead. “It’s enough to drive a weaker God mad.”

“But not you?”

“You’ll find, Feyre, that I am much, much, stronger than any of the other Gods you’ve encountered.”

Feyre hummed noncommittally. “Do we have a deal then? Will you get me out?”

“Without even knowing my terms? Things must be dire.”

He watched the panic play out over her face, no doubt mentally cursing herself for her slip up.

“But since I’m feeling generous, here are my conditions,” Rhys said, flicking an invisible piece of lint off his black jacket. A few small stars flew from it, twinkling down onto the carpet. Feyre watched their arc with blatant awe. 

“Spend one week in my court and I’ll set you free, dissolve whatever bonds of matrimony exist between you and Tamlin. And,” Rhys said, cutting off whatever comment Feyre was about to make, “if you want to go back to Spring at any point, I’ll return you.”

“What’s the catch?” Feyre demanded.

“If you go back, you’ll owe me one week a month for the rest of your immortal life.”

He could see Feyre weighing her options, the debate openly warring on her face. “Just one week in your court?” she asked.

“One, single week.”

Rhys knew what she was thinking, weighing her options between Rhys’ monstrous court of Night and the beautiful manor in spring she called her home, debating if she could really spend seven days with him. 

But whatever Tamlin’s done, she must decide Rhys is her better option, because Feyre gave a single nod. “Deal.”

Rhys stalked towards her, pulling his hands out of his pocket for the first time. He knew the instant she saw those claws, dark talons growing from his skin and sharpened to fine points, watched as she flinched away.

Undeterred, used to that reaction, Rhys snapped up her fork, bit the piece of apple off it. “Deal,” Rhys confirmed, once he swallowed.

He didn’t give Feyre the chance to respond, didn’t give her the chance to say goodbye to anyone, before he was grabbing her lightly around the wrist and they were dissolving into darkness.

-

They materialized in Rhys’ private quarters, the palace high on the top of the mountain that housed the Gods of the Night. Daylight streamed in from the high arched windows, illuminating the two of them.

Feyre was still dressed in the typical clothing of Spring, a huge pink skirt exploding out around her waist, the top tight around her chest.

Rhys frowned. “Take that dress off.”

“Do you plan to parade me around naked?” Feyre asked, even as her cheeks flushed.

“Off,” Rhys repeated. He hadn’t planned on leaving her bare but now that she’d suggested it— Rhys shook himself. No, better to stick to the plan.

Feyre looked at him with wide eyes. “I can’t,” she said, gesturing to the laces up her back.

Rhys could barely contain his eye roll. Of course Tamlin liked to dress his wife up in clothes only he could undo, treat her like a doll. He strode to Feyre’s back, pretending not to notice her slight tremor as he raised one finger and sliced through the laces with the obsidian talon.

Feyre just barely managed to catch the front of her dress before it fell down.

Rhys surveyed her exposed back, the smooth, slightly freckled skin. 

“I see what Tamlin found appealing,” he said appreciatively.

“The mother foretold we would be married,” Feyre snapped. “Neither of us had much of a say, not when it was written in the stars.”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “Mother can always be reasoned with.”

Feyre whirled around, eyes narrowed. “Maybe if you’re her favorite.”

Rhys couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of him. “Her favorite child is and will always be your sister. Elain knows her in ways the rest of us can only imagine.”

She huffed, tugging the dress a little closer to her body. “Notice Elain’s allowed to run free. And Nesta.”

“Poor, pretty Feyre, married to a handsome God. Such a burden,” Rhys cooed.

“You’re a prick,” Feyre snarled.

Rhys winked one of his galaxy eyes. “A prick who owns. Mine to do whatever I want with for the next week. So many possibilities, I could have you scrub my floors, dust the walls, maybe I’ll even make you clean the dungeons.”

The shoe went flying so fast he didn’t have time to dodge before it smacked him in the head.

“Fuck,” he growled, massaging his forehead.

Feyre already had her other shoe off, held aloft in one hand while the other desperately clung to that damned dress.

“I’m not going to your dungeon,” she warned.

Rhys growled. “You’ll do whatever I want you to do.”

This time, he had enough warning to duck.

“I’ll have two maids set up to dress you,” he said, making sure Feyre was out of projectiles before turning to leave. “Be ready by sundown.”

Let Feyre figure out if that was a promise or a threat.

-

Rhysand returned when Nuala and Cerridwen were halfway through painting Feyre. The sun was dipping low over the horizon, casting an orange glow throughout the room.

Feyre stood in the center of the room, utterly bare as the twin wraiths moved around her, spreading swirls of black paint along her exposed skin. Black shadows wrapped around her wrists, reaching down to the ground and pinning her in place. Clearly she’d been less than cooperative. 

“We’re late,” Rhys said. 

Feyre turned so quickly the wraith didn’t have time to move their brushes, paint smearing around her waist. 

“How dare you—“ she snarled.

Rhys cut her off with a click of his tongue. “You’ve messed up all their hard work,” he sighed. He waved a finger, the smudges fading away. “And I thought the goddess of art would appreciate their skills more.”

“It's easier to enjoy art when the canvas is willing.”

“Reconsidering out of our deal?” Rhys asked. “Should I send you back to spring?”

Feyre stilled, her face betraying a hint of fear.

“Thought so,” Rhys mused, stepping closer. He trailed a finger along her outer thigh, up the whorls of black, smearing it up her leg “A reminder,” he said, leaning close to whisper in Feyre’s ear, “that for the next week you belong to me.”

The goddess in front of him shivered, and Rhys didn’t miss the way her nipples pebbled slightly.

“Your movements won’t mess it up, but I want everyone to know where I’ve touched,” Rhys explained, taking a step back to let the twins continue.

They made quick work of her upper body, covering her arms and chest with more paint, stopping at the base of her neck. Rhys watched with interest as Nuala applied makeup, lengthening Feyre’s lashes and darkening her lips, while Cerridwen helped her into her outfit for the night.

Rhys had picked it out, two columns of glittering black fabric that barely covered Feyre’s breasts, joined with two panels in the front and back by a belt at her hips.

The clear hatred on Feyre’s face told him she would’ve fought had she not still been chained to the floor by the shadow cuffs on her arms.

“Are you going to cooperate?” Rhys asked, as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, “Or will I have to restrain you further?”

Feyre very nearly growled at him. “It’s not like I have much of a choice,” she countered.

Rhys shrugged, even as the shadows melted away. “I’m sure Tamlin’s waiting.”

Feyre’s face paled, and she took a step towards him. “Lead the way.”

The smirk on Rhys’ face was forced as they walked down the hall, his galaxy eyes trained on Feyre. What had Tamlin done that made him a better option?

They stopped just before the obsidian doors that led to the throne room. 

“Is that what you’ll be wearing?” Feyre asked.

Rhys glanced down at the black jacket, the same one he’d worn that morning. “Does my lady demand something else?”

Feyre sniffed. “Seems plain.”

He gave her a once over before snapping his finger. The jacket disappeared, replaced with a cloak of glittering stars on an inky black night. Rhys took no lack of pleasure in the way Feyre took in his now bare chest, the defined muscles under tanned skin and black tattoos painted across it.

“Better?” he asked. Feyre didn’t answer, averting her eyes to stare straight ahead at the doors.

They swung open without prompting, revealing the cavernous space. Spiraling columns reached up to the ceiling, so high above their head one could be forgiven for thinking it was the night sky itself. The only source of light was the moonlight pouring in from the singular window located directly behind the twin thrones on the dais.

The room was utterly empty, and Rhys’ shoes echoed in the cavern, matched by the soft padding of Feyre’s bare feet.

“Did you chase everyone else away?” Feyre asked, her voice teasing.

“Don’t worry Feyre, darling, they’re all just waking up now.” He led her over to one of the thrones, settling her on it before kneeling at her feet.

“Legs apart,” he ordered. Slowly, like it was painful, Feyre complied. The pink flesh of her cunt was gleaming, already wet. Rhys ran a single finger through her folds, holding it up to the light to inspect the shininess there.

“Naughty,” he murmured, even as he licked his finger clean.

Feyre’s face was a bright shade of red, even as she watched him intensely. Rhys watched her back, taking in the way her eyes widened as he slid his finger back in, pumping in and out.

She was wet, so wet it was practically dripping down his hand and Rhys added another finger, grinning when her mouth parted in pleasure. Feyre’s hips lifted to meet his touch, grinding against him.

“Stop,” she moaned, even as her back arched back, seeking more and more friction. 

Rhys didn’t, working her closer and closer to the edge, until he knew she was about to come. Her face was beaded in sweat, smearing the makeup so carefully applied. The paint along her inner thighs was ruined, the designs utterly wrecked.

