#UTM!Rhys x reader

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Datura Pt 2

Author's Note: I initially wrote Part I and 2 as one piece but it was too long, so here's the next part :) Not sure how long this fic will be, but buckle up 'cause it'll be a good ol' enemies to lovers, political intrigue fic for however long it takes for me to figure out an ending.

Summary: Something has been hunting you for your powers and it's finally caught up with you. A Rhysand x Reader UTM What If.

Content Warnings: Suggestiveness, a little NSFW near the end, before we get to the ANGST (we're gonna suffer but we're gonna like it); that red headed bitch makes her first appearance; bit of cursing; canon typical violence. 

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All attempts at speaking fail, your mouth opening and closing without any sounds coming out. Your head spins, mind reeling. This can’t be real, can’t be happening. That tonic from the priestesses had to have something weird in it. This was a hallucination.

Yes. Hallucination, that had to be it.

“We can’t stay here,” says the male, his large hands still tight on your shoulders. There’s a coppery scent on him, something damp on the edge of his shirt sleeve, brushing against the exposed skin of your shoulder. Blood. He’d been the thing those other guys were screaming at.

Your stomach twists, heart slamming in yours ears, sounding like drum beats again. No. No that wasn’t your heartbeat at all, that was the drums outside. Great, while the Spring Court was having a giant orgy you were lost in some sort of cave with… what even was this male?

Was he even fae? You still can’t see a thing in the dark.

You recover yourself enough to step out of his grip. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” your voice trembles as you speak, hands shaking at your sides. You’re defenseless out here, even with your own magic, you've never managed to control it enough to use it. “I can’t even see you.”

A mistake. You shouldn’t have admitted to it.

A flicker of light flares, glittering and spinning like…

Stars. There are actual, tiny, glittering stars swirling around his fingertips. The glittering light illuminates the walls, much higher overhead than you’d thought initially. There is much more room to move around in general, but the darkness had been so thick you’d mistaken it for rocks. The light doesn’t pierce all the way through though, only the space between the two of you, the darkness beyond still moving and shifting like a wall. Your eyes track it back to the towering male ahead of you, the darkness drifting off him like a mist. Not the darkness of the cave at all, but one of his own making. It moves on his whim around the two of you, a bit of it still caressing your spine, your bare legs, while the rest hovers like some sort of bubble. A shield perhaps, you know the High Fae can make them, but it is just as likely to be a cage.

You try to summon claws, focusing your thoughts into getting your hands to change, shift, but nothing happens. Nothing but a slight twinge of pain in your skull.

As if he knows it, feels it, the stranger reaches a star flecked hand out to brush a tendril of hair off your forehead, his callused hands warm against your flushed skin. You shiver despite yourself.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he says. That voice is rich, low, a lover’s purr.

He is fae, not the monster you had initially suspected. You aren’t sure what people usually wear on Calanmai, but the dark pants, the loose fitting shirt, half unbuttoned to reveal a swirl of dark ink across his bronze chest, and boots seems out of place. As if he’s over-dressed. Half a dozen rings glitter in the starlight spinning between his slender fingers, but you cannot ignore the blood that’s dusted over them.

“What happened to the others that came into the cave?”

A shadow passes over his face, dark brows furrowing. He’s a gorgeous male, by far the most handsome male you’d ever seen in your life, but that look, as the glow in his eyes dims, pupils expanding so there was nothing but endless darkness… it's like looking at the paintings of the Death Gods you’ve seen in your books. The shadow at your back writhes as if agitated, only settling once the look has passed and the violet returns to his eyes.

“They wanted to hurt you,” a low growl.

You shiver. “Why’d you call me out here then, if it’s unsafe?”

He tilts his head, a predator assessing prey, only cold calculations in that gaze. It’s an effort not to squirm under the scrutiny. “It’s not safe there either.”

“In my home?” You counter.

“In Spring,” he returns.

“Spring is perfectly safe, it’s practically the only place that-”

He moves faster than you can blink, clamping a hand over your mouth. “Don’t speak things like that in places like this!” He hisses. It’s not anger on his face, though, it is fear. You feel the chill of it seep through the bubble of darkness he’s created. His whole body shakes with it.

What do males with this kind of power fear?

It makes you nervous, wondering, but not as much as having a stranger put their hands on you. You sink your teeth into the flesh of his palm so hard you draw blood, and as he yanks his hand back, you move to run. Only to find the shadows blocking your path, no longer wisps, but solid, like adamant. You practically bounce off it.

“Let me out,” you order.

He stares down at his hand with a smirk, amused. “That was cheap.”

“I don’t like being touched by strangers,” you hiss. “Now let me out or I’ll really fucking bite you.”

He chuckles and the sound of it skitters over your bones, makes a whole other type of shiver run across your skin. Perhaps that’s part of the magic of Calanmai, the ability to remove the usual inhibitions and allow the souls to merge as the magic of the land demands. You quietly curse yourself for being so powerless against it. With enough training you should have been able to shield from it, but there’s no time for it now.

“What if I like being bitten, hm?” He teases.

“Then you’ll love when I rip your fucking throat out with my teeth.”

He takes a step closer and tilts his chin up, baring the full expanse of his throat to you. “I’ll let you, but then, how would your find a way out of the cave?”

“Bastard,” you snarl, but you can’t stop yourself from watching the way his throat works when he swallows, the way he grins at the roof, watching you, calculating what your next move will be. He knows he has you right where he wants you, it’s like watching a cat play with a mouse.

He slowly lowers his chin, still grinning. “It’s this way,” he gestures with a hand and the wall of shadows moves further into the cave.

You stare after it, than at him. “Isn’t the entrance the other way?”

“Trust me.”

“I don’t even know your name, why would I trust you?”

He reaches out and grabs your hand, but before you can pull away from him again, he’s pressing your knuckles to his lips. They’re surprisingly soft against your skin; electricity shooting through you, as he says in a voice made for the bedroom, “Rhys.”

Rhys, Darkness Incarnate, apparently. His name was an answer to a question you’d been asking yourself the last couple of years. Strange as the circumstance are, he fits exactly what you’d imagined the voice that had hounded you would sound like. Putting a face to the voice was strangely comforting, like there was no longer some strange threat hanging around your head every year anymore.

“I’m Y/N.”

You’re sure you’re an idiot for telling him. It’s not like he’s dropping the shield and letting your run out, it’s still there, caging you in as you move through the cave, side by side. Just because he’s leading you somewhere doesn’t mean it’s somewhere good, this very well could be a trap. Your head hurts trying to figure out what’s real, what’s likely. You’re not entirely convinced this still isn’t a hallucination.

He tries your name out on his tongue, nodding to himself, like he’d been looking for the answer to a question too.

Your heart clenches in your chest at the sight. There is something lonely about him you can’t quite place.

“Has it really been you, calling me these last couple years?” You ask softly; you’re trapped down here with him, might as well pass the time until you get to whatever bitter end awaits you.

He nods as you take a sharp left and descend down further at a slopping angle that has you holding onto the walls for support. It’s colder the deeper you go, despite the budding summer heat the rest of the court is feeling outside. You’re trembling as the path goes from soft sand to smooth, icy stone, the rock seeping all heat from your body on contact.

“Yes,” Rhys confesses. He stops for a moment, head tilted to the side like he’s listening for something, more shadows leaking from him, slipping through the shield to do Mother knows what.

When he looks back at you, his eyes are dark, sad. “It’s not safe.” He repeats. “I was trying to warn you.”

You run your hands over your arms, trying to get some heat back. Without a thought he’s unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it over your shoulders. The move if effortless, gentle, so at odds with what’s happening you can’t do anything other than slide your arms into the too big sleeves and pull it tight around you on sheer muscle memory. Its warm; the scent of jasmine and citrus and the sea all over it. You strangely want to bury yourself in it, until that scent is burned into your skin, your lungs, until it’s the only thing you breath. Calanmai at work, you can only assume.

With a hand on your back he prompts you forward again, even as he continues. “I didn’t know what else to do, it was my only chance to reach you.” His palm takes up the expanse of your lower back, you are so small next to him.

“But why me?”

The swirling tattoos cross over his chest and back, leaving a small gap between his shoulders, like there’s something supposed to be there, some small piece of him missing in those gaps between the ink. The urge to run your fingers over them is almost overwhelming, you have to pull your hands into his shirtsleeves to stop yourself.

“You’re-” he pauses and you swear you hear claws scratching somewhere above you.

Instinctively, before you can stop and think about what you’re doing, you press yourself closer to him. It’s the most natural thing in the world for him to slide an arm around your shoulders and pull you against his side. He’s all sleek muscle, a warrior’s build, though he carries no visible weapons. Perhaps, with powers like these he doesn’t need any.

The shield shudders around the two of you as he draws it in so close there is no room to move away from him.

You don’t dare speak again, the stillness he radiates tells you enough.

Several long minutes pass before the shield moves outward again and he gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze signaling that the two of you should press on.

“What do you know of your parents?” He says finally, loosing a sigh of relief.

“I don’t even remember them,” you say. “What do you know of them?”

“I fought against your father in the War,” he replies .

Your father was a soldier?

“He’s a very powerful male,” he continues but all you can focus on the choice of words, the current tense, as if your father is still alive. “As was your mother.”

Your head spins; he grips you a little tighter like he knows it.

“There are a lot of powerful people who would like to get their hands on your power,” he says.

Its an effort to swallow. “I don’t even know how to use them,” you whisper.

He winces. “You have no training?” It almost sounds like horror in his voice.

You stare down at your hands, like their the source of all your problems. “My uncle said they would just… click.”

“Cauldron boil me,” he curses.

“I take it that’s not what you were hoping to hear?”

The cave split into four directions, one way covered with stalagmites dripping a strange glowing liquid, another bursting with flowers, a third full of rubble, the fourth the only clear path out. You go to that one, cautiously, Rhys keeping his head tilted, listening to what dangers might lay ahead.

“You’re vulnerable, is all,” Rhys says softly. “And there’s not enough time to change that now.”

A sense of foreboding lands in the pit of your stomach. “How much time do we have?”

“I have to be gone by sunrise,” he answers.

Gone, the foreboding turns into outright anxiety, stomach now twisting in knots. You resist the urge to reach out and take his hand. It’s nice having him here, you’re not ready to give this up just yet. “So there’s a reason you only call to me on Calanmai?”

He only nods.

“What happens if you’re still here by sunrise?”

He runs his tongue over his full lower lip, thinking.

“Are you like a vampire or something? Do you go poof?” You make an exploding gesture with your hands and he laughs, the echo bouncing off the shield. You’re not sure why it’s the laugh that makes you decide to trust him fully. Maybe some naïve part of you thinks if he meant you harm he wouldn’t be laughing at your stupid jokes.

“No,” he says, hand on his stomach as he fights to catch his breath. “Nothing like that.”

You watch the way his muscles shift as he catches his breath, the way his chest rises and falls. You’d like nothing more than to run your tongue along the sharp planes of him. You can’t stop yourself from wondering if you’d be able to taste the jasmine and citrus on his skin if you did.

“You’re sure? Let me see your teeth?”

He flashes you a grin that makes your stomach do flips. “See? No fangs.”

You turn towards him, pressing in closer, teasingly assessing, like you’re unsure. Calanmai has made you bold, you have to admit. Even with the new time limit closing down on you, you can’t help but stop for just a minute to enjoy this side of the male before you.

“So what are you then? If you have to work under the moon?”

“I’ve been many things,” he says, his eyes drifting down to your lips.

“And right now, what are you?” You press.

“Right now…” he places a hand on your hip and pulls you flush against him. “Right now I’m all yours, Darling.”

You must be somewhere close to where the party is happening above, because you can hear the drums again, as if the music is beating from within the rocks of the cave walls, the reverberations vibrating under your skin. It’s too much, too loud, pushing you closer to him, the silence that fills your head when he touches you the only way to make the noise stop.

Perhaps this was the plan the whole time: Get you away from the crowds, somewhere secluded, get you to trust him, to embrace him, but you can’t stop yourself from stretching up on your toes to kiss him. Did it matter in the end? He groans as he deepens the kiss, one star flecked hand sliding into the strands of your hair, angling your head for him to easily swipe his tongue into your mouth. The kiss is demanding, but soft somehow, like he’s desperate for it, you, but not holding so tight that you can’t pull away from him if you want.

The shadows return, dancing over your skin, skittering higher and higher up your thighs, across your waist, your chest. You let your own hands explore the broad expanse of his chest, skin silky and warm beneath your fingertips.

If this was the plan all along, you don’t care. This is good.

He tastes like starlight, like the night chilled wind across a calming sea. It conjures one in your mind, gentle waves lapping at a moonlight shore; there’s music floating across the water, the sounds faint and distant but much more soothing than the demand of the drums above you.

All too soon he’s pulling away from you, gentle kisses placed against the corners of your lips, your chin, the underside of your jaw. “Wish we had more time,” he whispers into your skin. “Want to take my time with you.”

You’re absolutely molten, very aware of how soaked your panties are, just barely covered by your thin shift. Any other night you might have had more presence of mind to be mortified that you were so wet just from kissing someone, but not tonight. Tonight it makes sense, is the only thing that makes sense.

He brushes his nose along the column of your throat, scenting you. “We really should keep moving,” but his hand trails down your front, tracing the valley between your breasts, sliding lower.

You tilt and kiss him again, hand tangling in his onyx hair. Nothing has ever felt as good as kissing him, you doubt anything else could ever compare. Unfair that you only have one night, one moment, you’re sure he’d ruin anyone else for you given the right amount of time.

He indulges you, just as hungry as before, hand still sliding lower, until he finds the hem of your panties through your shift.

You ache between your legs, have half a mind to beg and plead for him to touch you. Your feelings about Calanmai be damned, you want him to keep going, to kiss you, touch you, ruin you until the time he has left is spent.

Deft fingers find the hem of your shift, pulling it slowly upwards until he can bunch it up in his hand.

“Rhys,” you whimper into his lips.

His pupils are lust blown, lips kiss swollen and pink. “I know, I feel it too.”

You are used to the feeling of your power prowling beneath your skin, a caged animal begging to be released, this is not entirely different, but instead that power is replaced with him. You want, need, him everywhere. Need him to keep kissing, touching.

He slides his hand under your waistband, movements slow, precise, letting you indulge in the scrape of his callused hands over your soft skin. The movement alone is almost too much, your breath rasping out of you, trying not to squirm. He’s so close to where you need him…

“Rhysand!”

A female voice shakes the cave, the shield. Rhys jerks away from you like the voice hit him, eyes wide.

You grab onto the edges of his shirt and snap it closed around you like it will hide what you’ve been doing.

Footsteps echo, the cave shaking.

Rhys glances at you, eyes wide. “Stay quiet.” He says it in your mind, as easily as he has done for all these years. You don’t have time to ask how he can do it, or why, as he runs a hand through his hair, fixing it, before sliding out of the shield. It swallows you, tightening so you can’t run, can’t see what’s happening.

You barely dare to breath, as the footsteps stop not far from where you are. “Busy are we?” The shield can’t keep out the voice.

“Hunting as you asked, My Queen,” he says smoothly, casually.

Queen?

Whoever she is, she gives a mirthless laugh. “You call what you’re doing hunting now?”

“You said to use the caves-”

“I didn’t say fuck some whore in them,” she snarls. “I can smell her on you.”

You’re mortified enough to wonder if your powers could let you somehow dissolve into goo and melt into the floor.

“All part of the plan,” Rhys answers and your heart sinks as his words hit home.

“So you know where she is?”

“Of course,” Rhys says and the shield suddenly vanishes, the cold absence of it hitting you in a rush.

You give a little squeak of surprise, tightening his shirt around your exposed body as your eyes adjust to the soft gray light of the cave. You spent two much time here, the sun now rising outside.

The woman before you was tall, slender, eyes dark, mouth a cruel, pinched line. The blood red hair only serves to make her all the more pale and as she takes you in, her teeth flashing in a grin, you get the feeling that this what a wolf looks like when it sees a lamb.

“This little thing?” She stalks towards you and you take a step back, some instinctive, primal part of you recognizing that the more space between the two of you the better. You can still turn heal and run if she’s far enough away.

“Don’t worry, little one,” she coos at you, reaching out a claw tipped hand. Her blood red nails are sharpened to spikes, bit it’s the ring, with a swiveling, life like eye in the center that makes every muscle in your body tense up. “I’m here to help you.”

“Fuck off!” You hiss. There’s only one exit, the way she came, slopping upward, the floor clearly damp with morning dew. You’d need a good head start to make it up there first.

Rhys is watching you with the same intensity he’d kissed you with and you wish you had something to hurl at his head. You should have known better than to trust him.

“Quite the mouth on you,” she purrs. “I hope Rhysand put it to good use.”

Something in you chest cracks, a lump forming in your throat. You need to get out of his shirt, get the taste of him out of your mouth; he played you like a fiddle and if whoever this lady is hadn’t shown up, would have used you for his own amusement. And you would have let him.

“What do you want?” You bite out, inching closer to the exit.

“As I said,” she says slowly, like you’re too dumb to understand. “I’m here to help.”

“I don’t need help,” you throw a withering glance at the male. “From either of you.”

“Oh but that’s just not true, is it, little one?” She doesn’t move, but something feels wrong. You don’t know why, but your whole body suddenly freezes, heart slamming in your chest.

No not frozen, you’d move if you could, but you can’t. It’s as if something grabbed hold of you, held you in place.

“There are a lot of people looking for your, Princess.”

Princess? This is a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.

“Oh she doesn’t know, does she?” She smirks at Rhys, who shakes his head in conformation.

“Imagine that, the daughter of the King of Hybern, raised a simple little farm hand,” she grins like she knows she’s won, even as your head spins.

Hybern. You knew the name from your history books, the King a ruthless tyrant who nearly destroyed Prythian to get back his human slaves. Your mouth is dry, your hands might have shook, could you move your body.

She curls her fingers in a come here motion and as if someone has you on strings like a puppet, you take two steps towards her. You try to dig your heels in, fight it, but the hold over you won’t budge. You walk until your close enough for her to graze the tips of her claws under your chin.

“There are a lot of bad people trying to find you, little one.”

The only thing you have full control over is your mouth, so you snarl and flash your teeth, wishing you had the ability to grow fangs, “I’m pretty sure you are the bad people, bitch!”

She smirks but the grip she takes on your chin is anything but kind, your jaw groaning under the crushing weight of her grip. Her nails draw blood, crimson trickling down your jaw. “Poor, delusional little thing. Don’t you worry, we’re going to take good care of you, aren’t we, Rhysand.”

He grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “Of course!”

“Your father will be very pleased to hear you’re alive,” she says to you.

To Rhys she says, “Bind her, I don’t want her trying to run again.”

You still can’t move, can’t flee. Some small piece of you wants to beg, plead for him to let you go, to prove you wrong about him, but you’re pride won’t let you. Not as more wisps of shadow curl around his wrists and hands like snakes, no more stars to be seen.

“I should have ripped out your throat,” you snarl.

The shadows jump from him, twining around your wrists and ankles, not the gentle caresses from earlier, tightening until you can barely move your fingers and toes.

Rhys grins at you, shrugs, but it’s in your mind that you hear the same quip from earlier, “I would have let you.” It’s not teasing this time though, it’s sad, haunted.

Doesn’t matter, he’s still checking your hands, tossing you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. You tell yourself you won’t cry here, won’t give either of these bastards the satisfaction, there will be a time for that later.

It’s not much farther before sunlight blinds you, only a few steps of Rhys’ long legs before you’re out of the cave. You’d been so close. It had been right there this whole time! Had you not been so distracted, had those stupid drums not been so loud you might have made it. Might have gotten to go home.

[starstruckunknown-princess]

Bruises That Won’t Heal - Black Rose Part 2

Summary: Rhysand returns from Under the Mountain with an announcement that Niamh desperately wishes wasn’t true. Black Rose Part 2, can be read as a standalone but it’s better with Part 1!

Pairing: Rhysand x OC (Niamh, pronounced ‘Neev,’ no physical descriptions)

Warnings: ANGST, allusions to sex, UtM happenings, PTSD, depression, aggressive behavior

Word Count: 3166

A/N: So I wasn’t going to post this but I’m on a hot writing streak right now and have issues with impulse control so here ya go! Also, the title is a lyric from ‘No Surprises’ by Radiohead, which I think goes with the angsty feel of this chapter. Also, did I mention there’s angst ahead? Cuz there is. 

Thank you for reading! Like/Reblog/Comments always appreciated!

Banner by yours truly, dividers by firefly-graphics

Mother above, Niamh thought to herself. 

The chair she sat in became impossibly uncomfortable despite its plushness. Rhys kept talking to the four other members of his inner circle but it sounded far away and dulled, like he was shouting at her from underwater. Her cheeks were hot and all she could hear was her own pulse in her ears. 

“Excuse me,” she said, rising and heading for the nearest balcony. She didn’t notice or care if anyone tried to stop her, she needed air. Rhys paused and she vaguely heard him call her name but she was already out the door, trying to remember how to breathe properly. 

From the balcony she looked out over Velaris sparkling below. The lights started to blur together as tears welled in her eyes. His announcement was a punch in the gut. Her chest felt like it was imploding when a mere twenty-four hours ago it felt like it was full to bursting. Her breathing was shallow, shaking fists shut so tight her nails were cutting into her palms. 

This couldn’t be happening. He had a mate, a gods-be-damned mate! That was what his strange dreams had meant.

She should’ve known. 

How could she have been so naive? 

The wind whipped past her form, invisible hands grabbing at her clothing and hair. For a moment she wished those hands were real, grasping small parts of her and tearing her apart — a thousand different pieces of Niamh drifting through the night sky. That would be preferable to the swirling heartbreak that had found a home in her chest. 

The potted rose bushes on either side of her grew rapidly into a thick hedge behind her, thorns growing sharper, a wall between her and the source of her pain. Braced against the wide railing, she looked down at her ring. 

The ring he’d given her when he promised her forever after she’d abandoned her brother in the Spring Court. With a shaking hand, she slipped the ring off. It was meaningless now, and she wouldn’t be the selfish one who refused to let him be with his mate. 

Even if it felt like her insides were shriveling, wilting, dying within her. 

She placed the ring on the railing, knowing he would find it. Hoping he would understand.

“Niamh?” a male voice called through the hedge. 

Cassian.

“I just need a minute, Cass,” she lied. Though it was a small consolation, she was relieved her voice didn’t break under the weight of a lie. She needed a lot longer than a minute to process exactly what Rhys had said. 

When he’d winnowed to the House of Wind, they’d run at each other after the moment of shock. Her broken, joyful cry alerted Mor in the other room. The three of them had collapsed on each other, she and Mor clinging to Rhys and him clinging to them just the same. Tears were shed, happy ones, and Niamh assumed he ducked her kisses because of his urgency to reunite with his family. 

They were all so elated to be together again that the full debrief of his time Under the Mountain was pushed until the next night. They drank and feasted and danced like it was Starfall and they were rowdy hundred-somethings again. Instead of everyone heading to their rooms, they all passed out where they dropped. 

Niamh hadn’t given much thought to his lack of physical affection toward her. He’d placed quick pecks on everyone’s cheeks, hugged each member of his family for minutes at a time (except Amren, who only managed fifteen seconds). 

“Do you, um…do you want me to take you home?” Cass asked quietly. She shut her eyes tight, chest constricting. Of course, he was ducking her affection because he had a mate. The tears leaked down her face and she nodded.

