#acotar au fic

[pinkrasberryfish]

A new chapter of A Court of Blood & Mercy has been posted! Chapter 37, "Just Like Her Mama" now available on ao3! Enjoy! 💫🖤 🌙

[illyrianbitch]

One Summer

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: One beach house. One festival. One summer to fall in love.

Warnings: brief mentions of alcohol and recreational drugs (weed!), two friends with a past, a budding crush

Word Count: 4k

authors note: i’m excited to get this out hehe so pls ignore any mistakes/typos that i missed! 🫶🏻 happy end of summer!

Series Masterlist

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

It took you a second to register your surroundings.

You knew the house was bound to be nice. After all, Rhysand’s family was loaded. You’d seen it in pictures from previous vacations, in the ones Mor had sent you over past summers when you’d gone back home. But even then, you still hadn't prepared yourself enough. The house wasn't only large and fancy. It was cozy– lived in. And it was absolutely beautiful.

There were little touches everywhere—- knick-knacks and seashells, photo frames, and soft rugs that felt like clouds under your feet. From somewhere deeper in the house, you heard Feyre and Rhys laughing. They had arrived a few hours earlier, settling in and preparing the house for the rest of you. At least, that’s what they told you all.

You and Mor had your suspicions that their reason for such an early arrival was more about having an empty house to mess around in before the rest of you came. You could still hear Mor’s conspiratorial whisper in your ear, teasing about how Feyre and Rhys probably took advantage of the quiet to enjoy some uninterrupted time together.

"They probably wanted to get all the best spots first," Mor had joked on the drive over, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. You laughed, agreeing silently that Rhysand and Feyre's early arrival was likely more for their own pleasure than out of any noble desire to prepare the house.

From outside, the crunch of gravel under tires announced the arrival of Azriel and Cassian. You heard the low rumble of their car engine idling before it was cut off, followed by the slam of car doors and the muffled sound of laughter.

“C’mon, let me show you your room,” Mor said, placing down a few of her bags and gesturing with her perfectly manicured hand.

You followed her up a set of stairs, taking in the walls lined with art and framed photos. Each frame was unique, from sleek, modern designs to ornate, vintage styles. The artwork ranged from abstract paintings to intricate sketches— and interspersed among the art were photographs capturing various moments. It was easy to spot the ones Mor was in, her blonde hair standing in stark contrast against the raven black of Rhysand and his sister and the dark brown of Azriel and Cassian.

You stopped at one in particular, a photo of Rhys, Cassian, Azriel and Mor standing around a small, circular wooden table. You laughed.

Mor turned around at the sound, a frown on her face as her gaze flickered between you and the gallery before you.

“Oh my god,” she said, quickly backtracking a few stairs down. “Do not look at that.”

But it was too late. You leaned forward to inspect the photo more. Rhysand had braces, Cassian was sporting a terrible haircut, Azriel looked too tall for his frame, and Mor was mid-laugh, a piece of pizza hanging onto the metal outline of her own braces. You let out another laugh, cooing out a sweet Aww at your best friend.

She huffed beside you. ”I’m going to kick you out of this house if you keep staring at it.”

You flashed her a grin. “Aw, c’mon. I love it.”

Mor only gave you a blank look in response. She stayed still, raising an eyebrow impatiently as you grinned, eyes flickering between her and your newfound favorite photo. You reached into your back pocket, fingers grasping the edge of your phone. You itched to have the photo in your camera roll, to be able to send it to Mor as a joke whenever she failed to return your texts.

She registered the movement quickly, letting out a small sound of surprise.

"Absolutely not!”

Mor grabbed your arm before you managed to take a proper picture, pulling you up the stairs behind her as you laughed.

“You realize I can just take a picture later?”

”I’m taking that damn thing down,” she grumbled, “You’re enjoying it too much.”

You let her drag you along, still chuckling as you absorbed the surroundings. The house truly was a perfect blend of comfort and luxury, with wide hallways adorned with art and mementos, and an abundance of windows that flooded the space with natural light. It felt clean– dreamlike, even.

Turning a corner, Mor stopped, opening the door with a large gesture. You stepped inside, eyes widening at the open space. Sunlight poured in from the large windows and a small sliding door framed the ocean view perfectly.

”Oh my god,” you breathed. A sense of peace washed through you.

“I knew you’d love it,” she said with a satisfied grin. “Wait for the best part.”

She walked over and gently slid open the small door, your vision quickly registering the balcony connected to your room. You stepped out, the fresh ocean air hitting you immediately—bringing with it the soothing sound of waves and the tangy scent of salt. The view was breathtaking: an endlessly stretching out horizon with water sparkling under the midday sun.

You closed your eyes, reveling in all of the senses. You could almost feel the stress of the past few weeks melt away, a tangible sense of release rolling through your limbs. You didn’t need to think about grad school applications now, didn’t have to worry about buffing up your resume.

When you opened your eyes, you turned to find Mor watching you with a satisfied, giddy expression. “It’s like a little slice of paradise.”

“More than a little,” you mused as you took in the view before you. “Does everyone have a balcony?”

”Nope,” she replied, “I preferred the nicest shower. But Rhys and I figured you’d want easy access to outside for the same reasons Azriel picked his room.”

She mimicked bringing something to her lips and taking a drag.

You rolled your eyes but a laugh left your lips in spite of yourself. It took you a few seconds before her final words registered and your eyes trailed to the balcony beyond her shoulder, where another little door connected to the space.

Mor followed your movement.

”That’s Az’s room,” she clarified. “You share the balcony.”

”Oh,” you said. Mor gave you another smile. “Cool.”

She let out a small shriek of excitement, grabbing you in a quick hug. “God, I’m so excited for this summer. I get to tan, listen to some music, hang out with my favorite people and get pissed faced drunk.”

”All of your favorite things.”

Her grin grew on her red-painted lips. “Exactly.”

She paused, eyes widening as she dropped her hands from around you, taking a step back as she said, “We need to get drinks!”

Without another word she darted off, calling out for Feyre as she turned the corner and disappeared from your viewpoint.

Your gaze lingered on your open door for a moment before you turned around, walking closer to the edge of the patio. You leaned over the balcony, taking a deep, calm breath. The horizon stretched out before you, waves rolling in a rhythm that seemed to sync with your heartbeat.

You’d always loved the beach, loved the sense of peace that came with being near the ocean. Something about it felt so new— felt so refreshing and lively.

The sound of distant laughter filtered into your ear, and you easily recognized the boisterous cadence of Cassian’s voice. You followed the sound, glancing over towards the glass door of the adjacent room. Through the sliver of his room’s open curtains, you watched as Azriel dropped a bag on his bed, a small smile on his face at something said to him.

You angled your head further.

A nagging voice in the back of your mind reminded you that it might seem odd to be peering into someone else’s space, even if they were your friends. But, they were your friends, weren’t they? It wasn’t weird to be interested in what they were up to, especially when you were all sharing this space for the summer. So you pushed aside the fleeting feeling of unease, convincing yourself that you were simply being sociable and observant.

Azriel lifted his head. You blinked, quickly looking back to the view in front of you in an effort to avoid catching his gaze. You grimaced to yourself, a rush of heat flowing to your cheeks.

Smooth.

You shook your head, gently tapping the balcony railing as you turned around to head back into your room. You made sure to keep your gaze down, to fight the urge for your eyes to flicker towards Azriel’s door.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

All of the windows in the kitchen were open, filling the space with the fresh scent of ocean breeze. You gave Rhys and Feyre a quick greeting, walking towards one of the opened back doors. The urge to explore the beach and feel the sand beneath your feet pulled at you, calling to you like a siren to a sailor, but you stayed still. The drive here had been lengthy and, as a result, your deep-seated exhaustion weighed heavy on your limbs.

“Thinking of going and looking around?” Feyre asked, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Later, definitely. I’m feeling a bit too tired right now to be in the blazing sun.”

Feyre offered you a knowing nod. “Makes sense.”

The sound of footsteps drew your attention and you turned to see Azriel and Cassian entering the kitchen. The latter's eyes immediately found yours, a grin breaking out on his lips as he walked towards you in three long strides. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side.

”God, I missed you,” Cassian said. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the comment, knowing full well that you all had met up before making the drive to ensure that you had everything needed. But Cassian always had a flare for the dramatic. So, instead, you just gave him a small laugh and wrapped your arms around him in return. 

He pointed to Azriel. “He’s such a bore, dude. He wouldn’t play any games on the road.”

Your gaze flickered over to Azriel. He rolled his eyes.

“Because your games involved me removing both hands from the wheel.”

Cassian shrugged, the movement redistributing the weight of his arm around your shoulders. “So?”

”So?” Azriel retorted. He opened his mouth to say more, but with a quick scan of Cassian’s face led him to closing his mouth and offering another eye roll. Azriel then turned his attention to you, holding your gaze as he offered you a smile.

”Hey, Y/n.”

His voice was much softer than a few seconds ago, a different tone than that he had used with Cassian.

You smiled back. “Hi, Az.”

You weren’t sure what to do next, torn between wanting to give him a small hug and the presence of Cassian’s arm around you. Az held your gaze for another moment before he walked past. You took in his figure, briefly noticing the change in his attire from this morning when you’d seen both him and Cassian. His long, black pants were now replaced by black shorts, instead. Before your stare could linger, Mor entered from the opened porch door, kicking off the sand-covered shoes she wore as she stepped into the house’s threshold.

”Oh great, you’re all here,” she said, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head. “Cass, are you ready to go?”

”Yup,” Cassian responded excitedly. He separated himself from you, casting a quick glance down at your form. “Wanna come?”

”Where are you guys going?”

Mor and Cassian answered simultaneously, “Liquor store.”

You raised an amused brow. “Have we become too fancy to just go to a grocery store?”

Mor shrugged. “I like my options.”

From across the kitchen, Rhys wrapped an arm around Feyre's torso, a cheeky grin on his face as he leaned forward to place his chin on her shoulder. “And yet, Mor, you always manage to return with a bottle of wine and a pack of white claws.”

Mor offered him a scowl. ”Shut it.”

”Actually,” Feyre hummed, “While you guys are out can you grab some groceries? I have a list. I can text it to you.”

Mor and Cassian exchanged a glance. “Sure, but it might take a while.”

Feyre arched an eyebrow. From beside her, Rhys rolled his eyes. “Why?”

It was Azriel who responded to her question, “Because they’re probably planning to 'taste test' everything they buy. So then they'll be sitting there and waiting it out until they can drive again."

You glanced over at him, watching as a sly smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. The hazel of his eyes were bright now, more visible with the sunlight pouring through the windows. There was a glint of amusement in them as he met your gaze.

Morrigan let out a sound of mock offense. Cassian grinned. You laughed, giving him a playful swat with your hands. It only made his grin grow further.

”I can grab it, Feyre,” you said, “Cass and Mor can go on the alcohol run alone.”

She gave you a grateful smile, but a flicker of concern furrowed her brow. “Are you sure? It’s kinda a lot for one person.”

You frowned. “How many things are we buying?”

“I figured we should make as many meals to counterbalance the amount we’re spending on drinks.”

You clicked your tongue. “Smart.”

She tossed a glance over her shoulder, meeting the studying gaze of her boyfriend. “I can go with you.”

Rhysand instantly frowned and mumbled under his breath, but you failed to catch his words as Azriel’s voice chimed in behind you.

”I can go.”

He stood next to you and you looked up at him, meeting his eyes for a fleeting second. He smiled. 

“And I can drive.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The list Feyre had given you was indeed a lot— and all over the place.

Az trailed after you, pushing the large shopping cart as you slowly scanned the shelves in front of you. The car ride with him had been quiet, but it was the type of quiet you often yearned for— the comfortable kind that made you feel at home. He'd opened your car door for you, a gesture so casual and natural that you hadn't fully registered it until you were sitting in his front seat, pulling your seatbelt on. For some reason, the act had yet to leave your mind. 

"What do you need?"

Azriel' braced his forearms on the cart's handle, leaning forward as he waited for your answer. Your gaze fell to the silver chain that dangled from his neck, now freed from its usual place hidden underneath his shirt.

"Y/n?"

You blinked. "Yeah?"

Azriel's brows furrowed slightly and he straightened his posture, pushing the cart closer to you. "Feyre's list," he clarified, "What's on it?"

You let out a small oh of realization, offering Azriel your phone in order for him to read off Feyre's comprehensive list of groceries. You switched places, Azriel maneuvering around the cart to look around the store. Your phone looked so strange in his hand and you suddenly regretted offering it to him instead of forwarding the text. You grimaced to yourself, mentally praying that your parents didn't message you— that no strange, unpromising alert flashed across your screen as he held it. The feeling that now flushed your body was the same cold, unrealistic panic that you felt when you traveled— when you'd go through airports and suddenly stress yourself into thinking you'd accidentally packed a live firework or a bomb.

Azriel had made it across an aisle by the time you reeled your thoughts back in. You let yourself fall behind his steps, observing him as he walked along the various cereal boxes.

There was a time where you'd believed that you and Azriel could be more than friends— back in freshman year when you'd first met. It was an instant spark, something so electric even Mor had felt it, had spent weeks making jokes about your crush. And months later you'd found yourself in that room with Azriel, inches away from his face on halloween night, lips still tasting of the fruity drink Cassian had made for you.

But nothing happened— not then, not after.

Two years had passed since and so much had changed. Not only within your life, but with Azriel himself.

He looked different now. His hair was longer— still cropped enough at the sides to show that dangling dagger earring you'd always loved— but long enough on top where his curls were on full display. He'd grown those out in the past two years, had stopped cutting his hair too short for them to show. He was tanner now, too, his golden brown skin holding an even darker sun-kissed glow— but you attributed that to the summer sun rather than the years.

It all fit him so well.

Azriel turned to face you, two large boxes of cereal in either hand. You straightened yourself, fixing your posture as hastily as a child caught watching something they shouldn't have been. If Azriel noticed anything, he didn't make any indication, opting to ask you about which cereal the others would prefer.

You both managed to switch again, Az taking his place pushing the cart as you examined the various boxes on the shelves in front of you. There were only a few more things left on Feyre's list and it felt like an internal fight to find all the items before the grocery store's white light lured you to an eternal sleep— or a well needed nap.