Without warning, he removed his fingers.

“What?” Feyre asked, looking down at him with a face of utter confusion.

“It seems I forgot a part of our deal,” Rhys said, sitting back on his heels. “If you come, you’re mine forever, will stay in my court with me.”

She frowned. “That wasn’t what we agreed to.”

Rhys cocked his head. “You don’t say.”

Feyre sat up, shaking her head. “No.”

“A pity. Then let’s make a new deal.” Rhys stood to his full height, towering over her in the throne. “I won’t rip you to shreds, and you’ll agree to my terms.”

“You wouldn’t,” Feyre protested. Here was the fear Rhys had been expecting, the terror when she realized what she’d gotten herself into.

Because Rhys had no intention of letting her go, had been watching her from the darkness for a long time. The world of the humans that worshiped them was cruel and unforgiving, spawned creatures like him who delighted in suffering. But Feyre was the rare glimmer of hope that they created with their art, and he wanted her.

“I don’t think you know what I would do,” Rhys replied. He snapped his fingers, restoring their appearances, making it look like nothing had happened at all.

He sat just as the door swung open, admitting the members of his court.

The Gods and Goddesses trickled in, the patrons of all things better left in the dark. The gods of sex and lust, of jealously and betrayal.

 Next to him, he could sense Feyre scanning the crowd. He knew what she was looking for, her sisters. She wouldn’t find them here. As much as Elain belonged, with how well her dreams fit into Night, she preferred to keep much more pleasant company, to wander around the mortal lands. And Nesta kept herself apart from all immortals, except for his brother, if Cassian could be believed.

No, Feyre was very much on her own with him.

The night progressed as the usually did, gods dancing to the music, drinks flowing in abundance. Most watched Feyre with predatory interest, intrigued by this new goddess among them.

All the while, Feyre held herself ramrod straight, keeping her eyes trained on the wall across from them.

Rhys lounged in his own throne, receiving the line of Gods who wanted to talk to him, to ask him favors. He turned most of them down.

It was only at the end of the night, after the room was once again clear, that he turned to Feyre. “Let’s go,” he said, offering a taloned hand to help her up.

Feyre took it begrudgingly, rising slowly to her feet. Rhys couldn’t help but notice the slick puddle she left on the seat, the evidence of the desire she’d tried so hard to hide.

He led her to her room, only releasing her hand once they were in front of the door.

“See you tomorrow, Feyre darling,” he said.

She dropped his hand like he’d burned her and quickly stepped back. Rhys let her enter the room, waited until the door was nearly shut to call out.

“Don’t even think about pleasuring yourself,” he warned. “I know everything that happens in the dark.”

Rhys could just make out her muttered prick before the door slammed in his face.

-

Mor and Feyre were waiting for him at the breakfast table the next morning.

“Rhysie, you didn’t tell me you brought someone new,” Mor pouted, even as she continued to shovel eggs into her mouth.

“I’m sorry I don’t inform you of every little thing that goes on in my court. You’d have known, if you bothered to come around more than once every couple of years.”

Mor clicked her tongue, the feathers growing along her arms brustling indignantly. “I would’ve thought my favorite cousin cared enough to tell me.”

Feyre looked up from the plate of cheese and fruit she was picking at. “You’re cousins?”

Mor waved a hand. “In the way all the old gods are.”

It was true, the whole pantheon were connected somehow, all children or grandchildren or nieces and nephews of the mother goddess, but Mor was closer to him than most, had been raised alongside him by the Mother like a sibling, both of them emerging from the teeming darkness that existed before the world together.

Rhys plopped himself down at the table, stealing a few pomegranate seeds off Feyre’s plate. “No one warned you that eating the food of the Night Court means you can never leave?”

Feyre froze.

“He’s joking,” Mor rushed to explain, glaring at Rhys. “That’s one of the rumors the humans made up.”

Feyre still didn’t relax, set her fork down.

“You’re the worst,” Mor said to Rhys. She held her fork out to Feyre. “See, eating and not trapped.” She took a bite. “It’s good too,” she said, words muffled slightly by her full mouth.

Feyre stood abruptly. “I’m going back to my room.”

“Wait,” Rhys said. 

The stare Feyre leveled at him would’ve had a weaker man’s knees shaking. “Are you going to order me to eat, make a total joke of me?”

Rhys backed down, averting his eyes. “I want you to join me for breakfast every morning for the rest of the week.”

Feyre didn’t reply, storming off down the hall and back to her bedroom.

“I think you’re making a good impression,” Mor said.

-

Mor was with Feyre when he came to collect her that night. She was dressed much the same, and if she’d noticed the way the fabric of her outfit had gotten slightly thinner, a hair’s width narrower, she didn’t say anything.

Feyre was laughing at something Mor had said, the bright sound making Rhys’ heart pound uncomfortably in his chest.

“So tell me,” Mor said, lounging on Feyre’s bed with her hand propped on her hand, “how did Rhys manage to get you here.”

Rhys cleared his throat and Feyre’s eyes met his. He could’ve sworn she was begging him to help her, but he only shrugged. If Mor wanted to know something, there wasn’t much he could do to stop her. The truth goddess would find out eventually. Besides, he was as curious as she was, wanted to know what would drive Feyre to make a deal with him, what was so wrong with her seemingly perfect marriage.

“You know how Andras died last year,” Feyre said after a long pause.

Rhys nodded, although it was unneeded. Everyone knew how the god of the wild had been shot by a human, straight through the heart with an ash arrow. The mortals had wanted Andras’ land for farming, wanted to encroach into territory that wasn’t theirs.

Rumor said Tamlin had personally hunted down every man, woman, and child in the village in revenge.

Feyre swallowed thickly. “After that, Tamlin became…paranoid. He wouldn’t let me out of the house and I—“ Feyre trailed off.

Mor nodded sympathetically. 

“So now I’m here,” Feyre said with a bitter laugh.

Rhys checked the window, saw that the sun was hanging low in the sky. “And now it’s time for us to go.”

“Will you be coming?” Feyre asked, looking at Mor. Rhys hated the hope in her voice, even as he held out a hand to lead Feyre away.

 Mor shook her head. “It’s best I stay out of the Court of Nightmares.”

Rhys could tell Feyre was itching to ask more, to interrogate Mor the same way she had to Feyre, but Rhys signaled for her to go before she could. Let Mor tell that story when she wanted to.

Mor waved them out, telling Feyre to summon her whenever they needed to talk, and then they were back in the throne room, Feyre once again seated with Rhys kneeling before her.

“Open,” Rhys demanded

Feyre kept her knees pressed together, shaking her head. “I don’t want—“

Rhys didn’t let her finish, wrapping his clawed finger around her ankles and tugging them apart, spreading Feyre’s legs.

He leaned forward, running the flat of his tongue through her soaking cunt.

“Fuck,” Feyre screamed, back arching, and her head hit the back of the throne.

Rhys couldn’t contain his chuckle, alternating between long licks up her length and biting and sucking at her clit. Again, Feyre rode his face, desperately seeking the release she couldn’t have. And again, Rhys pulled away just as Feyre was at her climax.

“Will you be coming tonight, Feyre darling?”

“No,” Feyre panted, slamming her legs shut.

“A pity,” Rhys said, rising to his feet and sitting on the throne. He snapped his fingers, fixing Feyre’s appearance but leaving his own untouched. Let them see the wetness around his mouth, see that Feyre was more than an unwilling participant. Let word get back to Tamlin about what they did.

-

The rest of the week continued in the same way, Rhys deciding on the third night that he’d had enough of fixing their appearance, leaving Feyre to scramble to smooth her hair and close her legs so they wouldn’t see the smudged paint, the fabric covering her only getting thinner and smaller.

Rhys alternated between using his hand and mouth, driving her higher and higher. He pretended not to notice the way Feyre shifted closer to him every night, leaned a little more towards him as the gods danced below them. Just as he pretended he didn’t hear her in the early hours of the morning, using her own hand to pleasure herself while the other covered her mouth, like that could prevent him from hearing.

And every morning they had breakfast together, trading barbs over bread and fruit Feyre devoured, even as she shifted in her seat every time she saw Rhys’ hands, watching him open his mouth.

Last night he’d switched strategies, licking and sucking the dusty nipples that had been tempting him for days until they stood visible beneath her dress. Feyre had spent the night with her arms folded over her chest to hide the ruined paint.

But it was the last night Rhys was the most excited for. He stroked the object in his pocket, practically vibrating in anticipation. 

Feyre was waiting for him, standing in the middle of her room, the twin wraiths nowhere in sight. He’d ordered them to leave before sending up her outfits, knowing they would refuse if they saw what he had planned.