“Yes,” she whispered, remembering that he couldn’t see her through the rose hedge. Black roses. Her favorite.

She receded the hedge with her powers, just as she had built it. Cassian looked at her and she could see the secondhand pain written across his handsome face. It was more sympathetic than pitying, which she was thankful for as she crossed to him. He folded her into a tight embrace and she pressed herself into his leathers. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmured to her, rubbing circles on her upper back as she tried to rein in the tears.

From inside the house she could hear Mor calling her name, but she didn’t have the strength to deal with her right now. Sensing this, Cassian lifted her into his arms and, with a gust of wind, lifted them both into the air and flew her home.

Three weeks passed and Niamh hadn’t seen any of the Inner Circle. She put up wards to prevent winnowing into her home and didn’t answer the persistent knocks at the door. She ignored the letters that showed up at least once a day. Even after almost fifty years she knew the handwriting on the envelopes. 

Her time was spent in her rooftop greenhouse, cultivating her various plant species and growing flowers to sell to local florists. It kept her hands and mind busy. Besides, she already knew exactly what Rhys would say to her so why bother reopening the wound? 

She was sitting against the arm of her couch in the living room, a book propped open on her legs when Mor appeared in front of her unlit fireplace. 

“Where the hell have you been?” the blonde goddess demanded, hands on her hips. 

“Huh, my wards must be down.” Niamh looked up from her book and shrugged. “Here.”

“Why haven’t you answered any of Rhys’s letters?” Mor gestured to the coffee table in front of them which was blanketed in the folded parchment. All the seals were intact. 

She turned her attention back to her book, not wanting her friend to see the flash of anguish in her eyes. “I’ve been busy.” 

“Bullshit. Why have you been ignoring us?”

“Because all of you are going to tell me I need to talk to Rhys or read his letters and I don’t want to hear it!” Niamh threw her book aside and rose to her feet, stalking into her kitchen. “He’s mated, Mor. Mated! After I waited for him for fifty years. I know what he’s going to say and I just…don’t see the point. We’re obviously over, I might as well move on.” 

“Honey,” Mor said as she followed her into the kitchen, “Don’t you want some sense of closure? An apology? To let him know how you’re feeling?” 

Niamh filled her kettle and set about making tea. She had to do something with her hands to stop the prickling feeling inside them. “No.” 

“So you’d rather ignore your entire family than have one uncomfortable conversation?” Mor scoffed, indignant. “Real mature, Niamh.” 

Niamh slammed the kettle onto the stove, denting the surface and startling Mor. She knew what Mor said was true — she was being childish by not facing her problems and having the conversation with Rhys. But she couldn’t help it. After fifty years of holding him together in his dreams, he’d come back to her in love with someone else. “Fuck off and let me grieve, Mor.” 

“Is that what you’ve been doing for the last few weeks? Grieving?” She could hear Mor approach, then felt a warm hand on her shoulder. Niamh nodded, not facing the other female. “But we got him back, he came home to us…”

“And immediately broke my heart. I’ve lost him twice now, Mor, and I just…I need time.” 

Mor’s warm hand moved and Mor embraced her from behind, her head coming to rest on Niamh’s shoulder. “Okay, okay. I’ll call off the Illyrians. But can you promise me something?” 

“What?” 

“That you won’t shut yourself off from us like that again. I understand you don’t want to see Rhys, but I miss my best friend.” Mor half-smiled and Niamh promised the two of them would go shopping soon. Satisfied with that promise, Morrigan moved onto lighter topics and sipped the tea Niamh made. 

Despite the undercurrent of despair, it was a pretty pleasant afternoon. 

Mor winnowed back to the House of Wind and found a despondent Rhys sitting in the same chair she’d left him in. Hands white-knuckle grasped in front of him, head bowed to the marble floor, as if he was praying to the Mother. For all she knew, that’s exactly what he was doing. 

He looked up when she entered the room, violet eyes wide and eager. “How’d it go? Is she okay?” 

Mor sighed long and deep, “She’s hurt, Rhys. She needs time.” 

“She’s had three fucking weeks,” he said, standing and beginning to pace. “And she needs more time?” 

“Turn the situation around, Rhys, how do you think you’d feel if you came back and she found her mate while you were…away.” Mor posited. 

The last few weeks had been difficult on her cousin as he resumed his post as High Lord. Long days and nights reacquainting himself with his court, his people, and what issues had arisen in the last fifty years that required his attention had left him exhausted. Today was the first time he’d had a chance to bring up Niamh, mentioning to his cousin that she wasn’t responding to his letters and asking if she’d heard anything from the Spring Court convert. 

Then, upon hearing that no one in the Inner Circle had seen or heard from her, he’d frantically ordered Mor to check up on Niamh and report back. His nerves were frayed from fatigue. Mor could see his mind spinning through every horrible thing that could’ve happened to Niamh, and she had to admit that she was also concerned, so she’d agreed. 

Rhys paused his pacing and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Awful. I’d feel…awful. Crushed. Obliterated.” 

Mor approached her cousin as gently as she’d approached Niamh earlier, like approaching a cornered wildcat. “So maybe ease up on her. She just needs time, okay? She’ll come back, but we need to give her space for now.” 

Rhys’s shoulders slumped when she placed a hand between them. He spun and pulled her close to him, his wet tears dampening the shoulder of her dress. She didn’t mind. 

“I missed her…so much. I survived, clawed my way through every awful thing so I could see her when she dreamwalked to me. She kept me sane, Mor. I owe her everything, and she won’t even be in the same room as me.” 

“She’ll come around,” Mor comforted him. “I know she will.” 

His voice sounded so pained when he said, “I loved her. I…I wanted to marry her.” 

Mor stroked his hair, her own eyes misting over, “I know you did.” 

One Week Later

Simply to torture himself, Rhys found the secret compartment in the headboard of his bed at the townhouse and pulled the velvet box out from inside it. With a deep breath, he opened it. 

The ring inside was slightly worn, but beautiful. He could still remember the day he’d bought it from a jeweler in the Rainbow, practically giddy with excitement to ask Niamh to marry him. A band of intricate silver vines, small clusters of diamonds framed a rare black emerald. 

He’d proposed that night, about twenty years after she became a permanent fixture in his court. They’d never gotten around to the actual marriage ceremony due to one thing or another, High Lord business or her work with his spymaster demanding too much attention to plan a wedding. Hell, forget a wedding, he would’ve happily sworn their vows in front of a city clerk, but for whatever reason they never had.

He’d found the ring on the railing at the House of Wind. While recounting his years under the mountain and revealing the news of his mate, he’d watched Niamh’s expression falter. The light behind her eyes dimmed and she’d drawn into herself before exiting the room. He wanted to go after her, but Amren’s questions had stopped him. A few minutes later, he watched from the balcony as Cassian flew her toward the Rainbow. 

Probably for the best that they’d never married, he thought bitterly. He’d be in an even more impossible situation now. Feyre would still be his mate but he would be married to Niamh. 

Feyre was his mate.

He couldn’t help the tingle of excitement that ran up his spine whenever he thought of her, but it was followed by a sickening wave of nausea that he suspected wouldn’t go away until things were right with Niamh. Whenever that would be. She was stubborn and could hold a grudge, just like her brother.

Her brother, whom his mate was currently planning on marrying. 

“Mother above, what a mess,” he said out loud to no one, falling back on the bed. He raised the ring box above him and snapped it closed. 

He couldn’t do anything about having a mate. Whatever forces of the universe deemed that he belonged with Feyre and nothing could sever that tie. 

But he loved Niamh deeply, truly, and a not-insignificant part of him still did. What was he supposed to do with that love? Especially since the object of that love wouldn't come within a hundred feet of him, wouldn’t respond to the numerous letters he sent, who told Mor that she needed “time.”

And even when “time” was up, what then? They would never be the same. Within the first two weeks of his return, he’d settled back into his friendships with everyone else but Niamh. Cassian’s inappropriate jokes, Azriel’s dark sarcasm, Mor’s sharp tongue, Amren’s deep wisdom, it all came back to him. It all welcomed him home like a warm blanket that, unfortunately, was a few inches too short. 

He needed Niamh’s curios intelligence, her open smile, her quick wit. The way her eyes would light up when he brought her rare seeds or specimens, how her hair would fall in her face while she was deep into research. 

The little noises she made when he kissed her just right. How her body responded so deliciously to him. How safe and loved she’d made him feel all those years when she would visit him in his dreams.

His heart fractured at the reality that he might not get those things back. In all likelihood, he would never see those parts of her again. 

As happy as he was to have found his mate (even if she was engaged to a shitbag), he was equally as devastated to lose Niamh. His own heart was broken, and Niamh didn’t know that. He couldn’t blame her for not wanting to see him, but it was taking all of his self-control to stay away. 

A knock sounded at his door and he bid whoever it was to enter. Azriel and Cassian entered the room, but Rhys didn’t move from his splayed-out position on the bed. 

“You okay, boss?” Cassian asked. 

“No,” he answered, “What is it?” 

Azriel approached him and held out a sealed envelope. “It’s from Niamh.” 

Rhys sat bolt upright and snatched the letter from Az’s hands. He recognized her handwriting and the green rose wax seal on the back. 

“Did she say anything to you? Does she want me to respond?” 

Azriel shook his head slightly, “It’s all in the letter. We’ll be outside if you need us.” 

“And by that he means we’ll run to the liquor store so you can drown your sorrows once you’ve finished it,” Cassian joked, earning him a punch in the chest from Azriel as they walked out and shut the door behind them. 

With shaking hands, Rhys broke the seal and extracted the letter. 

‘Rhysand, 

I don’t even know where to begin but Amren said she wouldn’t stop knocking my plants over until I wrote you something, so here I am. 

I’m devastated, Rhys. Like the rug has been pulled out from under me and then a piano was dropped on my head. I’ve been avoiding you because I know what you’ll say. It’s not your fault, you didn’t plan for this to happen, you’re so, so sorry. While I don’t doubt the truth behind these sentiments, actually hearing them from your lips would only serve to devastate me further. 

We just got you back and I’m losing you all over again. Only this time you’ll still be around, deeply in mating-love with someone who isn’t me. When you were gone it was like a part of myself was missing. I searched hundreds of dreams for you, and when I found you I couldn’t bear the waking world. I wanted to live in our dreams forever. I know you did too. Maybe you still do.

Which brings me to my announcement; I’m leaving the Night Court. I’ve taken a job in another court with an old friend. By the time you’re reading this, I’ve already left. Please, Rhys, don’t come looking for me. I am safe.

Just know that I hold no ill feeling toward you or your mate. I love you, Rhys, and I always will. And that’s why it’s better if I leave. You and your mate will have a better start if you have nothing holding you back. 

I wish you all the best, and I hope someday we can meet again as friends. 

All My Love,

Niamh’ 

Rhys was shaking with rage as he finished the letter. He sprang to his feet and rushed downstairs to where his brothers were waiting, each with a drink in hand. Cassian offered him a glass with a generous pour of whiskey in it, but Rhys slapped it away and pinned Cassian to the wall with his forearm on the Illyrian’s windpipe.

“Did you know about this?” he shouted, inches from his brother’s face, pressing his weight onto his brother’s neck. “Did you know she was leaving?” 

“Yes, we did,” Azriel answered calmly from behind him, “She gave us the letter yesterday, then I flew her to the border.” 

Rhys dropped Cassian, who gasped for air. He turned his attention to the shadowsinger, shoulders hunched with tension, fully intending on leveling the spymaster with his bare hands. 

“Rhys, think about this rationally for a second,” Azriel said, holding up his hands. “How is your mate going to react to another female you used to be in love with — betrothed to — hanging around?”

His shoulders sagged. Az had a point. The Mating Bond made both mates possessive to the point of danger, especially in the early days. And Rhys was already keeping Feyre in the dark about more than he’d like. 

“I just…wish I got to say goodbye. It’s like I’ve lost her again.” 

Cassian had poured him a new drink, and Rhys accepted it as he fell back into a plush chair, exhausted and boneless. 

It was the first of many, many drinks that night. And most of the nights to come.

Part 3

[throneofsapphics]

finding you again, part one

Azriel x f!Reader

summary: after he ended your relationship, you didn’t expect Azriel to pop into your life again - and you’re not happy about it

warnings: references to utm, war, disease

a/n: sorry for the delay! part two coming in the next few days, if anyone wants to be added to a taglist, you can comment under here or send me an ask/message!

series masterlist

Shockwaves of magic swept through Prythian and the surrounding islands at once. It felt like the ground beneath your feet shifted. Once, twice, three times - and you heard shouts from around you. You took a brief moment to thank the mother that it wasn’t just in your head. 

You picked up the basket, sprinting back towards your home. Herbs flew out of the sides, but you’d go back to collect later. Whatever this was now, it was huge. You felt it in your bones, something in your world was changing, everything seemed to come to a standstill - the rest could wait. 

The entire island was tense for the next few days, everyone waiting to see what did happen. Whispered murmurs of the possibilities, of the could-be’s, of the tentative hope blossoming - a hope nobody let show publicly. 

Secluded by yourselves, the wards you’d collectively put together at the beginning of Amarantha’s reign, near impenetrable, made news difficult to come by. 

Three days later, a tingling sensation on the back of your neck woke you. It was gone by the time you’d rushed into your kitchen, fingers white-knuckled around a dagger. 

Two letters. One addressed to the inhabitants of the town, wax sealed with the stamp of the Night Court. Next to it, one with just your name. 

Shaking hands, unsteady breaths, you ripped it open, ignoring the sting of a small cut on your index finger.

Your eyes flew over the words. The paper began to fold under your tight grip, edges wrinkling. 

Unsteady breaths, a lone tear dripping down your cheek, it took minutes of pacing and intentional breathing to collect yourself. 

Bringing it back to your room, you climbed half under your bed, sliding a loose board aside and shoved the letter inside, sliding a box over it. That couldn’t fall into the wrong hands. 

Grabbing the other envelope, swinging your door open, a cool spring breeze hitting your face, reddening your cheeks and nose, before heading to share the news. 

You ignored the other implication of the situation. The particular scent lingering on the envelope. You hadn’t thought of him in years, and now wasn’t the time to start. 

-

“The High Lord wants to visit,” the older female breathed, eyes wide as she turned her gaze to you, before frowning. “Why would he ask?”

“He could be having difficulty getting through the wards,” her mate said, covering the female’s hand with his own, mouth curving at the corners, a twinkle of pride. Well deserved, he had painstakingly designed them. 

“Or he’s sending this as a courtesy, they got the letter to us after all,” she snorted, but returned his smile. 

You knew who’d sent the letter. The hint of night chilled mist and cedar so unique you couldn’t have imagined it. 

With Madja’s help, you’d gotten permission from Rhysand to leave Velaris sixty years ago, for a while able to visit every few months until…

You subconsciously rubbed the bargain tattoo on your ribcage. Three stars surrounded by a circle, your promise to never reveal the location of Velaris. 

-

Azriel knew his brother needed a distraction, and frankly - he needed to leave the damn city. The once safe haven that had become a necessary prison. He was too self-aware to discount the other reason, the need to lay eyes on you and see that you were safe, at least somewhat. 

Rhys shot him a curious look when he volunteered too quickly - when Azriel had raised the idea. 

“There’s wards surrounding the island,” he schooled his face neutral - the spymaster, doing his job, “are near impenetrable.” Except perhaps by you or me, he didn’t need to say aloud. Yes, he’d sent shadows to scout the area soon after the curse broke, and they’d brought interesting reports in turn. 

Rhys nodded, and Azriel sat across from him as he wrote out two letters, sealing and sliding them across the table. 

One was addressed to … you. His blink of surprise gave him away.

“You know her?” Rhys’s eyes glimmered. He’d been discreet with his lovers, and of course he was aware Rhys knew, but just because he’d thought of you didn’t mean he wanted to share with others. But … the amused expression in Rhys’s eyes wavered, revealing some of the strain beneath. 

A distraction, that’s what his brother and High Lord needed, and perhaps he could do with a touch of vulnerability. 

“We were involved … before she left.” 

“I know,” Rhys smirked. For fucks sake. “Why do you think I let her leave and keep knowledge of Velaris? It was obvious she could keep a secret - she never said a word about your … involvement, to anyone else.”

Again, something he knew, but he had the decency to show a touch of surprise. 

Azriel raised a brow, a gentle nudge against the shields barricading his mind, and he lowered them slightly. 

“You’re willing to make a bargain?” Rhys leaned back in his chair, you seated before him, fidgeting and brimming with energy. 

“Yes,” your voice was strong and firm. 

“Very well,” his mouth turned up at the corners, a smile designed to put people at ease - it worked on you. 

The bargain was fair and concise. You could leave Velaris, and return as you wish as long as you never revealed or hinted to the name, location, or existence of Velaris. 

Azriel pushed Rhys out, slamming walls back in place. “Why are you showing me this?”

“You want to investigate the island, don’t you?” He wanted to slap the smirk off the other male's face. “She’s one person you know intimately,” Azriel rolled his eyes, “who lives there.” 

“I doubt she would speak to me,” he retorted dryly. 

“You’d be surprised what time and distance can do,” he countered. Az shook his head, he wouldn’t let false hope sink in, hope of regaining your … friendship. Maybe seeing you, even if it was just once, would be enough. 

-

A day later, Azriel stood on a cliff, wards pulsing with magic in front of them. Rhys to his left, Mor flanking his other side, they waited for … well, he wasn’t entirely what. For someone who would let them in. Rhys had sent a charmed parchment, designed to deliver their answer immediately, and everything in the letter sounded perfectly enthusiastic. 

Magic parted enough to reveal an older female and male - centuries older than themselves given the wrinkles starting to line their faces, appearing as if they were close to fading. Both carried themselves with confidence, but a warm and open demeanor as they bowed deeply. 

“Thank you for coming to see us,” the male rasped. 

He took brief notes of their names, the introduction, while sending discreet shadows to poke around the rest of the wards and small community. Due diligence and routine instinct now. They eyed him just a touch of caution, but it didn’t phase him, it never had. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, “we’ve prepared lunch.” 

“Not at all,” Rhys smiled, the warmth in his tone almost matching the one he used with the citizen’s of Velaris, still laced with subtle authority. 

Less than a quarter of a mile, and they approached a quaint looking town. Stone houses, slightly corroded by salty air, but built sturdily - ready to weather any type of storm. Sure, he’d heard all of this through his shadows but seeing had a different effect. Paved pathways, a few different shops and a tavern. 

“Not much of an economy now,” she was telling Mor, “we trade what we can, all help each other out. Kept to ourselves the last few decades.” Kept to ourselves. 

‘They locked themselves away,’ Rhys’s voice flooded through his mind. “The community is small enough that Amarantha didn’t bother looking.” But they’d been a vital trading port for the Night Court before. He was surprised she’d ignored it. “I was too,” Rhys said. 

Ignored, but she’d considered them anyway. A sickening feeling coiled in his gut. If Amarantha had gotten to you … 

“The healer you recommended,” the male spoke to Rhys, pulling him from his mind, ''saved all our lives when a disease swept through, ‘bout thirty years ago. A great female.” 

“One of the best healers I know,” Rhys replied. It was the truth. As far as healers went, you were one of the best available. He wondered if you knew the other reason you were sent here; If Hybern were to attack the Night Court, they all suspected this Island would be the first target, and a skilled and trustworthy healer was needed on the ground. On the front lines. That sickening feeling returned, and Azriel knew he needed to set his own eyes, not just shadows, on you before he left. 

-

You couldn’t avoid the lunch, not without raising suspicion. Maybe he wouldn’t be there. He was the spymaster, after all, not usually sent to do courtesy visits. Still, this had been the talk of the town for the last two weeks. 

‘The High Lord,’

‘Do you think he’s as handsome as they say?’ 

‘He isn’t mated or married, is he?’ 

Mother above. You had to try and match their excitement, to blend in. They couldn’t know you grew up seeing him frequently in Velaris. All they’d known is you apprenticed with one of the Inner Circle’s preferred healers - and even that was a rumor you’d never confirmed or denied. 

Hand braced on your doorframe, three conscious breaths, and you pushed it open, forcing your hands to relax at your sides, keeping your strides even and steps paced. 

A small crowd had gathered outside of the largest tavern, and you weaved yourself into the fray, balancing on your toes to catch a glimpse through the open doors. 

Hazel eyes connected with yours, and your stomach dropped. 

Just your luck. You couldn’t bring yourself to break the gaze, the way his eyes searched you, the brief hint of relief in them. Why the hell was he relieved? He’d made it perfectly clear you meant little to him, and now he meant nothing to you. 

Slipping backwards, you tore your gaze away and slipped down the street. 

-

“Go ask her some questions,” Rhys had thrown a hint of command into his tone. He wanted Azriel to gain some kind of information from you. It made sense. He wanted, needed, to see you anyway. “I’ll keep everyone distracted.” 

Easy enough for him, Azriel took the next chance to melt into the shadows, to follow you. You led him right to a secluded cliff, sitting a few safe paces back, arms wrapped around your knees, squeezing tighter and he approached from the side - in your line of sight. 

“What do you need?” He wasn’t surprised by the harshness. Pausing a good few paces to your left, he sat, legs kicked out in front of him, bracing his palms on the cold stone. 

“To ask a few questions.” 

“Go ahead,” you muttered, still keeping your eyes off him. 

“How did you remain hidden all of these years?” 

“Magic. Wards. Things Fae more skilled than I created.” 

Truth, a shadow sung in his ear. 

“Who?” 

“You probably already met them,” you groused. He fought back a smirk, he’d forgotten how cute you could be when you were grumpy, and promptly wiped that idea from his mind. 

“Tell me anyway.” 

You listed the two who’d greeted them. Not surprising. It also told him it wasn’t quite a secret, especially with the brief pride flashed in your eyes. 

“Did you have to … give anything to it?”

“Ask them.” 

“I’m asking you,” he countered mildly. You wouldn’t get away with evading his questions. 

“A bit of blood and a bit of magic.” 

He hummed. Rhys would probably ask similar questions, but it was good to hear from another source. 

“Why did you need to come here?” Venom filled your tone. 

“By our High Lord's request,” Azriel said dryly. 

-

By our High Lord’s request. Of course there was no interest in seeing you. You were merely a bonus, a person he could easily ask questions to. You hated yourself for letting the thought cross your mind. 

“I wanted to see you, as well,” you almost missed the softly spoken words. 

“What made you think I want to see you?” You shot at him, finally turning to face him.

“I didn’t say that,” a brief flash in his eyes. “I said I wanted to see you.” 

“You’ve seen me,” you waved a hand. “Any more questions?” Brief silence. “Good. Leave me the fuck alone.” Forever, the narrowing of your eyes said. 

“You should know,” he tilted his head back, this time escaping your gaze. “I didn’t forget about you - I” 

“Just stop,” you hissed. “I don’t want to hear it.” 

The implication struck you - others had forgotten, and he knew that. Azriel leaned forward, eyes on the ocean, knees raising and forearms bracing on them.

“Amarantha may be gone,” a shiver ran down your spine - at the name, and the low and deadly tone, “but Hybern will still cause issues.” War. “Rhys will give the same warning to your town today. Velaris and here may be the safest places in the Night Court.”

“Is he asking us to open the wards?” Because they’d do it in a heartbeat, and you knew that. 

“Perhaps,” Azriel said, and turned back to you, hazel eyes searching for something. “You’d be safe here.”  

“If there’s going to be a fucking war, i’ll be there. Healing.” 

“I know,” an unrecognizable set of emotions flashed in his eyes. “I’d see you there.” 