"You excited?"

You looked over at Azriel, meeting his hazel eyes instantly. While his face seemed neutral, you could see the hint of enjoyment that danced in his eyes, a golden-hued green that made you smile instinctively. "Yeah," you said, "It'll be a fun summer.”

Azriel made a sound akin to an appreciative, agreeable hum. The aisles felt narrower the more you walked alongside him, feeling the ghost of his touch as you brushed against him with every step.

"And for the festival?" He asked.

Your smile grew larger at this.

The festival was actually one of the things you were most excited for this summer—aside from the general premise of being with everyone, of course. Summit Pulse was three days of live music, featuring over 80 artists across multiple stages. From indie bands to electronic DJs, Summit had been a dream of yours to attend since freshman year—the same time you'd first learned that Mor and Rhys had a beach house in the same city it was hosted.

"Very," you tossed him a glance before you pulled out three boxes of instant Mac n Cheese. "And I can imagine you are too."

You were sure of it. Your shared love of music was one of the things you and Azriel had bonded about originally. You still remembered the first time you'd hung out with him outside of your Intro the Philosophy class, sitting on the couch in the apartment he shared with Cassian and Rhysand. You'd spent most of the night looking at each other's music— analyzing your saved playlists and talking about the various concerts you'd been to.

Az's smile grew, a single dimple appearing on his cheeks as the corners of his eyes crinkled. "You'd be correct," he replied. A small pause followed before he said, "I think I just need to get the energy for it."

You laughed, stopping in place to turn around and look at him. "Me too," you admitted. The exhaustion from early had started to rear its ugly head again and your legs still ached with the long car ride. You let out a small tired sigh, running a hand along your face. Azriel's eyes traced the movement.

"I am really excited,” you said, “But god, I'm so exhausted. I'm glad we have a few days for me to mentally prep."

Az raised a brow. "I can imagine. You've had quite the semester."

You titled your head in response, brows falling into a subtle, confused furrow. 

"Mor told me how hard you guys were working, that your professors weren’t very accommodating.”

You raised a single brow at his wording and the corners of Azriel’s lips twitched upwards. “Alright,” he added with an amused shake of his head. “She said your professors were assholes who needed to get laid.”

You let out a small snort at this, an unintended response that you would’ve felt embarrassed about had it been anyone but Azriel in front of you. His smile seemed to quirk up further. 

"Mor was right. It was a rough semester to say the least.” 

For more reasons than you'd been willing to let on. Yes, your coursework had gotten a lot more demanding, but it wasn't just schoolwork that tired you out. Mor and Feyre had already started their grad school applications, spending nights in the libraries making pros and cons lists for every school each of you were interested in. Their plan was to find places close enough to one another, to settle in one city and get a large apartment together. Your grad school applications had remained untouched— you had no schools in mind. No programs. No connections.

"I can also imagine your breakup didn't help with it all," Az said. His voice was quieter now, as if he was unsure of the words he was speaking. You held his gaze as he looked at you. "I'm sorry about that, by the way."

You shrugged. "I'm not."

It was the truth. Eris had been a great boyfriend, sure, but you weren't overtly heartbroken over the breakup. You’d met Eris in a Political Science class and despite your initial impression of him, he’d grown on you fast. He was a sweetheart at his core but you simply didn’t mesh as well as you once thought. The breakup was inevitable in the same way that it was amicable, mutual, and very much needed. 

Something flickered across Azriel’s face and his gaze darkened. He straightened himself, his posture now emphasizing the height he held over you. "Why?" Azriel said, voice low. "Did he do something?"

His response made your mouth go dry for a fleeting second. Azriel and Eris always had a long-standing hatred for each other that you’d never truly understood. It traced back to some events that had transpired during their high school years, this you knew, but your knowledge stopped at that. Your relationship with Eris had definitely distanced you from your friends— Mor and Azriel to be specific, but now that things were finally beginning to feel normal again, you didn’t want to ruin it. 

"No, no," you quickly clarified, offering him a reassuring smile. His shoulders seemed to relax at your answer and you swallowed as you took in his face again, gaze still entirely focused on you.

You cleared your throat before turning yourself around to examine the shelves once more with new interest. "He was a good boyfriend to me. But it wasn't going anywhere and I felt like he was distracting me from more important things."

Reaching up, you attempted to grab a box on the top shelf, recognizing it as the last of those granola bars that Mor used to hoard in her cupboard. The box remained out of reach with every stretch of your hand.

"So no more distractions for you?"

Before you could respond to his question, Azriel was behind you, leaning over you to effortlessly grab the box from the shelf. He wasn't touching you, his chest still a respectable distance away from your back, but you felt the warm presence of him on your skin all the same. Your stomach did a small flip and you found yourself releasing a breath you hadn't realized you'd sucked in.

Azriel offered the box to you. You looked up at him, gently grabbing it with pinkened cheeks. You chose your next words carefully.

"Only meaningful ones."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

summer is slowly coming to an end so i present to you.... the fluffiest lil summer romance i shall ever write!!!! this series is entirely planned out and its just #vibes. everyone thank @milswrites for pushing me to actually start this.

as usual, thank you for reading <3 and lmk if you'd like to be added to the tag list <3

one summer tag list 🫶🏻:

@velarisnightsky444

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon 

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters 

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii

azriel tag list 🫶🏻:

@thisiskaylin @serrendiipty @acourtofsteelandthunder

[flickering-chandelier]

Full Throttle

✨ Sequel to Was Any Of It True? ✨

Pairing: Modern badboy!Azriel x goodgirl!Reader

Summary: honestly no plot, just smut and fluff. Little snapshots of life with these two cuties.

Based on this request! 🩷 And also this lol 🫶🏻

Warnings: smut, swearing, brief mention of family abuse (very vague about Az's past)

Word Count: 5.1k

Azriel smiled as he read your text.

The essay is complete! I'm all yours. 

He'd never get tired of that thought, that you were his, that he was yours. He texted back immediately:

That might be a new record, bookworm. I'll be there in 10.

“Aaaaand, he's ditching us for the girl. Again,” Cassian groaned before Azriel had even said anything.

Rhysand chuckled. “Why are you surprised?”

Azriel didn't bother to hide his grin. “What can I say, boys? She's much prettier than you.”

His friends laughed and made fun of him for a few more minutes, and by the time he was making his way to his motorcycle, you had texted back.

Maybe I just couldn't wait to see you. 

Azriel's heart swelled. He couldn't believe how lucky he was.

When he pulled up to the library, he slid off his bike and leaned against it, waiting for you to come outside.

Even from a distance, he could see that your eyes were bright as you made your way toward him, a bounce in your step that proved you were proud of the work you had accomplished today. Azriel felt pride rush through him.

He met you halfway, taking your heavy backpack from your outstretched hand, slinging it over his shoulder as you twined your fingers with his. “Hey, beautiful.” 

You grinned, tilting your chin up as you walked back to his motorcycle, silently asking for a kiss. Azriel smirked, leaning down to give you one.

Azriel handed you your helmet when you got to his bike, as you said, your smile bright, “I got so much done today, Az!”

“Proud of you, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling your body against his to kiss you again. “You are a beautiful, beautiful genius,” he said in between kisses, holding your face in his hands.

You were getting breathless, he could tell. You sighed happily, leaning into him even more. 

“Take me home,” you said into his mouth, your voice raspy.

He groaned, taking the helmet from your hands and sliding it over your head.

You laughed as he hopped onto the bike quickly, impatiently waiting for you to settle in behind him.

He was going to get you home as soon as humanly possible. 

On the short drive home, your hands may have wandered a bit.

Smiling to yourself, you laid your palms flat on his stomach, moving lower, lower…

Your hands settled on his growing bulge and he reached back, gripping your thigh hard. It was an effort not to squirm. There was no quicker way to get him going.

Azriel growled when you finally made your way into your apartment, pinning you against the door immediately, his hard body pressing into yours, kissing you with such ferocity that it made your head spin.

“You used to be such a good girl,” he teased, nipping at your neck. “Now you're getting me all riled up in public.”

A moan escaped you as he gripped your ass with one hand, while the other tangled in your hair, pulling on it to expose more of your neck to him. He continued his trail of little bites and kisses as you groaned, “It was hardly public. Nobody was around.” 

He laughed into your skin, and you went in for the kill, knowing it would set him off. “And I'm still your good girl,” you panted.

He halted his movements, his eyes darkening with need as he pulled back to look at you with a devious smile. “Prove it.”

You took a moment to give him your sweetest, most innocent smile before you dropped to your knees and unbuckled his belt, pulling his pants and his boxers down his thighs. Your mouth was around him in a matter of moments.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned, his hands moving to gently hold the back of your head.

You hummed somewhat smugly as you took as much of him as you could down your throat, stroking the rest of his length with your hand. 

“Fuck,” he leaned his forearms against the door, pushing himself deeper down your throat, starting to thrust in and out, the back of your head now resting on the door. 

“Look at me, baby,” he grunted, and when your eyes rose to meet his, he groaned loudly, thrusting in and out a few more times before pulling out of your mouth and helping you stand up, kissing you fiercely when you were upright. 

You pushed his pants down the rest of the way and pulled his shirt over his head, desperate to feel his skin.

He smirked as he grasped your ass with both hands, lifting you in his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you to your bedroom.

As soon as he set you on your feet, you were reaching for your own clothes, but he grabbed your wrists, halting you. You looked up at him curiously and were nearly knocked off your feet at the lust in his gaze. 

Azriel moved your hands to your sides, then slowly curled his fingers underneath the hem of your shirt, his eyes laser focused on your body as he revealed your skin inch by inch.

“Az,” you whined. This was taking too long, you needed him now--

“Shhh,” he said as he finally lifted your shirt over your head, leaning down to kiss down your neck, over your breasts, down your stomach, as he unhooked your bra with one hand and let it slide off your form. 

He trailed his lips back up, taking your nipple in his mouth and sucking hard as he slid your pants down your legs agonizingly slowly. 

When you were left in nothing but your underwear, you felt dizzy with need. “Az, please.”

Az laughed darkly before he picked you up and tossed you onto the bed. You landed on your back and before you could even react, he was over you, sliding your panties down your legs.

“Tell me what you want,” he said gruffly into your neck. 

“I want all of you,” you gasped, wrapping your arms around him, resting your hands on his back. “Now.”

He moaned, sliding fully into you in one swift movement. You gasped, clutching to him.

Azriel moved slowly at first, giving you time to adjust to him. He gazed into your eyes, twining his fingers with yours, raising your hand above your head. 

You raked your fingers through his hair, pulling his head down to meet his lips with yours. He kissed you gently, a perfect juxtaposition to him pounding into you faster now.

You moaned into his mouth and you felt him smile, his hips slapping against you harder. “Such a good girl for me,” he murmured, and you gasped, raking your nails down his back.

“I told you so,” you said breathlessly.

He laughed, kissing down your chest, rolling a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

You groaned, arching your back off the mattress.

“Mmm, I know what that means,” he growled. “You ready to come for me, bookworm?”

All you could do was moan, spurring him on to move even faster against you. 

He held your chin gently, looking into your eyes as you came undone, and he followed right after, groaning loudly.

When he had finished, he slumped on top of you, breathing hard. 

After you both caught your breath, he slid out of you with a grunt, going to your bathroom and coming back with a wet towel, cleaning you up gently before crawling back into bed with you.

Azriel kissed you softly, gently moving your hair off your face, before pulling you to his chest. “I love you,” he murmured, kissing your forehead.

“I love you, too,” you said sleepily, listening to his heartbeat against your ear as you fell asleep.

---

Azriel groaned, tightening his arms around you as your alarm went off.

You pulled out of his reach to turn it off, but as soon as you did, his arms were around you, pulling you back against his chest. 

“It's too early,” he murmured, kissing your neck. “Stay with me.”

When you sighed sleepily, he knew you were contemplating it. 

“I need to go over my notes before class,” you grumbled.

Azriel shifted, turning you to face him, “you're the most brilliant person in the world,” he said, kissing you softly. “You can go one day without looking at your notes before class.” 

You giggled and his heart soared. “I'm not that brilliant.”

“You are,” he said, kissing you again, his hand wandering down to your hip.

“Brilliant people check their notes before class,” you smiled.

“Brilliant people stay in bed with their boyfriends for as long as possible,” he smirked. “I read a study about it yesterday.”

You rolled your eyes, and he couldn't resist kissing you again. “You've never read a study in your life,” you murmured against his lips.

He pulled you closer to him, so your bodies were pressed against each other. He held your face in his hands. “Stay with me,” he whispered, his lips almost touching yours. “Just this once.”

When you bit your lip, he knew he had convinced you. “Okay,” you said quietly. 

He grinned, crushing you into his chest, and you laughed. “I love you too, but I can't breathe.”

“Oh shit,” he said, easing his hold on you.

You spent the rest of the morning in his arms. You traced your finger over the tattoo on his shoulder, trailing up his neck and down his bicep. “What do they mean?” You asked quietly.

He smiled, watching your finger trail over his body. “Luck. Cassian and Rhys have similar ones. We all got them together.”

Your eyes met his then. “Luck for what?” You asked, and he could tell you wondering if it was about his elusive family. 

“A better life,” he said quietly, leaning in to brush a soft kiss to your lips. “I guess they worked.”

You flushed, hiding your face in his chest. He laughed, grateful he could still get you flustered like that. 

“My family,” he said quietly, and you went perfectly still, your face still hidden to him. He gently stroked your hair. He cleared his throat, steeling himself to tell you what he had never told anyone else. “My family was… abusive. To me. My stepmom and step brothers hated me. They didn't see me as one of them, so… they were awful. Really, really awful,” he said, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. “Rhys and Cassian's upbringings weren't much better. So as soon as we turned 18, we got these tattoos and we left without looking back.”

He tilted your chin up to look at him and his heart melted when he saw the tears on your cheeks. “I'm sorry,” you whispered. “I had no idea.”

He smiled lightly, kissing the tears off your cheeks one at a time. “Nobody does,” he whispered. “Nobody, but my new family,” tears walked up in his own eyes now as he gazed at you. “My brothers… and you.”