The scraps of cloth were a mockery. The two panels of the top, just wide enough to cover the pink skin around her nipples, were utterly sheer, hiding nothing. The bottom fabric was slightly thicker, only as broad as his hand’s width, and short enough that he could see the curve of Feyre’s ass.

It was a testament to how wrung out he’d left her that she hadn’t even protested, had put them on without complaint.

Feyre followed him mutely, sitting on her throne without being asked. Rhys knelt before her, but instead of touching her, he pulled out what he’d held in his pocket.

“I thought I’d do something special for our last night together,” he said, holding out the stone cock.

Feyre let out an involuntary whimper. “Please, don’t.”

Rhys ignored her, sliding the tip in. It was slightly thinner than his own cock, not that that was saying much, long marble ending in a rounded obsidian hilt that matched his talons. Feyre was so soaked it slid in without resistance, all the way to the base.

“Hold that,” Rhys ordered, rising up slightly to suck her breast into his mouth, sending the thin covering askew.

The moan that ripped out of Feyre’s mouth was feral as she pressed against him. “Fuck, Rhysand.”

“Are you going to come?” He demanded, flicking his tongue against her nipple. He ran a hand through her hair, messing up the neat curls Nuala had styled it in.

“I can’t,” she begged, even as she leaned into that touch, parted her thighs further. Paint smeared against Rhys’ bare chest as she grabbed for his head, pulling him closer.

Rhys sighed, lifting his mouth off her breast. “Then we’re done,” he said, pulling out of Feyre’s embrace and rising to his feet.

The hideous whine that Feyre released went straight to his balls, and she slouched low in the throne, utterly spent.

He sat in his own seat, waited for Feyre to adjust herself as she did every night, to pretend nothing occurred.

She didn’t, her eyes remaining glazed over as the room filled too desperate to care. He could sense the stares, the way they took in breast she’d left exposed, the outline of the handle of the stone cock just visible beneath the the black gossamer, before quickly averting their gaze, too scared of what Rhys might do if he caught them to look any longer.

Not that Rhys could blame them, Feyre strung out and needy was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.

He signaled for the music to start up, the beat of the drums bounding in time with his heart. Next to him, Feyre whimpered.

“What was that, darling?”

Feyre managed to shake her head, eyes still glassy. “Nothing,” she murmured, although Rhys didn’t miss the way her thighs closed together slightly, trying desperately to seek any friction.

Rhys responded by placing a hand on her bare leg, letting his claws scrape against the inside of her thigh with a barely perceptible touch. Feyre sank lower in the chair.

That’s now their night continued, Rhys just barely touching, stroking, getting closer and closer to Feyre’s core while she came more and more unwound next to him.

They were less than an hour from dawn when she finally broke.

“I don’t want to be trapped down here,” Feyre whispered.

Rhys’ snapped to look at her now alert face, the horrified expression at what she’d let slip.

“I would never keep you locked away like him,” Rhys spat. Beneath his grip, Feyre shivered.

Feyre’s eyes searched his face, looking for any hint he was lying.

“Do you promise not to keep me locked away, to let me out?”

“I would treat you as my equal in every way,” Rhys promised. “Where I can go, you can.”

Feyre nodded weakly and, on shaky legs, stood. She started to lower herself into his lap, but Rhys grabbed her waist, tugging her up lightly.

“Now Feyre, darling, you’ve denied me for this past week. Don’t you think I should be pleasured too?”

“Rhys,” Feyre whined, a noise truly undignified for a goddess.

“On your knees,” he ordered, voice uncompromising.

Feyre spared a glimpse behind her, at the crowd below them, before swallowing and slowly lowering herself to the ground. From this angle, the shortness of the back fabric showed the whole court her ass, the intrusion between her thighs.

“Make sure you keep that stone inside you, wouldn’t want my court to know how much of a cockslut you are, would you?” Rhys ordered, voice low enough only Feyre could hear. “How embarrassing to be so loose it slipped out.”

She nodded, one hand reaching down to unbutton his pants. Rhys’ length sprung free, long and proud, already hard after watching Feyre squirm all night.

“Suck it,” Rhys demanded, wrapping a hand in Feyre’s long hair.

Feyre parted her mouth, delicately licking the precum off his tip.

“More,” Rhys growled, and Feyre complied, taking more and more of him until his shaft was buried in her throat. Rhys tightened his grip on her hair, pulling her up slightly before plunging her head back down. Feyre gagged against him, and he held her there, nose pressed against his lower stomach for a long moment before releasing her.

Feyre pulled off him, still gagging slightly, eyes watering.

“That’s how I want it done,” Rhys said, before leaning back, the picture of casual grace.

The goddess on her knees before him met his eyes for a long second, taking him back in her mouth. Rhys couldn’t contain the groan that came low from his throat, already felt his balls tightening. As much fun as wrecking Feyre all week had been, it had left him dangerously close to coming himself.

One of Feyre’s hands cupped his balls and she hollowed her cheeks. Rhys’ hips came off the throne, jerking into her throat.

Feyre choked, her nails scraping against his balls. The pain only heightened Rhys’ pleasure. “That’s it,” Rhys murmured, urging Feyre on. His hands returned to Feyre’s hair, not to control her movements, but to ground himself.

The goddess at his feet pulled off him with a wet pop, a trail of saliva connecting her to his cock. she licked a long stripe along the bottom of his length, following the wet trail with her finger.

She sucked just the tip back into her mouth, and Rhys came, hot spurts shooting down Feyre’s throat.

“My turn,” she said, as soon as he was done.

Rhys chuckled, pulling her up into his lap. He reached one hand around each ankle, pulling her legs apart, one foot resting on each arm of the chair. If Feyre noticed the way the others stared, she didn’t seem to care, her head falling back to rest on his chest.

“Please,” she begged.

Rhys grabbed the stone cock buried in her cunt and pulled it out before thrusting back in. He fucked her with it, pumping in and out as Feyre fell apart on his lap, tears streaming down her face. With his other hand, he flicked at the hard bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs, rolled it in his grip.

“I’m going to—“ Feyre cried and Rhys froze.

“No,” she begged, but Rhys was pulling the cock out of her. He threw it behind the throne, wrapping his hands around her hips and lifting her up. He slid down the throne, falling on the floor and placing Feyre’s hot, wet pussy over his mouth.

“I said I would treat you like my equal,” he said, and then his tongue was on her.

He ate like he was a man starved, tried to coat his whole mouth with the taste of her juices. Feyre fell forward onto her hands, rolling her hips against his face.

Rhys sucked at her clit, teeth grazing the hard bud.

He could hear the voices in his head fading, the sounds of the night falling away as the sun started to rise.

And then Feyre was coming over him, juice flooding his mouth as the voices went silent. She screamed, and Rhys gripped the back of her thighs, holding her against him as he worked her though it, tongue continuing to lap at that hard bud.

“Rhys,” she sobbed, lifting her hips off him. He let her roll off, sitting up. He ran his tongue around his lips, licking away the liquid that coated his face.

“So I belong to you now,” Feyre whispered. “Forever.”

Rhys couldn’t figure out her tone, if she was disappointed or not.

He pointed up, to the sunlight just peaking through the window. “Not fully.”

Feyre looked at him, a sly look on her face. “And if I wanted to stay? Would you let me?”

Rhys pulled her towards him, his cock already hard again. “They would have to rip apart the universe to get you away from me.”

Feyre sank down on him, head falling back. She was so tight around him, and her mouth parted slightly as she adjusted to the stretch.

Rhys reached down, wrapped his clawed fingers around her hips and helped her roll against him. Under his grip, he could feel the paint that coated her body changing, the smeared black slowly shifting, going back to the swirling pattern originally painted there.

Their pace picked up, hard, punishing thrusts of Rhys’ hips meeting Feyre’s own. She rested her forehead against his, their breaths mingling.

And then Feyre was coming again, falling apart in his lap. The slight texture of the paint under his fingers faded away, sinking into her skin. The sight of the symbols of his court branding themselves on her body, had Rhys falling over the edge with her.

Feyre screamed as she continued to change, the fingers digging into his shoulders sharply as she grew long black claws that matched his, drew pinpricks of blood from him.

She was panting, and Rhys watched with feral delight as her teeth grew sharper, becoming long fangs.

He surged forward, their mouths meeting in a messy kiss. He could taste his blood in his mouth as Feyre’s teeth sliced him open, relished the pain.

“There will be no question from Tamlin who you belong to,” he said, hauling her into his arms and carrying her to his bedroom.

They fell into bed together, a tangle of limbs, of claws and teeth as they tore into each other, matched each other stroke for stroke, bite for bite.

The sheets were a mess when they were done, the black blood of the gods of the Night Court staining everything.