“I hope not,” you countered, keeping your eyes fixed on the waves, on the white foam topping them. A current so violent only the strongest swimmers braved it. “I might not like you, but I don’t want to see anyone,” you emphasized, “hurt.”

Azriel nodded, and rocked forward, rising to his feet. He offered a hand to you, you ignored it, pushing yourself up and facing the path back to town. 

“Stay safe, spymaster,” you looked over your shoulder, “and do it far away from me, won’t you?” 

A grin crossed your face at the brief ire reflecting on his and you strode off.

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[surielstea]

Ensnaring Marks

Eris week day one: Bargains

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Rhys’ sister!Reader

Summary: Reader and Azriel decide to take part in Eris’s coronation, only to end up in one of the new High Lords traps.

Warnings: Mentions of UTM | petnames (bunny, love) | reader is lonely

A.Note: I wrote this last year as a one off so it might be a bit… well, not good, but I promise the rest of the week will be better 🙏😭

4.3k words.

I sat on the hardwood floors, leaning against the base of the couch, Azriel seated behind me as he flitted through a chapter book. I had my head back on the cushion, waiting for his chapter to end so he could finally give me attention, this silence was beginning to grow deafening.

I stared at the elegant panes of his face, his sharp nose and his hazel eyes scanning the words on the pages rapidly. My eyes trail down to his hands that clutched the book, sickening scars trailing from his wrist down to his fingertips. The white marring was a pattern I've memorized, trailing my hands along the grooves when I got too anxious and occasionally a small kiss to his knuckles to remind him that he shouldn't be ashamed of them.

"You're staring." He grumbled and a small grin formed on my face as shadows curled through my hair.

"You make it hard not to, Shadowsinger." I tease, it was no secret that Azriel was the most attractive of the three Illyrian brothers, no matter what your type was— Azriel was quite the stunner. He closed his book and put it on the armrest beside him.

"What is it that you want then?" He arched a manicured brow and my grin widened as I pulled myself up onto the couch, swinging my legs over his lap as I lounged back.

"I'd like you to tell me something," I ask as shadows come to swirl around my ankles. "Tell you what?" He mutters confused.

"Anything you want, what's on your mind?" I tilt my head and he closes his eyes like he needs to sift through his thoughts before he can answer.

"Beron died." He muttered and I rolled my eyes.

"Old news." I wave him off, the event happening weeks ago.

"Eris's coronation is tomorrow. He asked me to come." Azriel crosses his arms over his chest like the invitation was a threat of some sort. My smile dropped.

"Will you?" My brows knot together and he gives me an incredulous look.

"He invited everyone from the inner circle, but it felt more like a mockery than anything," Azriel grumbled. He knew that talking bad about the people of the Court of Dreams got under my skin more than anything and I had a newfound urge to choke out a certain redhead.

"We should go." My eyes light up and he looks at me like I'm insane, but stays silent, looking down at my feet in his lap. "If he invited us as a joke, we should go." I snort and he shakes his head in protest. "It'll be funny! Not to mention the drama it'd stir." I giggle mischievously and Azriel gives me eyes that were a full lecture on their own. "Oh don't act like you're not a total gossip, shadows tell you every secret you want to know." I kick his thigh playfully and he grumbles under his breath as I remember the nights we would share wine and converse over whoever's tittle-tattle that shadows informed him on.

"I don't gossip, I tell the truth." He states and I snort at the ridiculous claim.

"You need a refresher on the definition then because you've just proven yourself to be a pot stirrer Az." I pat his shoulder and he shrugs me off. We stay quiet for a moment, my hum of laughter filling the silence as he mulls over my ludicrous idea.

"Okay." He nods and I raise a brow.

"Okay?" I ask.

"Okay, we can go to his coronation." Azriel hummed and I blinked, confused as to why in the hell he'd ever agree to such things.

As if he'd seen the shock on my face he supplied a reason, "I have to go there to talk about contracts and alliances the day after so why not just arrive a day early?" Azriel poses and I smile excitedly. "This isn't just some ploy to get me out of the house?" I ask with a chuckle but there is some truth to it.

Ever since Rhys left for Under The Mountain I haven't quite been the same. I didn't leave the house unless I was with another, the whispers on the street about the High Princess. Those long hours spent with Keir in the court of nightmares, hosting it while my brother was away. Hating who I was then, cold and distant, both inside the court of nightmares and dreams. It was rare I got out, much less left courts. I didn't like the rumors, the talk on the streets, the theories. Most of it was idle talk, some of it had truth— and it was that minuscule portion that scared me the most.

"Yeah, I'd like that." I nod and he offers me a gentle smile, slightly forced but comforting nonetheless.

"Do you want to invite the others?" He asks and I take a moment to think about it, but decided that if Mor knew she'd be pissed, Rhys wouldn't go, Amren doesn't care, and I'm pretty sure Cassian would rather chop his own hand off. "No," I shake my head. "Just you and I could burn that court to rubble." I intone, crossing my arms like we'll need to do such things. and he raises a brow— that apparently intrigues him. "Joking." I smack his shoulder and a warm grin came to his face, genuine.

"Are you?" He narrows his gaze on me and I look away mischievously.

"I wouldn't mind seeing the prince's face if I took his court." I give him a gleeful smile, something like pride shines in his eyes. "I wouldn't mind seeing the prince's face in general," I grumble afterward, and the pride he held swapped for something of the opposite. "It's not my fault he's hot!" I throw a decorative pillow at him which he swerves with an ease I envied.

"It's your fault you find him attractive." He pushes my feet from his lap dramatically and I giggle at his childish behavior.

"You have to admit, he could turn you." I tease with a smirk and he glares at me. "If he didn't open his loud mouth he'd be perfect." I sigh dreamily, leaning back into the couch, utilizing the entire space as he gets up to put his book away.

"That's always the problem with the men I date. So pretty, until they start speaking." I huff, standing up and following him to the bookcase like one of his own shadows. "Maybe I should go for the quiet ones." I hum. "I ought to practice on you." I wrap my arms around his bicep and he bristles, lightly shoving me off as I cackle.

"You're not funny." He mumbles, walking over to his desk where he has unfinished work to complete.

"Don't act like I'm some sort of monster for teasing. That's all you and Cass do to me." I roll my eyes as I watch him sit on his stool. "You actually get the ladies, it's easier to joke about when it isn't true." I sling an arm around his shoulder and this time he doesn't shove me away.

"You would get males if you left the house." He grumbled in retort and an idea blooms in my head. "That's the idea for going to the coronation." I grin and he grants me a sidelong glance. "Is that why we're going?" He asks and I shake my head. "No!" I squeeze his bicep. "We're good allies, meaning we're there to support him," I argue and he huffs. He could never say no to me, never has. "And also admire his perfect face." I quietly mutter but it's nothing the Shadowsinger wouldn't notice.

"Go pack your bag." He shakes me off of his arm. "Just for one night. We'll find a hotel on the border." He hums and I nod, following his instructions with a new task rather than talking his ear off like usual.

——

It was the first Friday of the month, meaning that family dinner was afoot. Morrigan had spilled her glass of wine all over the Shadowsinger in a dramatic movement of her hands so he had gone to go change, meaning I was subject to sit in the center of the dining room surrounded by couples ogling at each other, they were practically drooling down their chins— and adding wine into the mix, gods it reeked of arousal.

"Horny bastards," I mutter, standing up and throwing my napkin down onto my plate. I bunch my skirts in my hands and make my way toward the hallway.

"Sister! C'mon!" Rhys races after me, following me all the way to the foyer of the large house.

"What?" I look at him confused.

"Won't you stay for dessert?" He says hopefully and I twist my lips to the side.

"I don't know Rhys, I'm tired." I sigh out and his eyes soften.

"You're always tired." His voice was a whisper his words had my feet bolted to where they stood.

"I trained with Cass this morning, I'm actually tired," I stress and he nods in understanding.

"Let me at least take you home." He reaches his hand out.

"I'm fine." I shake my head.

"Please." He pushes his hand toward me further and I look down at it. "Alright." I accept, sliding my hand into his, mostly out of pity.

He doesn't waste time in winnowing us straight to the house of wind, my feet planted solidly on the marble tiling. "I miss you." He uttered and I looked up at him, detaching our hands.

"I miss you too." I offer him a small smile but it doesn't quite reach my eyes the way he wanted it to.

"I wish you'd come by more often." Something in his violet eyes glazed over and my heart cracked.

"It's hard." I rub my hands together anxiously before deciding it best to just cross my arms. "I should be happy." A frown forms on my face and I don't have it in myself to maintain eye contact. "I don't know what's wrong with me. Something's just, missing." I shrug when he doesn't say anything.

"Something or someone?" He prods and I glare up at him.

"My love life isn't our biggest problem." I shake my head.

"But it is bringing you trouble, therefore it's bringing me grief." He mirrors my stance and crosses his own arms.

"Well that's not something we can just fix, it's an internal problem." I muster the courage to look into his familiar violet eyes. The same color as our father's own but held all the love of his mother's gaze.

"I want to be there for Nyx, for you and Feyre too. But I'm selfish and It's difficult for me to be surrounded by something I want for myself." I confess and he releases a soft sigh, then pulls me in for another hug.

"We'll figure it out, promise." He reassured. I allow myself to sink into the warmth of his hug, how similar it was to our mothers. I nod and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he wraps his wings around us and cocooning the both of us in our own little world of darkness.

"Thank you, Rhys," I whisper. "Feels good to talk again." We haven't really said anything to each other beyond small talk after Nyx's birth, and that's nearly a year ago now. I haven't been the same since the war and found it hard to open up since. It's been a long while since he even hugged me.

"I'll see you again soon, okay?" I back away from the embrace and he nods. "Sooner than next month's dinner?" He hopes with an easy grin coming to his face and I nod confidently.

"Sooner than next month's dinner," I assure.

"Good." He smiles before walking towards the edge of the opening where he winnowed us.

"Night, Sister." He flares his wings outward. "Goodnight brother!" I wave him off and he dives off the side of the house, I'd be worried about him if I didn't hear the steady beats of his wings a moment later.

I release a long sigh and retreat to my room.

————

I stood in front of my body-length mirror, gazing at the gown I wore. It was a deep blue as an ode to my court, I always wore colors of the night when visiting other courts, and today was no exception. The gown itself was beautiful, soft silk material that moved like water. It had a dipping neckline with curtaining sleeves that hung off my shoulders, the excess fabric draping from my back in two long pieces all the way to the floor where the rest of the dress dragged. The skirt was one long piece but had a cone-like figure, excess material swooping along the sides and attaching to my waist, forming a flattering silhouette. The dress was modest in cleavage though had a long slit ripping up all the way to my hip, the toe of my heel peaking out at the base.

I was putting in a pair of silver dangling earrings when Azriel made his appearance known at my doorway. He released a low whistle and I smiled, turning around to face him. "How do I look?" I ask him. "Like the princess you are." He hums, pushing off the frame and extending his scarred hand towards me. "Do they know we're leaving?" I ask, grabbing my bag. "I don't think they'll notice." He shrugs and I slip my hand into his. Shadows twine up our connected arms and I smile at the temporary binding. "Ready?" He asks and I nod with a grin.

He steps into the shadows and pulls me along with him. I squeeze his hand tighter as we walk through the abyss of darkness. It takes a moment to know if I was even awake or not, but by the time I regain consciousness of where I was we were already back in the real world and now in the autumn court.

"I still don't understand how you do that." A shiver runs down my spine and I let go of his hand. "Here," He takes my overnight bag then it disappears into the shadows. Apart of me wonders where it's gone but I know he wouldn't tell if I asked. "Come on." His hand slips back into mine as he pulls me towards the venue of the autumn lords coronation.

At the entrance, we were greeted by two guards with bright red hair and faces that were nearly identical. Eris was a fool to think these two men could hold off Azriel alone. "Court and name?" The guard with a clipboard asked and I rolled my eyes at the extravagance of it, this isn't a wedding. "Night Court. I'm probably titled the Shadowsinger." Azriel hums, his hand squeezing mine a little tighter as the guard flips through the list, going all the way to the bottom where our section resided. "You're here, and the girl?" He glances at me carelessly. "I'm the princess of night, I don't know what the lord would put me down as." I crease my brows and lean over to peer down at the clipboard. Spotting the names put down as high lord of night, high lady, lord of bloodshed— and "Bunny." He glances up at me and my stomach twists. "Section B, seats four and five. Proceed." The two guards step aside. "Enjoy, Bunny." The other guard teases me with a malicious smile and it takes everything in me not to roll my eyes.

"I forgot how much I hate Eris." I huff.

"I forgot he calls you that." Azriel chuckles and I playfully bumped his shoulder. "He clearly doesn't know that bunnies are animals of Spring not Night," I grumble, picking apart the idiocracy of it.

"What sort of a nickname is owl though?" He defends and I roll my eyes, continuing my march down the long corridor, chairs passing each side of me.

"We're awfully close to the front," I mutter as Azriel sits down in the seat we were told to. Second front row and nearly center.

"Eris's motives are always a mystery." He sighed as I sat next to him.

"Maybe we shouldn't have come," I mutter. "I mean, is this rude of us?" I whisper.

"He's the one that invited us." He shrugs.

"And it was funny at the time, maybe we should go." I offer but before he can reply the music is starting and people immediately settle. Theres nobody to the right side of me, but people sit beside Azriel. Meaning the rest of my family was supposed to be lined along my right.

Royal coronations aren't nearly as fun as mating ceremonies. The best part of them was admiring the venue and all the dresses others came in. I was nearly asleep until Eris finally came out, on the dais with a priestess.

He wore a dark green tunic, nearly black. His dark red hair was stark against the cream-colored background of the manor walls. His golden eyes were practically glowing with power and I was intent on staring right at them as the ceremony went. The golden irises trailed over the crowd, across his mother, Lucien, and his other brothers who were some distance apart, a group of advisors who used to work under Beron huddled in the back, and then finally me. Our eyes locked right when the golden leaf crown was placed atop of his head and I swore it was pure power that shone in his eyes as he became High Lord. Finally high lord.

He didn't tear his gaze from mine. Not when he accepted the crown and definitely not when he sat on that throne, the one that looked as if it could swallow me whole but when he sat in it he was the one to dominate it, an absurd amount of manspreading at play as he lounged back in it. The flawless picture of a careless king.

A smile curved his lips as everyone stood to cheer. Azriel and I stood, but we did not clap, and he didn't look away even for a second as everyone bowed, and I kept my chin held high.

——

The chairs were cleared out and something like a party began, an extravagant ball morphed from a coronation. A long line of men women and children alike filed down the side of the wall, all leading up to the dais where Eris sat and answered any questions the civilians might have had. Who knew the next time they'd get the chance to speak with a high lord?

"We should probably go," I say, sipping from my wine glass. "I wanted to say something to him but there's not a chance I'm waiting in that line." I huff and Azriel hums in reply, sipping from his own whiskey. The autumn court had the best liquor and the best food. The court was always in harvest and the vineyards were always in fresh bloom. I would visit all the time if it weren't for the male that now ruled this place.

"We can go to the inn if you're feeling tired, if not I'd like to eat more." He plucks a grape from a bowl and pops it into his mouth. "I'm going to find a bathroom or whatever place I can be alone in for a moment." I excuse myself and he nods, bidding me a goodbye.

I failed at finding a bathroom but after trying a few doors I managed to find an empty room, the one for holding the guests' coats, but it was quiet nonetheless.

I release a deep sigh and shuffle through the coats, curiously passing time until the Shadowsinger is ready to go. The door of the closet swings open and I freeze as someone enters, getting caught for stealing when I was actually just hiding would be mighty embarrassing.

But I wasn't met with a guard I was met with a worn-out high lord, his head back against the door with the top of his shirt buttons unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. "Running from your own party?" I scoffed and he startled, whipping his head to me.

"Hello, Bunny." He gave a foxlike grin.

"Don't call me that." I cross my arms but his smirk only broadens.

"It's fitting," He leans closer and flicks my nose. I flinch back but there's a lot less room in this closet with both of us in here. "Is that why you call me it then?" I stumble back as he comes closer.

"Do you know what a fox's favorite thing to hunt is?" He questions and I take another step back, my body pressing flush against the cold wall.

"I don't know, mice?" I raise a brow.

"Hm, would you like me to call you mouse instead?" His long legs close the distance between us in one stride and I'm looking right up at him. He reaches towards me and brushes his hand along the column of my throat, his thumb coming to my bottom lip.

"No," I swat his hand away but it comes right back to where it was.

"Because you're a bunny, and you're all alone with me in here, caught in my snare." His smile is malicious if not a little seductive. "I want a bargain with you." He hummed, his eyes flashing something like mischief in his eyes.

"You have nothing I want." I cross my arms in front of me.

"I have plenty of what you want." His thumb caresses against my jaw. "Your little family needs my alliance to succeed in their peace treaty," He hums knowingly. "Tamlin will go down in a feeble attempt at a fight but he'll give in. But me? With my army and skill set, it'd be war." He purrs and my skin alights with his warm touch. We would win, with the Night Courts allies we would win. But war means death no matter what, and that's the last thing we need. If I can avoid that and make sure he stays true to his word with a bargain I was willing to risk anything.

"What do you want from me?" Bargaining with Eris is tricky. He's beyond smart so any loophole he could find in whatever I make him do must be eliminated.

"I want you," His long finger trails from my ear to my lips where his thumb swipes over the bottom one.

"Me?" I scoff with a raised brow.

"Yes, you." He nods.

"Specify," I command him.

"I want you at my side for three days a week, and I'll sign your brother's little peace treaty." He nods, and my stomach drops to the floor. To give up half my freedom to ensure war won't break out— if he even would. I debate my options. I need Rhys or Amren to make this decision for me. I try to think of what they would do, and how they would approach the situation.

I know deep down they'd both sacrifice themselves and a lot more to ensure the safety of our family. So I think about my terms. "Why?" I ask.

"Does it matter?" He hums with a smile. "It's a yes or no." He shrugs.

"So if I agree to this, you'll never call out a war against my court?" I ask. He nods. "You'll sign the peace treaty and stay true to it?" My brow raises and he dips his head again. "You won't hurt any of them?" My voice is a little more soft. His nod repeats. I go quiet, thinking it over.

"Three days a week, whatever days you want." He hums like that gives me any sort of flexibility. "But you have to be by my side." He crosses his muscular arms that strained beneath his tunic.

"Deal," I mutter and his eyes glow in the dark of the closet. I gasp as ink begins to carve up my thigh. I move it out from my skirt where the slit is, revealing a deep maroon color swirling from the back of my knee all the way up and along to my inner thigh. I've never seen a bargain's ink another color than black, I suppose the cauldron liked the high lord. His pale hand came to my golden skin and brushed over the new tattoo, right along my bare thigh. When I realized what he was doing I moved my leg back under my skirt. He looks back up to me with a smirk curving his lips.

"Your neck," I reach up and brush the back of my hand along the new ink forming there, disappearing beneath his shirt. "Mine is a lot easier to hide." I hum.

"Who said I was going to hide it?" He arches a perfectly manicured brow. "I want yours on display when you're in my court," He grabs my wrist before I can pull my hand away from his neck.

"You're a fool if you think I'm ever letting it show." I snarl.

He smirks. "When your brother asks about where you got it, what you bargained to earn it, what will you tell him?"

I swallow thickly, keeping eye contact with his golden irises.

His smile widens when I don't reply. "I'll see you tomorrow, Princess," He mocks a bow and I narrow my eyes on him, about to retort but— cauldron-willed, bargains were unbreakable. I had no other choice. "Tomorrow," I whisper softly, mostly to myself but I know he heard it. How in the hell was I ever going to explain this mark to Rhys?

Eris Week tag list: @adharanotfound @mp-littlebit @its-me-meg @olive-main @bookwormysblog @inurus @iwishiwasaprincess @randomgurl2326 @tigerlily00 @i-know-i-can @bubybubsters @booklover0318 @lalaluch @hallabongy @weirdo-fun @cognitoergosum41 @adventure-awaits13

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[readychilledwine]

Little One

Summary - After arriving home for the first time in 50 years, Rhysand is shocked to find someone so small in his sister's arms. (Azriel x Rhysands sister!oc)

Warnings - post UTM, broken Rhys, children

A/N - If this has posted, I have given birth and this is kicking off my maternity celebration. A lot of these next couple weeks will carry the theme of family. The good, bad, ugly, and happy sides of it. And of course, the angst and spice that comes with relationships. I wanted to start with a piece I wrote after my own brothers learned they were going to be Uncles for the first time, and will probably end the celebration with Light in the Hallway (dad!Eris x reader) because that piece is so... special to me.

"Well, welcome home!" Rhys nodded, looking at Cassian who was wearing a shit eating grin. Cassian kept looking at Azriel and back to Rhys. The high lord looked at Mor who was bouncing in place. Then Armen who was also hiding a smile.

Azriel was blushing, hiding in his shadows. Rhys was quick to notice the lack of black hair, golden skin, and long beautiful legs that normally stood holding Azriel's hands at all times. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

"Where's my sister?" Mor squealed at the comment, bouncing hard.

"You mean his wife?" Azriel shot a look to the blonde before his face grew more red. Rhys raised a brow before smiling ferally.

"Did you finally marry her? Azriel, that's-" Rhys face twitched to a half smile as the door opened and a familiar, "Where's my mate?" Came through the room.

He felt her exhaustion before he saw her. Her mind was a scattered mess of stress, and yet she was content and joyful. Rhys walked over to the doorway to the hall. He leaned against the framed out entry way from the greeting room to the living room watching the female.

Selene stood in the entrance, back to him as she removed her coat and then her heeled shoes. She was wearing a beautiful tea length black dress with tulle straps that tied over her shoulders. Her hair was longer, significantly longer, Rhys noted. "Stop staring Cassian."

Rhys smiled at the soft melody of her voice. The gentleness it held was a constant fresh air that comforted everyone around her. He cleared his throat, excited to see his baby sister for the first time in 50 years, "I apologize, Sel. I can't help but admire your beauty when I haven't laid eyes on you in so long." Selene instantly froze, her mind pausing to process the voice she heard. She moved again, standing up and stopping whatever she had been adjusting on the floor. She spun quickly, staring at him in shock.

He studied her face. It was truly the soft version of his. She had the same angular high cheekbones, the same starlight filled eyes, the same lip shape only hers were fuller. In fact, she in general was softer, fuller. She had gained a little weight, her breasts were fuller, hips a little wider. She was devastatingly beautiful before, but whatever had made her body scream "goddess" had Rhys thankful she was one of his spies and had not run off to another court.

She whispered softly, "Rhys."

"Selene."

They moved at the same time, her jumping into his chest, her arms finding his neck, his finding her waist. They laughed softly together. Rhysand's eyes closed as he took in the pleasant warmth of her body and the scent of flowers and honey. It took him a second, but his nose slowly processed something else. He dug his head into her neck, finding the scent of night air and cedar that clung to her skin. But there was something else.

Someone else. Rhysand's eyes snapped open while studying her. "Are you and Azriel welcoming other people into your bed again?" He smiled ferally at her, "The shields only been down for a day. He must be a good lover if you already ran off to him?"

The female threw her head back, her laughter ringing through the home like bells. She looked at Rhys, "One, your shields weren't that hard for me to get through. Two, we kind of are. Go sit on the couch and shut your eyes!"