You choked on a sob and he brought his rough hands to your cheeks, wiping the fresh tears away with his fingers as he kissed you softly. 

It was torturous to be apart from you from that moment on. 

---

You felt closer to Azriel than ever, since he had told you about his past, and had called you his family. It made butterflies flutter through your stomach every time you thought about it. 

Apparently it also showed on your face because Az slung his arm around over your shoulders and kissed your cheek, whispering in your ear, “What are you all smiley about?”

“You,” you smiled.

Cassian and Rhysand groaned. “You two are disgusting.”

You laughed, leaning your head on Az’s shoulder, who looked thrilled. You had been spending more time with his friends, wanting to get to know them better. It was also partly because you felt guilty that Azriel kept ditching them to spend time with you.

The doorbell rang then, and Azriel went down to get the food you all had ordered.

After he left, Rhysand turned to you, “I know we give him a lot of shit, but we are really glad that he has you.”

Cassian smiled at you genuinely for probably the first time. “You've changed him. He's never been this happy in his life.”

You flushed, and before you could reply, Azriel was back. He noticed the look on your face and raised an eyebrow, “What just happened?”

“Time to eat!” Cassian cut in, taking the bags from Az’s hands and divvying up the food.

Azriel looked to you, and you smiled, patting his shoulder. “I'll tell you later,” you whispered.

Later, the boys were playing a video game that you had tried to play with them, but you died so much that you slowed everyone down, so you opted to read a book instead.

Azriel cuddled you in every spare moment that the game allowed, sometimes accidentally letting Cassian or Rhys die while his hand was on your thigh, or when he was pressing a quick kiss to your temple.

The boys were not hesitant to show their frustration, but Azriel would just shrug, kissing you again.

You felt so unbelievably in love. 

It was well into the night when you two ended up back at Azriel's apartment. 

You were exhausted. He tossed you one of his t-shirts and you stripped down to your underwear before slipping it on over your head. He stripped down to his boxers, his eyes trailing your body with a faint smile on his face the whole time.

You both got settled in his bed, facing each other. You felt so tired, but couldn't close your eyes, couldn't peel them from Azriel’s. His hazel eyes were twinkling even in the darkness.

“What did they say while I was gone?” Az asked quietly, stroking your cheek.

You smiled. “They said they're glad that we're together. And that they've never seen you so happy.”

“Mmm,” he murmured, leaning closer to you, “I never have been this happy.”

A blissful sigh escaped from you as he gently touched his lips to yours, kissing you slowly. Lovingly.

His hand found its way to your hip, easing your body closer to his, like he had all the time in the world.

For a while, he kissed you and kissed you, tongue entwining with yours gently. 

Eventually his hands trailed down to the hem of your shirt. Well, his shirt.

His eyes were trained on yours as he gently pulled it over your head and tossed it aside.

“You're so beautiful,” he murmured into your skin, trailing kisses down your neck, your breasts, your stomach. 

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, and he looked up at your face, smiling, like he had been waiting for it.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, brushing a lock of overgrown hair out of his face. “So are you,” you said, your eyes trailing across his broad shoulders, his massive biceps, his toned stomach. 

He chuckled, moving up your body to kiss your lips again. “Thank you, bookworm.”

Azriel took his time kissing you again, his hand trailing down to your panties, sliding them off slowly. 

You gasped as he pressed a thumb to your clit, then slipped a finger inside you.

“Az,” you moaned quietly as he started pumping his finger in and out of you. 

He smiled softly, watching your expression. “Good?”

All you could do was nod, biting your lip. His smile grew; his fingers moved faster. You gripped the bedsheets, watching him.

You whimpered and he halted his movements. "You ready for me, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you breathed, reaching for him.

He smiled dreamily, sliding off his boxers and hovering over you, settling his elbows on either side of your head. 

His eyes bore into yours as he slid into you. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and resting his forehead against yours.

Your hands found their way into his hair as he moved inside you, kissing you lightly on your lips, your neck, your breasts.

Azriel pulled back to look into your eyes, holding you close to him. “You're everything to me,” he murmured, his hips meeting yours in a slow, steady rhythm.

You felt your bottom lip tremble and he wiped his thumb over it gently, his eyes laser focused on you. “You're everything to me,” you admitted, breathlessly.

His mouth turned up into that half smile that you loved. “Even more than books?”

You brought your hand to the back of his neck, gently pulling him down for a kiss. “Even more than books,” you said.

He moaned, picking up speed slightly. Then he laughed. “That turned me on way more than I was expecting.”

You laughed too, and within a few minutes, the two of you were climaxing together, holding each other tightly.

After you caught your breath and cleaned up, you said, “I want your shirt back.”

Azriel laughed, delight flooding his expression as he tossed it back to you. “Good. It looks better on you than it ever could on me.”

---

When you didn’t meet Azriel for dinner, he was worried. You were always on time. Always. 

He was thankful the two of you had shared your location with each other ages ago. When he checked, you were in your apartment, and seemingly hadn’t moved in hours. 

There was no answer when he knocked. He fished the spare key you’d given him out of his pocket and went into your apartment. 

He found you in bed, fast asleep. You looked pale, a shiny gleam of sweat on your brow. He frowned, feeling your forehead, and swore. You were burning up. 

You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut even tighter. “Az?”

“Yeah, it’s me, sweetheart,” he said quietly, stroking your cheek.

Scrunching your nose, you mumbled, “I don’t feel good.”

“I can tell,” he murmured. “One second, I’ll be right back,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before he went to your kitchen.

He came back with a glass of water and ibuprofen. “Can you sit up, baby?”

You opened your eyes slowly, then reached for his wrist, laser focused on your own hand as you touched him. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I thought I was hallucinating you,” you said matter-of-factly, your eyes sleepy.

Azriel couldn’t help but laugh, despite his concern. “Oh, wow. Okay, this is worse than I thought.”

He set the water and medicine on the bedside table, then climbed into bed with you, sitting against the headboard, then gently pulling you to a sitting position, settling you between his legs, leaning your back against his chest. You groaned, leaning your head back against him, too.

“Drink this,” he said softly, holding the cup in front of you, his other hand resting on your thigh. 

“I don’t like water without ice,” you mumbled.

“I know. If you’d open your eyes, you’d see the ice in the glass.”

After a moment, you said, “Oh.”

He breathed a sigh of relief as you took the cup from his hand, taking a few sips. 

“Take this,” he said, holding two ibuprofen in front of you. 

You swallowed them without argument, leaning back against him like it took great effort just to do that.

“You wanna lay back down?” He asked.

“Please,” you said quietly. 

He shifted, easing you back against the pillows as gently as he could. “Anything else I can do?”

“I’m too hot,” you grumbled. 

He rifled through your drawers, pulling out shorts and a tank top for you before sliding your pajama pants and your t-shirt off. Getting the new clothes on you was more effort than he had anticipated. He wasn’t used to putting your clothes on.

You let out a satisfied sigh though, when you had changed. 

He refilled your water glass and set it on the table before he slid into bed next to you, holding you in his arms. 

“You don't have to stay,” you mumbled.

“Don't be stupid,” he said, brushing the hair off your face. “Of course I'm staying.”

“I love you,” you muttered, almost too quiet for him to hear.

“I love you, too,” he said, kissing your head softly. “Go to sleep.”

It was a long night, not only because it started around 7. Azriel barely slept. He was too busy feeling your forehead, bringing you cold towels, willing your fever to go down. 

By the morning, you seemed to be doing a bit better, but still not back to normal. 

You mumbled something incoherent, nuzzling into his chest. 

“Hmm?” he asked, tilting your chin up so he could hear you. 

“Shower?” you asked, your eyes finally opening and focusing on him. 

He kissed the top of your head before scooping you up in his arms and carrying you to your bathroom. 

It was the least sexy shower he had ever taken. You were slumping over, leaning against him to stay upright. He had one arm looped around you, running the soap over your body with his other hand. 

It worried him that you could hardly hold yourself up. 

He had watched you like a hawk all morning until, a few hours later, still slumped over in your bed, you said, “What time is it?”

He checked his phone. “Almost 11.”

“Shit,” you said, sitting up, grabbing for your own phone. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You stood up, looking exhausted. “I have to go to class.”

Raising an eyebrow, he watched as you looked around for your backpack. “You’re kidding, right? You can barely sit up for fifteen minutes.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you said, a little frantically. “This professor is strict, I can’t miss any notes.”

He stood up, crossing over to you, settling his hands on your shoulders so you’d stop and look at him. “Sweetheart, you need to stay here and rest.”

You shook your head, your eyes welling with tears. “I can’t, Az, I have to go.”

Heart breaking for you, his hands moved to your cheeks. “Baby, you can miss one class. You know you can’t go like this.”

You slumped back down on the bed, exhausted. “I know,” you said, your voice breaking. “But this class is so much work. If I miss one class, I’ll be so behind.”

Azriel sat next to you, helping you lay back down in your bed. “Do you know anybody in the class? I can go get the notes for you.”

You swallowed, then shook your head lightly. “No. I don’t know anybody who would give me the notes.”

“You sure?” He asked. “Nobody?”

Sighing, you settled back against the pillows. “Claire is the only person in the class that I know,” you said quietly. 

His stomach dropped. He hadn’t thought about Claire in a long time, hadn’t seen her in almost a year, not since the party that nearly ruined your life, and his. 

“I can ask her,” he said quietly.

“No.”

“If you’re this worried about it, I’ll ask her,” he said soothingly, running his hand back and forth on your leg.

“She won’t give them to you,” you grumbled. 

The hurt in your voice, in your eyes, made his heart crack. He knew you were remembering it all, all the hurt that he and Claire had caused last year. “Let me try? For you?”

You looked into his eyes, studying him. Finally, you said quietly, “Okay.”

Azriel would do anything for you. This proved it. Claire was the last person that he ever wanted to see. 

He would convince her to give you those notes. He didn’t know how, but he would figure it out. 

You had given Azriel the room number for your class, and he lingered outside just before it ended, waiting for class to let out. 

When Claire walked out, he cleared his throat. She turned to him, her smile positively feline. “Azriel. I haven’t seen you around this year.”

“I’ve been busy,” he said shortly. “I need a copy of the lecture notes from today.”

She raised her eyebrow. “The bookworm’s got you running errands when she skips class now?”

“Don’t call her that,” he snapped. “Are you going to give me the notes, or not?”

Claire looked at Azriel, studying him. “Why should I?”

“You owe her. This is the least you can do,” he said, not trying to hide the edge in his voice. 

She shook her head, incredulously. “She’s got you wrapped around her little finger, doesn’t she?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, she does. And she’s half delirious with a fever right now, but she’s still stressed enough about these notes that I’m here, talking to you. So, give me the notes.”

Her eyes widened slightly at his harsh tone. She looked at him for a beat longer before, wordlessly, she took her notebook out, flipped to the most recent page, and handed it to him. 

He took a picture of it with his phone, then handed it back to her. “Thanks, Claire.”

Without another word, he turned on his heels, going back home to you. 

You were asleep when he let himself back into your apartment, and he was thankful to see a little more color in your face than when he had left. 

He closed the door behind him, and your eyes opened slowly, a faint smile spreading on your face when you saw him. 

“How’d it go?” 

Azriel smiled, showing you the picture of the notes on his phone, before texting it to you. 

You grinned, “Wow. You’re my favorite person in the whole world.”

He laughed, his heart thundering in his chest at your words. He pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “And you’re mine.”

--- 

“Fucking hell,” Azriel said, his eyes trailing down your body. “That’s what you’re wearing today?” 

“What?” you asked, looking down at your sundress. “You don’t like it?”

He smirked, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you against him. He kissed down your neck, nipping lightly. “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to keep my hands off you.”

You giggled, heat running through you at his touch. “If you hadn’t made dinner reservations, I would say that we should skip date night, but…”

He groaned, threading his fingers through your hair and kissing you deeply. “Why’d I have to think ahead and be responsible?”

“You’ve been spending too much time with me,” you sighed as he continued kissing you. 

“Impossible,” he said happily, peppering kisses all over your face. 

All throughout dinner, Azriel’s eyes were boring into yours, his eyes dark with lust, his leg brushing yours under the table, his hand holding yours. 

It was maddening.

As soon as you were back in your apartment, Azriel bent you over your kitchen table, flipping your skirt up before smacking your ass lightly. 

He growled as he slid your panties down your legs, immediately putting his mouth on you, sucking hard.

You groaned, clinging to the table, focusing on keeping yourself upright just as much as you were focusing on the feel of him devouring you.

When he moaned against you, your legs started trembling. “Az, I need you inside me,” you panted. 

He stood up immediately, and you shivered as you heard him undo his belt, dropping his pants, pulling off his shirt. 

“Fuck,” he moaned through gritted teeth as he entered you completely with one powerful thrust. He pounded into you in hard, fast movements, his thighs slapping against your ass over and over again. 

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think beyond the feeling of him inside you. 

He wrapped your hair around his fist, pulling gently, his other hand gripping your waist tightly. 

You whimpered, but as he sped up his pace, slamming into you even harder, you let out an involuntary shriek. 

“That’s it, scream for me, baby,” he growled. 

So, you did.

---

You sighed, resting your head on your arms for a moment. Finals were quickly approaching and you were exhausting yourself. 

A knock on your door made your heart leap. There’s only one person who would show up without warning. 

There was a newfound energy, a bounce in your step as you opened the door to find Azriel on the other side, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hand. 

“Hey, beautiful,” he smiled, offering the flowers to you. 

“What are these for?” you asked, your heart thundering in your chest. 

He leaned down to kiss you. “Figured you’re driving yourself insane with studying by now,” he said, smiling. “And also because I love you.”

You beamed, rising to your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I love you. Thank you, Az, this is so sweet.” 

Wandering into the kitchen to get a vase, you sighed. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, coming up behind you, pulling you into him once the flowers were settled on the table. 

You shrugged. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“Anything I can help with?” He asked, his brow furrowed with concern. 

You couldn't help but smile, resting your chin on his chest as you looked up at him. “Not unless you want to do my homework. Or figure out what I should do this summer.”