“I think, Feyre darling, that I should make you wait before coming again,” Rhys panted, once they were both spent, arms wrapped around each other.

“You’re a prick,” she purred, curling up against him.

And that night, when the God of Night and the Goddess of Art looked up at the sky from their twin thrones, the stars had changed. No longer was she to be Tamlin’s wife. She was Rhysands, for all eternity.

For when the artists seem to be driven mad, that’s Rhys taunting his Queen, drawing out her pleasure. And when art seems to flow better at night, it’s because Feyre is ruling alongside her husband.

[riddlecrux]

The quiet power of emotions - a study of Azriel's feelings (part one)

I would love to preface this meta with my favorite disclaimer that everything I will discuss is based on what I have gathered from SJM writing. The quotes used in this post will serve as a starting point for further analysis. Additionally, I will use symbolism, metaphors, and literary device methods to build up my reasoning and beliefs. On another note, this, as usual, is strictly pro-Elriel meta. If they are not your cup of tea and you wish to comment, please be civil and bring arguments supported by the text.

I've wanted to study Azriel’s behavior in ACOFAS, since it's an official novella and it was translated and published in many countries. Since it has come to my attention that some people say that without Azriel's POV, Elriel wouldn't have anything to be based on (which is totally wrong) I decided to tackle Azriel's behavior and show how he had exhibited his feelings for Elain even before ACOSF came out. The scene I would like to start with this series (meta series if I may call it that way) is the one where Rhys and Azriel talk about Illyria, Jurian, and Vassa. Rhys constantly observes Azriel, and he decides to drop this.

“Send Lucien, then. As our human emissary.” I studied the tenseness in Azriel’s shoulders, the shadows veiling half of him from the sunlight. “Lucien is away right now.”

We can see that Azriel is uncomfortable. He's tense and he even shields himself from Rhys' prying gaze. It's all because Lucien was mentioned - which is a bit telling at this point.

Az’s brows rose. “Where?” I winked at him. “You’re my spymaster. Shouldn’t you know?”

Rhys is kind of testing the waters as well, you can say he's railing up Azriel to bring some reaction. However, the question is why would he? What is the reason behind this behavior? It came out of nowhere in the novella, so it's even more surprising to us to reflect upon it, taking into account what transpired in the bonus POV in ACOSF.

Az crossed his arms, face as elegant and cold as the legendary dagger at his side. “I don’t make a point of looking after his movements.” “Why?” Not a flicker of emotion. “He is Elain’s mate.”

I highlighted Azriel's body language because it's very important. Here we have the notion of crossing arms, which can mean that someone is anxious, resistant, tense, insecure, afraid, or defensive. As we can pinpoint some of these emotions are present in this particular scene - Azriel definitely shields himself up, not only by physically crossing arms but also in the indignation of his expressionless face. The fascinating thing is the addition of the comparison between Azriel's cold face and his legendary dagger - which only further solidifies that Truth Teller is in fact a big part of Shadowsinger. Summarizing up with what we got from these passages we have: - tenseness - obstructing oneself from the view - defensive stance - crossing arms - coldness - emotionless

I waited. “It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him.” To know when and if Lucien sought her out. What they did together.

Here comes my favorite part in this conversation - Rhys seeing himself in Azriel at that moment and Azriel keeping in mind Elain's privacy and agency. Some people try to paint Azriel as some sort of a toxic guy, who is so traumatized that he doesn't value anyone but himself. I'm wondering where this reasoning came from - since nothing exclusively supports that theory. It's clear that Azriel shows respect towards Elain, as stated above in the quotes - even if at this moment, he is clearly showing signs of jealousy. Which, once again is totally fine. All bat boys showed jealousy throughout the books, and every one of them loved their significant other with all their flaws and weaknesses. But going back to the quote, we are met with the assumption about Azriel's decision of not spying on Lucien - given by Rhysand. Nevertheless, something must have had triggered such response to Azriel's behavior and his stance - that's why I strongly believe that Rhys knew what Azriel felt like (in ACOFAS he's testing the waters, trying to see if his assumptions are right or wrong, in ACOSF he pulls a rank because of the consequences of the possible outcome with Lucien being so close.)

“You sure about that?” I asked quietly. Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea. “Where did Lucien go.”

Rhys noticed and understood that his assumptions about Azriel's feelings and emotions are correct, that's why his tone changed. He is constantly observing and giving us very detailed descriptions of the changes undergoing in Azriel's persona while discussing Lucien (and inwardly Elain.) Now, let's look at the metaphor used to underline his emotions in relation to his Siphons. Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea. - gutter - flicker and burn unsteadily - foreboding - a feeling that something bad will happen; fearful apprehension

SJM used these words in such a situation - a whole sentence that indicates turmoil that is happening inside Azriel. Behind his aloof expression, we got to know that his emotions are restless, that what he is experiencing is sound and present at this moment. We see that by the description of his Siphons - turning dark at the mention of Lucien's possible whereabouts. We don't necessarily know what Azriel thought - if it was apprehension connected to the possibility of Lucien being in the same house, near Elain, or even somewhere where Azriel wouldn't have expected him to be. Judging by the course of the conversation, I would be inclined to believe that it was thought of Lucien being close to Elain.

I straightened at the pure order in the words. But I said, voice slipping into a drawl, “He went to the Spring Court. He’ll be there for Solstice.”

As we are in Rhys POV we can see that he has been caught off guard by the way Azriel delivers his line, yet he masks it with a drawl. Was it because something that Rhys suspected came true? As in, for example, some validation about Azriel and Elain's relationship? We can guess, however, the text clearly states that Rhys was somehow surprised by the tone of his friend. The pure order is what initially made me reread ACOFAS and this scene few times since it carries a heavy chunk of foreshadowing, but also the weight of Azriel's emotions.

Azriel doesn't let anything on his face, which is almost devoid of emotions while talking to Rhys about Lucien - yet, we get so many descriptions about the way his tone changes, his body language, his Siphons, and gaze. Even if he doesn't show externally that he is feeling all those emotions, that doesn't mean that he lacks them. Because, clearly what we have in the text, suggests that Azriel exhibits symptoms of jealousy. This is completely understandable since in the books we get to know that he and Elain have already started getting to know each other off the pages. Another interesting thing is, how structured and written this scene is. We have an insight into Rhysand's thoughts and he is thinking about Feyre and Tamlin.

With Tamlin, it was more complicated than that. More complicated than I let myself usually dwell on. He was still in love with Feyre. I couldn’t blame him for it. Even if it made me want to rip out his throat. I shoved the thought away.

Rhysand acknowledges the fact that the whole thing with Tamlin is complicated, as he repeats in his mind - the situation was something that literally destroyed one of the Courts. It's also peculiar and worth noticing that Rhys is aware of the love Tamlin has for Feyre, and even if he knows that, he is ready to kill Tamlin.

In the contrast, the talk is about Azriel, Lucien, and... Elain. Another triangle that is, in fact, complicated.

“I’ll discuss Vassa and Jurian with Lucien when he returns. See if he’s up for another visit.” I angled my head. “Do you think he can handle being around Graysen?” Az’s expressionless face was precisely the reason he’d never lost to us at cards. “Why should I be the judge of that?”

Rhys asks about Lucien and how Azriel sees him behaving around Graysen, which in my opinion is another instance of testing Spymaster. I angled my head, which is what Rhysand does and synonym to angle is tilt. Once again we are going to look at what does body language says about it. It can indicate curiosity, suspicion, and in some cases even uncertainty. In this particular moment, I believe it's curiosity mixed with suspicion - Rhys has been observing Azriel the moment he changed the subject of the conversation to Lucien. We also have another description of Azriel's expressionless face - showing us, readers, that Rhys notes the changes in his behavior. Azriel even proceeds with questioning his friend about the purpose of that inquiry and how he of all people is the one who is capable of being a judge in this case. I think we can see it as some sort of dodging, stalling even.

“You mean to tell me that you weren’t bluffing when you said you didn’t track Lucien’s every movement?” Nothing. Absolutely nothing on that face, on his scent. The shadows, whatever the hell they were, hid too well. Too much. Azriel only said coldly, “If Lucien kills Graysen, then good riddance.”

Even if Azriel is described as expressionless and almost emotionless in this scene, we do see the moments when his feelings came up to the surface. Just like here, Azriel bottles down his anger and other emotions, letting out only his coldness. However, the question is why? Why so much iciness and apprehension? If the conversation and subjects of it weren't important to him, he would have probably behaved as usual - with his aloofness, but not necessarily hostility hid behind the frostiness. What's even more notable is the fact that Rhys comments about how his shadows hid his emotions/feelings, even on his scent. Azriel did it on purpose, he covered himself so he wouldn't be detected - or better to say to cover up his true emotions that Rhysand could have easily spotted. The biggest tell about it is the addition of "too much". If there wasn't anything to hide or the emotions under the cover were vain or small - Rhysand wouldn't have had added that thought.