Rhys raised a brow before following the orders of his sister. Mor was about to burst with joy, already holding back tears, Cassian was beaming. Armen smiled at Azriel as the shadowsinger softly smiled at Rhys. The high lord closed his eyes, "If this was a plot to kill me, just know im thankful it was your hands and not someone elses." Her laughter made him smile again as he heard her moving towards him.

The scent hit him again, stronger this time. He could finally place it. It was soft and spicy, as if it was still developing and wrapped heavily in the scent of Azriel. It reminded him of lavender and vanilla underneath all of the layer. Lavender, vanilla, and baby powder? Rhys questioned.

Rhys felt Selene's arms on his. She was moving gently and staying very quiet. In fact, the whole room had grown quiet as Rhys processed a soft fabric in his arms. As she removed her arms, leaving whatever she was holding in his hands, it hit him instantly. His eyes shot open, and a loud sob left his mouth.

"You had a fucking baby." Bright eyes stared back up at Rhys, studying him as Rhys raised a hand to stroke the rosy cheeks of the faeling in his arms. "Hi baby," He felt the first tear fall and didn't bother trying to hide the rest. "I'm your Uncle Rhys. What's your name?"

Azriel had moved, kneeling in front of Rhysand. He cooed his daughter softly as she stared up at her uncle with wide blue eyes. His blue eyes. His sister's blue eyes. "This is Estelle. She's just under a year old. I'm sorry we couldn't ask you about the name, but we just -" Selene and Azriel's jaws twitched. Selene had looked away and up, blocking the painful reminder.

"We knew," Cassian answered softly. "She looks just like sissy."

"She does." Rhys admired the tiny nose, chubby cheeks, and her perfect soft skin as he enjoyed this moment with his niece. She looked like a small version of his middle sister, the only key different was she had the same eyes as Rhys and Selene instead of the illyrian Hazel her namesake had inherited from his mother.

He held a hand out for Selene to take and the new mother did, moving to sit next to him. "Do you have everything she needs in all the houses?"

"We were only missing one thing, Rhys. And you're here now, so we have everything she needs," she answered softly, tears running down her own face. "I owe you some money and an apology, though. I had to break the shield for me to be able to get into Velaris, but I ensured Noone recognized me. I also spent a fair bit of money." She was playing with her long dark hair, guilt causing her shoulders to fall forward. "Cassian told me nothing she has could be used."

The high lord laughed, pulling his sister into him before kissing her head, "Oh no, how could you spend the money I would have spent on my niece anyways?" The sarcasm in his tone made the room laugh. "Should we get you and mommy matching dresses? Yes we should. My beautiful girls," Az hung his head in laughter before Rhys paused again, "You can feel the power in this little thing."

"She creates shadows-" Selene drug out the "s" as she avoided eye contact with Rhys.

"They're completely sentient. They have a mind of their own and only respond to her. They take the form of things she likes. Lately they have all looked like Armen. We also think something else is going on involving the stars. She almost… Glitters under the night sky." Azriel explained as his hand touched her head. Rhys looked to Amren, and the ancient being only smirked as she sipped her glass of spiced blood. Any ideas? He asked her silently.

Rhysand's eyes grew wide as he smirked at the giggling babe, her beautiful eyes locked on Auntie Amren, "Delightful. Tell me everything about her." The inner circle all moved to surround the High lord and new parents. Telling him stories about the baby girl chewing on his fingers before reaching out crying for her mother.

"I watched her rearrange the stars one night," Amren said slowly. "She must have missed Baba, because there's now a bat shaped constellation that wasn't there before. Isn't there, little one?"

"She's hungry. I'm sorry. I'll bring her right back," Selene moved with grace, collecting her daughter, and walking up the stairs, breast already mostly exposed as she cooed to the baby.

Rhys looked at Azriel and asked one last time, "You're sure you have everything she needs?"

Azriel smiled, "Like she said, you were the only thing missing. Stell has everything she needs, and I know we all will give her everything she could ever want." The inner circle nodded at the Spymaster's words. "Right now, the biggest argument we've had was if she'd continue tradition and we would take her to Illyria to train, or if we'd keep her here."

Rhysand watched as Cassian's jaw began a feather light twitch. "My niece is not training in Illyria unless things have changed completely and clipping is an offense punishable by death. Even then I will not leave her."

Azriel pinched the bridge of his nose. "So we forsake our culture? You and I know that will never happen. She will always be a target-"

"Another time, brothers." Rhysand smiled at them, stopping the argument that was about to ensure. "I'm taking the two of them shopping tomorrow. I'm buying everything Selene touches. I don't believe you have everything my little niece needs." Rhysand wanted to hear it one last time. To hear what she and Azriel both said and genuinely meant just one more time.

Azriel rolled his eyes, "She will not let you do that, Rhys. All that was missing was you."

[velarisnightsky444]

Scorched Shadows Masterlist

Eris x Azriel'sSister!Reader

read on ao3

Summary: Y/N is the younger sister of Azriel. She has shadows just like him, and is also a spymaster for Rhys. When she meets Eris, she initially hates him, but after a bargain is made between them, things begin heating up. This takes place before Under the Mountain.

cw: canon typical violence, mentions of child abuse and domestic abuse, beron🤮, mentions of whipping, mentions of reader being groomed in past relationship(though she was an adult), overprotective batboys, mentions of rhys being assaulted utm, just tw for amarantha in general

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

taglist: @the-sweet-psycho @hnyclover @lilyevansstudygroup @esposadomd @fxckmiup

Eris Taglist:

Comment to be added to the Scorched Shadows or Eris taglists!

[tsunami-of-tears]

Haunted – Part One

Elain x Medium!Reader (sapphic) Rhys x Medium!Reader (platonic)

AO3

Summary: When Amarantha heard of the strange fae girl who could communicate with spirits, she had her hunted down and brought to her court Under The Mountain. Now trapped with the High Lords, Y/N seeks comfort and protection from Rhysand, and the pair develop a secret friendship. Once freed by Feyre’s actions, Rhys brings Y/N back to Velaris with him.

A/N: I’ve decided to split this into multiple parts as it’s lengthy. Part One is the backstory for Y/N and Rhys Under The Mountain and when they first arrive back in Velaris. I just adore the friendship Y/N develops with Rhys ❤️ He really does like to collect strays 😂 Thank you @shadowdaddies for asking about this WIP, I don't think I'd have worked on it otherwise!

Wordcount: 3.4K

Warnings: Reader can speak to the dead, so this is very grief/loss heavy and there are lots of ‘ghosts’; general trauma themes (+ healing); Amarantha, the Attor + UTM; mentions of physical torture and suicidal ideation.

Cold, spindly fingers grip my arm tightly as I’m dragged closer to the dais by the Attor. He shoves me down, pinching sharply into my shoulder and forcing me to kneel before the High Queen. My knees throb upon impact with the red marble. The smacking sound of skin on stone echoes through the hushed hall.

I feel eyes on me from all sides, from the surrounding fae that make up Amarantha’s court. Their chatter dulls as they take in the commotion. 

The Attor stands straight behind me and announces his findings, “As you commanded, your Majesty. The spirit girl.”

Amarantha drums her fingers along the arm of her throne, her dagger-sharp red nails clacking against the stone. “Ah yes, I've heard many stories about this one,” she says, smiling cruelly. “Girl, what’s your name?” 

“Y/N,” I respond flatly, quickly remembering to add ‘Your Majesty’ at the end.

Amarantha toys with the gold chain around her neck, and the charm– no, the bone– hanging from it. “Jurian, what do you think? Do you think the claims are true?”

The man standing beside the Queen steps forward with his arms folded across his chest, his form flickers as he moves. He is human, or was, judging by his rounded ears. “Do you truly care for my thoughts, or do you just like to hear yourself speak?” Jurian asks, rolling his eyes. Those eyes - so alike the one on Amarantha’s finger...

I push myself off the ground and stand up tall, shrugging off the bony clutches of the Attor. “Jurian would like to know if you truly want his opinion, or if you just like the sound of your own voice.” 

A gasp ripples through the court and Amarantha gives me a serpentine smile. “So, the little pet does have teeth–” she looks down, inspecting her nails, before returning my defiant gaze– “but can she use them?” 

“Rhysand,” Amarantha calls across the court. 

A handsome man steps forward, amusement flickering in his violet eyes as he takes me in before bowing deeply to Amarantha. He straightens, inclining his head, “Yes, my Queen?”

“Look into her mind, can she truly speak to those that have departed this mortal realm?”

The male, Rhysand, bows his head again and I feel a night-kissed breeze caressing my senses. ‘Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you,’ a deep, soothing voice says directly into my mind.

How are you doing that? 

‘I’ll explain later. For now, be careful what you say. Her sister, Clythia, is a very sore spot.’ 

I’m not afraid of her.

Surprise and amusement that is not my own ripples within me. ‘I know,’ the voice says before fading away without a trace. 

Rhysand rises, addressing the Queen. “Her power is real, Majesty. She can see Jurian standing beside you. He looks quite well, considering...” 

Amaranth claps her hands together at his confirmation. “Wonderful, this is wonderful news. Oh, you and I are going to have such fun together.” She waves a hand towards me, my dismissal. “Attor, take her to her room. I don't feel like speaking to the dead at present.”

————

I finally have some privacy in my chambers. The room is small and plainly furnished. There’s very little warmth amongst all the dark stone, I wrap my arms around myself in an attempt to fight the growing chills. 

I’m alone for the first time in many years. Not even the dead walk these halls, so I only have my thoughts to keep me company. 

I feel relieved that being tortured was not in the Queen’s plans for me, at least not yet. And I’m fortunate to get a room instead of a cell. Yes, I think I can make this work. 

A soft knock sounds against the wooden door, jolting me from my thoughts.

Has she changed her mind about sparing me? 

I move swiftly to open the door; hoping to find a friend, not foe, on the other side of it. 

The handsome male from earlier, Rhysand, is lazily leaning against the wall across from my door, picking at the embroidered collar of his black jacket. 

“Good evening, Y/N,” he purrs, pushing off from the wall. “May I come in?” 

I step back and allow Rhysand entrance. His power swirls around him as he moves, like a cloak of liquid night. 

“I apologise that there wasn’t time for proper introductions earlier. I’m Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court,” he offers, bowing his head to me. 

High Lord. Of course.

At Rhysand’s admission, memories of Prythian’s history flood my mind. I recognised his name, and the black clothes should have been a giveaway… But his actions thus far did not match any of the stories I’ve heard about the formidable High Lord.

Rhysand gives me a sad smile. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but unfortunately we’re both stuck here. Do your best to keep out of trouble, and don’t do anything to piss her off. You’re now a member of this dreadful court, so you’ll need to attend all the festivities.” Rhysand emphasises ‘festivities’ with a nonchalant wave of his hand. 

“Me? But I’m no one special.”

Violet eyes bore into mine as if they could see into my soul. 

“You are special. Amarantha covets power - that’s why we’re both here in this position. My kind is called daemati. I can enter minds - make someone my puppet, read every single thought they’ve ever had, or I can destroy them from the inside out.” Rhysand looks to the floor, unable to hold my gaze as he continues. 

“I don’t like to violate people that way unless absolutely necessary. I only got a glimpse of your thoughts, but it was enough to know I can trust you. I have to wear that mask around the others, but I’ll try to help you however I can.”

“Thank you. I don’t understand why you’re helping me, but I appreciate it. And I won’t tell anyone about… this.” Whatever this is.  

Rhysand looks back at me, nodding once in acknowledgement. “Dinner is in two hours. You’ll need to dress up, I’ll have some of my handmaids come to assist you. Do not show any weakness here. She detests it and will destroy you.”

As Rhysand is about to leave, a woman with large batlike wings manifests beside him. Her form shimmers, her skin a dull pallor. She reaches out as if to touch his inky black hair but her hand doesn’t make contact. The woman’s hazel eyes portray endless love and sadness. “Y/N, please tell Rhys that Juno is proud of the male he’s become.” 

He freezes as I relay the message from the beautiful woman. A single tear falls, leaving a trail of silver down his cheek.

“I didn’t think she was watching,” Rhysand whispers. “I don’t deserve her pride.”

I softly wipe away his tears, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. “We don’t show weakness out there, but you can with me.”

Rhysand nods, squeezing my hand back. “Deal. And the same applies to you,” he says.

I feel a flash of heat down my forearm. My brow scrunches in shock as I drop Rhysand’s hand and pull my sleeve up. On my arm, there’s a mark that wasn’t there before. A mass of black whorls around a crescent moon. 

Rhysand smirks at my contorted expression. “It’s a Night Court tradition to mark our bargains with a tattoo.” 

I sigh, shaking my head. “I’m aware of the practice, but you could’ve gone with something more inconspicuous.” 

“I think it suits you, Y/N,” Rhysand says, his grin wide. “And as we’re now linked for life, you can call me Rhys.” 

Rhys winks at me as he heads towards the door, “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Prick.

‘I heard that.’

I smile smugly, shutting the door in Rhys’s cocky face. Prick is a much more suitable nickname. 

————

The following morning I am summoned to attend the High Queen’s court. Rhys stayed true to his word about helping me, sending his handmaids to dress me. 

I never needed such finery in the villages I frequented. Before Amarantha, I travelled between a few temples, offering my services to the Priestesses. Gods, I miss my old life - the days spent on the open roads, the peace I could bring people. There was no peace to be found near Amarantha. 

The twins, Nuala and Cerridwen, help me into a gauzy white dress. There are enough layers that it’s not seethrough, and the panels float around me as I move. They dust my face with a light powder and line my eyes with black kohl. They also do my hair, braiding the top section and leaving the rest to flow freely down my back. 

I get a glimpse in the mirror before I leave the room, doing a double take at the female staring back at me. 

She looks like a ghost. 

Amarantha’s eyes track me as I walk the length of the room towards her throne. She smirks as I bow deeply before her. 

“You wished to see me, Majesty,” I say, keeping my head low and eyes on the floor. 

“My my, don’t you scrub up well when you’re among civilised company,” Amarantha sneers. “Rise, girl. I wish to speak with my sister. I’m sure you’ve heard of her.” 

Beside Amarantha, Jurian scoffs. 

“It doesn’t work like that, Majesty,” I retort.

Amarantha narrows her eyes at me. “And why not?” she demands. 

“I can communicate with the dead, but it’s on their terms. If they do not wish for me to see them, I cannot make them. And I can’t make them talk.”

‘Careful…’ Rhys says into my mind. 

I’m speaking the truth. That is not a weakness. 

Jurian pushes off the ledge he’d been leaning on. As he speaks, I will my eyes to glaze over - a little trick I picked up, making my powers appear more tangible to those who cannot see what I can. 

“Clythia won't come near her while I’m here,” Jurian explains. “My soul is tethered to the pieces she’s kept of me, her cruel trophies… As the bitch is quite fond of my eye, I can’t leave. I don't believe you’ll get the pleasure of meeting her sister.”

“What’s happening?” Amarantha demands. “Rhysand, what is she doing?” 

Rhys steps forward, “My Queen, that look, the hazy eyes, it means a spirit is calling to her.”

I let the fog fade from my eyes, turning to address Amarantha again. “Majesty, Jurian is tied to those objects you hold. Clythia will not come near him.” 

Amarantha sighs loudly, inspecting her nails. “Of course not, why would she want to be near that filthy human? I have no further need of you today, but I will come up with some other uses for your talents,” she sneers. 

I bow again and turn, moving to the back of the room to watch the rest of the proceedings.

————

I very quickly fell into a routine Under the Mountain. 

The twins would dress me for court in the morning, making me look like the living dead. 

After breakfast, I’d attend the throne room with the other High Fae. Court politics were… complicated. Fortunately, I had little involvement in this.

Then there were the balls and dinners of an evening. They were always a big event, with gruesome entertainment most nights. 

I barely stomached the cruelty. After the first dinner - I spent the rest of the night throwing it up. The torment was only made worse when I was forced to communicate with the poor souls Amarantha tortured for sport. I spent many nights lying in bed, replaying the horrors in my mind. 

As each day passed, it grew harder to live with myself and the things I was forced to witness. 

My bargain with Rhys was the only thing keeping me going. 

I began to look forward to his sarcastic comments in my mind while the other members of the court bickered. 

When sleep couldn’t find us, we’d spend the night talking down our bargain bond. We exchanged stories of our lives before and made many grand plans for after. We knew they were unlikely to be realised, but our dreams were all we had left.

One day, Rhys tells me of dreams he’s been having—dreams of a human girl. For the first time, he could see her clearly, she must have come over the wall somehow. She was in Prythian. 

‘I don’t know what it means, but maybe she’s the one we’ve been waiting for,’ Rhys ponders.

If only I was a seer, that would be a much more useful power.

————

That human girl was indeed who we were waiting for. 

That stupid girl, entering into the bargain with Amarantha. 

Like he did for me all those years earlier, Rhys helped Feyre as much as he could.

At first, I was doubtful that Feyre would complete all the tasks. When she showed up that wyrm and then threw the bone at Amarantha, I knew she was special. I finally allowed myself to have hope. 

Then she died. 

I watched as Amarantha snapped her neck. Watched as her life force left her body, though a spark glimmered near Rhys’s chest. Somehow, he held on to her, keeping her soul from moving on.

Once she’s made, I can feel her powers blooming, an echo of each High Lord, mixed with something else. Being brought back left a trace on her soul. 

————

Amarantha had been defeated and we were free. Most of her court had left Under the Mountain already, the nastier fae made themselves scarce promptly after Tamlin killed her. 

I’m not sure where I’m going to go. My family were long gone, along with the village I once called home. Now, Rhys was my only friend, and he had his own family to get back to. 

A rippling black cloud blooms in front of me, and Rhys materialises. His black hair is dishevelled, his eyes wide with shock. Even his movements seem rattled. 

“Are you okay?” I ask him, stepping closer.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, but he can’t meet my gaze. 

“Don’t lie to me, you don’t have to tell me here or now, but don’t lie.” I reach for his hand, squeezing it firmly. 

“It’s Feyre,” he says.

“Is she okay? She’s gone to be with Tam–”

“She’s my mate,” Rhys says so quietly I almost didn’t hear it. His confession stuns me. 

“Oh Rhys, I’m so sorry. We’ll work it out, you have that bargain.”

“Yeah, I- I don’t know,” he shrugs, defeated. “If she’s going to be happy with Tamlin then that’s all I want.” Rhys pauses, still unable to look me in the eye. “Anyway, let’s go home,” he says, schooling his features into his signature smirk and extending his hand to me.

“Home?” I question.

“Do you think after everything that I’d leave you here? You’re coming with me.” He smiles softly before taking my hand in his and winnowing us away. 

————

We materialise in a living room decorated with tasteful but eclectic furnishings. It’s warm and inviting, especially after those years under the mountain. 

A blonde female enters the lounge room as we appear. Her mouth widens in shock and she drops the mug she was holding which shatters on the floor, spilling brown liquid all over the worn rug. 

She lets out a sob and runs to Rhys, wrapping her arms around him. He holds her in silence, stroking her long golden hair as his eyes well with tears.

Two winged males enter the room with a short High Fae female.“Oh my gods,” one of the males whispers. 

Rhys turns at their entrance and embraces both males. Everyone in the room has teary eyes, even me, while I stand awkwardly to the side. 

I’m not usually a crier, but we got out. The weight of that fact is heavy on my soul. 

Rhys releases his family and extends his hand to me, pulling me closer. “Everyone, this is Y/N,” he says before introducing each of his friends - all names that I’ve heard before. People that I never expected to meet in person. “Y/N helped keep me sane Under the Mountain. She’ll be staying in Velaris for the foreseeable future.”

Amren steps forward, observing me. I take a step back as her power overwhelms me. She is not from this world. 

“What are you?” I ask softly.

“I was going to ask you the same question, girl.” Amren tilts her head to the side as if studying me. “You’re not of this realm, not entirely.”

Rhys cuts in, “Amarantha was using Y/N for her abilities. She can communicate with the dead.”

Cassian pales beside me, his face contorted in shock. “Cauldron boil me, you can - talk to ghosts?” He shudders.

“The living scare me more than the dead ever did,” I reply.

“Isn’t that the truth,” Mor quips before pulling out a bottle of wine and enough glasses for everyone, seemingly plucked from the air. “Settle in, you’ve got 50 years of gossip to catch up on,” she grins.

‘Is there somewhere I can go while you catch up with your family?’ I ask Rhys down our bond. 

His concern ripples back in response. ‘You’re family now too, but I understand if you need some space.’

Rhys smiles at his cousin, “We’ve waited 50 years, I think we can wait a few more minutes while we get settled. Y/N, I’ll show you your room.”

I smile and nod as Rhys takes my hand and leads me up the stairs. He squeezes firmly, the way we always do. 

“There’s a few empty bedrooms up here, you can take whichever you like - that one–” he points to the door at the end of the hall– “overlooks the garden.”

“Thank you, for everything.” I pull him into a tight hug and he kisses me on the top of my head. 

“Go on, tell me if you need anything,” he taps on his temple. 

I nod, “You go on, your family are waiting.”

————

Rhys was right. The view of the garden was a nice change after being stuck under the mountain for the last 10 years.

I’ve bathed, but even after scrubbing myself raw, I can’t quite shake the dirty feeling. My skin is red and angry, but I find a lotion in the bathroom that helps soothe it. The lavender scent fills my nostrils. 

We got out. 

I dress and decide to go downstairs. I feel restless inside and don’t want to be alone with my thoughts any longer.

Rhys looks up as I descend the stairs and he smiles widely at me. “There she is. Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah…” I look at the door, and the coloured light streaming through the stained glass panel. “Can I?”

“Of course,” Rhys nods. ‘We’re free,’ he says down the bond. ‘You can go wherever you wish.’

I walk towards the door, hesitating at the threshold before finally stepping into the sunlight. 

I pause, feeling the warmth on my skin, a sensation I never thought I’d feel again. In the distance, children are playing and I can hear people talking and laughing as they go about their days. 

I shut my eyes, letting the sounds of the city fill my head, enjoying the peace that the chatter brings. 

We made it.

“I can’t quite believe it myself,” Rhys says from beside me. 

I open my eyes, turning to look up at him.

“We got out,” he says. “It felt so hopeless at the end there.”

“I thought I was going to die Under the Mountain,” I confess quietly. “That she’d tire of my party tricks and amuse herself by torturing me. I would’ve welcomed it. An end.”

Rhys turns to look back at the house, at his family through the glass panes, “No one else understands.”

I take his hand in mine, squeezing it tightly. “Our bargain still stands.” 

Rhys squeezes my hand back. “Always. Now I’d really like for you to show off your party trick for Cassian. If you’re up to it.” Rhys smirks and I raise a brow. “He’s creeped out by anything that’s not tangible. If you can pretend some spirit is angry with him, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

“Oh I see, you brought me here to be your jester.” I give Rhys a playful shove with my shoulder. “Come on, let’s do it. You can feed me intel so it’s extra convincing.”

“Oh, you’re evil,” he chuckles darkly. Rhys holds the door open for me, and we step inside his home together. 

[cherhys]

Anything, Always

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Rhysand has been running himself ragged, and it hasn’t escaped your notice. In an effort to quell old nightmares, Rhysand has an interesting suggestion…

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: Mild angst (pining + UTM reminder whoops), Feelings™️

Notes: The longest fic to date! I was working on some Azriel WIPs when this piece just happened. I wanted Rhys to get some well-deserved, utterly devoted, loving. Thank you for all the support so far; it means more than you know! ♡

You noticed that as the week has passed, you’ve seen less and less of Rhys around the townhouse. First, it was less frequented dinners, followed by mornings spent alone. Being High Lord is no easy task, but it’s all the more reason for you to lend a helping hand where possible. Instead, all of your offers have been promptly shut down with a wry smile leaving little room for argument since it's nothing more than I usually deal with, darling. 