‘What are you thinking for the summer?” He said.

“I don't know. I want to stay close by…” you trailed off, smiling at him. “There's kinda this guy I want to spend time with as much as I can.”

He grinned, leaning down to kiss you. “So, stay close by. What is there to figure out?”

“My lease is up at the end of the semester,” you said, sadly. “And everything in my budget is pretty much booked.”

“Well,” he said softly, leaning down to brush his nose against yours. “What if you moved in with me?”

Your eyes widened, your heart pounding. “Really? Do you think we're ready for that?”

“I mean, we spend all of our time together already. All of our nights,” he said, shifting to press a kiss to your forehead. “I know that I'm more in love with you than I could have ever imagined,” he smiled. “If it's not what you want, that's okay. But, I think it could be kinda great.”

You pictured it, living with Azriel, sharing your life with him in that way. “I think it would be really great,” you beamed up at him.

His face lit up, his eyes shining. “Yeah?”

“Let's do it,” you said.

He grinned, lifting you in his arms and spinning you around, his deep laugh bouncing off the walls. “I love you,” he murmured, gazing into your eyes as he set you back on the ground. “I can't wait for the rest of my life with you.”

Your heart soared, your knees weak. “Me either, Az.”

@loving-and-dreaming @birdsflyhome @hanuh @sheblogs @iambored24601 @thalia-as-blog @evergreenlark @ecliphttlunar @bookloverandalsocats @melmo567 @headacheseason @sillysillygoose444 @halibshepherd @azrielshadows1nger @yourqueenlilith @mariamay02

Want to see more? Check out part 3!

[surielstea]

Plaguing Dreams

Based on this request!

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader (mates)

Summary: After a particularly jarring dream, Reader is unsure how to separate it from reality.

Warnings: Mentions of adultery | happy ending | crack fic | mostly fluff | slight hurt/comfort

1.5k words

"Please, baby it's not what it looks like!" My mate scrambled from our bedroom, the one I had entered only to find some foreign whore who I hadn't recognized in my bed, with my husband.

I didn't quite know how to process it. I slammed the door shut in his face, my breath stolen from me at the sight.

The door swung open, revealing Azriel, this time with a shirt on.

"Baby, cmon," He reaches his hands out towards me with bunched brows. But once the shock subsided, anger took over.

"Don't, baby me. Are you fucking serious?" I looked at him with wild amusement in my eyes, my breath shaky as I attempted to calm it.

But deep down I didn't want to be calm, I wanted to rage and scream at him until my anger echoed like an incessant, permanent ringing in his ears.

"I swear to you, it's not what it looked like," He lowered his voice, his hands coming towards me like I was some rabid animal on the side of the road in need of taming.

"Swear to me? Like you swore an oath on our wedding day?" I ask, entirely consumed by my fury that was only multiplying the more and more he silently stared at him.

"For The Mother's sake Azriel, not what it looks like? You and another woman were naked in our bed. Ours." I gesture between us to stress my point.

"We can figure this out," His hand found purchase at my arm. My brows knotted as I looked down at the touch. Something was off. I couldn't put my finger on it, I just, sensed it.

"What is there to figure out? We're fucking done." I spit at him.

"C'mon baby don't be like that," He sighed as if this was boring him, like I was a chore for him to be dealt with.

"Do you hear yourself? You sound fucking insane," I grit out, pulling at my arm but his grip is iron. "Let me go."

"Once you calm down, I will." He said coolly and my rage doubled over. Calm down?

I looked down at his hold on me, the area around his grip now reddening. That's when I realized, he bore no scars, the ones his wretched half-brothers gave him were simply gone.

I look at him confused, blinking at him in pure bewilderment. Was the rage getting to my brain? Hadn't his hands been scarred? "Hey look at me," He demanded and despite myself I did as he said, meeting his grey eyes. Wait— no hadn't they been hazel? I shook my head, unsure who this was that stood in front of me but it certainly wasn't my mate. "Us Illyrians can't stay with the same girl for long, but you knew that from the beginning didn't you lovely?" He cupped my cheek with his free hand, the feel of his hands without scars sent a shiver down my spine. It made my skin crawl and my heart ache. "You knew I'd tire of you eventually, isn't that right?" He beamed, spinning on his heel back to our bedroom door that was left ajar, the nude female still lounging in our bed.

His lack of wings sent a wave of unfamiliarity through me and suddenly this stranger didn't look anything like the male I knew, not one bit. From the way he moved to his all-too-smooth voice.

"Go on and get out of here, you bore me."

I gasped, sitting upright in my bed. It had all been a dream. A stupid, unrealistic dream. I blinked, rubbing at my eyes and erasing the feel of sleep from them. Blindly I reached towards Azriel's side of the bed only to find it empty. My anxiety spiked but it quickly decreased when I noticed his pillow was still warm.

I release a soft sigh as I clamber from our mattress, running my hands through my hair once or twice as I make my way out of our bedroom.

The nightmare was burnt into the back of my head, a searing tattoo that was growing infectious. I groaned, rubbing my head in agony as a migraine seeped through the cracks of my skull.

I stumble into the dining room, in search of a glass of water only to find my mate leaning over the stove, making breakfast.

Shadows curl around my ankles and he turns to look at me.

I decided I no longer was thirsty. "Good morning," He smiled softly but I only spun on my heel and trudged into the sitting room. I could still feel his eyes on me. "Did you sleep well?" He asks, stepping slightly out of the kitchen to watch me slump onto the couch, shrugging in reply to his question.

His brows crease but he nods and returns to the kitchen.

I folded my knees up to my chest, winding my arms around them tightly as I thought about that dream. He was hard to look at the same, I know I was being irrational, who he is in my dream has nothing to do with reality, but my mother was a seer, maybe the ability to see visions was passed down to me.

Azriel peeked his head out of the kitchen to look at me. "Breakfast is ready," He informed and I slowly nodded, my mind elsewhere.

He frowned, leaving the kitchen and approaching me. "Is everything alright?" He tilts his head, squatting down in front of me and taking my hands in his, the familiar feel of his scars makes me remember how foreign it felt in my dream. I knew it wasn't him, and practically I should just let this go. But I can't get the image out of my head.

"Where were you last night?" I manage to get out, squeezing his hands, memorizing those scars that I’ve never been so grateful for.

"I was at Rita's, with you and Cass," He said with a concerned expression. "Are you feeling okay baby?" He brings the back of his hand to my forehead.

I veer away from his touch and stand, moving past him, striding towards the kitchen. "I feel fine," I murmur while grabbing a plate from the cupboards.

"My love," Azriel sighs, shadows slinking up my calves as he wraps his arms around my torso, pulling me into his chest. I lean into the warmth as his lips come down to the junction between my shoulder and neck.

"I'm begging you, tell me what's wrong," He said into my skin. It wasn't fair of me to do this to him. "Let me make it up to you, whatever I did let me fix it," He pleads and I shake my head.

"You didn't do, anything," I sigh while building a plate of homemade food, by the Gods he had been kind enough to make me breakfast. "I just had a stupid dream, that's all." I pat his hand that was splayed on my abdomen, silently dismissing him.

He only clung to me tighter. "Don't do that," He lifts from my neck. "Don't ignore your feelings for my benefit, tell me what's on your mind," He said, his voice calm as his arms loosened, allowing me to turn around to face him.

I look up at him, into his hazel eyes that I often found myself drowning in. Who he was in my dream is not who stood in front of me now. I take one long breath before muttering, "You cheated on me."

His brows lift, his lip curling as if even the idea was preposterous.

"In my dream, I caught you with some other girl— it's kind of a blur but, it just, affected me," I shrug, brushing it off, and his scowl deepens.

"You know I would never even think about doing anything close to that—" He begins to wind himself up and my shoulders relax, smiling slightly as he looks just as disgusted as I must've in my dream.

"Az," I cup his jaw, my thumbs rubbing along his sharp cheekbones. "I know, I know you," I smile. "It shouldn't have gotten to me," I shake my head.

He intertwined our hands and brought them to his lips, softly kissing each of my knuckles in order to shut himself up.

"If I could, I'd kill whoever that guy was in your dreams," He hummed, and an amused smile spread across my lips.

"He didn't have your eyes," I shake my head, inching closer to his lips. "Didn't have your scars." I sling my arms around his shoulders. "Not even your wings," I purred, running a nail down the membrane of his impressively large black wings.

He looks at me with a raised brow, his eyes gleaming with something more primal.

Suddenly he hoists me up into his arms, taking me out of the kitchen and carrying me down the hall. I giggle, halting my teasing on his wing.

"Breakfast will get cold," I protest and he only shakes his head.

"Let it, I need to show you that you're the only girl I will ever want," He stated and my grin widened, as I kissed up his neck softly.

"Sounds good to me," I murmur as he lays me down on the mattress.

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[prythianpages]

His Star | Eris Masterlist

Eris x Rhysand's Sister | Eris made the mistake of falling for you. Someone he could never have.

warnings: angst, some smut, no happy ending

angst= ♥️ fluff = ☁︎ smut= ☪︎

a/n: This was supposed to be only a one shot but the more I listened to No Doubt/Gwen Stefani, the more I became inspired to make it a series and the one shot I originally planned will be the last part (:

playlist for this series (if you wanna get a feel for what's to come)

Also, big thank you to @daycourtofficial & @stormhearty because I'm pretty sure they've helped me plan some scenes/listened to me talk about this idea! Love y'all 🫶

★࿐࿔ Just A Girl

Summary: Your father throws a ball in your honor. When Beron belittles you, you decide to show him what you're capable of, catching the attention of his firstborn.

★࿐࿔ Starstruck

Summary: Eris finds out the truth of your powers and strikes a bargain with you.

★࿐࿔ Walking Into Spiderwebs

Summary: The heir to the Spring Court has his eyes on you but you have yours on the Autumn heir.

★࿐࿔ Got Me Missing You ☁︎

Summary: You can no longer hide your feelings for Eris.

*there are 9 more parts, for a total of 13 that are planned but I'll add them onto here as I upload.

series taglist: @emy1-9, @lady-of-tearshed, @5onedirection5, @sillysillygoose444, @acourtofbatboydreams

@babypeapoddd, @tenshis-cake, @freefallthoughts, @venussdovess, @unlikelywolfenemy

If you'd like be to be added to the tag-list for this series, comment a "❤️‍🔥" I'll be adding y'all here just to be more organized.

[starfall-spirit]

@elucienweekofficial Day 7: AU & Tension/Healing

A commission and excerpt from chapter 7 of A Warrior of the Mind.

Thank you so much, Bruna. This piece is absolutely stunning!