No. Sort of. “I’d think bankrolling her apartment and drinking was gift enough.” Az ran a hand through his dark hair. “Are we …” Unusual for him to stumble with words. “Are we supposed to get the sisters presents?”

The conversation changes its topic - and Rhys starts to discuss sisters and presents. We see that Azriel's first reaction is rooted in body language. He is running his hand through his hair which suggests nervousness, frustration, stress, or even a sign of disagreement over whatever is being said. From all these things I think we can lean towards nervousness the most or even frustration - since just before that leap of the topic he was immersed deep down inside his feelings and tried to mask his true emotions about Lucien and Elain. Another thing is that Rhysand also notices that it's unusual for Azriel to stutter, stumble with his words which he does after he runs his hand through his hair. He's nervous.

“No,” I said, and meant it. Az seemed to loose a sigh of relief. Seemed to, since all but a breath of air passed from his lips. “I don’t think Nesta gives a shit, and I don’t think Elain expects to receive anything from us. I’d leave the sisters to exchange presents amongst themselves.” Az nodded distantly.

Rhysand doesn't even know if he can call Azriel's sigh a sigh since it seems that all it was, was just a short exhale. I do think that it was a sigh - of relief. However, we can speculate about what the relief is connected to. If it is for not buying gifts or maybe because the conversation steered in another direction and all these pent-up emotions, feelings, and even frustrations could finally be released? What's clear is that Azriel feels a lot, in this scene particularly. He is hiding it behind his shadows, obstructing it from Rhys, but also from the reader's point of view. Nevertheless, SJM used an enormous chunk of body language to show us what Azriel is feeling - jealousy. Another thing is that he seemed to think about what's being said about sisters and their gifts - because he was described to be nodding distantly.

Az nodded knowingly. He’d always understood me best—more than the others. Save my mate. Whether it was his gifts that allowed him to do so, or merely the fact that he and I were more similar than most realized, I’d never learned.

I love this quote and that it comes from Rhysand's POV as well. It shows that Rhysand knew and his suspicions were, in fact, correct - because he probably saw himself and his infatuation with Feyre in the way Azriel behaved with Elain. I do also think that it will come back in the next book - the bond between Azriel and Rhysand, and probably some of the small fallout because of what had happened with them in Azriel's POV. SJM put Lucien, Elain, and Azriel in here, while Rhysand thought about his situation with Feyre and Tamlin. Two triangles, two different, complicated outcomes, and relationships. Forbidden romance? Yes. Politically connected? Yes. Could start a war? Yes. There are so many similarities between them.

The thing with Azriel is that his feelings aren't over the top - he's not vocal about them. The power of his emotions lies in the quietness and his actions. If we sat back and looked at scenes in which he acts towards Mor or Elain, we can see that his strength in loving someone isn't connected to words, but rather than that - presence and behavior.

[theostrophywife]

high for this.

masterlist (azriel x reader) author's note: inspired by another song by the weeknd because smoking a blunt with azriel is a concept that i obviously needed to indulge in. warning: drug use and smut. summary: when your older brother bans you from attending the high lord's banquet, you talk azriel into having a celebration of your own with the help of a little mirthroot.

“Are you seriously locking me in a room with Azriel?” 

The setting sun projects pink and golden stripes across your bedchambers while you stubbornly cross your arms and level your gaze at your older brother. As you lean against the railing of the balcony, Rhysand rubs his temples and sighs dramatically.

From this vantage point, you could make out Feyre’s shadow as she milled about the House of Wind with Nuala and Cerridwen trailing behind her. Along with the rest of the inner circle, they were getting ready to depart for the Court of Nightmares where a banquet would be held to welcome the other High Lords. A celebration that Rhys had just uninvited you to thanks to a slight altercation with the High Lord of the Spring Court. 

“You shocked Tamlin with enough lightning to power all of Prythian,” replies Rhysand. “I think it best if you refrain from attending the festivities until you’ve had time to reflect on your actions.” 

You sneer, examining your nails with utter boredom. So what if you used your powers on the spring lordling? He shouldn’t have growled at Feyre if he didn’t want to get hit with a bolt of lightning. Tamlin was practically asking for it.

“Rich of you to say, Rhys. The last time you were in a High Lord’s meeting, you literally took away that twat’s ability to speak.” 

Leaning against the moonstone archway of your private balcony, the amused chortle of the shadowsinger draws your attention. “And you,” you point an accusing finger at your would be babysitter. “You nearly killed Eris, yet you came out unscathed. It hardly seems fair.” 

Rhys shakes his head. “Why do you think I’m keeping both of you in here?” He picks at an invisible piece of lint from the lapel of his jacket, drawing another eye roll out of you. “At least you’re spared from enduring two hours of Beron’s incessant bitching.” 

You grin wickedly as lavender lightning crackles through your fingertips. “Put me in the room and I’ll make sure the Autumn Lord keeps his mouth shut.” 

The High Lord sighs. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid, dear sister.” He drags his gaze between you and Azriel with a weary expression. “Please, I’m asking for one night. Just stay here with Az and try not to get into too much trouble.” 

You plop down on the velvet loungers lining your balcony with a dramatic flourish. “Fine, but it’s going to cost you.”

Weariness laces through his features as he mutters under his breath, “As if I haven’t been paying the price for nearly five centuries.”

“I heard that, you prick.” You shoot your brother a vulgar gesture. “Just know that my next shopping spree at the Continent is entirely on you.” 

“So be it,” Rhys accepts in defeat. He nods at the shadowsinger on his way out. “Keep an eye on her, please and whatever you do, don’t let her fly out of here.” 

You roll your eyes. As if either one of them could even catch you once you took to the skies. You were faster than both Rhys and Azriel when it came to flying and both males knew it. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you reply haughtily, unfurling your wings as you recline back in your seat. “I promise not to burn the house down, if only for Feyre’s sake.” 

On the floor below you, Feyre chuckles and sends you a sympathetic smile. You wink back at your High Lady as Rhysand flies down to her side. 

“Try not to have too much fun without me, sissy.”

She throws her head back in laughter as wings protrude from her back. “Wouldn’t dream of it, love.” 

You watch with a fond smile as your brother and sister-in-law ascend to the skies. As much as you loved giving Rhysand a hard time, you were bursting with happiness that he’d found the love that he’s deserved all along. The fact that it placed another female in his life that constantly called him out on his shit was also an added bonus. 

As they disappear from view, you cross your legs and level your gaze at Azriel. “Now that they’re gone, what should we do first? Raid the wine cellar? Skinny dip in the Sidra? Winnow to the Day Court for a good old fashioned orgy?” 

The shadowsinger shakes his head in amusement. “Would it kill you to have a quiet night in for once in your life?” 

You gasp dramatically, clawing at your neck and pretending to choke. “My throat is closing up just at the thought of it. You know I’m utterly allergic to boredom.” 

Azriel playfully rolls his eyes. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to find a way to entertain you.” 

Now that was intriguing. “I’m listening,” you prompt, gesturing for the male to continue.

With whatever strange power the shadowsinger possessed, he conjures an egg roughly the size of your head from the safety of his shadows. The scaled surface reflects the setting sun, catching the light and gleaming an iridescent color as he cradles the unhatched egg in the palm of his hand. 

“Is that what I think it is?” you ask in amazement, scooting between the couchettes to get a closer look at the invaluable item. 

“A dragon’s egg from deep in the mines of Montesere.” 

Azriel hands you the scaled egg and you carefully turn it over in your palm, examining every unique curve and ridge. When you were younger, you became absolutely obsessed with dragons and even convinced your parents to search for an unhatched egg in the Continent, but never had any luck acquiring one due to the rarity of the object. With the dragon’s numbers steadily dwindling, it was hard to even spot the reclusive creatures, much more obtaining their coveted hatchlings. 

“How did you get your hands on this?” 

Azriel shrugs casually. “I may have slipped a miner a gold coin or two to look the other way.” He watches as you hold the valuable treasure up to the light, a fond smile curving through his lips as you examine it with careful consideration. “I remember how obsessed you were with dragons back when we were younger. You wouldn’t stop spouting random facts about them whenever you could. To the point where Rhys banned you from bringing them up during family dinners.” 

You grin, remembering how much you annoyed Rhysand with your endless tidbits about the creatures. “I can’t believe you remember that. It was so long ago.” 

The shadowsinger grins. “I hope you like it because I’m still finding ash and soot in places they don’t belong.” 

You smile, fingers stilling on the scales as you look up at Azriel. “You went into the mines to bring this back for me?”