His words echo in your head as you approach his office, the ease with which he said them in juxtaposition with the dark circles beneath his eyes. You doubt he’s been sleeping very well; it was no secret that the High Lord preferred staying up in the evenings, but he always reclaimed that sleep the following morning. Recently you’ve observed his absence from the townhouse in favour of training even before Cassian, the earliest morning bird you know. This simply could not go on—he had to take care of himself. A male like him deserved better than that.

The door to his study was closed and after a brief knock, you slowly cracked it open to peer inside. His head didn’t so much as lift from where he was scanning his papers, a crease between his ink-dark eyebrows. The evening light filtered through the windows behind him, casting him in an iridescent glow befitting his title. He had changed into a loose linen shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal solid tan forearms corded with prominent veins. He scrubbed a calloused hand along his uncharacteristically scruffy jaw. The usual sparkle in his jewel-tone eyes was lost to his evident lack of sleep.

Despite this, he was still the most beautiful male you’ve ever beheld. Even feeling ragged, Rhysand was nothing short of magnificent. No amount of stress could take away from his plush lips, the delicate column of his neck, and the elegant sweep of his collarbones leading to the strong planes of his chest. The age-old flutter in your chest surfaced, a delicate thing you had neglected for so long. 

“You can come in, darling.” Finally, those tired eyes lifted to yours where you stood in the doorway. When you don’t move he sweeps a hand towards the cushioned chairs before his rich mahogany desk. You quash any semblance of that flutter until a deep void is all that remains in your chest; a talent you had mastered after all these years.

“I’d say I’m surprised to find my dearest High Lord secluded in his office on a Friday evening, but I made an oath not to lie.” You idle your way in, running your finger along the books on his shelf. You frown at the faint layer of dust over his more loved collections. 

“Well, Friday evening or not, doesn’t my dearest advisor have work to do instead of chatting me up like some girl at Rita’s?” Like a delicate brush stroke, his ebony brow arched. Rhysand’s eyes tracked your approach as you walked around the spacious office, feet padding against the soft carpet. The snack you had brought him earlier remained untouched on his desk, and you clenched your clasped hands behind your back. 

“Girls at bars aren't worth my time, though it wouldn’t hurt for you to try. All you do is hide away here; you’ll have the year-end papers done at this rate.”

He shrugged, nonchalant, “Better to be more prepared than found lacking, no?”

You stopped before his desk and stared, “It’s only springtime Rhysand.” At your unflinching gaze, he sighed.

“I was unimpressed with some of the projections submitted by the Court of Nightmares. Sloppy work.” His jaw worked in time to the pulse in his neck. You nodded, acquiescing as much. As Rhysand’s advisor, you were expressly aware of the substandard documents that Kier had submitted. Despite his abysmal summation of the Court of Nightmare’s projections, Kier could receive a verbal (or literal) lashing later. 

“Rhys, this isn’t an express concern at the moment.” He dropped his head back to his papers, dipping the fountain pen in the inkwell. The sound of your breathing and scratching on parchment permeated the silence. The dismissal was clear, though surprisingly cruel from your usual playful High Lord.

“Rhys, look at me.” Despite your pleading tone, he remained fixed on his writing. In a few swift steps, you rounded the desk. You placed a gentle hand beneath his chin, lifting his face to your searching eyes. Where his silence was defiant, now there is only weariness. 

“Rhysand… what’s wrong honey?” The endearment slips out, but your chest constricts at the sight of the defeated male before you. You miss your charming friend. Your thumb lightly caresses his cheek and his lashes flutter at the sensation. He gives you a wry smile and grips your fingers in his warm hand, “Nothing is wrong. I’m only a little tired.” 

You breathed deeply, willing yourself to remain calm. Rhysand was known to undertake everything by himself, an expression of his love towards his family. While you appreciate the care he tries to show, his selflessness couldn’t happen at the expense of his well-being. This was something different. 

Your silence unnerved the usually unshakeable male, and he seemed to deflate under your scrutiny. So you waited—let him process his thoughts, choose what he wanted to say. 

When his grip tightened on your hand but his silence persisted, you offered an olive branch.

“I have never been able to share my feelings with ease; to feel so much… it is an overwhelming burden. And yet–” You took a steadying breath, hesitant to reveal so much but unable to help him understand otherwise. His expectant gaze was patient, if not encouraging. 

“And yet, unravelling my feelings and sharing them with you is effortless. With you, I know I am safe. That I am understood. Rhysand, I want to be that person for you. You are welcome to share, and I will always be there to listen.”

When you finished, you shifted to perch on the desk space poised between his legs. Rhysand unconsciously moved his chair closer, his head pressing into your jointly entwined hands. He slowly inhaled, the scent of you a balm to his fraying senses. 

“They’re back. She’s back,” Rhys didn’t need to elaborate on who and what for you to catch his meaning. You had known that nightmares plagued him often in the time since his return from Under the Mountain. Years had passed since then but the horrors he endured were not easily forgotten, “I don’t know what to do.”

The defeat in his tone nearly brought tears to your eyes, but you reigned them in—this was his opportunity to be vulnerable and you must remain strong. 

“I think about all of the lives I–... I think about all of it, often. It is never not on my mind, but I can usually move past it. You all help,” At this, he squeezed your palm again, an earnest look in his violet eyes, “But sometimes the guilt–” He loosed a sigh, shaking his head, “It is unbearable.’

Rhysand pulled his hand away from yours, leaving it cold. He stared down at his hands between you both as if all of his sins were still visible. To him, you’re sure they were. 

His voice was lowered to a whisper now, “When I sleep, she taunts me. She stokes that guilt from an ember to a flame and eats away at me. All I can think to do is run myself ragged, in some form of masochistic repenting.”

Rhys glances up at you, his heart dropping when he sees your eyes are closed. Even you couldn’t bear to look at him after what he had done. Clenching his jaw, he begins to pull away and prepares for your imminent disgust. 

He doesn’t expect you to grip his cheeks, and pull him back to you. Rhysand’s eyes are comically large this close, your noses a hair's breadth away from touching. He has never seen your mouth set in such a serious line, your eyes blazing with such fire.

“Listen to me very closely. Everything you did? It was necessary for survival. For yours. For the Night Court’s. For our family’s. It is only normal to feel guilt—that’s what makes you the wonderful, kind male I know.” Your hands pressed almost painfully, as if you could physically push the words into his head, “But you should never regret what you did. Because it brought you back to us.” To me, but you left that part unspoken. 

When he seems to hesitate you reinforce, “Any of us would’ve done it for you. If I could've traded places with you I would have done so in a heartbeat, Rhysand. And it kills me to see you blame yourself. You can repay those you mourn by living your life to the fullest in their honour.”

He regards you for a moment, plush lip pulled tightly between his teeth. Rhysand nods slowly at your searching stare, the sorrow clearing from his eyes like clouds in a bright night sky. Those stars you so love wink back at you from his midnight gaze. 

Unable to help yourself, you swoop him up into your tight embrace. Rhys’s strong arms wrap around you in no time, his head at your breast. He can hear the rapid but sure beating of your heart and it brings him a peace that he hasn’t felt since the nightmares returned. 

“Thank you.” His soft words lift your heart and you place a swift kiss on the top of his head. 

“Always.” 

You stroke his raven hair in soothing motions, running your nails lightly along his scalp. Rhys visibly relaxes in your hold, his shoulders slumping with a weight unloaded. You dare to enjoy the moment, knowing that the likes of these are few and far between; you seldom let yourself get this close, the ache in your heart too much.

Finally, you pull away, a determined look on your face, “How can I help you, Rhys?”

His face softened, and he let out a light chuckle, “I doubt you can, darling. This is just one of those things.”

“It most certainly will not be one of those things. There has to be something; maybe if we help you relax? A sleeping draught?”

He winced at that, “No sleeping draughts, preferably. I’m not fond of drugging myself.”

You scratched your chin, “No, that doesn’t seem sustainable long term.”

While you brainstormed ideas to help the male before you, Rhys glanced at you through thick lashes. He had begun to fiddle with the fountain pen, twisting the top, “I think I may have a suggestion.”

You snapped out of your thoughts, “Already? What is it?” A beaming smile stretched across your face—anything. You would do anything to help him. 

He locked his eyes on yours, voice level, “Sleep with me.”

You blinked, unmoving. You stared at him a few seconds longer, the words failing to process. You’re sure you must have stopped breathing, the thumping of your heart overwhelming your senses.

Sleep with me. 

A nervous laugh bubbled out of you, “I’m sorry? ‘Sleep with you’?”

A million thoughts were spinning in your head, each faster than the last. Slick skin on skin; hands fisted in sheets, in hair, scratching down a tan, tatted back; clothes haphazardly strewn around the room; pleasurable pants filling the air. You shook your head. Surely you had misheard? Misunderstood? 

A cocky smile spread across Rhysand’s face, although the dusting of pink crawling up his neck isn't lost on you.

What dirty thoughts are you thinking, darling? That midnight voice lightly caressed your mental shields. 

Your cheeks were flaming if the heat under your skin was anything to go by. You persevered and pursed your lips in mock irritation. You would not be undone by his aimless teasing after all these years. 

Nothing that would involve the likes of you, the thought pushed right back at his adamantine mental shield. 

Rhysands thick lashes lowered, his bottom lip jutting slightly. You wondered what those plush lips would taste like. Although you knew he was playing at seducing you, it didn’t stop the primal need in you from rearing its ugly head. 

Would it truly be so bad with me, darling? You know I’d treat you well.

Your lashes fluttered; this had to stop before your heart wilted any further in your chest. 

“What is your real suggestion Rhys?” The serious cock of your brows sobered him up near immediately. The twinge in his chest only further cooled him; the way you brushed his teasing off irritated him for reasons beyond what he dared admit. 

“It is my real suggestion. I struggle with my sleep—therefore having you there will help.” The cool way he spoke, as if this was only a logical solution, helped to put you at ease. But you couldn’t help but wonder—

“Why me? How would I help?” 

He shrugged, “You seem peaceful.”

Your mind whirred at his laconic response. ‘Peaceful’? You couldn’t decide what to make of the situation, but one thing had always been clear. 

“I said I’d help you, however I could. If you believe me… sleeping beside you will be beneficial, then I’ll do it.” 

He nodded, the same calm look plastered on his face. Rhysand’s nonchalant manner bothered you: did this genuinely mean so little to him? If so, then you would treat it with the same aloof, professional fashion. 

“Alright then, we can try tonight if you’re willing?” 

His ink-dark eyebrows shot up, “You wish to begin right away?”

“The sooner the better, no?” You couldn’t allow any more sleepless nights; the faster you determined whether this would work, the more time you had to find different options before Rhys ran on empty. 

Rhysand’s head tilted, a panther sizing up its prey. Finally, he nodded in agreeance. 

Quickly, you stood from his desk, realizing you were still perched between his legs. You dusted off your skirts and swiftly moved to the door. With a hand on the frame, you turned, “Tonight in yours?”

He swallowed, your eyes tracking the bobbing of his Adam's apple along his smooth neck, “Yes, that’ll work just fine darling.”

You stepped away from his office, the final, sure look in Rhysand’s eyes burning through you even hours later. 

♡𝌀𝌀𝌀♥𝌀𝌀𝌀♡

You nervously tugged on your silken sleep shorts, psyching yourself up to knock on Rhysand’s bedroom door.

After leaving his office earlier, your heart had been in your throat all day. Even at dinner in the House of Wind, you’d had to be snapped out of thought multiple times by members of your family. While circumventing the reason why you had been so inattentive, your friends spared no insult and pestered you to high hell. Your face had flushed, sure that Rhysand could pick up on your nervousness. Instead, there were no teasing comments; he only returned to his meal. 

Now before his room, you took a steadying breath and lightly knocked, in the unlikely event he had fallen asleep. At his faint call you entered, softly shutting the door behind you. The room was aptly decorated for a High Lord. Rich jewel tones complimented Night Court black in various opulent fabrics. Pointedly ignoring the massive bed, you took in the polished mahogany furniture, surely crafted by a masterful hand. From the intricately designed rugs, to the velvet cushions, and the elaborate drapery; it was all magnificent. However, it all paled in comparison to the male inhabiting the room. 

Rhys was lounging on a plush divan, drink and papers in hand, looking fresh from the finest of paintings. The loose shirt from earlier was gone, baring his muscled chest. Your eyes tracked along the elegant dark swirls that decorated his tan skin. A pair of black sleep pants adorned his lower body, looking dangerously low on his waist. As you gently padded over, you tried not to focus on the light smattering of dark hair leading below the band. He glanced up at you, violet eyes sparkling like the stars visible through the windows beyond him. 

His eyes slowly roved over your figure, noting your bare legs; how you clutched your cream robe, book in hand, a delicate lacy strap peeking out. He took a restrained sip of his amber drink. You settled on a comfortable settee across from him, the book already splayed across your lap. 

“Good evening, darling. Care for a drink?” He waved his glass lightly, the ice clinking softly. 

You chuckled, shaking your head, “I’m alright, thank you. Is it not a little late to indulge?”

He inspected his drink as if he might find the solution to all his problems within the crystal glass, “I find it soothes the nerves.”

You cocked an eyebrow, “Are you nervous?”

Rhys lifted the drink to his mouth, only to gaze at you over the rim with heavy-lidded eyes, “With you? Always, darling. I mean—you simply strike such an imposing figure.”

You dramatically placed the back of your hand to your head, draping yourself over the settee with all the theatrics you could muster, “Oh, how I plague man with my beauty!”

A deep and joyous laugh broke the silence of the night. You glanced over at Rhysand in slight surprise to see his head thrown back, a hand to his chest. Your heart warmed at the clear mirth on his face. This was the Rhysand you had missed. You soon joined him, your laugh bubbling up with the vigour of a freshly opened champagne bottle. 

Gradually, you both settled into silence, and with a wink from Rhys, you both returned to your previous occupations. The cool breeze from the open window carried with it Rhysand’s citrus and sea smell, the faint note of jasmine like a goodnight’s kiss. You basked in the peaceful mood, snuggling closer to the settee with your book. You couldn’t help but look up at Rhys every few pages, taking in his striking profile as the ambient lighting cast shadows across his elegant features. Eventually, you noticed his eyelids beginning to droop and knew he was only stalling the inevitable. 

You yawned loudly, covering your mouth for effect, “I think it’s time we retire for the night.”

He smiled, gently placing his empty glass and papers aside, “I agree, darling. Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

Rhysand stood and stretched his arms over his head, and you quickly made your way over to his bed, refusing to stare any longer at his chest than necessary. You shed your robe and tossed it over a nearby chair while you both silently readied yourselves for bed. No longer was the silence comforting—instead, your heart threatened to burst from your chest. 

You didn't realize how stiff you were until Rhys settled under the covers beside you, the shroud of night concealing your reddened cheeks. You remained rigid, arms at your side like a soldier at attention. 

It’s only me, darling. The smooth voice slipped through the cracks of your mind. Rhysand’s low timber reminded you to take a deep breath—you turned towards him and lightly reached your hand out in the space between your pillows. Even in the stygian dark, his eyes shone brighter than ever. That midnight gaze fixed on your open palm. Slowly, he crept his large hand up and brought it to yours, strong fingers caressing your palm. You held your breath as he steadily entwined his fingers with yours, hand sliding across your own. You squeezed lightly in assurance, your eyes falling shut. 

Before the throes of sleep could claim you, a gentle caress to your conscience pulled you back. 

Can I hold you?

The whispered request was nearly lost in the haze between waking and dreams, but you would always come back for that voice. Beyond words, you pushed your consent to Rhysand’s mind.

Strong arms gently slid around you, pulling your back to a hard chest. Your synced breathing within that warm embrace finally lulled you to a peaceful sleep. 

♡𝌀𝌀𝌀♥𝌀𝌀𝌀♡

Light filtering through the window assaults your eyes, bringing with it the realities of the morning. You stretch like a cat in the sun, silken sheets sliding across your bare legs. You hadn’t slept like that in years, Cauldron, centuries even. The sweet haze lingering from your sleep washed away once you noticed the empty—albeit still warm—bedside. You quickly sat up only to be interrupted by Rhysand waltzing in through the doors, breakfast in hand. 

“Good morning, darling. I hope you’re hungry—I’m loving the bedhead by the way.” He swooped over to the bed, deftly handling the large tray in hand as he settled back beside you. You swiftly patted your hair down, “Yes, good morning Rhysand.”

Your dry tone didn’t damper Rhys’s wide smirk one bit. He was glowing this morning with an air of contentment; the full night's sleep had done him well. 

He gestured to the amalgamation of various foods before you, “I wasn’t sure what you would be craving, so I grabbed a little bit of everything.” The delicious smell wafted before you, your stomach grumbling without consent.

“If this is how I’m treated, I don’t think I’ll ever leave.” You popped a berry into your mouth, relishing its succulent flavour. 

“Consider it a thank you,” You paused, buttered toast halfway to your mouth, at Rhysand’s words, “For giving me, perhaps, the best sleep I have had in my five centuries.”

The earnest look in his eyes prompted you to butter your toast more vigorously, hoping he would miss the rosy flush seeping across your features.

“For what it’s worth, I’ve never slept better either,” You smiled gently, hoping to not sound too heartfelt in your admission, “And there is no reason to thank me, Rhys. You know I’d do anything for you.”

You held your breath at the candid confession, praying he did not understand the real meaning behind your words. 

Instead, his chest swelled with emotion. He brought his hand to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a swift kiss to your hair. 

“All the more reason for me to thank you, darling.”

♡𝌀𝌀𝌀♥𝌀𝌀𝌀♡

The next few weeks continued much like that night; you would both lounge around in the evening and then retire to bed. Only, your inclination towards one another had become irresistible. The moment you got beneath the covers, you found yourself instinctually reaching for Rhysand’s embrace. Often, he held you close, your head poised at his soft neck. Occasionally, on the more difficult nights, you would swaddle Rhys tightly to your chest, caressing his hair as he was lulled to sleep by your steady heartbeat. 

However much you enjoyed your time in bed with Rhysand, you couldn’t deny the increasing difficulty with which to hide your escalating feelings. What were once mere fleeting glances, were now lingering stares; no dark circles were to be found on his handsome face, his beaming grin a drug that would surely consume you. Rather than have the moments together soothe your ache like a balm, you only craved his attention more so. 

As you both fell into your usual routine for the night and settled under the covers, you finally ripped the bandage from the festering wound. 

“I think I may sleep in my bed beginning tomorrow night.”

Rhysand’s body froze beneath your touch, his arms still only half around you. Quickly, you continued, “Your nightmares seem to have passed—which I am eternally grateful for—therefore I don’t see any reason why I should continue to sleep here.” With you, the words didn’t need to be spoken; they loomed in the air around you. 

A beat of silence passed before he spoke, “Why not?”

You gasped as he seized you closer to his chest. His breath was heaving while he squeezed you tighter in his arms. You quashed the butterflies that fluttered in your stomach, reluctant to hurt your feelings further. 

You sighed, eyes closing, “Again, there is no reason–”

“I want you here. With me. That is the reason why you should stay.” 

You audibly swallowed, taking his words with a grain of salt. Your voice took on a placating tone as you lightly placed your palms on his chest, “I understand that you’re worried about the nightmares–”

“Darling, you understand nothing,” You stared, dumbfounded at his earnest tone. 

“The agony of lost sleep pales in comparison to the loss of your presence. There is nothing more that I desire than having you here next to me as I fall asleep and as I wake. Seeing your radiant face every morning—I feel like the luckiest male in the world. And I am greedy; for your touch, your time…” He shook his head, putting his forehead to yours, “I know I am asking much of you since—”

You surged forward and placed a passionate kiss on his lips. His lashes fluttered before he was pushing back with just as much fervour. You pressed your body tighter against his, feeling the contours of his body moulding perfectly to your own. You wanted him closer—had you been one body right now, it would not have been enough. He thought he was greedy? He had no concept of the depth of your selfish desires, only scraping the surface with this ardent kiss. 

You pulled back, breathless and entirely at his mercy, “You could ask for all the stars in the night sky and I would scorch my hands to deliver them to you,” He brushed his nose against your own, your swollen lips lightly caressing, “There is no limit to what I can give you Rhysand, if only you’ll let me.”

His violet eyes shone with disbelieving wonder as if he was undeserving of your affections. Rhys kissed you gently; this kiss held a promise that the others lacked. It was a promise of love, of reverence, of total, utter devotion. Your heart soared in your chest and for once, you let it; a caged bird finally tasting freedom. 

That same gentle presence filled your mind once again. 

I would be honoured, darling. 

The message was bundled in the gossamer enormity of his feelings for you. With your heart content, you whispered under the cover of silky night, 

“The honour will always be mine.”

Final Notes: Anything for my bbg Rhys <3 (Can you tell I recently rewatched Pride and Prejudice for the millionth time?) Hope you all liked it!

[itsphoenix0724]

Tickle My Strings (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: Azriel becomes a regular guest at your performances, and when you take a trip back to your house, you find the two of you have a lot more in common than you thought.

Warnings: SMUT, unprotected sex, creepy interaction with a drunk man

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: Hey everyone!! I hope you've all been well! We hit 100 followers which is really exciting! I can't believe 100 of you like my work enough to follow and I really appreciate it because sometimes I'm still convinced everything I write is awful lol. I wanted to take my time and write something I was really proud of for you guys. This work is heavily inspired by Annapatsu's cover of "Why Don't You Do Right" which I linked so give it a listen for the vibes! This is set about 50 years before Feyre and all the UTM stuff. I hope you enjoy and as always constructive criticism is welcome!

After all these centuries, Azriel still doesn’t know why he allows himself to be dragged to Rita’s every weekend.

He never particularly enjoyed clubbing.

Rhys and Cassian always found some female to entertain them for the night. They teased Az relentlessly because he hardly ever went home with anyone.

He figured most of them were too scared to approach his brooding form in whatever corner he hunkered down in.

However, they always convinced him to attend. And though he hated to admit it, spending time with his family was always pleasant. 

The excuse Mor had used to get him to attend this time was the promise of a new live performer. Recently, Rita’s started offering a cabaret night every Friday, and she insisted on dragging the whole Inner Circle every week. 

So that was how Azriel found himself crammed into their regular booth, surrounded by the dim lighting and a drink in his hand.

Twinkling notes played on the piano as a bright light shined on you overhead. You had to have had some kind of magic because once you stood up the piano kept playing.

You took a breath in and your voice flooded the space around the bar. It traveled to Azriel’s ears like smoke weaving through the trees. He figured you had to be part siren as you wandered through the crowd, still singing the enchanting song. His eyes tracked you as you plucked a rose from one of the table's centerpieces, singing into it as you stalked through the booths.

You finally stopped at the Inner Circle’s section and your eyes locked with Azriel’s from across the table. He saw the mischief light in your eyes as you hopped up on the table in front of him, and used the rose you were holding to tickle his nose before your voice dropped into a more sensual part of the song.

He could see Cassian and Rhys out of the corner of his eye each sporting shit-eating grins as you sang to him.

Azriel was trying very hard not to stare at your chest, which happened to be directly eye-level with him, before you lifted his chin with one hand and tucked the rose behind his ear. 