🎨: brunagarretart

Event Masterlist

Ancient Myths Retold Masterlist

~~~~~

“Lucien?” Elain stood before him once again, those warm brown eyes filled with more questions than he could ever hope to answer. “Lucien!”

His name on her lips was all it took. Whatever that witch had done to cloak their bond and foster doubt had melted away as easily as the spring sun claims a frost. “Elain,” he breathed. Her next step did not falter and the moment she closed the space between them he took her in his arms, letting his sword clatter to the stone beneath them at last. Ten years. A decade behind them and the feel of her—that delicate, intoxicating scent too—hadn’t changed one bit. “My Elain.”

“Ten years,” she gasped. “Nearly eleven. Our son—”

“A wonder I never dreamed of. He is wonderful, Elain. And you…” Every inch of her trembled against him, one hand steady over his thundering heart as the other rose to cup his face. “On the nights I dared to dream, my love, all I could see was you.”

[danikamariewrites]

Wear the Hat, Ride the Cowboy

Cassian x reader

Notes: this is very much inspired by Elsie Silver’s Flawless which will forever have a special place in my heart. I highly recommend Flawless it’s so frickin cute, it had me giggling and kicking my feet 🤭

Warnings: suggestive at the end and ‘cowboy’ is very much overused

At the sound of the buzzer you start to breathe again. You’ve never been a fan of bull riding, it’s a terrifying sport. Whoever willingly gets on a bull for fun must be psychotic.

The cowboys are nice to look at though. Which is why you let Feyre drag you to the rodeo this weekend. There’s a barrel racer she’s obsessed with and you just had to come support Feyre “getting up the courage to talk to him”.

One of the announcers said something you couldn’t make out over the roar of the crowd. Then you spot him on the top of the fence. He took your breath away as if you had been the one thrown from the bull currently slamming against the walls of the chute. He switches out his cowboy hat for a helmet, flipping his shoulder length hair to rest behind his shoulders.

You notice Rhys - the barrel rider Feyre has heart eyes for - pat the man on the shoulder, hyping him up. You spot another off in the shadows that looked very similar to Rhys and the bull rider.

Before you knew it the man was on the bull and out in the arena. You held your breath, nervous again for what could happen to this wild man. But he lasted all eight seconds. Jumping from the back of the bull he put his arms up, soaking in the cheers and chants from the crowd.

Feyre was cheering loudly, not noticing your look of awe. You tap on her arm repeatedly. “Fey, who was that?”

She giggles at the look on your face. “That’s Cassian. He’s the number one bull rider in the country.” You hum in thought, eyes still tracking Cassian as he walks backstage. “And,” Feyre elbows you lightly in the ribs, “him and Rhys are brothers, so he’ll definitely be at the bar tonight.” You didn’t comment on that. Just kept your eyes on the backstage area you couldn’t see.

——

The bar was crowded, a happy buzz from the rodeo spectators. You and Feyre sit at the bar closest to Rhys and Cassian’s table. She keeps eyeing Rhys, waiting for the perfect opportunity.

You didn’t notice Cassian glance your way. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you. You looked breathtaking in your vintage rodeo shirt, cut a little at the top to see just enough of your cleavage, and those Wrangler jeans hug your hips and thighs just right, making his mouth water.

Azriel, ever vigilant, smirks as he nudges Cassian. “Why don’t you stop drooling and go talk to her.”

“I’m not drooling,” he defends himself.

Rhys turns to see who they’re looking at, finally meeting Feyre’s gaze. He sends her his most charming smile and pushes up from the table. “I’m going to say hello to the pretty lady. Feel free to join Cass, ya know when you’re done being shy.”

Cassian rolls his eyes as Rhys saunters over to the bar. Was Cassian nervous? He didn’t want to seem like some asshole cowboy picking up girls after the rodeo. Was he an ass for just talking to you though?

No, he decided. And talking didn’t mean anything. Worst case scenario you’re an insane buckle bunny and he finds his name on a list of cowboys you're after in your pocket.

Cassian pushes up from the table making his way over to you. Rhys had taken all of Feyre’s attention and you were clearly not listening to their conversation. Cassian gently taps your shoulder. You spin around on your stool, eyes going wide as soon as you realize it’s him. All you can do is stare at this hot, hunky, insane bull rider. Your brain short circuiting in real time.

Cassian smirked as he recognized the look in your eyes. For the first time ever he was happy to see someone look at him like that. “Hi there.” He gives you the most charming smirk that has you fumbling for a response.

“H-hi, hey,” you try to relax against the bar to look chill. It was working until your elbow slipped on the napkin your drink was resting on, your ribs pressing into the ledge of the bar.

“Woah there,” Cassian gently holds your arm, pulling you so you wouldn’t fall off the bar stool. Adjusting your posture, putting your drink down, you look up into his soft hazel eyes. “Sorry, hi,” you stick out your hand for Cassian to shake. “I’m y/n.”

Cass gently takes your hand with his free one, holding it like it was the most precious hand he’s ever had the privilege of shaking. “Y/n,” he repeats in a daze.

“I saw you ride tonight.” You say, breaking Cassian from his daze. “You did?” He asks excitedly. Reeling himself in Cassian clears his throat, giving you a suave smirk. “I mean, of course you did. What did you think?” You sensed a little vulnerability in his question.

“You are one hell of a rider, cowboy.” Smirking you too your beer at him in a cheers sort of way before taking a sip. Cassian’s cheeks tinge pink at the compliment.

The two of you talked until the bartender made the last call. Feyre and Rhys were long gone, as well as Azriel. Cassian let out a sigh, not wanting the night to end. He looks down at you to see you smiling up at him with soft eyes.

“How about we get outta here?” He smirks. You give him a devilish grin, reaching up to snatch the cowboy hat off his head, placing it on your own.

“Let's go cowboy,” You wink.

[ervotica]

pretty little bird

vampire!azriel x fem!reader – blood, feeding, rhys watches (more on him soon!). approx. 600 words.

Azriel's ears perk at the shuffling of bare feet in the next room, both his and Rhysand's heads turning curiously as you stumble into view, eyes teary.

You're rather akin to a newborn deer, unsteady as you creep on the balls of your feet, shivering and cradling yourself for comfort.

Rhys doesn't think he's ever seen Az soften with such urgency, his steely countenance turning on its head as that first fat tear rolls over the swell of your cheek.

"My angel," he coos. "Come to me, baby."

You seem to hesitate, but you're quickly enticed closer by the roaring fire at the edge of the room, lulled into his arms without much protest at the crackling promise of warmth. Hues of gold and orange split into dappled rays that climb the expanse of Azriel's bare chest, the milky skin stark against the dark of the sitting room. It's an incentive for you to venture closer, a reward for spending your days shrouded in cold and darkness with this creature that calls you mate.

Rhys quirks a brow. "Who's this?"

It's as though those two words have set every fight response Azriel's body possesses alight, his temper flaring; a growl rumbles through him, his grip tightening as he snatches you up to his chest as though somebody will attempt to steal you away. Rhys lifts his hands in surrender.

"She's mine," Azriel snarls, baring honed canines. "Mine."

You go soft, submitting in an attempt to placate the vexation that crawls through his every vein like molten lava. Your head spins, fatigue weighing down your every limb as though they're filled with molasses. He grazes the edge of a fang along your pulse point. Just enough to break the first layer of skin.

He watches the drop of blood well, ooze and drip, settling in the hollow of your throat.

You sniffle, stomach flipping. He knows what you want; he just enjoys the desperation lacing your tone. You need the release of the feed as much as him. "Please."

Onyx strands of hair sweep over his eyes as he dips his head low to flatten his tongue across your throat, humming lowly at the tang of copper that bleeds over his tastebuds. He nudges your jaw with the tip of his nose.

"So polite, little bird," he hums. "Lean on me, baby. Az has you."

You hiccup, pushing closer into his space. A scarred hand brushes the hair from your throat, fangs entirely unsheathing as the tips of his teeth pierce your tender flesh.

You whine and thrash like a wounded prey animal, but you're quickly subdued as his venom seeps into your bloodstream. Euphoria bursts behind your eyelids, skin buzzing with the high that a feeding always brings you.

The other male's voice is muffled as though your ears are wadded with thick cotton. You sigh when Azriel slips his arms beneath your shoulders and hikes you upward with frantic urgency as he takes longer, dragging mouthfuls, squeezing as though the blood will pour from your wounds more rapidly.

"Az, you should stop. You'll kill her if you feed for much longer."

Azriel pulls away just enough to pant and growl, "She's fine."

The twin puncture wounds pulse and gush when Azriel tilts his head to watch his brother, irises entirely engulfed by inky darkness.

Your head drops, limp against his shoulder. Your limbs are flooded with warmth, body heavy like treacle and sated with the venom that twines around your veins like ivy, burrowing beneath your skin. Azriel's tongue flattens against your throat to clot the blood, sealing your seeping punctures.

"Shall we get you to bed, pretty bird?" he coos, mouth tilting upward blissfully. Your nose scrunches and you mouth at the bare skin as his silk shirt falls away from his form.

You're simply too tired to open your eyes, or protest, or even respond.

[potatoplace]

Mastermind - Part 2

Dark!Feysand x Reader

Part 1 | Poly!ACOTAR x Reader Masterlist

Story Summary: Your friend of a few months, Feyre, invited you out for a celebratory drink over your new job, and of course her husband Rhys joins you. The night doesn't go quite as planned, and you end up back at their place with very few wits about you.

Warnings: non-con, abduction, being kept prisoner, smut, drug use (pot)

Words: ~5k

Author's Note: it's here! Feyre... you live in my head rent free so often... also this is just like a purely self indulgent fic at this point, I think it'll be a mini-series. Please read the warnings!

18+ only pls

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

You woke up with a headache and a confusing ache between your legs.

Your bed was comfier than usual, and so, so warm. Almost like you had a heated blanket going. You mouth cracked open into a yawn, and you stretched your limbs as far as you could-

Which wasn't far.

Both your legs and arms bumped into something solid and warm, surrounding you on both sides.

Your eyes flew open, very, very confused when you saw your friend Feyre laying to your right, and her husband Rhys on your left and-

You're naked.

Completely bare between the two of them, with absolutely no memory of how you got there. Your face flushed with heat.

God, what have I done?

Your tried to wiggle your way out from between the two of them, but one of Rhys's arms merely locked tighter around you, pulling you further against him.

He's naked. You could feel him hardening against you already as he stirred slightly, burying his face in your hair.

You struggled slightly, trying to move away from him, he's your friend's husband for crying out loud.

"What's wrong, sweetness?" Feyre's sleep heavy voice asked from your right. Her hand moved up your thigh and over your stomach, coming to rest between your breasts.

You pushed her hand off of you. "I'm so confused right now, Fey, why are Rhys and I naked? I should go," you said, moving to sit up, but Feyre's hand shot out to keep you down, and between her and Rhys you were powerless to move.

"You're never going to leave us again, darling," Feyre said, wiggling closer to you and pressing her body against yours- she was naked as well.

What the fuck did I do last night?

"Feyre, let me up," you demanded, doing your best to get her hand off of you, but in your struggle you must have woken Rhys up.

"Is there a problem, ladies?" His sultry voice sent shivers down your spine. Your always found it attractive, but now? Trapped between him and your best friend? You wanted nothing more than to bolt out of their apartment and back to yours and never come back out.

"Rhysie, she's trying to leave," Feyre said poutily, hand rubbing circles onto your stomach.

"And why would our sweet little kitten want to leave, hmm?" He asked, lips finding your neck and pressing soft kisses along the expanse of it. "You were so happy last night, sweet thing, what changed?"

You shook your head- this was wrong, all of this was wrong. And Rhys's lips had brought to your attention something wrapped around your neck snugly.

"This isn't right, I can't even remember what happened last night," you said, tears leaking from your eyes now, and you brought a hand up to your throat, fingering the fabric on your neck. Is it leather? Is it-

"You put a collar on me?" You asked, disbelief in your voice as your fingers attempted to tear the item from your body.

"I figured you might freak out, sweetness," Feyre tutted from beside you, a hand raising your grasp both of yours. "You're ours now, Y/N, you just need a little help realizing that. That's what the cute little collar is for, just to keep you from running away like the silly little kitten I think you might be." Feyre's voice was soft but condescending as she explained it to you, but you were still so lost.

"I don't understand, Fey," you cried, attempting to pull your body out of their embraces. "We're friends, you're married. This isn't okay."

Rhys shushed you, running his hands over your hair. "We might be married, but you're the secret missing piece we've been looking for, kitten. From the moment Feyre introduced me to you, I knew what she meant when she said she had to have you. Neither of us can resist how absolutely sweet and lovely you are." You went to open your mouth to protest, but Feyre's mouth covered yours in a heated kiss. "You'll realize just how much you can't resist us either, soon," Rhys added when he felt you involuntarily relax into Feyre's dominating hold over you.

"As for the not remembering last night..." Feyre started when she finally pulled away from claiming your mouth. "I think I know the perfect way to fix that," she said with a smirk, already moving down below the blankets and between your thighs.

"Feyre stop," you pleaded. "I don't want this, I want to go home," you cried, fat tears rolling down your cheeks.

"Really?" Feyre asked with a smirk, dragging a finger through your folds and collecting the wetness that had pooled there. "Because this sweet little pussy says otherwise."

Tears fell from your eyes faster, shame welling within you as Feyre sucked her finger clean, closing her eyes as she did so. Feyre lowered her mouth to your sex in the next moment, not wasting any time in working you up to your breaking point.

You were still so sensitive from whatever they had done to you last night, and with Feyre’s tongue working your clit like magic you could hardly keep yourself still, even as Rhys pinned down your torso. One of his hands was fondling your breast and keeping you in the bed while the other ran through your hair and kept your face tilted towards Feyre.

You could see her face well again, now that the blanket had slid further down the bed while you twitched and writhed in their hold and against the pleasure Feyre was giving you. Her eyes were locked on your face, taking in every detail as you got closer and closer to the brink with every delicious swipe of her tongue.

To you it was wrong, all wrong. You didn’t want to be reacting, to even be warming their bed at all, yet you were trapped here as the couple worked you into your first orgasm of the morning against your will.

The strangled moan that left your throat was enough to have Feyre smirking up at you from between your thighs.

“See? You love us, and what we can give you. And we love you, Y/N.”

“No you don’t, Feyre, this isn’t love,” you cried softly, too tired and ashamed to put up much of fight anymore.

“It is, darling. We love you,” Rhys reiterated, peppering your neck and face with kisses as if to prove his point. “Now, will you let us feed you? I imagine you’re hungry after all the work we did last night,” he said with a dirty grin, two fingers pinching your right nipple.

Feyre began to move back up the bed and you took the opportunity to roll to your right into the spot that she had occupied while the three of you slept. Feyre sighed.

“Rhys, you can go take a shower and then start breakfast, okay? I’ll get this one into the shower after a little more… persuasion,” Feyre said in a disappointed tone.

Rhys chuckled, but got up from the bed anyway and walked into the bathroom. “Tell me pancakes or waffles after I come back out, darling.”

Feyre’s hands were pulling your back against her front snugly, allowing no room for you to escape the soft press of her body. Once you’d calmed a bit, she let one of her hands snake down between your thighs, gathering a bit of wetness from your center and then rubbing quick circles on your clit.

So sensitive. Her deft fingers brought you to completion twice in the time it took Rhys to finish showering and enter the room for his clothing.

You were a whimpering mess by the time he rounded to the side of the bed you were facing, leaning into Feyre’s embrace as she forced you closer and closer to a third orgasm in such rapid succession.

“I see, you’re just more comfortable with Feyre, hmm?” Rhys asked as he pulled your lower lip between his thumb and forefinger. “I guess I’ll just have to spend every waking second of the next week getting you used to me,” Rhys said with a smile before heading to leave the room.

“Pancakes,” Feyre told him, right as her fingers brought you to your fourth orgasm of the morning.

“Got it, darling. Make sure to actually get her in the shower, okay?”