He nods. “Couldn’t pass up the chance. Think of it as an early Solstice present.”

The gesture was extremely touching. You couldn’t explain how or why, but the shadowsinger always just knew. Growing up, you and Azriel were the closest. While you cherished your relationships with Rhysand and Cassian, they didn’t understand you quite like Azriel did. 

The shadowsinger was your partner in crime, always getting roped into whatever scheme you fancied in the moment, pranking Cas and Rhys while they cruised for females, and even sneaking out with you at late hours in the night if only to keep you safe while out in the city. Even when his brothers deemed it a buzzkill to have their little sister tagging along to their plans, Azriel always made it a point to include you. 

Despite the contrast of your loud and boisterous nature to Azriel’s quiet and reserved disposition, your personalities somehow just clicked. The two of you were as thick as thieves and you knew you were Azriel’s favorite no matter how many times he complained about you being a pain in his arse. 

To be fair, Azriel was your favorite too. The shadowsinger was your first friend, first person to teach you how to shoot a bow, first male that you’ve ever had a crush on. Even after all this time, you still carried a torch for the dark, broody male. The cliche of falling for your brother’s best friend wasn’t lost on you, but it was impossible to not love Azriel. Especially when he did things like scouring the mines of Montesere just to bring you home a dragon egg. 

“Thank you, Azriel. That’s really sweet.” You hug the present to your chest, carrying it over to the nightstand next to your four poster bed where you could admire it every morning and night. “Now I’ll think of you every time I wake up and go to sleep.” 

Azriel smirks. “I thought you already did that, princess.” You shoot him a vulgar gesture in response to his self proclaimed nickname for you, which only makes him laugh. “I’m hoping this means you’ll be on your best behavior tonight.” 

You snort. “Is the feared spymaster actually trying to bribe me? That’s cute, Azzy.” 

“I’m tempted to go back and fetch you another hatchling if you promise to stop calling me that.”

“Never,” you grin wickedly. “Now come on, Azzy. You promised to entertain me.”

Settling into the cushioned seat beside him, you raise a suggestive brow and pull out a tray from underneath the chair. On its mirrored surface sat a roll of papers, a grinder, and a jar full of the most potent mirthroot in Prythian. You cross your legs as you dump the purple clumps of flower onto the glass, packing it tightly into the grinder as Azriel sighs. 

“I don’t suppose you bought that from the Rainbow.” 

You twist the grinder as it pulverizes the flowers into finer pieces. “Gods, I wish. Good mirthroot is hard to come by nowadays. I paid nearly an arm and a leg for this from a rogue merchant.” 

He crosses his legs, unfurling his wings behind him. “I’m going to take a wild guess that smoking mirthroot isn’t on Rhysand’s list of approved activities.”

You childishly stick out your tongue in response. “It’s medicinal.” 

Azriel raises an amused brow. “What ailment are you suffering from?”

“I’m looking at him right now.” 

The shadowsinger rolls his eyes, but makes no move to stop you as you dump out the crushed flowers onto a slip of rolling paper. He watches in silence as you roll up the spliff, packing it tightly between your slender fingers before running your tongue along the edge of the paper. Azriel zeroes in on the fluid movement, his gaze dipping to your mouth with unabashed scrutiny. 

With a teasing smirk, you spark the blunt with a shock of your lightning and place the roll between your lips. You take a slow drag, inhaling the smoke in your lungs as the sweet, heady taste of mirthroot envelopes your senses. Azriel couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. Balancing the blunt between your middle and pointer finger, you offer it to the shadowsinger with a mischievous grin. 

“Do you want a hit?” you challenge. 

The male shakes his head. “I’m good, princess.” 

Displeased by his answer, you blow a ring of smoke towards Azriel as one of his shadows darts through the opening. Mother save him, the husky timbre of your laughter awakens the dark desire slumbering in the pits of his very being. This dangerous attraction he harbors for you was something he’d long tried to bury, telling himself over and over again that you only saw him as a friend and a brother. He was supposed to be watching over you, protecting you, caring for you like Rhys asked, but it was hard to remember his duty when you smiled at him like this.

“Come on, shadowsinger. Live a little.”

“I don’t partake in anything that may alter my mind,” he states matter of factly. “As spymaster, I need to be alert at all times.” 

You roll your eyes in response. “Oh please. I’m really supposed to buy into that clean cut warrior bullshit? Like I don’t know all the trouble you, Rhys, and Cas got into when you were still in the camps.” 

Azriel chuckles. “Maybe, but that was a long time ago. I’m not the reckless male I used to be.” 

“Damn right. That Az was a lot more fun.” He scoffs, feigning a hurt expression. “I know you’ve smoked it before. What’s the harm in having a little puff now?” 

Despite his long suffering sigh, a grin breaks out on Azriel’s handsome face. “Fine, but if Rhys asks, this was all your idea.” 

Scooting to the edge of his seat, you swing your legs underneath you while the shadowsinger takes the blunt from between your slender fingers. He examines it for a moment before bringing it up to his lips and taking a long drag. The winged warrior’s head rolls back while he inhales the smoke and his long, dark lashes flutter against his sharp cheekbones as he allows the mirthroot to dull his senses.

Azriel hums in satisfaction and the pleased sound sweeps over you like the rumble of an oncoming storm. He lazily opens one eye, grinning when he sees you watching him. 

“Like what you see?” he asks cockily.

Your face heats, but you roll your eyes nonetheless. “The sight of the infamous shadowsinger taking that stick up his arse to have fun with me? Absolutely.”

He sticks his tongue out before taking another drag. “Only you could peer pressure me into getting high while I’m supposed to be keeping you out of trouble.”

“It’s not my fault that the big, bad spymaster has a soft spot for me.”

Azriel flicks your nose. “One that you shamelessly exploit.”

You steal the blunt from his fingers, inhaling deeply while his shadows swirl through your wrist. “What are you gonna do, Az? Take me down to that dungeon of yours and punish me?”

The shadowsinger’s eyes darken for a brief second before he chuckles darkly. You can’t tell if it’s the mirthroot or your close proximity, but something shifts in the air between you and Azriel, a building pressure that grows heavier the longer you’re around him. He swipes the spliff from you and carefully places it between his parted lips with a raised brow.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re nothing but trouble?”

You grin, sprawling your limbs over his legs and settling your head between his lap. “Don’t act like you don’t love being my partner in crime.”

“Someone has to keep you in line,” he replies. 

With the back of your hand pressed against your forehead, you pretend to swoon. “My knight in shining armor. What would I ever do without you, Az?”

“Smartass.” 

Electricity crackles through your fingertips as you send a soft pulse of your power through Azriel’s leg. The shadowsinger yelps in surprise and almost drops the blunt, rolling his eyes in amusement as you catch it between your lips with a wink. 

“You’re lucky you’re my favorite, princess.”

Roughly twenty minutes later, you and Azriel were both higher than Mount Ramiel, gazing up at the stars and pointing out obscure shapes within the constellations. 

“That one looks like a centaur!” you exclaim, lifting the spliff up to the cluster of stars above you. 

“How the hell is that a centaur? It looks like a blob to me.” 

“You just lack the imagination, you giant Illyrian baby. That’s clearly a head and look!” you jab Azriel in the ribs with your elbow, causing the shadowsinger to groan dramatically. “If you squint, that’s a horse’s arse right there.” 

Azriel bursts out laughing, his typically serious expression replaced by a wide grin and red-rimmed eyes. It was comical to see this side of him. The shadowsinger was always so composed and controlled, the perfect picture of the menacing warrior that the rest of the realm viewed him as, but right now as he doubles over in laughter, all you saw was your best friend letting loose for once. 

“We should do this more often,” you state, shifting in Azriel’s lap. He hums in agreement, stirring underneath you as he takes another hit. 

You blink, watching as he takes the blunt between his lips, inhaling generously before releasing a puff of smoke that wafts across your open balcony. With his wind blown hair and glazed golden gaze, you can’t help but ogle Azriel. Gods above, no one should appear this attractive while smoking mirthroot. Anyone else would have looked like a sweaty, strung out mess, but not this male. Azriel was absolutely mouthwatering, which was saying a lot given the fact that you currently had cotton mouth thanks to the mirthroot.

The shadowsinger notices the hitch in your breathing and his free hand toys with the hem of your shirt, slipping his scarred fingers beneath the thin fabric. As the mirthroot reaches its peak, you can feel the hazy effects of the drug taking over your senses, clouding your mind with a thick fog of euphoria. Azriel continues to caress you lightly, smirking when you lean into his touch. 