Hopping down from the table, you swayed your hips with ease, stalked back to the stage like a jungle cat, and sent the Shadowsinger one last wink over your shoulder. Azriel’s whole face was on fire, cheeks as red as one of Cassian’s siphons, as he stared open-mouthed at your form on the stage. Mor finally snapped him out of it, reaching over to snap his jaw shut as his brothers burst into laughter from his other side. Your song ended, and the whole bar shook with applause. He can see you send him a dazzling smile before you disappear behind the curtain. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This was your fourth performance and every time you got off the stage you still felt the rush of adrenaline.

You began to notice regulars coming to see you, you can’t deny it did stroke your ego that the High Lord’s table had returned for you every Friday. 

Slumping in the small dressing room chair, you finally let your perfect posture drop after holding it for so long on stage.

You sigh in relief as you pull the pins holding your hair in the updo, and wipe away the leftover makeup you applied for the stage. Changing out of the skin-tight dress and into a loose sweatshirt that hung off one shoulder with a pair of fleece-lined leggings you packed your bag to go home.

Ducking out of the Staff door at Rita’s you started making your way towards your small apartment. 

You didn’t live on the best side of the City. It wasn’t a slum, but being a singer was hard and you didn’t make the most money from the gigs you’ve managed to pick up.

Rita’s was by far the best-paying job you got yet even if it was on the other side of town. You had plans to eventually move into the Rainbow, Velaris’s infamous artist district, but that was still a long way away and your little apartment would do for now. 

Plus you liked all the strays that hung around your building because you wouldn’t get so lonely. 

You had successfully made it most of the way back to your apartment before you heard a whistle call behind you. You tried to ignore it, pushing on through the final stretch to your apartment. 

“Hey, Beautiful! Where you going huh?” The drunk voice called closer behind you and you felt the chill deep in your bones. Your steps hurried across the cobblestones, but you heard heavier footsteps chasing you. You were about to round the corner when you felt an arm catch the corner of your elbow. “Hey, slow down don’t run away.” The smell of stale liquor wafts your senses as you struggle to stop from gagging.

“Leave me alone,” you snarl, and attempt to yank your arm out of his grip. He holds strong and tries to pull you back into his chest. You struggle for a moment before you feel something snake around your leg and another figure materializes out of the shadows. 

“I believe she asked you to leave her alone,” The other voice ran through your ears like black silk. Like death itself.

You can see the imposing figure over the shoulder of the drunk male. Two massive wings tower over the already massive figure. Your savior steps out of the shadows, and that’s when you recognize him. 

The High Lord’s friend. The male you teased during your first performance. The Spymaster of the Night Court. 

“Hey man,” the drunk male stumbled through a 180, turning around to face the Spymaster. You saw his body tense and he dropped the death grip on your elbow immediately. You saw Azriel smile at the fear on the other man’s face, nodding his head in the other direction. The male scrambled back down the alleyway he came from and you saw Azriel smile at his retreating form before calmly and slowly approaching you. 

“Are you alright,” his voice now is nothing like the way he spoke to other male earlier. It was softer now, almost gentle. He used the same tone you used to try to coax the scared stray cats that live behind your apartment. Azriel’s hands were tucked into his pockets, and it looked like he was trying to hide behind the fringe of his hair to make himself look as small as possible. 

“I am now, thanks to you.” You offered him a small smile, and he took that as an encouragement to move a little closer to you. “I saw you at the show tonight. Were you following me?” You raise an eyebrow at him, and you can see the light pink tint rise to his golden cheeks. 

“I wanted to talk to you after your performance, so I waited for you to leave. I couldn’t work up the courage, but I noticed you heading towards a more dangerous area of the city and I wanted to make sure you got home safe,” the red on his cheeks turned an even brighter fire red, and you could see his hands shifting around in his pockets. “I’m realizing now that that sounds extremely creepy, I’m so sorry, I’ll leave you to your night.” He nods at you and whips around to walk the other way down the street. You see him stretch his glorious wings to take off into the sky. 

“Wait!” you call out just in time. Azriel turns his head back around and you hurry to close the distance between the two of you. You stop in front of him and Az shoves his hands back into his jacket pockets. Standing this close he’s so tall you have to crane your neck to look up at him. “While I don’t appreciate being followed, you did save my ass back there. Would you mind walking me the rest of the way home? I can make you a cup of tea as a thank you, and I don’t trust there won’t be more creeps out at this time of night.” Azriel considers for a moment before dipping his head at you, motioning with his pocketed hand for you to keep walking. The two of you walk in comfortable silence the rest of the way back to your apartment building. When you reach the front door, you unlock it and gesture for him to make his way inside.

Your apartment was a bit small. It only had two main sections, a combined living room and kitchen, and your bedroom and bathroom. You noticed Azriel tuck his wings close to his body, and you suppose it wouldn’t be the most comfortable fit for him.

You did really have a lot of stuff crammed into quite a small space.

The kitchen was overfilling with herbs and pots and pans, and the living room was overrun by plants and your piano. You could barely squeeze in the small sofa and overflowing bookshelf due to the amount of space it took up.

Even if the amount of space was questionable you still liked to think you made the space feel like home. 

“So, I realized I’ve not properly introduced myself.” Azriel’s voice called again as you ducked and weaved through your kitchen. “I’m Azriel by the way, but you can call me Az if you like” You almost snorted as you dug your kettle out from the drawer underneath the sink and filled it up with water.   

“I know who you are.” was your reply, and you saw Azriel’s cheeks flush again. For the fearsome shadow singer of Velaris, he sure is easy to fluster. He looks a little uncomfortable so you do your best to offer him a comforting smile before you tell him your name. He repeats your name back to you in a tone that makes your heart skip a beat. “Anyway,” you clear your throat. “I’ll fish out the rest of the stuff for tea, feel free to make yourself at home.” Az sends you a small smile before moving to wander around in your living room. 

“Um,” Az stutters for a second, grabbing your attention from where you were digging for sugar. “I believe someone wants in.” His voice sounds slightly amused, and you walk over to see what he’s looking at. Sure enough, you spot the straggly black cat perched on your fire escape looking as grumpy as he always does. 

“Oh, that would be Winston,” You reach around Azriel to yank the old window open and Winston the cat struts inside the apartment like he pays the rent here. He rubs through your leg once before sitting infront of the hearth, glaring up at the two of you. 

“Is he yours?” He eyes the cat with a bit of unease, and you shake your head before laughing slightly. Wrestling the window shut you turn around coming chest to chest with the Spymaster. You can feel the slight flush rise to your cheeks as Azriels stumbles to get out of your way, his wings almost knocking over one of your plants in the process. You walk to the kitchen, the stray following hot on your heels as you fill a bowl of milk. The old cat purrs in approval as he jumps up on the counter to enjoy the treat. 

“He’s not mine, not really.” You scratch behind the cat’s ears affectionately. “This building has a lot of strays, and I leave food out for them most of the time. Winston’s a bit of a grumpy asshole, but he’s very sweet once he warms up to you.” You shoot Azriel a bashful smile before you resume plundering your kitchen, now in search of some tea leaves. You hear Azriel let out a laugh, and it sounds like music to your ears. Finishing the two mugs of tea, and collecting a small tray of sugar and honey you and Az make your way over to the couch. With a wave of your hand, you light the fireplace. The two of you get comfortable on the couch and you dump a spoonful of sugar in your tea before mixing it in. You watch in horror as Azriel dumps what can only be considered an absurd amount of sugar into his tea. “Dear god, how can you even drink that?” a laugh bubbles out of your chest, and he laughs too stirring the contents of his cup. 

“I have a preference for sweet things,” He leans back on the couch truly finally making himself comfortable. You both fall into an easy rhythm, and before you know it you’ve been chatting curled on your couch for hours. You’re on the last mug of tea the pot could hold, and the clock tucked on your side table reads well past one in the morning. “I do have a question for you though,” he raises his eyebrows as he takes a sip. You take a moment to admire him in the candlelight of your apartment. You think he might be the most beautiful male you’ve ever seen, features reminding you of the marble statues you’ve seen carved at the rainbow. You nod your head at him in encouragement to ask his question, resting your mug on your lap to give him your full attention. “What kind of magic is this,” He gestures to the fireplace, and you understand where he’s coming from.

“Well my great great grandmother was a witch.” you see his eyebrows shoot to his hairline and he leans forward to listen more intently. “I don’t have any world-shaking power or anything, but I can do small things like object manipulation. Light the fire, turn out the candles before bed, stir a mug of tea.” You twirl your finger for emphasis and the spoon resting in Azriel’s mug starts to spin before you drop your hand and it rests back against the rim. The wonderstruck look on his face encourages you to explain further. “The piano took me a while longer to learn. I have to keep the back of my mind constantly focused on the notes, so it can be a bit hard to concentrate on singing sometimes. But, it’s worth it because I love interacting with people during my shows. It just makes the performance that much more special for me and the crowd I’m performing for.” You realize you may have been rambling and you send him an embarrassed smile.

“I think that’s wonderful.” Azriel offers you in a whisper and you feel like a flock of wild birds is threatening to break free of their cage in your stomach. His eyes are so intense, the gold almost entirely drowns out the other colors under the candlelight. You almost wish you had been blessed with the ability to paint instead of sing. You could spend hours trying to get the color right and you still don’t think you’d ever be able to capture it accurately. You find yourselves drifting closer to each other and you swear he can hear your heart thudding against your ribs like a metronome. He’s so close you can smell him, night-chilled mist and cedar, you see his eyes dart down to your lips and you tilt your chin up in permission. Your eyes just slip shut when you feel a sudden pressure on your lap. You and Azriel both jump in surprise as you find Winston sitting there with his owlish eyes fixed on you. Dumbfounded, you snap out of your previous trance as he yowls for attention. You rub your tired eyes with the back of one hand before scratching behind his ears with the other. The cat lets out a contented purr and Azriel playfully shakes his head in disbelief. 

“I should probably get this cleaned up.” You rise from the couch and you almost swear Az’s hand reaches for you as you get up. Winston, thoroughly disgruntled, moves to the seat next to Azriel.

“I can help you if you like,” He stands up, almost bumping into you as you gather the empty mugs. He attempts to take the tray before you bat his hands away and scoop it up. He is your guest after all. 

“I got it don’t worry.” You shoot him a sweet smile, and he nods at you before he takes to wandering around your living room again. You rinse both of the mugs carefully and scrub out the teapot. Looking into your living room you see the cat sprawled in the middle of your couch and Az peering at the titles on your bookshelf. You hum to yourself as you continue to scrub the dishes, you want to do it now before it leaves residue stuck to the bottom of the dishes. You see Azriel move over to your piano and almost absentmindedly play a few notes along to the tune you were humming. You abandon the dishes and silently step through the living room in a way that could rival the Spymaster, as he continues to mess around with the piano. “It seems you’ve been holding out on me.” Azriel jumps away from the piano with an almost guilty look on his face. 

“My mother taught me how to play,” He sends you a sad smile as you move to stand next to him. “I wasn’t allowed to see her often, but she would teach me a few things when she could.” His eyes drift down to his scarred hand on the keys, and he flexes and opens his hand with a conflicted expression on his face. You reach down to cover his hand with your own and squeeze, the keys make an ugly sound with the pressure but you’re only distantly aware of it. Azriel stares at your hands for a moment before his eyes drift back to your face, darting to your lips again. Once more, you dip your chin in agreement. Azriel’s other hand gently cups your cheek for a moment as he admires you. The rough texture is a contrast against the smooth skin of your face, and you can feel the drag as he moves his hand down to cup your chin. 

He waits for one moment, two, before your eyes flutter shut and he surges forward to press his lips to yours. Your hands shoot to the silky black hair and wind through the strands curling at the back of his neck before tugging lightly. This seems to urge Azriel on and he wraps his free arm around your hip like a vice before dragging you closer. You can taste the tea on his lips, and something else you can only assume is uniquely Az. He’s kissing you like he would rather have you than oxygen, and you find yourself echoing that sentiment. 

You don’t think you could stop kissing him even if the moon came crashing down from the night sky. 

You nip at his bottom lip, and you’re rewarded with a loan groan from deep in his throat. He urges you back against the piano, and you lean your hands down to brace yourself against the keys. The noise it makes grates against your ears, but you’re too enthralled with Azriel to care as he hoists you on top of the instrument. The crash must’ve scared the cat because you can distantly hear four paws hit the floor before padding into the dark sanctuary of your bedroom. You find your way to Az’s hair again and this time you pull a little harder, one of his hands finds the curve of your ass and squeezes. His tongue sweeps over your bottom lip, and it feels like he’s trying to swallow the whine you couldn't bite back. His mouth moves to brush kisses over your jawline, and when his teeth graze over your pulse point your hips cant up in answer. 

It almost feels like a song, your two bodies moving perfectly together, pushing and pulling in perfect harmony. Kicking your piano bench back, Azriel advances again pushing you to lean fully on the piano as he kisses down your body and kneels before you on the floor. He wastes no time, yanking down your pants and underwear in one go. He licks one strong stripe up your center before letting out a moan that echoes through your apartment and dives in again. You start to get dizzy as you writhe against the piano, pulling his hair, drunk with pleasure. 

It’s then that you notice a pattern of what he’s doing.  

A line up, a line down, a stripe across. A zigzagged line. A line up, a curve, a diagonal line. Another straight line before his tongue swirls around your clit. A straight line across and a curve around. Another straight line, and then the pattern repeats itself. 

It takes your hazy mind a second to realize what he’s doing, but when you do you flush from the tips of your ears down to your toes. You rise onto your elbows, eyes shooting open to find Azriel staring right at you with a smug look in his eyes. 

That cocky bastard was spelling his fucking name. 

That fact alone almost makes you finish on his tongue as you collapse back against the instrument. The smooth surface is a welcome chill against your steadily climbing body temperature. You feel one finger rise to circle your entrance. He’s playing with you like a toy, teasing but not giving you what you want. 

“Look at me,” he growls into the air, one finger plunging in and curling to find the sweet spot inside of you. You try, but your eyes fall open and closed as he abuses that position, he even looks amused at your weak attempts to concentrate. “I’m not going to let you finish unless you can look at me while you do it,” His rough voice feels like velvet dragging over your skin. “Come on beautiful I know you can,” your eyelids feel like they weigh one thousand pounds, but you need to come right now or you might explode. It takes all your effort to pry your eyes open and look him straight in the eye. He pays you with another finger inside of you and drops his head back down to your core. Somehow, you keep your eyes on him the whole time, and he lifts his head briefly to mutter a “Good fucking girl” against your thigh. 

That’s what sends you over the edge, burning hot ecstasy shoots through your whole body as you hurtle into oblivion. Your legs are shaking when he rises, and his hand rubs a soothing circle into the meat of your hip. He leans down to press gentle kisses into your neck as you recover. 

“Can you go another round?”  He whispers into your ear, perfectly content to give you pleasure and get nothing in return. He could deal with the painful hard-on in his pants later. You nod your head with enthusiasm and Azriel almost sags in relief. Your hands find the laces on his pants and rip as you leave a trail of lovebites down his neck. You hold him in your hand as you pump it up and down. His head lulls back as you run your thumb over his tip. You guide him into you slowly, and he lets you adjust as he sinks in inch by glorious inch. He waits for a moment when he’s fully seated inside of you, and he looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky before he starts to move. He picks up the pace, pulling almost all the way out before slamming the full length of him back in. 

You can feel yourself start to build to a second high, and Azriel can feel the way you're clamping around him. He reaches a hand around to rub tight circles against your clit and one of your legs rises to the keys, making another loud crash of notes so that Az can get a better angle. You drag Azriel closer to you and he hits the sweet spot inside of you again that makes you scream causing your nails to run down his back, leaving angry red marks in your wake. You finish for the second time like a blazing symphony, the rushing in your ears so loud your surroundings are almost entirely gone. Azriel follows you soon after that, his whole body tenses, and the moan he releases may very well be imprinted on your brain forever. The two of you sit there- hot, sweaty, and panting- as you stare at each other. Azriel gently helps you down from the piano and you thank him before offering to let him stay the night. He enthusiastically obliges and you fall asleep with his arm thrown around your waist. 

You wake the next morning to an empty bed and the smell of bacon coming from your kitchen. Padding out of your bedroom you are greeted with the glorious sight of a shirtless Azriel over your stove, and a pleased-looking Winston perched on the counter next to him. 

“What are you making?” You circle your arms around Azriel’s waist and he tenses before relaxing into your touch.

“Just some eggs and bacon. I was going to surprise you in bed, I hope you don’t mind I raided your kitchen” You smile into his back, pressing a kiss to the strong cord of muscle that runs along his shoulder. Before scratching the cat behind his ears. 

“Not at all, I see you’ve made friends this morning.” You raise your eyebrow at Az and he shoots you and the cat an amused expression. 

“I had to bribe him with a piece of bacon,” this sends you both tumbling into a fit of laughter. After that, you two eat breakfast mostly in comfortable silence, and Azriel gets dressed before leaving with a promise to take you out properly next Saturday.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As Azriel arrived at the training ring the first thing he heard was Cassian’s bark “You’re late!” before he threw himself into training. He had sparred with Cassian and with Rhys, and the Verlaris sun was making him sweat buckets. Excusing himself for a water break he peeled off the soaked shirt, tossing it to the chaise usually occupied by Mor. He distantly heard Cas and Rhys stop fighting but he paid it no mind until he heard Rhysand’s voice call behind him. 

“So that’s why you were late to training this morning,” Rhys sounded amused and he turned around to find both of his brothers staring at him with cocky smiles on their faces. It was then that Azriel remembered you had scratched down his back the night before. He had been so lost in pleasure that he hadn’t even felt it, but apparently, it had left a mark. 

“Was it the singer? I bet it was the singer.” came Cassian’s unneeded input. Evidently, the way Azriel ducked his head to hide the flush smile and the aversion of their gazes was answer enough for them. 

He didn’t care about his brothers’ teasing. He would take being teased for 100 more years if it meant he got to see you again this weekend.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Datura Pt 11

Summary: Returning to the Mountain brings up a lot of feelings and Reader tries and fails to keep them all bottled up.

Content Warnings: SMUT (I told you it would come eventually ;) ), a lot of dirty talk, suggestiveness, a little light bondage if you squint, as well as alcohol consumption and drug use.

Author's Note: I apparently have a lot of feelings about sitting in Rhys's lap, 'cause I wrote this Vamp!Rhys fic and this in the same week. I was gonna end it on an angsty note, but the miscommunication trope makes me want to rip my hair out, so I made it fluffy instead (they're adults they can TALK TO EACH OTHER like adults). Anyway, hope ya'll enjoy! As always, let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List, and thank you to everyone who likes, comments and reblogs, ya'll make me want to keep writing <3

Previous chapter/ Master list

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The music is a heavy pulse in your skull, drowning out all thought as the lights flash and flare overhead like dozens of fireworks in time to the beat. Your hips sway, flimsy excuse of a dress clinging to your thighs as you twirl and spin in time to the beat. Dozens of hands pass you a long, keep you spinning and spinning until the lights glitter like stars overhead. You throw your head back and laugh at the way they glitter and stretch along your quickly blurring vision.

Someone passes you another cup and you tip the contents back in one gulp, savoring the burn, relishing in the way it fills your empty stomach. You’ve lost count of how many glasses you’ve had, lost count of where the empty ones go as you move along with the crowd, let the press of bodies move you like an ebbing tide.

A cigarette gets passed your way, the violet smoke filtering in hazy rings around people’s heads like halos. Do you smoke? You can’t remember. Can’t think about why you should care at all as you bring it to your lips and inhale deeply, letting the mirthroot take hold.

This is the most fun you’ve had in weeks, it’s the first time you allow yourself complete unbridled freedom. There is nothing to worry about here but following the music and the flow of drink as the mirthroot makes your body loose and limber.

Strong hands settle on your hips as you take another drag, eyes closed, savoring the burn. You sway your hips under the grip, pushing your body back into the firm planes of the male behind you. You don’t have the presence of mind to be mortified, to think about the way you’re grinding on a stranger in the middle of this crowd of people. 

Warm breath frames your neck, skittering over the golden collar still encircling your throat. “I think you’ve had enough, Darling.”

Mate. Mate. Mate. The words dance around the bargain mark on your ribs, heat flaring in your chest that has nothing to do with the fae wine or the mirthroot and everything to do with the fact that when you’d been dragged back into your cell, it had been empty. Empty and had smelled like her. And you’d thrown yourself against the battered door, claws slashing across the worn iron until they shattered from your fingertips, until you splattered blood across the unyielding iron, dark mist filling the cell until it nearly sucked the air from the room. You don’t know how or why the door held, why your nails couldn’t cut through the strange marks etched into the door; the only thing that was clear is that in retaliation for leaving, your fault or not, she’d taken Rhys and had left you alone in the dark. Days passed without word, without food, until the guards had come and thrown you into a room with the order to bathe and change and be ready in an hour and you complied only with the intent to go right into the Throne Room to rip her throat out with your teeth. But Rhys hadn’t been at her side when you arrived either, hadn’t been a face in the crowd as Amarantha declared to the court that you had slain the twins sent from Hybern for attacking their Queen. The crowd that days ago had been laughing at your plight as you’d been made to kneel on the floor like an animal was now cheering you on like a hero. Fickle and spineless; Amarantha said jump and they asked how high without question or reason. She’d left you to their whims after that and the wine had started flowing and you’d needed to calm the panic and rage swelling like a storm beneath your skin and had reached for one. One had somehow turned into two and then three and you’d lost count after that, lost yourself in the blissful emptiness and tried to forget how powerless you really were in all of this.

You turn in his arms and though he remains standing where he is, there’s suddenly six of him spinning in dizzying circles and you have to grip onto his shoulders to keep yourself on your feet.

“Easy,” he says, his grip on your hips firm.

You’ve forgotten just how big he is compared to you, how much of you he can fit in his hands. You're too far gone to stop yourself from wondering how those hands would feel beneath your dress, on your thighs, spreading you open…

“Easy,” he says again, nostrils flaring like he scents the effect he has on you like this.

Your hands feel like they're drifting through soup as you reach out to brush your hand through his hair. He’s clean too, skin healed, the clothes new and finely pressed. There is no lingering scent of incense, though you’re pretty sure the mirthroot you smell is on your skin and not his, he remains wholly jasmine and citrus. Nothing of her on him.

“You’re ok?” The words slur out of you, sound muffled and distant even as they come out your mouth. You need him to tell you he’s ok, that she didn’t hurt him, that he got called away for something, anything. He does other things for her, he brought in Tamlin all those weeks ago, he has other roles, but you don’t know how to make the words come out against the fog that rolls through your head. “You’re ok?”

“I’m ok,” he says with a nod. “Let’s get you some water.”

You shake your head. Water is somewhere near the tables and lounge chairs in the corner, somewhere she might be lurking, waiting for you to slip up, waiting for her chance to steal him again and you can’t have that. “Want to dance.” Want to dance and drink and forget; want to smoke and move and let the music erase everything that is happening around you so that the only thing that matters is the two of you. It’s an added bonus that if he dances with you then that means he keeps his hands on you, has an excuse to keep touching you. Gods you want more of that!

“Water first,” he says, giving you a little nudge backwards.

The move makes the world spin again and you giggle as you let yourself fall into it. 

“Wow, you’re really drunk,” he says as he hauls you against his chest and half carries half drags you through the crowd.

“You’re strong,” you giggle. You can feel the muscles in his arms and chest tighten as he moves you around, his fingertips digging deliciously in your hips. 