Feyre’s merely lowered her lips to the left side of your neck, sucking a pair of dark, claiming marks over the spaces that Rhys had left unmarked.

Your breathy, contented sigh shocked you so thoroughly you jerked from Feyre’s hold finally and landed on the carpeting.

“Oh, sweetness, still afraid of liking us?” Feyre asked amusedly, bringing herself to the edge of the bed. “Don’t worry, you’ll get over that in a couple of days, I think. Unless you decide to be a brat and fight your fate which, I might add, is useless. Rhys and I love you, Y/N.”

You shook your head at her words. “This is wrong, Feyre, you know it’s wrong. You can’t just keep me here,” you said indignantly, getting up from the floor on shaky legs and attempting to cover yourself with your arms.

“Why not?”

You scoffed. “Because, Feyre, I am a human being and not a pet. I have a life and people that care about me, you can’t just abduct me and get away with it!”

“People that care about you? You have me, Y/N. Your family is mostly dead and the ones that are alive, you don’t talk to! And you even told me that I’m the first friend you made in Velaris, you belong with me. You have belonged to me ever since I first saw you in that coffee shop.”

“What about my job? I have a job, Feyre, they will be worried when I don’t actually start in a few days,” you told her desperately, hoping for any shred of the kindness you’d thought your friend had possessed before today to shine through.

“At the marketing firm? Rhys owns it, sweetie, his cousin Mor manages it. She already knows that you won’t be starting, you have a much better life set up for you now.”

You stared at her in shock. Had everything about your life recently been one big set up?

"What did you do Feyre?" You asked her, despair lacing your tone. If she was telling the truth, then there was no way out of this for you. And-

Oh my god. Your apartment here. Feyre had recommended it.

"I didn't do anything, Y/N. I suggested the job at the marketing firm because you were working yourself to the bone at that coffee shop, dear. I couldn't stand to see you suffer," Feyre explained, prowling across the room to stand in front of you. You were backed against the corner of the room now, with nowhere to go. "And I suggested the apartment here because we have good security, and I've seen the way your regulars would look at you, like they were just waiting to snatch you when the opportunity presented itself." One of Feyre's hands comes up to cup your face, following you as you turned away, still finding its mark. She turned your face back to look at her, and her eyes held such a fiercely protective look, you almost couldn't get your next words out.

"How are you any better than them?" You asked quietly, instantly taking note of how her eyes darkened with anger. "You snatched me away, Feyre, not any of those men. So how are you-"

Feyre surged forward, cutting your words off by slotting her mouth over yours. The kiss was harsh, claiming as she pulled your naked body against hers even as you struggled and tried to pull away.

"I love you, Y/N. And I would never, ever hurt you..." Feyre trailed off as her fingers played with your hair once you'd stopped fighting her. You opened your mouth to refute that claim, but she started speaking before you could. "I am not hurting you, sweetness. You simply don't know what is best for you right now, and sometimes we just need to be shown the right path." You went to argue again- "Now, if you don't shower with me, you won't be given any clothes to wear for the next week," Feyre said with finality.

Fight her, continue to feel disgusting in the off chance that she doesn't still force you to shower, and have no clothes for a whole seven days, or don't fight her, deal with it this once, and have clothes.

You didn't fight as Feyre steered you by the shoulders into their grand bathroom, stopping by the large triple sink counter. She carefully removed the collar from your neck with some type of key, then led you straight into the massive shower that had four huge, separate shower heads- one on each of the three walls, and one overhead.

You turned around right as Feyre started the shower, turning on just the three wall spouts. Water hit you from three sides, and Feyre came at you from the remaining one.

"Do you remember anything from last night?" Feyre asked softly as she ran her hands over your body, passing over your nipples far more times than you felt was necessary. You shook your head. All that you could vaguely remember was getting to the bar Feyre had suggested. “That’s too bad, sweetness. You were very eager last night,” she said with a smile, and your cheeks flushed. “Don’t worry, at some point you’ll be able to admit to yourself how much you want us. For now we’ll just keep reminding you how much we want you.”

Feyre gently tipped your head back to wet your hair, taking her time to get it soaked in the warm spray. Her nails scratched lightly along your scalp, and you nearly sighed at the soft gesture.

This is not the same friend you’ve known all these months, you reminded yourself.

Before today, you would have never guessed you would be taking a shower with Feyre. A small part of you had maybe dreamed about it, but never would you have thought it would become a reality. Especially with the added element of you being forced.

Still, you couldn’t help but relax into Feyre’s gentle grasp and she shampooed your hair, then rinsed the lather from it, being careful to not get any suds in your eyes. The shampoo smelled just like the one you used before all of this happened. Strange. When Feyre began putting a thick conditioner in your hair, you realized it.

They don’t just smell like the products you use at home, they are the products you use at home.

Your accusatory glare hit Feyre once she was done rubbing the conditioner in.

“What?” Feyre asked innocently as she wet her own hair.

“Why do you know what products I use?”

Feyre smiled. “I pay attention, dear. I wanted to make the transition as comfortable as possible for you, so I got everything I could think of that you use regularly. Now, will you help me wash my hair?”

You didn’t move.

“Pleaaase, Y/N?” Feyre asked again, a pouty look on her face now, one that you were rarely able to resist.

“Fine. Which bottles?” You conceded, grabbing the shampoo bottle she pointed to and squeezing some out into the palm of your hand. You lathered it up, then set to working it through Feyre’s thick, golden brown hair. When you rinsed her hair, you wanted to let soap run into her eyes, but couldn’t let yourself for some reason. You repeated the process of working the conditioner through Feyre’s hair, and once you were done she turned around to fade you again.

“Time to rinse yours, cutie,” Feyre said, already tipping your head back into the water to rid your hair of conditioner. Again, her nails scraped along your scalp gently, just enough to get your body to relax more. When she finished, she grabbed a cloth and loaded it with body wash, one that smelled of lilacs and pears- very Feyre. Feyre soaped up your body slowly, lingering in the sensitive areas as long as she could before you started to fight her hold again. She helped you rinse off, then extended the cloth to you. “Do me?”

You shook your head. No. “I already washed your hair, Feyre, just let me get out please.”

Feyre sighed, and started washing her body. “You can’t get out yet, you still need to wash your face. I’d suggest it after last night,” Feyre said with a wink, and your stomach churned.

You don’t really want to know what that comment was about. But you wash and exfoliate your face nonetheless, using the identical products to those you had before, finishing just as Feyre was done washing her own face.

She turned the water off, and grabbed two fluffy towels off of the rack for the both of you. She wrapped one around herself, then patted you dry, taking her time to get every inch of skin and dry your hair as much as she could before she dried herself off.

Feyre went to the sink closest to the shower, and you spotted all of your skincare and hair care products lined up attractively behind the middle sink. Feyre was already doing her routine as you examined the bottles and jars, picking out what you wanted to use.

At least they’re giving you something normal.

Once the two of you had finished, Feyre locked the collar back onto your neck, then pulled you back into their bedroom, the massive bed lurking in your vision no matter where you turned. Feyre grabbed two sets of clothing, pulling on her own outfit. First was a lacy black set of lingerie that looked flawless on her, then a pair of black leggings, a rich brown sweater, and slippers.

She then forced you to let her dress you, slipping a pair of blush pink panties up your legs to settle snugly on your hips, and a matching colored bralette over your breasts, which she had for once refrained from squeezing. Your arms were lifted above your head to let a soft pink, long sleeved peasant dress fall over your body, and you were instructed to sit to allow Feyre to put white knee high socks onto your legs and slip your feet into cute pink slipper booties. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as Feyre dragged you out of the bedroom. You look cute, if you had to describe the outfit. It’s similar enough to the style you wear on your off time, though everything seems to be made of higher quality materials than what you were able to afford.

The door to the bedroom led to a short hallway, which Feyre led you to the open end of, coming out in the living room. The two of you walked to dining table, near the far end of the open concept room. There was already a good amount of food on the table, and Rhys was just walking away from the stove with a large plate of pancakes in hand, a large smile spreading across his face when he spotted the both of you.

“And I was just thinking I might have to come and get you girls,” he said with a grin. “Come and sit down, breakfast is ready.”

Rhys pulled out a chair for you, pushing you in once you’d sat down and repeated the gesture with Feyre, who was sitting to your left. Rhys then took the seat to your right at the head of the table and began piling food onto your plate. A couple of sausages, pieces of bacon, chunks of cut up melon, and of course pancakes.

You didn’t think you could eat.

If you had woken up in a separate bed this morning, all of this would feel normal enough. Feyre and Rhys had let you stay over once before, and the following morning had a breakfast similar to this.

But everything had changed, you weren’t here because your friends were kind and invited you, you were here because they had trapped you here. You had a collar wrapped around your neck, that alone would be reason enough for you to want to leave.

“Eat up, darling,” Rhys said as he moved on to plating his own food.

You stayed still, staring down at the food that had your stomach turning.

Feyre’s elbow nudged you gently, and you instinctively looked to your left.

“Go ahead and eat, Y/N,” Feyre said gently. When you still didn’t move, she sighed. “Not eating won’t do anything for you, sweetness. Have just one of everything, please,” she begged, using her soft eyes that were so hard to resist.

So, even with your stomach protesting, you lifted a bite of pancake to your mouth, chewing and swallowing but tasting nothing. Maybe if you play along for a little bit, they’ll let their guard down and you can escape.

Feyre and Rhys chatted about their jobs as the three of you ate- Feyre about her studio, and Rhys about the various businesses under the Night Corporation umbrella. You choked down each bite of food, doing your best to keep attention off of you.

A phone ringing cut through their chatter, and Feyre sighed as she picked it up.

“What?” She asked, annoyance clear in her tone. “Can’t you deal with it? I have something important today,” Feyre said, shooting a smile your way. The person on the other end replied with something that made Feyre groan. “Fine, I’ll be there in a half hour.”

Feyre dropped her phone onto the table and ran her hands over her eyes. “Well, I have to go into the studio, apparently the art class has taken a drastic turn that only I can fix,” Feyre whined. “Will you be okay here with just Rhys, sweetness?”

You raised a brow at her. “As though I have a choice?”

Rhys chuckled at your words. “That’s true, Fey, she’s stuck with me for the day. I’ll take good care of her, don’t worry.” Dread pooled in your stomach at his words. You don’t want to know what type of ‘care’ he has in mind.

Feyre was still staring at you, like she wanted to say something, then looked away when she stood up. “I shouldn’t be gone more than an hour, but I’ll text you to let you know if there’s anything that will hold me up,” she remarked as she placed a kiss on Rhys’s cheek, and one on yours as well. “Love you guys!” Feyre said as she was walking out of the door, purse in hand.

“Love you darling!”

In the silence that followed the door slamming shut, the dread in your stomach grew.

“So, would you like a little tour?” Rhys asked, already stacking your breakfast plates together.

You stared at him. “A tour?”

Rhys smiled. “Yes, darling, a tour. You need to know your way around now that you’re living here. And don’t say no, this is mandatory,” he added when you shook your head.

He placed the dishes in the sink before smoking back to the table, pull in out your chair and extending a hand to help you stand. You ignore it, standing on your own, which made Rhys sigh.

“Right this way, darling,” Rhys said, pulling you by the hand back towards the hallway containing their bedroom. You dug your feet into the ground, unwilling to enter the bedroom with him. Rhys stopped walking and turned to face you. “What’s the problem, doll?”

“I am not going to take this sham of a ‘tour’ if it just means that you’re going to rape me.”

Rhys’s eyes softened at your words, and he pulled you into a hug even as your tried to resist his hold. “Oh, darling. You won’t have to worry about that. I won’t fuck you until you are begging for my cock.”

“Like that will ever happen,” you spat, finally wrenching yourself free of his grasp.

“Oh, it will,” Rhys said assuredly, smirking down at you. “Now, will you let me give you the tour?”

You sighed, but did feel mildly better knowing that he supposedly wouldn’t be forcing himself on you. “Fine."

He continued to lead you back down the hallway their their bedroom resided, but stopped at the doorway opposite it. He swung it open, and gestured for you to walk inside. When you did, your jaw dropped.

It’s as though they had gone into your mind and plucked your perfect bedroom out of it just to recreate it here. The walls were in a soft, dusty pink color with a pale cream ceiling. There was fluffy pink carpet on the floor, looking so soft and squishy you wanted to be barefoot on it. At the far end of the room was a large canopy bed, decorated in hues of pink and purple, with a mound of pillows against the wall. There was a dresser and large closet off to the left, and on the right there was a small sitting area gathered around a table with a tv on it, your favorite consoles already lined up and plugged in, along with stacks and stacks of your favorite games. There was even a cute pink mini fridge and little snack shelf, all filled with your favorites.

“Do you like it?” Rhys asked hesitantly from his place in the doorway.

“Do I-?” You stopped to laugh. “Do I like it? It’s like the two of your read my mind. How?”

Rhys’s cheeks colored slightly as he met your eyes. “Feyre had the idea to look through your Pinterest, and you had a board dedicated to your dream room, so she worked tirelessly to get this ready for you.”

The thought and effort would have been sweet- were they not keeping you here against your will.

You just sighed and shook your head. “Is there more to the tour?”

Rhys nodded and grabbed you by the hand once more. He showed you around to the various guest rooms, the guest bathroom, then to Feyre’s home studio and his office, and finally you were back to the living room. The two of you were stood in front of the couches, looking out at their pool and massive patio.

“Do you want to play a game together?” Rhys asked, gesturing to the double TV and console set up in front of you. “We can play whatever you want, you can even play alone,” he offered.

Strangely, this request put you at ease even more than him saying he wouldn’t fuck you. Almost like it confirmed that the Rhys you had known was still in there, just… different. Darker.

“I don’t know…”

“We could smoke a joint,” Rhys said in a sing-songy voice, having grabbed one out of a box on the coffee table. “Or two. Or three. Just something to help you get your mind of things, maybe?”

The offer was tempting. You could pretend like you were just hanging out at your friends’ house and playing a video game with him.

“Sure, why not?”

The feeling of smoke filling your lungs calmed you down, settling you into a sleepy state where you weren’t thinking about the situation and how fucked up it is, just the passing flow of the river of your thoughts. You and Rhys shared two joints together on the patio, passing it between puffs.

“You know that Feyre cares about you, right?” Rhys asked as he took the second lit joint from you. You exhaled the smoke from your mouth, watching as it was whipped away by the wind.

“I don’t know that I would call this,” you gestured around you and at the collar, “caring about me.”

Rhys sighed. “But it is, Y/N. I know we went about it in a twisted way, but Feyre and I truly want you to be happy and safe. And before you ask, no, I won’t let you go. Just give us some time, you’ll come see how nice your life can be here and how much we care about you.”

You took the joint back from him with a pout, annoyed with him now. Sure, they care about me enough to steal me away and lock me up, but not enough to let me make the choice myself.

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Rhys laughed sadly. “No, you don’t. But giving us a chance will make this much more enjoyable for you.”

You took another long drag before passing the joint back to Rhys’s waiting fingers.

“Will you… would you convince Feyre to not… touch me until I’m begging?” You asked hopefully, knowing that that day would never come now.

Rhys eyed you carefully. “I can talk to her about that, if it would make you feel more at ease around us darling."