It’s a dangerous game that he’s playing. Touching you like this was wrong, so wrong, but it felt right even though it barely scratched the surface of where he wanted his hands to be. Your skin feels like silk underneath his calloused fingers and he swallows thickly as a soft, shallow breath emits from your parted lips. He wanted to devour you, take you apart until it’s his name falling from those lips, but you were both high and he didn’t want anything hindering his thoughts when he kissed you for the first time. No matter how badly he wanted to right now. Azriel blinks, attempting to collect himself and tampering down his greedy desire. For now, the expression of utter bliss on your face would have to satiate his need.

“Are you ready, princess?” he murmurs softly. Your eyes widen in surprise, blinking up at him through the fog of lust clouding your thoughts. 

“F-for what?” you ask, the blush blooming high upon your cheeks as your eyes turn upon him, wild and flustered. 

Azriel smirks. He loves seeing you like this, blushing fiercely and slipping out of your usual swagger and confidence to don a doe eyed shyness that was rarer than the egg he gifted you with. 

For a second, he allows himself to imagine what you’d do if he leaned down and kissed you. Azriel would bet all the gold in the Night Court’s coffers that you’d fit perfectly in his arms, tasting of heady mirthroot and sweetwine, melting into him as he takes your face in his hands, but he stops himself before his imagination gets the best of him. 

Instead of indulging himself, Azriel flicks the butt of the spliff and sends ashes scattering all over the moonstone floor. “The blunt. It’s almost out. I think it’s got a hit left, at best.” 

You wave a hand, gesturing for him to finish it off. “Just charge me.” Azriel pauses, toying with the blunt between his lips. He raises a brow, which causes you to roll your eyes in response. “Oh relax, Azriel. I promise I won’t bite.” 

The damned smirk on Az’s face sends goosebumps throughout your skin. He inhales the last of the smoke, holding it in his lungs as he trails over to you. Sitting upright, you half expect Azriel to back out, but instead, his hands find the back of your neck, angling you towards him before nudging your mouth open with his thumb. 

You gladly oblige, feeling a sweep of heat travel through your entire body. Azriel’s mouth barely grazes yours as he exhales the smoke between your parted lips. His warmth, his touch, and his scent washes over like a flood. That golden gaze meets yours, holding you in place as though he was challenging you to cross over that gray area within your friendship. 

While you’ve always been more forward than Azriel, something made you hesitate. You flirted with him plenty of times, dropping a suggestive remark followed by a wink here and there, but you’ve never actually acted on your words. For one, you really didn’t feel like dealing with the shitshow of a reaction Rhys would have if he ever found out about the feelings you harbored for one of his closest friends. And two, you weren’t sure you’d be able to handle the fallout if Azriel didn’t feel the same way about you.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, to crush the tension. Luckily, the grumbling of your own stomach beat you to it. Azriel laughs as he holds out a scarred hand. 

“Come on, princess. Let’s get you some food.” 

You really fucking loved chocolate cake.

More importantly, you loved whatever strange power the Cauldron granted to your sister-in-law to make the House of Wind conjure desert by simply asking for it. With Nesta and Cassian watching over Nyx at the River House, there was no one around to judge you for being high off your arse and tearing into the desert as though your immortal life depended on it. 

No one except Azriel, who was currently more inebriated than you at the moment. 

The Illyrian warrior dips a finger into the chocolate cake, licking the icing off with a satisfied hum while you teeter beside him. The sexual tension from earlier still lingers between you, but it was momentarily eclipsed by hunger. 

“Use a fork, you barbarian.”

The shadowsinger shoots you a vulgar gesture in response, which makes you howl with laughter. You take a swath of icing and smear it on his cheek before running off into a sprint, giggling as he chases you across the kitchen. Azriel waves his sticky hands as he corners you into the dining table, swiping icing and chocolate on your nose while you squeal in protest. 

“I really fucking love cake,” Azriel deadpans. 

“Truer words have never been spoken.”

Without giving it much thought, you cradle his face in your hands and lick the chocolate off his cheek. Azriel stills as you shift atop the wooden surface of the table, scarred hands clamping down on your wrists as shadows swarm all around you. He settles between your legs, warm breath fanning over you as a devilish grin spreads across his handsome face. It takes every ounce of restraint for Azriel to maintain a small gap between you. 

“Do that again and I won’t be able to help myself from taking what I want, princess.”

You inhale sharply as electricity crackles between you. Lavender lightning kisses your fingertips, wreathing itself through your wrists in response to the challenge in Azriel’s stare. The way he was looking at you like he intended to devour you makes the dark, rumbling power come alive in your veins. 

The tension between you builds to a crescendo as Azriel examines you with a ravenous grin. Hazel eyes sweep over you, taking in your flushed cheeks, slightly parted lips, and that twinkling lavender gaze that seems to beckon him forth like a magnet. You were breathtakingly exquisite and devastatingly seductive. His own personal brand of poison. 

He shouldn’t - he knew he shouldn’t, but when you look at him like that, Azriel couldn’t resist.

“Then take it,” you rasp, never once faltering as your gazes meet.

With your permission, Azriel grabs your face between his hands and crashes his lips onto yours. The sweetness of the icing clings onto his mouth, but you didn’t mind the taste. The kiss was hot, desperate, and full of need like you’ve both been thinking about this moment for gods knew how long. You gasp as Azriel grips the tops of your thighs and yanks you closer to him. 

The shadowsinger settles between your legs and you greedily wrap them around his trim waist. Azriel groans into your mouth as his scarred fingers grip the back of your neck, tilting your head up so he can taste more of you. His wicked tongue slips past your parted lips while you fist his hair in your hands. 

You’re frantic to feel more of Azriel against you, clawing at his back to take off his shirt while he kisses below your jaw, sucking harshly enough for it to mark. The aftereffects of the potent mirthroot heightens your senses and your body crackles with electricity while the shadowsinger knocks the plates and cups off of the dining table and presses his bare chest against you. Azriel is displeased to find fabric separating you and he’s unlacing your corset with such speed that it falls to the floor before you could even blink. With your torso exposed, he wraps you in a warm embrace and you claw at his back from the sensation. The skin on skin contact ignites your entire body. Azriel hikes the hem of your skirt past your thighs, watching as you shamelessly throw your head back and moan.

“Do you even know how long I’ve thought about this?” Azriel murmurs, nipping at your ear while his rough hand slides up your thigh. “The things I’ve imagined doing to you. Look at me, princess.” He pauses just below your lace panties and you buck at his hand while he chuckles, low and dark and dangerously seductive. “If I touch you, I don’t want it to be because you’re high off of mirthroot. If I touch you, I want you to know that its because I’ve loved you since the first moment I laid eyes on you.”

Your heart swells at the sight of this beautiful male. So perfect yet so unaware of how much he consumed your very being. “If you hadn’t noticed, I’m embarrassingly, ridiculously, and head over heels in love with you.” 

You grip his wrist, staring at him with an unwavering gaze. “No amount of drugs will change the fact that I’ve wanted you since I knew what it meant to want a male.” Azriel growls as you direct his hand to the growing slickness dampening your lace panties. “I want you, Azriel. Whether I’m sober, drunk, or high off my ass, it’s always you.”

Relief floods the shadowsinger all at once. He’d spent centuries resisting this desire, afraid that you wouldn’t feel the same way about him, but one look at your soft, lavender eyes and he was overwhelmed by the sincerity swimming in your gaze. 

Try as he might to fight it, Azriel has always known. You were his and he was yours. It was written in the stars. 

“It’s always been you for me, too.” Azriel states as he cups your cheek. “My partner in crime.” 

“And your favorite.” 

The shadowsinger chuckles. “And what does my favorite want now?”

You grin. ”I want you to kiss me, Az.”

Azriel didn’t need to be told twice. The kiss is sweet at first, full of tender care while he softly pushes you backwards onto the dinner table, but all bets are off as soon as you bite down on Az’s bottom lip. He growls, yanking your panties down in one swift move. You shudder as his hand palms your exposed cunt. 

You grip the edge of the wooden table, cake and icing squishing between your fingers as Azriel runs his digits over your slit. He laughs as you flick chocolate off your wrist and one of his shadows brings your hand up to the Illyrian male’s mouth as he licks away the remnants of the icing. The sight is sensual and has you pressing your thighs together at how sexy this male was without even trying. 

“The cake is delicious, but I bet you taste even sweeter.”

A shiver shudders through your wings as they flare behind you. The only warning Azriel gives you comes in the form of a smirk before he’s kneeling between your legs and devouring your pussy like he’s been starved for centuries. 

A scarred hand clamps down on both sides of your hips, holding them in place as your back arches off the wooden table. The sticky remnants of desert are all over you and Azriel, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“We’re making a mess,” you breathe in amusement, gasping as Azriel prods his tongue between your flaps and laps up your dripping arousal. 