It’s by sheer force of Rhys’s will that you end up in a chair with a glass of water, that you take a single sip of and make a face. “Gross. Want more wine.”

A servant automatically appears with a glass beside you, but before you can grab it, or spill it given the way your limbs flop around, he snatches it off the tray. “Water first.”

You stick out your lower lip. “Why are you being so mean to me?”

He takes a drink out of the cup and suddenly the most exciting thing in the world is watching how his throat works when he swallows and the way the wine stains his lips. “‘Cause it’s fun,” he retorts.

You manage to get another sip of water down before you accidentally catch the glass on the edge of the table and spill it everywhere. “Fuck me,” you say dejectedly. In your state your first thought is to use your skirts to try and dry up the mess, but there’s not enough of them, the sheer fabric barely covering the tops of your thighs. 

“You have impeccable manners,” he says as he reaches for your hands to stop you from flashing the whole room as you try and wiggle the dress up enough to use it as a napkin. With a snap of his fingers the mess cleans itself. 

“Ooooohhh neat,” you run a finger over the dry table. “Can you teach me to do that?”

You’re too drunk to notice your mistake, but he says, “If you had any powers left, sure,” a little louder than necessary to cover you.

“Right,” you slur as you try to stand on shaky legs. “Well water was good, we dance now.”

He remains a firm wall between you and the dance floor. “Unless you can absorb water through your skin, you didn’t actually drink anything.”

“Had a sip.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Meanie,” you hiss.

“You’re very cute when you’re drunk,” he teases and the grin he gives you makes you want to stretch up on your toes and kiss him right there. 

“You’re very kissable when you smile,” you return.

Rhys huffs a laugh and you think you might do just about anything to get him to laugh again. 

“I’m always very kissable,” he retorts. “It’s part of my charm.”

“So make part of your charm dancing with me,” you press.

He grabs your hand like he might do just that, but instead, spins around you to claim an empty couch and pulls you down to sit in his lap so fast the world flips and twirls in a blur of pulsing colors that makes you squeeze your eyes shut. The wine rises up in your throat, threatening to come back out in a rush and you curl into his chest trying to find a way to make it stop.

“I think this is better.”

You squeeze your temples with your palms. “Make my brain stop spinning,” you whine. Maybe he’s right, maybe dancing is a bad idea. 

Besides, he’s still touching you like this. More than touching actually. You’re situated in his lap, knees bracketing his hips, chest to chest, no collar around his throat to stop you if you wanted to put your lips to his neck. There’s not even a scar or bruise to indicate that it had been there, nothing but smooth, bronze skin and the teasing peak of his tattoos beneath his collar.

You brace yourself against his shoulders as the world stops spinning, suddenly very aware of how high your skirt is riding up and how strong the muscles in his thighs are between your legs.

He brings his hands to hold your hips again and you thank the Mother that you’re not so drunk that you’ve lost your inhibitions completely because the only thought in your head right now is how it would feel to grind yourself down on him.

“You’re very drunk,” he says lowly, his own gaze locked on the space between your bodies like he’s drinking in the way your thighs look around him.

“So?”

“So it would be wrong,” he retorts.

“What?” You move your hands to the back of the couch behind him, chest brushing his. There’s barely any straps to your top, the neckline a deep v that leaves your cleavage on display and you don’t miss the way his gaze tracks it as you lean in. “What would be wrong?”

He runs his tongue over his lower lip, staring and something stirs deep inside you. Claim. Claim. Claim. He is your mate and you want him to touch you, kiss you, claim you. 

It’s the thought that makes you pause for a brief moment. Does he know your mates? Does he feel this growing need? This incessant longing beating from your rib cage that needs to be touched and held and claimed so deeply you forget what it felt like to be anything else? Is that the bond? Or the wine? 

“Doing all the things I’ve been thinking about since the moment I had my lips on yours,” he says, voice barely a whisper, gaze still transfixed on your body.

You preen under the heat in his gaze, press your chest a little more firmly into his so that you can be nose to nose with him. The wine has certainly made you more brazen. “What kinds of things, Rhys?”

The hands holding your hips tighten, fingertips kneading the soft flesh hard enough to bruise and yet your whole body turns molten at that touch. It’s the delicious line between pain and pleasure, and after days and days of cold emptiness, the heat it sparks through your body is more addictive than any wine or drug you can consume here.

“Want this dress off you for starters,” he murmurs, full lips drifting down to dust over the straps clinging to your shoulders. 

His words conjure an image in your mind of him leaning forward, pulling the straps down with his teeth, baring the full expanse of your body to him. You shiver under the mental image, hips rocking down against him.

“Want to mark every bit of you I can reach, so that no one dares touch you,” he continues, teeth scraping over your shoulder. “So that everyone knows your mine.”

His.  The possession in his tone really does you in, heat building in your lower belly as you grind yourself down against the growing bulge in his pants. The scrape against your core makes your mouth drop open, groan falling from your parted lips. It would be so easy to come undone from this alone.

“Only mine,” he emphasizes, sucking a mark where your neck meets your shoulder, visible beneath that damned collar you can’t take off.

“Rhys,” you whimper, releasing your grip on the back of the couch to drag your hands through his dark hair. “Please.”

His lips move along your throat, teeth scraping your skin before sucking another mark into your sensitive flesh. He’s taking his time, just as he promised all those weeks ago on Calanmai. “Want to know what little noises you’d make for me, how you’d fall apart in my hands…”

You drag your hand from his hair, reaching for the straps of your dress to pull them down for him, hoping to spur him further into action, but he finally releases his grip on your hips to stop you. 

“None of that, Darling,” he tuts. “It comes off when I say it does.”

To that point, when you try to rock your hips against him again, it's his glittering, obsidian power that pins you in place, a slither of darkness twining around your hips to hold you there, utterly at his mercy.

He chuckles when you whimper and pout, lower lip sticking out, tears welling up in your eyes, because it’s not fair that he’s this close, that he’s just a hair breadth away from where you need him most and he knows it. He can smell it on you, see it on every line in your face, and yet he won’t move to help you.

“Please, Rhys, please,” you beg. The need for him is unbearable, your whole body burning like it’s on fire, the only relief is the contact with his body. Your mate so close to where you need him most.

“Hogging the woman of the hour, are we?” 

You hadn’t heard any approaching footsteps over the pounding of the base against the rock, the sudden appearance making you flinch as Rhys throws a warning snarl over your shoulder. It only makes the red headed male approaching chuckle as he comes to stand directly behind you. The cedar and cinnamon smell of him reminds you of curling up under a warm wool blanket next to a fireplace with your favorite book about vampires, something you like to do in nice Autumn weather.

Slender fingers drag up your spine, and in your delirious state, it makes you arch your back as you shiver under it.

“Eris,” Rhys purrs, but there’s an edge in his tone as he watches you move under another male’s ministrations. The sliver of his power around your waist tightens, the shadows slipping under your skirts to writhe against your flushed skin. He allows you to jerk forward, hips rocking right into the obvious sign of his own arousal, and your eyes roll back into your head at the contact.

“I can name a dozen males who would kill for a chance to be where you are right now, Rhysand,” Eris returns.

“I don’t share,” Rhys says and cauldron that’s all it takes for you to place your lips against his throat. He hums his approval as you scrape your teeth against his skin, hands threading into your hair as you nip and bite and use your tongue to cool any pain you cause him. 

Eris plops himself down in the seat next to Rhys, long arms thrown over the back of the couch as he makes himself comfortable. 

You can’t bring yourself to care about the audience as you nip at the underside of his jaw. He tilts his head back for you so you can reach more of him unhindered and you sink a little lower down on his lap chasing any friction you can find before the shadows tighten and still your movements again.

“Bastard,” you growl into his throat, but he merely turns his attention to the male next to him. 

“You didn’t respond to my message,” Eris hisses. A glass of wine appears in his hand and he takes a slow drink. To any onlookers he’s merely enjoying the party with the High Lord and his nightly entertainment. 

“What message?” 

“Shit.” This conversation is becoming sobering, despite your best efforts to tune out the other male and focus solely on the pleasure just out of reach. All night long you’d been able to forget.

Eris gives you a sidelong glance that might have made you squirm under the intensity if Rhys hadn’t shifted beneath you to get a better look at the other male, hips brushing up against your center in a move that is definitely intentional. 

“The one I gave her,” Eris snarls.

“This is the first I’ve seen her in days,” Rhys retorts, a hand stroking through your hair. “You know how to get in contact with me.”

Eris glances around at the dancers that move past for refreshments as he takes another drink. Only when they’re gone does he say, “So you didn’t tell her to kill the twins?”

You stop moving; stop thinking about Rhys’s body as the image of Dagdan and Brannagh’s mangled bodies flash across your mind. You’re suddenly a lot more sober than you had been moment ago.

Rhys brushes a mental hand against your mind and you flinch, head still tender from the beating it had taken trying to keep your cousins out. “Darling?”

The concern in his tone makes shame burn its way through your lungs. At the littlest thing he’s dropping everything to make sure you’re ok, and yet here you are, with no idea where he’s been or what he’s been through and you’re grinding in his lap like a horny teenager. What kind of mate are you?

“No I didn’t,” Rhys says to Eris, even as he makes another tender stroke against your mind, asking to be let in. “But I’m sure she had her reasons.”

“Do you think we can use it to our advantage?” Eris asks.

You don’t deserve how gentle he is with you, but you can’t stop yourself from lowering your shields just enough to let him in. He should know just how much of a monster you’re capable of being before he gets too close. 

“Will you show me?” He asks and you open the doorway into the memory, keeping the conversation you’d had with Tamlin about him, the realization of what he is to you, out of reach. He deserves better than that.

Rhys strokes his hands in your hair as he watches the memory unfold, your body shaking in his grip as all that blood and gore comes into view. When it’s over, he closes the door in your mind and clicks the lock into place for you. “It’s over. You’re safe. You did what you had to do to survive, there is no shame in that.”

You press your face into his shoulder to hide the tears brimming in your eyes. You’re an ugly crier when you’re tipsy and you know if you start, you won’t stop.

“I think it’ll bring Hybern here quicker,” Rhys says to Eris, as he drags the fingers in your hair down to trace your spine. To an onlooker, he’s still playing with you, only the two of you know how often he’s traced these shapes into your skin when you wake up screaming in the dungeons. “Which can be played to our advantage if we’re careful.”

Eris takes another sip of wine, mulling it over.

“If Hybern can be convinced that our queen is acting out of her own agenda instead of his, he may just do our work for us.”

“A dangerous game,” Eris frowns.

“It always is,” Rhys returns.

It’s astounding how calm and level headed he can remain, always centered, even while everyone else rages and panics around him. How are you supposed to be his equal? To his calm there is only your spinning thoughts and unchecked temper. Everything makes you want to claw and rage and smash things; aren’t mates supposed to balance each other out? What do you bring him other than another mess to sort through?

“Well if you’re not going to share her, I’ll leave you to it,” Eris says as he downs his cup and stands, making a show of stretching, tight shirt rising up to expose the toned line of his abs to a passing cluster of male and female dancers.

Rhys chuckles at that, sliding a little lower into the couch, as he says, “She’s all mine.”

Is this all the conversation they can have? A few passing whispers? A few half-veiled hopes at a plan? Fifty years of juggling court masks and gathering allies and pushing pieces into place in the shadows while everyone else parties around them? It’s such a contrast to the world you’re used to that you can’t help but feel small inside it. 

It’s only when he’s gone that Rhys asks, “Are you ok?”

“I thought being drunk was supposed to make me feel less depressed,” you grumble into his shirt because he’s pleasantly warm and you can’t bring your body to move from where you’re pressed into his chest.

“I think you passed over the threshold for that a couple drinks ago,” he replies.

“Take me back to the blissful void,” you whine.

“Well enough people have seen you here with me, I think we can slip away and get you into bed without causing a scene now.”

He’d pulled you over here on purpose, removing the shield of the crowd so people would see you with him, see you cutting loose, and when you disappeared they’d think he’d taken you to bed and not wonder if there was anything more to it, because his reputation was enough. That mask was so encompassing it could shield you too.

Rhys winnows you away and you can’t tell what end is up anymore, not until he sets you square in the center of a bed with black silk sheets. His room, as dust covered and bare as it had been the last time.

You groan as you fall back into the pillows, all the wine threatening to come up again as you try to keep yourself upright. This position allows you to feel just how wet you are between your legs, making you stop squeezing your eyes shut to look at the damp spot you’d left on Rhys’s pants. Not that he seems to notice as he peels off his jacket and starts unbuttoning his shirt, getting comfortable for the night, even as shame makes your cheeks turn bright red. What is wrong with you?

“You need a bucket over there?” He asks.

You need to drink until you can forget what you’ve been doing all night. How are you supposed to look at him now?

You hear the clink of his belt coming off before he climbs into the bed next to you and you force yourself not to open your eyes and look at what he’s wearing to bed, because you’ve made a fool of yourself enough for one night.

“That last drink was a mistake,” you lie, because what else are you supposed to say?

His body is warm as he lays down beside you. “You played your part well,” Rhys encourages. “No one will think twice about where you’ve gone.”

You’re an idiot, but you’re not quite sober enough to think better of it as you ask, “Is that all this is? A game?”

Rhys uses a bit of his power to snuff the candles out, bathing the room in utter darkness. “It’s necessary-”

You roll onto your side, finally daring to look at him, as best you can in the dark anyway. “But is that all you want it to be?” You press. 

He’d been laying with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling, but at your words he rolls over too, so you’re once again nose to nose, practically sharing a breath.

“Wanting anything is dangerous, Y/N.”

“So all that you said earlier, about wanting me, that was just for show? This is just a mask?”

“It keeps you safe,” he says so low it's almost a growl.

“But it’s not what you want?”

“I can’t…” he shakes his head. “I can’t. The things I love have a tendency to be taken from me, I cannot want anything other than to get out of here.”

Your eyes sting and you’re glad for the dark, glad that it hides the tears welling up in your eyes. “I can play this part, if that’s what we need to fulfill this bargain,” it’s a concentrated effort to keep your voice steady, but you mean it. If this is all it will be, then you will have to find a way to live with it, because at least your mate will be alive. And maybe, if Amarantha sees anything like what you two had been doing tonight, then maybe she’d direct that anger at you instead of him. You could find a way to use it to protect him, the same way he’d used it for you.

He’s your mate, whatever you have to do to make sure he survives, you’ll do it. Even if it tears you apart inside.

“But please, just tell me that it’s not real, that you don’t really want me, so that I can prepare, so that I don’t overstep. The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable.”

His pause feels like it spans an hour, the silence ticking away like a clock in the darkness. “I…”

You stamp down the hope flaring in your chest, it’ll be easier to deal with if he is up front that he doesn’t see you as anything but a means to an end. “What do you want, Rhys?”

He growls, the sound skittering across your bones as he throws an arm around your waist and crashes his lips against yours. “You,” he says into your mind. “I want you in any way you’ll have me.”

The ink on your chest warms, feels strangely like it’s glowing beneath your skin as the solid weight of him settles on top of you, pushing you into the mattress. You're a tangle of limbs and teeth, as he kisses you like it might be his only chance to.

You drag your hands down the sharp contours of his spine, memorizing the feel of him beneath your fingertips as his tongue slides behind your teeth to taste you. This is far better than any drug, no amount of mirthroot could ever make you feel this high.

“You’re ok with this?” He pants into your lips, finally coming up for air.

“More than ok,” you confirm and that’s all it takes for him to start sliding the straps off your dress, pulling the tight fitting bodice slowly from your body. The chill in the air is only a momentary discomfort before his hands and lips chase it away as he follows the fabric down your body.

Thank the Mother for the privacy of the room, that you hadn’t managed to get your top off like you’d tried to do in the throne room, because the noise you let out when he gets his mouth around your nipple is embarrassingly loud, whole body flushed crimson. You clamp your hand over your mouth when he does the same move on your other breast, or at least you try to, that slithering ether of power snags your wrist and pins it above your head before you can cut off the noise.

“None of that,” he hums into your skin, teeth scraping your skin. “Want to hear you.”

Cauldron he’ll be the death of you! 

It’s his power that whisks the glamor away from the bargain mark so he can run his lips over the ink, tracing the flower petals and vines. “We should make more bargains, you look so pretty with all this ink.”

You huff a laugh as you scrape your nails through his hair, making a mess of it. “What kinds of bargains?”

He kisses lower, pulling the dress down towards your hips, following it again. “That you’ll let me taste you like this once a day for the rest of eternity,” he suggests as he lifts your hips to get the dress lower.

“I’m not wasting a bargain on that,” you huff, though you’re embarrassed to admit the way the suggestion makes heat pool in your core.

“You’re right, twice a day is more practical,” he says as he slips both the dress and your underthings off in one fell swoop. Strong arms wrap around your hips as he settles himself between your legs and you barely have time to draw a shaky breath before he’s running his tongue up your center.

“I-” all thought and argument eddies from your mind as your body arches under his ministrations. 

“More than that, perhaps?” He teases, adding a finger to the mix, even as his tongue swirls through your quickly budding arousal.

Your hand in his hair tightens, pulling his hair as you try and guide him deeper. “Rhys,” you whimper. He feels so good; so perfect. Nothing else would ever compare; he’s barely touched you and you’re fully ready to come apart already.

He adds a second finger, stretching you out as his tongue flicks over your clit, the combination making your head spin. You screw your eyes shut as your body tightens, muscles taut as a bow string as your pleasure builds too fast to prepare for. He might still be talking nonsense about bargains but you genuinely can’t hear a word he says against the white noise tearing through your head.

Mate. Mate. Mate. It’s right where the flower-what did he say it was called? Datura?-sits over your heart that you feel the bond between your souls, like a tether of glittering starlight. It’s been there, faint before, just enough of a tether to let you feel a bit of him at the other end, but now it thrums with his power, like it’s searching for your own. A call like the one he’d sent out on Calanmai, and you can’t tell if he’s testing to see if you know it’s there, or if it’s you pulling on it, begging to be closer to him as your high crashes over you.

Rhys kisses his way back up your body, lips damp with your arousal. “You know?” 

The disbelief in his tone brings you back to reality. Your shields had been down and you’d just…

You push yourself up on your elbows. “You knew?” You counter.

He brushes his lips over the bargain mark again, distracting himself from looking into your eyes as he says, “I suspected, before Calanmai, but afterwards, when I saw you for real, not just as a dream, it clicked.”

“You’d been dreaming about me?”

Another kiss on your heated skin, body relaxing under his touch. “For decades,” he whispers. “And I told myself that it was enough, that I’d leave it there, where you were safe and far away from all of this, but then there were whispers in the court about at a weapon Hybern was looking for. The more she had me look into it, the more my dreams started making sense, the better I could see you.”

You brush your fingers through the hair falling over his eyes, prompting him to finally look at you. “When she narrowed down that you were in Spring, she started sending me out on Calanmia to look for you, thinking it might mask all her hunters with those coming to the party. It was my only chance to reach you and I had every intention to get you to leave Spring.”

He catches your hand and presses a kiss to your fingertips. “I never meant to let you see me, but you were so scared and she decided to come out herself for the first time in years and I panicked. I couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen if she got her hands on you first.”

Your eyes sting at the confession. Your selfless mate, who through all these years of trauma, had still been willing to let you go without ever getting to see you if it meant you didn’t end up here.

“I swore that I’d do everything in my power to get you out, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay away, no matter how much I tried to. You needed me and I… I need you.”

You’re not entirely sure how useful you’ve been to him in all of this, but you let him speak anyway. 

“Not just this,” he says, gesturing to your bodies. “But for all of it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I don’t want you to think you’re stuck with me,” he says. “It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.”

You sit up as best you can around the weight of him over you so you can grip his face. “I’m not stuck with you. I’m choosing you. I want you, Rhys.”

The disbelief in his eyes makes your heart ache and you lean forward to gently kiss the tip of his nose. “Not just for this,” you repeat, gesturing to your bodies as he had done. “Though it is amazing.”

He grins at that.

“And not just this,” you drag his hand over the ink on your chest. “But for whatever is beyond this. When it’s all over, when we’ve won and we’ve got her stupid head on a pike, I want to explore whatever comes next with you.”

He kisses you then, eagerly, a little less frantic than before, but with no less desire, the taste of your arousal still faint on his swollen lips. You lean back into the mattress, pulling him down with you. 

“I know this whole thing is twisted and terrifying, but I want to walk with you through it. Together.”

“Together,” he confirms as you wrap your legs around his waist.

A new bargain mark zaps across your skin, over your palm, where your hands are intertwined, a twin to the one on his own hand. 

“I still think I made an excellent bargain offer,” he says as you tug at the waistband of his boxers.

“You’re insufferable, Rhysand,” you laugh.

“I think the word you’re thinking of is insatiable,” he counters as he lines himself up with your entrance.

“That too,” you reply as you arch your back, the tip of his cock gliding through your arousal. It’s a little more of stretch than you're used to, but the line between pain and pleasure blurs as he slowly rocks his hips into yours, taking his time to let you adjust. He really will ruin anyone else for you, not that you’ll ever want anything other than this from here on out.

“Darling,” he purrs, or tries to, the groan he lets out as he fully seats himself inside you makes shivers run up your spine. “You have no idea how insatiable I can be.”

You rock your hips, prompting him to move, to match your rhythm, to fill and take and claim you as your body has been begging him to all night long. “I think you should show me.”

The laugh he lets out sounds more like a growl as he picks up his pace, one hand braced against the headboard to give him more leverage as he slides nearly out of you and slams back in. You cling to his shoulders, nails gliding over his sweat-dampened skin for leverage, his name a whimper on your lips.

The bond between you glitters, swells with all the affection and desire he feels for you as he shoots in down to you. For all the pain and trouble it had caused, you think you still you might have come out earlier on Calanmai, just to feel this sooner. 

You whimper his name again and again as your high once again draws closer, your body white hot. 

“I’ve got you,” he says in your ear and judging by the frantic rutting of his hips you know he’ll be right there with you. Together in this, as you will be in the rest of it. You let yourself fall, unrestrained, as pleasure washes over you, your mate giving a shout as he follows close behind. The two of you topple into the sheets, clinging to each other as you catch your breath.

“You ok?” He asks as you cling tightly to him, even as your body relaxes.

You nuzzle your face into his chest. “I’m with my mate, how could I not be?” Whatever tomorrow holds, whatever dangers lie ahead, you can rest knowing that you’ll be together for it.

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

Tag List: @mariahoedt, @lovelydove, @twsssmlmaa, @sleepylunarwolf, @judig92, @willowpains, @daughterofthemoons-stuff, @annnaaaaaa88, @myheartfollower, @uniquecolorwizard, @eternallyelvish, @waytoomanyteenagefeels, @lovemesomevesey, @localfangirl09, @isa1b2h3, @starswholistenanddreamsanswered, @slytherintaco, @iluvewman-blog, @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife, @kitsunetori, @lilah-asteria, @dianxiaxie, @msoldier

[bookish-whore]

Hey I'm not sure if you are taking requests rn. BUT IF YOU ARE:

I am an angsty bitch lol. Can I request a fic of AZ x reader? Where reader was UTM with Rhys right? And suffered through so much trauma while there. So much so that she doesn't let AZ touch her and refuses to be alone with him (or any man). They were mated previous to UTM but she just...can't? It can end happily or not, I don't mind. AAAAH TY I LOVE YOUR WORK

I have become possessed by this request and have been furiously working on it, darling. will be out (possibly) tonight/tomorrow!!! there's a little sneak peek below the cut ❤️

A few moments of silence passed between us.