A weight was lifted off your chest at his confirmation that he would wrangle Feyre in. He let you take the last drag before putting the joint out, and followed you back into the living room.

“Do you have Minecraft?” You asked hopefully, wanting to dick around and maybe build a cute house.

“Of course, darling,” Rhys said, booting up the TVs and consoles, passing a pink controller to you.

Within a couple of minutes, the two of you were as focused on the blocky game as you could be, your minds covered in a weed soaked haze.

Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff (let me know if you want to stay on the taglist for the mini series!)

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Bonus Part — Fin x Reader.

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

Word Count: 7.2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that’s when you see him.

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

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

He notices you, too.

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

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

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

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

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

Your friend’s father.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The whiskey they serve here is immense.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mor surprised me with a visit.”

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

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

“I noticed. And I’m taking you home.”

“What—”

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

Being winnowed while drunk is not a fun experience.

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

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

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

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

“I was enjoying myself.”

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

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

“No,” you say simply. “I will not.”

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

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

And immediately, gone is the haze of the alcohol.

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

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

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

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

It makes you see red.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What—”

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

“Fin—”

“I hope you sleep well.”

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

Beneath your touch, he stops. Goes preternaturally still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fin’s eyes reopen.

He stares at you.

His throat bobs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You surge up and kiss him again.

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

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

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

You think only about the fact that it feels right.

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

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

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

You shake your head, “No.”

“Nor is it about Rhysand.”

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he dives in.

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

“Look at me,” Fin growls. “Only me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then he commands, “Look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fin—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I make you scream?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would be honoured,” he rasps.

And thus, the affair begins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” he shakes his head. “Never.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You and I?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Then it’s a bargain.”

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

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

“Oh, I like that,” he hums.

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

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

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

[readychilledwine]

Crush

Summary - Deciding to take a yoga class may have been the best decision you've ever made

Warnings - plus size reader, discussions of gym culture and health

A/n - fic 3 for @cassianappreciationweek day 7! We get NSFW from here 💕

🗡Cassian Masterlist🗡Master Masterlist🗡

The clang of weights was almost as annoying as the front desk girl staring at you. You hated gyms, hated the judgment that came with walking into one, hated the way people stared at you as if you weren't the ideal person to actually be at a place for improving yourself. 

“Look,” you interrupted her politely, “I am fully aware I am paying more to take this class because I don't have a membership. Considering I'm just trying out this fitness thing, not really interested in spending $100 a month just then also pay $80 for the one class I'm interested in taking.” Her smiled dropped slightly as she just nodded and took your card, finishing your sign up for the yoga course you and 3 of your closest friends were trying. 

You knew she was just trying to meet her numbers, but it was something from gym culture you hated. The constant pushing to join their cult and have access to “everything” instead of just being able to pay for the classes you were interested in was crazy to you. The way gym culture pushed looking a certain way to be considered healthy and attractive also bothered you greatly. 

Health had to do with more than just the numbers on the scales. It had to do with your mind, your soul, and that was what you were here to work. Your mind and soul, and if you happened to gain some muscle strength from yoga, that was just an added bonus. You were all wanting to try yoga as a form of stress relief, relaxation, and self care.  No pressure, no expectations, just fun. 

The four of you were all laughing as you headed into the gym, not even bothering to stop and look at anyone or anything going on. In your mind, it was just a scene you'd watched hundreds of times. Ripped men showing off their muscles, gym girls vlogging their “workouts” in outfits you never would be caught wearing. You were here for you, not for the show someone thought they could put on for you.

Cassian was in a squat rack, watching you through the mirror as he stood with weights resting on his wide shoulders. You were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Every curve, every strand of hair. You were perfect in his eyes. Rhys followed his glance before grinning, “That's my assistant. Y/n!” 

You glanced up, instantly waving at Rhys and he waved back. He motioned for you to come over, “Hello, darling. What brings you here?”

“Yoga,” you shrugged. “Trying it for stress relief. Mean boss and all!” 

Rhysand laughed at your response, eyes sparkling, “You brought water?” You nodded to him. “Good, that room gets way too hot. I admire the yoga classes, but I can't do it. Oh! By the way,” he motioned to Cassian, “this is my brother, Cassian. You know Az from security.”

And that's when it began.

Two months. Two long months of you and Cassian trading no more than your names, smiles, and slightly flirtatious banter and digs at each other when you would cross paths at the water fountain. 

Today was his day, though. Today he'd finally ask if you wanted him to help you workout, and if you said no, he'd offer dinner instead. Rhys had been forced into telling him every detail of your life. He knew your favorite color, food, how you took coffee. He felt like he knew about you, but now he truly needed to know you.

He needed more than glances that left you blushing. Needed more than you making him go home and spend his night staring at the ceiling in his empty bed wondering if you liked him the way he liked you.

Today was his day. He knew it as he kept glancing at you.

Two months had sucked you into your own version of gym culture, and while your goal was still more the stress relief, you had to admit it was fun watching your booty get even better. You had to also admit deep down that you had other reasons for coming to the gym outside of yoga class, though. That reason was 6’5”, dark curly hair, swirling tribal tattoos, and looking oh so delicious in his black shorts today.

You reminded yourself you were mainly here to focus on you. To get yourself into your head space and earn the snacks waiting for you at home, and zeroed in on the goal of reaching 10,000 stairs by the end of the week.

You were deep into your workout and in your own world when Cassian approached, admiring each jiggle not so secretly, “So y/n.”

“MOTHER F-” you cover your mouth, slapping the emergency stop button and feeling his hand instantly stabilizing you by touching your back. “You scared me!”

“I can tell,” he chuckled back. “I was just wondering if you wanted to try free weights with me today? I spot you? Teach you some stuff?”

I blinked at him, “Really?” He nodded almost boyishly, a playful grin on his face. “I can't spot you, though.”

He motioned over her shoulder to your boss and Azriel, “They exist still. Unfortunately.”

You bit your lip, knowing you'd look so out of place beside the 3 of them. “Cassian, I don't really work out to be-”

“You work out to take care of stress and eat whatever snacks you want. I know. Rhys told me. You'll get tired of cardio soon, so learning another area wouldn't hurt.”

You glared towards Rhys, “Traitor.”

“Is that a yes?”

You sighed and nodded, wiping down the handles of the machine you were on before letting him pull you over to Rhys and Azriel.

One workout became two. Two became twice a week. Twice a week became him coming over and enjoying snacks and a movie. Snacks and movie became dinner with Cassian at an expensive restaurant with Rhys, his wife, Feyre, Azriel, and his possibly girlfriend, Nesta. 

The table was silent as Cassian ordered a fairly unhealthy pasta, ate bread with you, and then shared dessert. It had been so long since they watched him genuinely enjoy food. “Cheat day,” he said casually as Azriel raised a brow at him. “I'm trying to mix y/n's work out to eat what she wants into my lifestyle once a week.” 

“He seems to like our snack and movie nights,” you glanced up at him, to you just admiring the way he smiled. But to the rest of the table, it was clear the gym crush you two shared was becoming much much more. Azriel slipped Rhys money under the table, conceding that he had won the bet. 

“Y/n told me a lot of research shows a cheat day is actually better for you than 7 hard days,” Cassian took another bite of the melted chocolate fudge brownie. “So we have a cheat day now on Sunday. We call it Sinday.”

“We still do a light walk,” you offered as Rhys looked confused. “But more of a “find some wilderness and explore walk than follow this beaten path one.” That dinner turned into many more. It turned into meeting each other's families. To merging friend groups. 

No activity you two tried topped the gym together. Especially after Cassian built and began running his own. His gym was built to cater to those who'd never felt welcomed. One way windows so the people inside could look out, but no one would see in. A mirror room dedicated to progress selfies to stop people from capturing a stranger in their pictures, a strict no bullying policy. He had made a safe haven for those who were serious about their workouts, and those who were just starting, and you could not have been more proud, especially now that you were teaching yoga and hot yoga classes there.

You two posed in the mirror, sweat dripping down him as he flexed and you kissed his cheek with your leg popped up, waiting for the camera to click breaking the no selfies on the main workout floor rule.

“Gross,” Azriel yelled. “Focus on training you two!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cassian shot back. “I'm coming. Enjoy yoga, baby.”

“I will. Snacks tonight?”

“Absolutely,” he answered. “Those little no bake cookie balls would be so good."

"Oh, yeah. We'll pick those up!"

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

[pinkrasberryfish]

Another chapter of A Court of Blood & Mercy is now available! Chapter 34 "He Wanted Blood" 🩸🗡 🖤 Enjoy!

[illyrianbitch]

One Summer — Part Two

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: One beach house. One festival. One summer to fall in love.

Warnings: brief mentions of alcohol, cass & mor being bickering siblings, cass with facial hair, modern adaptions of bat wings aka tattoos, sexual n romantic tension, reader has a big fat crush

Word Count: 5.5k

Part One — Series Masterlist — Part Three

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

“I hate it.”

Though Mor was seated beside you, her voice seemed to reverberate from a great distance, oscillating from one ear to the other. Your attention was not on your two best friends; their conversation filtering through your senses like white noise. Instead, your mind was entirely captivated by the view of the beach you sat on. The sun was setting and a golden hue painted the skies, its final light skittering across the soft waves of the ocean.

This was always one of your favorite times of day.

There was a specific sense of peace that seemed to settle among everyone as the sun gave over to the power of the moon, a peace that almost felt tangible on your skin, like the grains of the warm sand beneath you. You dug your toes further into its warmth as Mor scowled next to you, her gaze stuck on the horizon where Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys currently ran around, attempting to pin one another and throw each other into the waves.

The topic of conversation was what it had been every time Mor complained over the past week: Cassian’s new mustache.

It had grown exponentially over the last week, now fully formed above his top lip. Even from this distance, you could make out its shadow. But, in all honesty, it wasn’t his mustache that you were focusing on. It was his chiseled, bare torso.

The boys were always very fit, sporting defined bodies with even more defined muscles. But you hadn’t seen them like this in a while: shirtless, sun-kissed, tanned skin, and swimming shorts that created sleek, stark tan lines along their hips. Not since way back in the first summer you all shared. Last year’s break was filled with an internship to beef up your resume, moving into your new place with Mor and Feyre, and spending whatever free time you had with Eris and his family— far, far away from Mor.

The boys had grown even bigger since that first summer. Cassian, in particular, had developed noticeable definition, which you attributed to ROTC and his various sports activities. After all, ROTC combined military training with college coursework and demanded a significant amount of time and discipline. Balancing academics, those military duties, and being a student athlete seemed like an overwhelming feat, but Cassian managed it all. His physique was a clear indication of it.

Yet, despite his impressive build, it was Cassian’s face that truly drew attention. His large, beaming grin had a way of captivating anyone who saw it. It seemed to say more about his character than his muscular frame ever could, making it clear that beneath all that strength was someone incredibly approachable and genuinely good-hearted.

Your attention traveled to Rhysand next. Rhysand always held a certain grace to him, a regal essence of someone born to be a leader, to stand out among a crowd. You’d watched him come into his own in the past few years, watched as he fell in love with Feyre and began planning a life for himself outside of the pressures his father had implemented throughout his childhood.

Rhysand’s usually meticulously styled hair now hung in front of his eyes as he dodged Cassian and went under his arm. He was always a bit leaner than Cass, but still very built, with large, defined muscles that Feyre giggled about every girls' night. Rhys knew how to put those muscles to use, Feyre seemed to remind you every time she was three margaritas in. You didn’t doubt it, even if you and Mor groaned and pushed her further off the couch—and watched as she fell to the floor since Feyre’s balance tended to disappear when alcohol was introduced to her nightly diet.

Despite every fiber in your being begging for your gaze to fall to him first, your eyes went to Azriel last. You’d been fighting the urge, telling yourself that if you looked at him last, your eyes could linger just a few seconds longer.

You were currently mesmerized by the tattoo sprawling across his back.

The design was captivating—an elaborate pair of wings stretching gracefully across his shoulder blades, with their apex extending along the sides of his neck. The wings seemed almost alive, their fine details appearing three-dimensional against his golden skin. The spaces around the wings were filled with swirling patterns that looked like shadows, moving fluidly as though they were dancing across his skin.

The wings didn’t stop at his back; they extended over his biceps and down to his elbows. When he moved his arms, it almost seemed as if he was preparing for flight, the tattoo coming to life with every gesture. Cassian’s wings mirrored this design, stretching over his own biceps and elbows in a similar fashion. However, the empty spaces on his arms were adorned with sharp, angular patterns. Where the patterns on Az’s skin were fluid, like smoke and shadow, Cassians were rigid, sharp lines like that of a fierce fight.

Rhysand’s tattoo was distinctively more reserved. His bat-style wings were intricately etched into his back, spanning from his shoulder blades to his lower back, but they remained tightly confined to his torso. Unlike Azriel and Cassian, the design didn’t extend onto his arms. Instead, it was tattooed in a tucked, retracted position. Besides the wings, Rhysand’s collarbone was adorned with an elaborate tattoo of stars and swirling patterns that mimicked the night sky, with galaxies appearing to shimmer and shift across his skin.

Your eyes stuck to Azriel’s moving form— glued to his every gesture, really.