He smirks against your skin before dragging icing through the inside of your thighs. Mischief twinkles in those caramel eyes while he kisses the side of your knee. 

“I guess I’ll just have to lick you clean then.”

A male of his word, Azriel delivers on the promise and feasts on you until you’re cuming not once, but twice on his tongue. His skilled tongue devours any trace of the icing from the inside of your thigh and you shiver as he does so without breaking eye contact. As you come undone above him, Azriel savors the way your features contort with pleasure, all heavy lids and swollen lips while the back to back orgasms rack through your beautiful form. 

Feminine wings splay out across the table and he gently caresses the lavender membrane, so soft and lovely underneath his touch. The fond smile on Azriel’s face tugs at your heartstrings. You were a fool to ever try to deny yourself of this male. 

“Az, please,” you breathe, cupping his cheek. “I need you.”

Azriel kisses you softly and you moan into his mouth, fingers undoing the front of his leathers as he shrugs out of his clothing. His cock springs free from its constraints, long and thick just as you imagined it would be. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of Azriel in all his naked glory. 

His tall, powerful form, those broad shoulders and solid chest, the perfectly sculpted abs, the battle scars marring his beautiful golden brown skin - you wanted it all. 

“Are you sure, baby?” A glimpse of the Azriel you knew and loved shines through, always putting your needs above his own. 

“I’ve never been more sure of anything, Azriel.”

The shadowsinger smiles, dipping down to give you a soft kiss before lining himself up towards your entrance. With his forehead pressed against yours, Azriel carefully slides into your pussy. Your mouth falls slack as you adjust to take in his length, gasping at his considerable size. 

Azriel watches your face with rapt attention, brushing stray strands of your dark hair to the side while he fills you to the hilt. He nuzzles his nose against yours with endless patience even though his entire body was aching to move, to fuck into you until you were screaming his name. 

“You’re so big, Az,” you groan as he holds your hips in place. “It feels like you’re splitting me apart.”

“I’ll be gentle, princess.”

You open your eyes, watching this male hovering above you. His golden brown skin is covered in a light coating of sweat, giving him an angelic glow and making his raven locks stick to his sharp cheekbones. You’ve waited too long for this. You didn’t want Azriel to hold anything back. You want him to unleash all of the pent up tension and show you how much he really wants you. 

“Don’t, Azriel. Never lessen yourself for me,” you breathe, cupping his cheek. “I want all of you. Even the parts that you’re scared to let anyone else see. You and I, we’re one and the same. I know you. I see you. I understand you. You don’t ever have to hold back with me.”

Azriel growls, scarred hands gripping the wood so tightly that you wouldn’t be surprised if he broke the table in half. 

“I fucking love you,” the shadowsinger declares. 

You smile, leaning up to kiss him. “I fucking love you too, Azriel.”

Lightning meets shadow as your bodies intertwine, light and dark, day and night, a match and an opposition in every way, dancing while your very souls merged into one. Azriel was the beginning, middle, and end. 

You cling onto him for dear life while his strokes awaken the thrumming power in your veins. The shadowsinger’s hips snap to yours at a relentless pace, unleashing all of himself and holding nothing back. 

“Fuck, Az. Right there,” you whine as Azriel’s tip hits the sensitive spot that threatens to make you come undone. He ruts his hips into yours and you cry out at how good it feels, how right it was to have him filling you over and over again. “Gods, don’t stop baby.” 

Azriel snarls, kissing you deeply as your lips meet with a clash of teeth and tongue, devouring one another like you were trying to crawl into each other’s skin just to feel the closeness you were both craving. 

“So close,” Azriel moans into your mouth. His strokes cause your legs to shake as the pressure builds up in your lower abdomen. “You’re so wet and tight. I could stay buried in you for hours, princess. But I know you want to cum.” 

You whimper as his shadows find your clit and nipples, the cold whisps heightening the pleasure and making you feel overstimulated. The sensuous touch is dark and erotic, a seductive caress over your body. Azriel groans when the scent of your arousal wafts up to him, utterly turned on by the fact that you’re unraveling with the help of his shadows. 

“Let go baby, I’ve got you.”

As if on command, the most intense orgasm racks through your body. Lightning wreaths through your wings and Azriel’s own peak reaches soon after. He swiftly pulls out of you with the intention to spill his seed onto your stomach, but you grip his hips and pump his cock into your mouth, swallowing every drop of his cum while you look up at him through your lashes. 

The curses that fall from his lips is the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. Azriel’s hazel eyes glow golden, biting his lip at the absolutely filthy act of you getting on your knees and sucking him off like he was your lifeline. He pulls you up to his chest, not hesitating to kiss you even though his taste lingers in your mouth. 

“I didn’t want you to have all the fun,” you say with a wink. 

Azriel chuckles. “Gods, you’re going to be the death of me.” 

“Too bad. You’re stuck with me now.”

The shadowsinger wraps you in his arms, pressing a gentle kiss on your temple. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, princess.”

By the time Rhys and Feyre returned, you and Azriel had fallen asleep under the stars in your balcony. After cleaning up the mess that you made in the kitchen, you retired to your bedchambers and took a long bath which ended in slow, gentle sex where you explored one another’s bodies without any rush. Having satisfied the initial tension during your kitchen escapade, it was easier to exercise patience instead of clawing at one another out of need. 

Needless to say, the eventful night left both of you knackered, but neither one wanted to sleep for fear of missing a single second of this magical shift in your relationship. You spent the rest of the night talking about anything and everything with you cuddled into Azriel’s arms like it was your own personal safe haven. 

That’s how your brother and sister-in-law found you, nuzzled into Azriel’s neck with his wings curved protectively around you. The impact of Rhys and Feyre’s landing stirs you from your sleep and you blink drowsily into the twilight. 

“I’m surprised to see that the House is still standing,” Rhys states sarcastically. “Anything interesting happen while we were gone?” 

You share a look with Azriel and bite back a laugh. Rhysand furrows his brows while Feyre surveyed you then Azriel, then you again. Her eyes widen with realization. 

“What is it, Feyre darling?” The High Lord looks utterly confused. His gaze darts down to Azriel’s boots. “Why is there cake on your shoes, Az? And why does it smell like-“ Rhys blanches as Feyre grips his shoulder. 

“For fuck’s sake!” Your older brother exclaims. “You were supposed to be keeping an eye on her, Az.” 

“I’m sure his gaze never left hers this whole night,” Feyre says with an amused smirk. 

You cross your arms. “That’s not helping, sissy.” 

Your sister-in-law holds her hands up. Azriel’s wing curves around your shoulder like a shield and Rhys instantly clocks the gesture. 

“Don’t blame her. I’m the one who started it.” 

A blatant lie. One that your brother clearly sees right through, but his face softens as the silence stretches and you knew then that the two males were having a silent conversation, mind to mind. Whatever Azriel says to him seems to lessen the blow. 

“I’m not thrilled at the prospect of my sister dating my best friend, but I can’t say it’s the worst thing in the world,” Rhys concedes. Stars wink into existence within his violet gaze as he levels an intimidating stare at Azriel. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of what will happen if you hurt my baby sister.” 

You roll your eyes. Despite the fact that you were five centuries old, Rhysand would never stop seeing you as his bratty baby sister. 

“I know, Rhys. You’ll skin me alive and hang me by my wings.” 

The High Lord smirks. “I doubt it would even get that far, Az. She’ll fry you from the inside out if you ever step out of line and Feyre and I will deal with what’s left.” 

“My mate and his flair for the dramatic,” Feyre says with an eye roll. She clasps you and Azriel’s hands into her own, squeezing giddily. “I, for one, am happy that this is finally happening. I’ve been rooting for you two since day one.“ 

Rhys scoffs. “Whose team are you on, Feyre darling?”

“Sissy’s, obviously,” she responds as she winks at you. “Now come Rhys, let’s leave the lovebirds alone.” 

You watch in amusement as Feyre herds Rhys towards the open air, but not before your brother sends you a reprimand through your mental shield that you respond to by sticking out your tongue. Azriel chuckles while you watch the High Lord and Lady fly away. 

“What did you say to Rhys?”

Azriel pulls you to his chest and kisses your hair. “I told him how much I love you. I promised to protect you, watch over you, and put your happiness above my own. Always.” 

“What did my dear brother have to say about that?”

He only grins. “Rhys said he knows, because he’s witnessed me do it for nearly five centuries.” 

That brought a smile to your face. “Did he have to be that dramatic about it?”  

Azriel cradles you in his arms, smirking slightly. “No, but I’m afraid it runs in the family, princess.”

“You’re lucky I like you, Az.” 

“You love me.” You giggle, nodding in agreement as he kisses your nose. “And I love you.”

“Love you too, my partner in crime.” 

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