“Azriel’s worried you know” Rhysand finally says grabbing the bottle back, before taking a long drink from the deep amber liquid.

“I know” I reply softly looking down at the sparkling city lights below “I just don’t know how to separate him from everything else, in my head I know that he loves me, that he would never hurt me but when he touches me it just instantly takes me back there, back to her games”

“Have you told him anything about under the mountain?”

“I don’t know how to tell him Rhys, I mean how do you even start that conversation ‘hey please promise you still love me even though I was repeatedly unfaithful to you because I was drugged and forced to please various men for Amarantha’s entertainment’ he’ll never look at me the same way and I don���t know if I can take that kind of rejection”

“You’re mates, all you have to do is let him in, let him see. y/n I have known him for centuries and there is nothing you could tell him that would make him love you any less”

[tadpolesonalgae]

just saw your reqs are closed and totally respect that, i just need to drop this little idea off before i forget it 😫, feel free to ignore

okay so i’m imagining like innocent!vanserra!reader x azriel, maybe she like was raised utm, mainly by eris, and was essentially protected by him throughout it, and maybe eris struck a deal with rhys utm when reader was like a young adult, where basically in return for information about beron/autumn, rhys just had to take reader in/find a spot for her to be safe away from beron/marriage suitors/amarantha. once feyre saved them, reader was taken to velaris as part of the deal, and azriel is like,, enamored by her. on one hand, he’s entranced, she’s so kind and sweet and lovely, but on the other hand he knows she’s eris’ sister, and he wants to basically just ruin her as payback and totally not because they’re like mates or something and he wants her all to himself

dark!pervert!azriel who sneaks into your bedroom at night to jack off 😶‍🌫️ he puts his spymaster abilities to good use, being entirely quiet as he pulls your covers down, taking in your half naked form 🙏 you’re wearing only a shirt (one of his) and white cotton panties, legs slightly spread and bent at the knees because it’s hot, and azriel’s just looming there over you, gently ever so slightly caressing your form with his pointer finger, just taking in the smooth expanse of your skin. then he gets the horny brilliant idea to pull down your panties as he’s jacking off, putting his dick right at the entrance to your pussy, not entering, just letting it rest there, the head of it slotted nicely between your lips, enjoying the warmth and slick gathering there, and azriels panting a little bit, and then he’s cumming right at the entrance of your pussy 🤭 after the high wears off a bit, he panics and realizes there’s literally evidence all over and in you. he goes to try and scoop some of it up, but ends up getting distracted by his work of art, and his instincts take control and he just starts shoving his cum farther into you, fingering it in until you’re cumming in your sleep, and you wake up a little, confused and horny, and yeah, i’ll leave it there

i was rereading cbmthy and the angst started taking over my brain so i converted my sadness into horniness

-🌁

I’m very happy to tell you this has been completed in the form of an 8k fic, titled Salt On My Tongue[***], and will be being uploaded tomorrow, at 21:00, English time 🧡💛

Below is a short section from the fic—I hope you enjoy it once it’s up!

Warnings: somnophilia; cum play; noncon is included though not evident below; dark Azriel, please take care 🧡💛

You’re thrown off by the encounter. He’s so contradicting.

Why be so cruel about your brother only to turn around and offer you a warm meal? Why the cold attitude only to allow you to sleep peacefully at his side? Why so threatening when he lets you so close?

And now this, too.

You don’t know how to feel, and it scares you.

Laying atop your bed are three folded shirts, a cut of square paper laying atop the stack.

‘Use these for now. More will arrive next week.’

You remain at the edge of the bed, fingers turning slack as you stare at the small script, blanket sliding down one shoulder. Blue, dark blue, and black. It’s easy to tell they’re far too large. It’s easy to tell they’re probably…

The blanket pools on the floor, shaky fingers raising the dark blue fabric from your bed, the shirt unfolding. You bring the collar to your face, pressing your nose into the material, inhaling softly.

They’re his.

Azriel presses deeper, fingers sliding in further, curling lightly, pushing and rubbing at different parts until…

You flinch in your sleep, a softly startled moan slipping from your lips.

He curls the pads of his fingers into that spot, bending them at the knuckle so the digits slant into the part that’s dragging these reactions out of you. He pushes against it, hungry for more, thumb habitually settling on your clit, oscillation made easier by the slippery cum splattered across your cunt…that he’s feeding back into you.

Azriel bites down on a groan as he scoops more of it up before pressing his fingers back to your entrance and shoving it in, pushing what was already released inside further, tucking it away as he searches for that spot again. He needs it to be kept inside of you. It’s not enough to have it coating you, he needs you to unknowingly have it within your body, perfectly storing it away. A secret shared between him and your cunt that you’re oblivious to.

The rise and fall of your chest is much more pronounced, and he wants to push the shirt out of the way so he can lay his mouth over your breasts, flick his tongue over your doubtlessly sensitive nipples. How would you react to that? With his fingers hitting that spot, his thumb over your clit, his tongue and shadows pinching and licking at your breasts?

You’d come on the spot.

[danikamariewrites]

Heya! I’ve had this cassian x reader idea in my head for ages but I’m not a writer at all so turning to you because you’re 100% my all time favourite and because you’re so good at angst and wondered if you’d be able to write it?

So basically cassian/reader are mates but get into this big fight then reader ends up getting stuck with Rhys UTM. So like angst with their fight, angst with reader getting stuck/cassian realising what’s happened, then a beautiful happy ending with a dash of angst because trauma of 50 years going by 🥺

Love you!!! And thank you so much for all you work

Things Left Unsaid

Cassian x reader

A/n: you’re too sweet anon love you too😘

Warnings: angst and eventual fluff

Every night of Amarantha’s reign your mind had been consumed of thoughts of your and Cassian’s last words to each other. They we’re not kind or full of love. You had fought about you accompanying Rhys to the party. Cassian didn’t want you anywhere near that vile woman.

You had yelled at him. Told him you were a grown female and you could take care of yourself. What could possibly happen when you’d be surrounded by High Lords? Especially Rhys. But the worst did happen.

Amarantha trapped all of you. You were turned into her personal assistant, but really it was so she could keep you close to kill your hope of ever getting out. She belittled and abused you. She took great joy in watching the light leave your eyes every day.

Like Rhys, you turned paler and became exhausted with each day being a new kind of hell. Rhys had the worst of it. Being used by Amarantha in ways that would make you break down to the brink of no return. It was unfair and cruel.

Not a day went by where you didn’t think about Cassian. You wanted to tell him that you forgave him. That you regretted yelling at him and you wish you and Rhys never went to this stupid party. You just hoped he’d forgive you if you ever saw him again.

When Cassian got Rhysand’s message he fell to his knees. His worst fear had come true. Amaranth took his mate and his brother. Azriel tried to console his brother but his anguish quickly turned to rage. It took all of his self restraint for fifty years to not go Under the Mountain and rescue you himself.

After Feyre freed you all Rhys finally winnowed you two back to the Town House. You were so lost in the daze of being free and home that you didn’t even hear your family. You just sunk to your knees, your eyes distant as you just felt everything.

As Cassian came into the foyer he was beyond shocked. He couldn’t believe it. His brother was home. And there you were. Alive. Home. Cassian felt like he was going to be sick from the overwhelming force of the bond pounding in his chest, dragging him closer to you.

He knelt in front of you, reaching out to hold your face but pulling his hand back at the last second. His mind was racing. Did you know that he forgave you? That he didn’t blame you for any of this? Finally your gaze found his, your eyes locking with his glimmering hazel ones.

Your first words to him broke his heart in two. “I’m sorry.” You whispered, your voice raw like you had been screaming. Tears fell down your face as you began to sob. Cassian began to cry, pulling you to his chest. He eventually brought you up to bed and you stayed up all night crying in each others arms.

It’s been a month since that day. Cassian tried to apologize for the fight and so did you, but you both forgave one another the moment you left.

You told him everything you could about under the mountain. He was patient and listened to you. Recovering from this trauma wasn’t going to be easy. But Cassian was there for you every step of the way. Your hope for a better future returned.

Once again you could see life with Cassian. Your home that he built you. You children running around, playing with their father. Nights spent reading, cuddled up on the couch together. And if enduring pain meant getting that peaceful future you would do it all over again.

tags: @rigelus @nyotamalfoy @auggiesolovey @bubybubsters @baybay123455 @msiecrane @aroseinvelaris @twsssmlmaa

[moonlightazriel]

Before you /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: “hiiii! I have a Az x mate reader request where the whole IC finds out that reader and Rhys used to like hookup casually but stopped before UTM, Az is like wtf bc of Mor and Cass ya know? sad and angsty with happy ending! sorry if it’s so specific lol”

Warnings: Some mentions of smut and some angst.

Word Count: 1,4K

Notes: Thank you so much for this request ❤️❤️ And a big shout out to @azrielhours for suggesting Grammarly, this made writing a lot easier now.

Main Masterlist

“We need to talk.” Y/N entered Rhysand’s office, she looked extremely distressed, her mental shields were high, a giant black wall blocking Rhys out, she would always let him have a look on her mind, he rose an eyebrow, confused.

“What’s wrong darling?” His voice was slow and sensual as he walked towards her, his big finger brushing her arm, making her shiver, he circulated her, his lips glued to the soft spot on her neck, the one he discovered a few years ago when they started their casual hook up.

“Azriel is my mate.” The words came out in a rush from her mouth, Rhysand stopped, his hands falling from her while he gave a few steps back, she was his brother’s mate, they couldn’t keep doing it anymore, and as much as he liked sleeping with her, the idea of Azriel finally founding the mate he always searched for made his heart fill with happiness. “And I want to get closer to him.”

Rhysand smiled, the biggest smile that has ever adorned the high lord’s face, he hugged Y/N, lifting her from the floor and spinning around while he laughed. She felt confused, she hoped that Rhys would understand, but never expected him to be this happy, his happiness almost matching hers since yesterday, when the bond snapped while she trained with Azriel.

It had been nothing special, just the usual training session in the House of Wind, and as they fought, their swords hitting each other at every blow she defended from him, everything changed, he looked at her, his features filled with challenge, challenging her to stop defending and to attack him, and as she looked at his intense gaze, she felt the thread that tethered them together for the rest of their lives, glowing and singing so beautifully that she lost her focus, giving him the chance to disarm her and point the sharp end of his sword directly at her throat.

“Does he know?” Rhys asked, the two sitting in front of his desk, he grabbed her hand, like they were two little girls talking about boys.

“Not yet, but he has the right to know, I’ll tell him. I hope that he’ll not be disappointed having me as his mate.” He squeezed her hands, reassuringly.

“He’s lucky to have you as a mate darling, I’m sure everything will work out just fine, I’m so happy for the both of you.” He pulled her in for a hug, and she smiled, feeling happy to have him with her at that moment.

“Are we still going to be friends?” She asked hesitantly.

“Always. No matter what.”

70 years later

The cold glass reached Azriel’s lips as he hid his laughter, Nesta scolding Cassian would always be funny to watch, he took a look around, everyone sitting one a circle while they drunkenly shared stories, Y/N head was resting on his shoulder, her soft giggle reached his ears every once in a while, Morrigan was finishing one of her stories when Cassian jumped from his sit, eyes wide open, the wine in his glass spilling everywhere as he opened his mouth.

“Do you guys remember when Y/N and Rhys used to hook up?” The entire room fell silent as his loud laughter was the only sound in the room, of course, Azriel didn’t remember, he didn’t know this even happened in the first place. He felt Y/N holding her breath while she locked eyes with Rhysand.

“That’s not true, right?” His voice sounded weird even for him, both his brother and mate looked at him, Y/N flinched as she saw how cold his eyes were, filled with pain and betrayal, they knew how much he had suffered because of Cassian and Mor sleeping together and they choose to do the same behind his back.

“Brother, it’s not what you’re thinking.” He scoffed, already getting up, ready to leave, his eyes landed on Feyre, who was also surprised but didn’t seem as hurt as he was, his mind filling with images of the two together, and the thought that Rhysand knew his mate’s body very well, everything that made her whimper and moans, he must even know about the spot on her neck that can easily get her on her knees.

He turned around, rushing to walk away, ignoring Y/N's pleads for him to stay, he shut her down completely, closing his end of the bond as he marched outside, aiming for the sky, his wings flapping behind his back as he flew away, the tears filling his eyes as he tried to clear his mind.

Cassian had sobered up as soon as he saw what he had done, Y/N was now sitting on the couch, being held by Nesta as she sobbed, Rhys and Feyre had disappeared for a while, probably so he could explain the situation.

“I can talk to Azriel if you want.” Cass scratched his head, unsure of what to do.

“I guess you already did enough for today Cassian.” Nesta snapped at her mate.

“It’s not his fault Nes, we should’ve told him a long time ago.” Y/N spoke, her voice creaking as she cried again, what if Azriel never forgave her, what if he decided to reject the bond, what if he left? She needed to talk to him, she needed to explain to him, she got up suddenly, rushing towards the door, she needed to go home and wait for him.

She waited, for hours, unable to sleep, she would wait the whole week if she had to. She was a mess, her cheeks had makeup stains and her face was swollen from all the crying, that’s why she decided to shower, she took her time cleaning up, and as she was leaving the bathroom she heard the front door being open, rushing to the living room, Azriel was removing his boots, his face red from crying too, her heart breaking at the sight.

“Oh great, you’re here.” He said, his voice laced with sarcasm, she flinched, but she wasn’t going to give up.

“Of course, I’m here, we need to talk.”

“Can’t wait for you to tell me in detail how you betrayed me with my brother.” He sat on the couch, his hands running along his hair as he sighed, annoyed, but at least she would have the chance to talk.

“I wasn’t cheating on you or anything.” Her voice shaking as she knelled in front of him, resting her palms on his legs. “It was years ago, it started as a drunk kiss and then evolved into something more, there were never feelings involved, we would do it mostly when both of us were stressed or bored, but I had to stop it.”

“If it was so good fucking him, why did you stop?” The sarcasm was gone, his voice sounded sad, and defeated, she squeezed his tights.

“Because of you!” He looked her in the eyes, she was being honest, he could feel it deep In his chest, he opened the bond, feeling all of her emotions as she talked. “The bond had snapped for me, in the very next day I went to talk to him, I wanted to be with you, I was already falling in love with you, I was planning on telling you about the bond, so I ended everything, nothing has ever happened between us ever since, were friends and nothing more. I love you Azriel, and only you.”

“Why’d you never tell me?”

“I don’t know, I guess I was trying to prevent this from happening.” She smiled sadly at him. “I know it wasn’t the smartest idea, but I couldn’t hurt you Az, I’m so sorry.” He leaned forward, grabbing one of her hands and forcing her to get up only to pull her to his lap, he hugged her and she felt the tears streaming down her face again.

“Please, don’t do this anymore, whatever you need to tell me, do it. It’s better than finding out from Cassian’s drunk mouth.” His thumb caressed her cheek, wiping away the tears as he kissed her forehead.

“I promise I’ll never do something like this again.” His chest filled with her love while he kissed her, he could taste the salty tears on her lips. “I guess it’s a good time to tell you something.” Azriel rose an eyebrow, scared of what she might say. “ All those years ago, you only disarmed me and won the sparring because the bond snapped and I was distracted.” Azriel laughed, his chest vibrating as he shook his head.

“I don’t need a mating bond distracting you to beat your ass.” he teased and she giggled.

“That’s what we’ll see spymaster.”

[readychilledwine]

wip wednesday?...

Untitled Rhys x Eris's Daughter fic

"So you want me to distract grandpa?" Rhys watched your arms cross over your chest. The corset highlighted your waist, how little Beron ensured you were kept. Mate, his soul whispered again. Mate.

Eris nodded, fixing his daughter's long red hair. "You had a nightmare. You want your papa. He should be having a bourbon for the night. Ask if you can sleep with him. He never denies you anything."

"I'm getting very tired of being a pawn for you on this fucking chessboard."

"Y/n."

"You owe me cake."

Angsty Rhys x reader x Azriel UTM request

"So that's it? 400 years just thrown away?"

Azriel looked away from you, trying to hide his heart ripping apart under the mask he worn. "Rhys is your mate. I am... insignificant in comparison."

You nodded, tears now falling freely. "So you aren't even allowing me choice like you two promised? You've decided for me."

[tsunami-of-tears]

Iris

Azriel x Rhys’s Sister Reader

Summary: Reader has been struggling with her inner demons ever since her brother went Under The Mountain.

A/N: This is really dark. Please, please read the warnings before clicking read more.

To preface: I’m okay, just tired and was pre-menstrual when I started this. I haven’t been in this dark of a place in a very long time, but I wanted to write this for 15-year-old Shelby who thought no one saw her. I haven’t talked about my history of self-harm much and it’s hard to reopen those wounds, but it’s therapeutic. 

If anyone is struggling, my inbox is always open. I’ve also included a few resources at the end of this fic.

Wordcount: 1.2K

Warnings: ANGST!!; major depression; disordered eating (binging); graphic self-harm; Rhys UTM

Reader

Things were bad. 

Really bad.

You had completely withdrawn from your family in the months since Rhys had gone Under The Mountain. 

Rhys - your idiot older brother - had sacrificed himself to protect you and your people; leaving you in charge of his court. 

Ruling had always come easy to him, he was born to do it whereas you struggled to switch between the required masks.

These days, the only mask you wore was one of cold indifference. 

As the shield fell into place around Velaris, trapping you inside, a wall of adamant rose around you, keeping everyone around from seeing the war raging inside your mind. 

Most of your time was spent in your bedroom with the curtains drawn, unable to look at the sleeping city below your window. 

Velaris, the city of Starlight, had lost its sparkle. 

The first week after Rhys left, not a single light could be seen. The once lustrous city had gone into mourning. The Sidra, usually glimmering like liquid night, now reflected only the deepest black. 

You only dared to leave your room during the night when you were less likely to be spotted, not wanting anyone to see the ghost you’d become.

You float down the stone hallway, robes billowing as you walk to the kitchen. 

You’d taken to eating late at night. Food, usually sweets, was the only comfort you could find.

You’re rummaging in the larder when you feel a familiar sensation around your bare ankles, the cold shadow wisping over your skin.

“Y/N,” you hear a deep voice say behind you. 

You turn, blocks of chocolate in hand, to face the one person you love more than your brother. 

“Azriel,” you reply, taking in his appearance. 

He looked terrible.

His hair was dishevelled, his jet-black curls in dire need of a comb, and his once warm hazel eyes were dull and bloodshot. Beneath them were deep violet bruises, clearly he wasn’t sleeping much. 

You can feel his gaze on you, and wonder what he thought of the shadow of life you’d become. 

You watch his nostrils flare. “Y/N, are you hurt? I can smell blood.”

You feign a laugh, “I’m on my cycle.” You hold up the chocolate as evidence. “Cravings.” 

Azriel narrows his eyes but doesn’t push you. “I… We miss you,” he says.

You turn away from him, unable to voice how broken you feel. 

“Please, I can’t lose you too,” he pleads. 

“Goodnight Azriel,” you whisper, slipping out the door into the dark hallway. 

Neither Azriel nor his shadows follow you. 

————

You step out of the shower and stand in front of the bathroom mirror, scrutinising your reflection. 

You pinch at the skin on your hips and stomach, scowling at the growing curves, before turning to the side to inspect your full breasts and butt. 

Facing forward again, your eyes fall upon the ladders of scars across your thighs and forearms. 

Angry red and purple lines jutting between faint silver. 

You started again after losing Rhys. You hadn’t done it since losing your mother. It was the only way you knew to reflect your inner turmoil. 

The day your mother was killed, you were meant to be with her. You should’ve been taken too. 

Rhys had helped you out of the pit of despair that time, but he was no longer here. Once again, you were saved while your loved ones were not. 

You towel off your skin before sitting down at your vanity. You pull out an ornate jewellery box and retrieve the ash dagger stashed inside. 

You weren’t sure why you harmed yourself. There was a part of you that felt you deserved it, that thought you were a wretch for allowing your brother to endure all that torment for you. Then there was a part that just wanted to feel something other than the numbness that ached to your core. 

You press the dagger against your skin. Not even the sting of the blade made you cry anymore. Your tears had long since dried up. 

With each slice, your self-hatred rings in your ears. 

Stupid – cut. 

Useless – cut. 

Waste of space – cut. 

You set the bloodied dagger down on the counter, feeling nothing but apathy. 

Morning starts to creep in when you finally make it to bed. As you lay there, staring at the ceiling, the little voice inside your head sneers at you. 

This was the life your brother sacrificed his for? Pathetic. 

————

Azriel

If Velaris has become a ghost town, the House of Wind was its crypt – haunted by devastation and grief.

Azriel leaned against the balcony railing, looking out on the once-shining city. 

How did it all go so wrong?

Not a day had gone by where he didn’t blame himself for everything. For Rhys. For Y/N.

Y/N. He could see the pain in her eyes. She tried to hide it, but Azriel knew better. He’d always been the one who could see through her masks. 

Azriel is pulled from his thoughts by his shadows, swarming around him in distress. 

“Y/N. Kitchen. Now.”

“She doesn’t want to see me,” Azriel tells them. 

“She’s hurt.”

Azriel winnows into the hallway, allowing his footsteps to be heard outside the door. He turns into the room and spots Y/N searching through the freezer. 

She slams it shut, jumping as she turns towards Azriel. 

“Oh, I didn’t realise you were here,” she says. “We’re out of ice cream.” Y/N tries to step around Azriel but he blocks her path with his wing. He looks her over, not able to see anything visibly wrong. 

“I’ll get you some more, just please come to dinner,” Azriel pleads. “Or we can go flying together, anything you want. I can’t bear to see you like this.”

Y/N shakes her head, looking at the floor.  

“He wouldn’t want you hiding away like this,” Azriel says.

“I don’t care what he would want. He obviously can’t think clearly or else he wouldn’t have left,” she seethes, pushing past Azriel. 

Azriel grabs her by the wrist, stopping her in her tracks. “Please Y/N, you’ve…” he trails off, feeling something lumpy under her sleeve. “What is that?” 

Y/N tries to yank her arm back but Azriel’s grip is firm. 

“Let me see,” Azriel says quietly. Tears start to fall from her eyes as he gently lifts her sleeve, revealing the bloodied bandages. “Oh darling, what happened?” 

Y/N just shakes her head.

“Can I have a look?” he asks.

She bites down on her trembling lip, tears flowing freely

Azriel carefully unwinds the bandages revealing the stark, straight lines. His chest aches for her; as if the scars were etched into his heart.

Azriel always cared deeply for Y/N, offering her a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on whenever she needed it. A small part of him felt hurt that she hadn’t confided in him. 

He swallowed his pain, it didn’t matter. He was here now.

“Come here,” Azriel wraps his arms around her, stroking Y/N’s hair softly as she sobs in his arms. 

Azriel knew she was struggling, everyone could see it. But no one realised just how much losing Rhys broke her.

Azriel curses himself. 

He should’ve known. After her parents, Rhys was all she had. 

No that’s not true - she had Cassian. And Mor. And Amren… 

And him. 

And he wasn’t letting her go.

Mental Health Resources*:  If you’re in immediate danger please call your country’s emergency number. Australia: Beyond Blue: https://www.beyondblue.org.au/ Mental Health Hotline: 1800 011 511 Lifeline: 13 11 14 USA:  Crisis Line (call or text): 988 UK:  Lifeline: 0808 808 8000 *If I have gotten anything wrong or if you have other resources to add, please let me know