Azriel was always very cute. Handsome and pretty in a way that made chests tighten. But you hadn’t seen it much recently, hadn’t paid attention to anyone besides Eris, really. Now that you were broken up, it was as if you were seeing things in a completely new light, with new glasses that magnified every detail of the males around you. The reality was undeniable: Azriel had gotten more attractive over the past two years.

It was unfair. Completely and utterly unfair.

And you were completely and utterly overwhelmed by it— more so than you’d ever expected. God, you needed to check yourself, to reel in this strange crush that had begun to bloom like a flower in a new spring. You felt feral. It was embarrassing, to say the least, and you were grateful that your friends were often too absorbed in their own lives to notice your lingering glances.

Your fingers itched to trace the intricate ink on Azriel’s skin. You settled for running the pads of your fingers along the bare skin of your knee, mimicking the graceful movements of his tattoos. The act was a poor substitute for the real thing, but it helped channel the sudden urge to connect with the beautiful art that adorned him.

Feyre let out a hum besides Mor. From the corner of your eye you caught sight of her tilting her head in quiet focus. “I don’t know,” she said after a moment, “It’s not that bad.”

Mor whipped her head to the side, her blonde locks cascading across her shoulder like a golden waterfall. She let out a shocked gasp.

“Feyre,” she scolded, “You can’t be serious.”

Feyre raised an eyebrow in response. “I’m serious. I’ve seen worse. It works for him, I think.”

Mor’s attention shifted to you. It took a minute before you were able to tear your gaze away from the view in front of you— the three boys illuminated by the soft glow of sunset; the delicate waves behind them that collected the remaining colors of the sky.

You turned to look at her, taking in her widened eyes and pursed lips. It was an expectant face, one she wore when she was waiting for important news— or in this case, for someone to agree with her. You offered a sheepish smile and shrugged, pulling your knees closer to your chest.

“Sorry girl, it’s kinda growing on me, too.”

Her mouth fell open and another dramatic, shocked gasp left her mouth. She returned her gaze to the view before her.

“It’s like I’m the only one with taste in this entire house.”

You snorted, turning to look as Mor shook her head in disbelief. Your gaze connected with Feyre’s as you leaned over slightly and you watched as her mouth curved into an amused smile, a small laugh leaving her delicate lips.

“You have a completely different taste than both of us, Mor. Maybe that's why you feel so passionate about this topic.”

Mor shook her head again, waving the comment off with an elegant hand— long red painted nails on every finger except for two: her ring and middle finger. The same style was mirrored on her other hand, currently at her side and playing with the sand.

“Actually,” Mor started, and you rolled your eyes at the tone of her voice, a smile tugging stronger at your lips. “It’s because I’m into girls that my opinion here matters the most.”

Your attention drifted back to the boys who had finally ceased their game. They were catching their breath, hunched over and panting, before gradually making their way back.

Cassian reached you guys first, his steps falling from a jog into a soft walk before he came to a complete stop. He brought his hands to his head, smoothing down the top of his pulled back hair and readjusting his bun. Then, he placed his hands on his hips as a grin broke out on his face, eyes trailing between you, Mor, and Feyre.

“Whatcha ladies gossiping about?”

His voice was still ragged from the running, coming out in a long breath and followed by a deep one. Mor frowned at him, crinkling her nose as she scanned his appearance.

“We’re talking about that disgusting caterpillar of facial hair you’ve forced us to endure the sight of.”

Cassian’s grin faltered. “Excuse me?”

Mor only raised a brow in response— a challenge. Cassian accepted wordlessly, crossing his arms across his bare chest and jutting his chin out defiantly.

“Don’t be a hater, Mor.”

She scoffed. “Hater is my middle name. Consider this a reality check: Shave.”

Cassian considered her response for a moment, lips pursing in feign contemplation. Nope,” he said, a hand caressing his mustache. “You’re just too stubborn to admit you might actually like it.”

Another scoff. Offended and insulted all at once, the presence of those emotions fully present in the sound as it left her lips. “There are many words to describe the way I feel about that monstrosity you’re touching. ‘Like’ is certainly not one of them.”

You tossed a glance over at Feyre. She caught your gaze, eyes glistening with a quiet amusement as she tugged her legs to her chest, her sitting stance mirroring yours. She placed her chin on her knee, eyes drifting back towards the two bickering adults.

“You’re so dramatic. This ‘stache isn’t for you, anyways. You’re not the population I’m aiming for.”

“And who, pray tell, is the target audience? Divorcees in soon-to-be foreclosed homes?” A raised brow. “Republicans?”

This conversation was one you’d heard almost every day since Cass had decided to grow his ‘stache out, opting to only shave his beard. The argument held the same structure everytime. Mor would complain that it was gross and an eyesore, offer a new metaphor to describe it, and insist that Cassian shave it off. Cass would wave it off, act offended, and explain his reasonings once more to her deaf ears. It’s for the indie girls at the festival, Mor, Cassian had whined two days prior, They’ll go crazy for a pornstache. It’s a trend now. Mor only complained more in response, groaning in disgust and telling him she was going to shave it in his sleep.

As the argument continued, Azriel and Rhysand finally approached. Rhys raised an eyebrow at the bickering duo, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. He flashed you a grin before flopping down next to Feyre. With a playful shake of his head, reminiscent of a wet dog, he sent droplets of water flying. Feyre let out a startled shriek and pushed him away, her eyes sparkling with annoyance as Rhysand’s laughter filled the air.

Meanwhile, Azriel approached slowly, the last rays of the setting sun casting a faint glow on his figure. As he neared, Cassian turned his attention to him, desperation evident in his eyes.

“Hey, man, help me out here,” he called, a hand extended in Az’s direction. “Tell her it works. Back me up.”

Azriel gave him a steady look before shaking his head. “I’m not going to do that.”

Mor let out a triumphant laugh. “Aha!” Her eyes glimmered in satisfaction. “Even Azriel agrees with me!”

Cass kicked a spray of sand towards her in response. It scattered in all directions and you sputtered, grimacing as the gritty texture found its way into your mouth and eyes. With a groan, you brushed it off, watching as Cassian’s face dropped and concern flashed across his widened eyes.

Both him and Azriel muttered curses under their breath, the two starting to move towards you. But Cassian was faster. With a swift motion, he plopped down beside you, arm reaching out to pull you into his side.

“My bad, my bad,” He said, his voice laced with sincerity as he tucked you against him, his damp arm warm around you. He gave you a reassuring squeeze, though you still felt the remnants of sand clinging to your skin.

You squirmed a bit, trying to escape his sweaty embrace, but Cassian held you close. Over your hunched back, he shot a glare at Mor. “See what you made me do?”

She squeaked. “What I made you do?”

“Yes you.”

Your cheek pressed against his chest, squished near the area where his arms met his torso.

“I didn’t force you to kick sand at me with your big ass feet,” she huffed.

A new argument arose, Cassian leaning further over your back to bicker with Mor face to face. The more enthusiastic he became, the farther he seemed to shove you into his form. You looked up and managed to meet Azriel’s gaze, widening your eyes in a plea for help.

He understood the look immediately. The corners of his lips twitched upwards in amusement as he stepped forward, knocking Cassian’s muscled calf with his foot.

“Cass,” Azriel said, “You’re suffocating her.”

It took him a moment to register the words. But when they finally hit, Cass sprung back, holding you out with his arms in a movement so swift you blinked to reorient yourself. He examined you with the same observant eye as a parent, looking over your exposed skin as if he was searching for any open wounds or deformities.

“My bad,” he repeated. He gave you a guilty grin as brought his hands to smooth down your hair. His large hazel eyes met yours, widened and soft like that of a puppy. “All better.”

You gave him a look— brows raised and scrunched, a deep crease forming in the middle of them.

“Get outta here,” you muttered, pushing his warm body away from you. But despite yourself, a small grin hung on the corners of your lips.

You still felt Azriel’s eyes on you— that faint warm sensation that filtered through your skin. You met his gaze momentarily, watching as his eyes bounced between all of you. He settled back on the large teddy bear next to you.

“Help me start the fire,” Az said, calling Cassian’s attention back to him. Azriel looked at Mor next, gesturing towards her with his chin. “You too, judgy.”

“What?” Mor paused, hands freezing mid motion of wiping sand off her thighs. “Why me?”

“Because you’re mean,” Cassian said, bringing a hand to stroke his mustache. “And mean people do labor.”

Rhysand snorted. You had almost forgotten Rhys and Feyre were sitting there, quietly in their own world until Rhys leaned back on his hands with a grin, obviously enjoying the argument.

Azriel rolled his eyes. “Get up, c’mon.” He gestured with his hands, herding them both like sheep. Mor let out a grumble but began to push herself up nonetheless.

“I’m getting up because I want to. Not because you told me.”

Cassian was in front of her before she managed, offering a large hand out. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Let's go.”

She threw him a scowl, but the act had no malice behind it. Taking his hand, she muttered, “This would be much sweeter if you didn’t look like my creepy uncle Chris.”

Cassian just groaned.

Thank you, you mouthed when Azriel met your eyes once more. The corner of his eyes crinkled as he gave you a soft smile. Something deep within your chest flickered, like a candle being lit aflame. He dipped his head in acknowledgement before trailing after the two.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Forty five minutes later, you found yourself seated around a crackling fire, the sound of Rhysand's offhand joke eliciting laughter from everyone.The night had fully descended and the sky above was dotted with dim, flickering stars. You’d all discussed the summer, the festival, and your plans for the month. It was a summer of living, you’d told them. A summer to sit back and let life do with you what it may—and hope that meant all good things.

The stretch of beach was empty except for your group. Whether Rhysand and Mor’s family owned this area or the rest of the world had simply decided to stay in, you weren’t sure. Either way, you were appreciative.

Cassian was beside you, but your attention was solely on Azriel, who sat next to him. The firelight played upon his skin, casting a warm glow that accentuated the sharp lines of his face. The embers illuminated his hazel eyes with a brilliance that made your breath catch every time he laughed.

Azriel met your gaze, his features softened by the dancing flames, and your heart skipped a beat. His mouth moved, forming words, and it took a moment for you to realize he was speaking to you. You blinked, the spell breaking, and slowly forced yourself to focus, bringing yourself down from the reverie you had drifted into.

“Are you cold?”

Azriel’s voice rolled over you like a small wave and you shivered at the sensation. You looked down at yourself and realized, for the first time, how the night’s chill had settled in. Goosebumps had risen on your skin, more pronounced than you had initially thought.

“Just a little,” you admitted, running your hands along your arms in a vain attempt to generate warmth. The friction offered little relief and you exhaled softly. “I can just move closer to the fire.”

You repositioned yourself, moving to scooch closer to the fire that illuminated your faces.

“Nah, don’t do that.” Cassian said. You turned to find him watching you, his gaze steady, shadows of flames flickering on his features. He gestured back towards the house with his chin. "I have a hoodie in the living room if you want to grab it."

You considered his idea for a moment, then nodded in agreement. It was a sensible suggestion. Placing a gentle hand on Mor’s shoulder, you let her know you’d be right back. She smiled in response, her eyes warm in the flickering firelight.

You brushed off your pants and walked towards the house, your feet sinking slightly into the still-warm sand with each step. The contrast of the cool night air and the lingering warmth of the sand created a soothing, almost nostalgic sensation as you made your way to the living room.

The dimly lit interior welcomed you with a cozy, muted glow and your gaze fell on the kitchen counter. There, amid Azriel’s keys and a variety of Rhysand’s rings, rested a camera.

You took a moment to examine it—a digital model. While you weren’t particularly knowledgeable about cameras, this one was nice; reminiscent of a simpler time. You weren’t exactly sure if it was the design that made you feel that way or the person that owned it: Azriel.

You knew without a doubt that it was his. You could also assume, with a fair degree of confidence, that the camera could beautifully simulate the look of film.

Azriel had mentioned his burgeoning passion for photography two years ago, expressing a particular fondness for the aesthetic of film. He’d said that a true film camera was beyond his budget at the time, but a digital model with film simulation would be an ideal compromise. Rhysand and Cassian had gifted him this very camera the following Christmas. From what Mor had told you, Az never felt comfortable enough to pick up the passion— kept telling her that he hadn’t found his muse yet.

"Hey."

Despite how soft the voice was, you still jumped, placing the camera back down on the counter as you turned to face Azriel. He always had an uncanny ability to move silently, almost as if he emerged from the shadows themselves. It was unnerving at first, but there was a certain comfort found in his stealth now. His presence wasn't loud. You appreciated it.

"Hi, Az." You smiled sheepishly. "You're so quiet. It's crazy."

The corners of his lips twitched upwards. Azriel’s gaze softened slightly, his hazel eyes now glowing with a gentle amusement.

“Sorry,” he said, accompanied by a small laugh. He moved around you and made his way to the fridge. It opened with a small clatter, the glass bottles stacked on the door moving with the movement. He pulled out a few bottles of beers.

“You agreed to be the errand boy?” you asked, a hint of playful reproach in your voice.

Usually, the boys argued over every action; who would grab the next drink, who would drive while the others drank— the options were endless. It was often settled with a game of rock, paper, scissors, or a classic nose-goes. Azriel always seemed to come out on top.

He glanced back over his shoulder, a casual shrug punctuating his response. “If I didn’t, no one would.”

His voice was quiet– steady. You studied his movements, taking in the details of his tattooed back that were too small to appreciate from a distance. He turned around, walking forward to place the bottles on the kitchen counter across from you.

"You could be a spy, y'know."

Azriel raised an eyebrow skeptically, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that suggested he was both amused and intrigued. You returned the gesture, leaning forward on your forearms. The kitchen counter was cold against your skin and you felt a slight chill run through your body.

“You don’t agree?” you asked.

He met your gaze through his lashes and shook his head, a lopsided smile playing on his lips. The curls otop of his head bounced with the subtle movement and the warmth in his eyes reflected the gentle glow of the dim kitchen light.

“Nah,” he responded. He popped the caps off the bottles. “Don’t know if that fits me.”

“I think it does. You’re an observer.”

“Careful,” Azriel warned with a playful edge. His voice was smooth in a way that made you clench, tone low and unintendedly seductive. “Don’t make me sound like a creep.”

”Okay, what would you like me to say instead?”

He contemplated. “I just like to people-watch.”

You had to stifle a chuckle, finding his self-description almost endearing in its simplicity. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that actually sounded worse— at least to you. Instead, you reached to the side, grabbing the camera that had been in your hands a few moments prior. "This kind of people watching?"

For a moment, you both stood in silence as you stared at the camera in your hands. When you looked up, you focused on Azriel’s face. His eyes traveled from the camera to your eyes, and in that moment, there was something alive in his gaze—an intensity that seemed to make the room itself disappear. Something warm and comforting.

“I remember you talking about wanting to get into photography,” you said, your voice softening with genuine warmth. With a smile, you extended the camera toward him. “I’m glad to see you’re pursuing it. At least for the summer.”

Azriel’s smile widened slightly as he reached out and took it from your hands, the brush of his fingers against your skin sending a pleasant shiver through you. Your smile grew deeper into your cheeks, pulled at the edges by his very touch.

But when the camera was finally in his hold, something seemed to change in his gaze, as if the weight of the it in his palm was transferred to a weight on his chest. He let out a small sigh.

"Don't get your hopes up,” he murmured, “I haven't taken any pictures yet."

He placed the camera back onto the counter with a slight thud, the sound echoing softly in the quiet kitchen. You gave him a face.

“It’s barely been a week,” you said, trying to keep your tone light. “Six days to be exact.”

“That’s already a week behind.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, a small laugh leaving your lips. Azriel seemed to lock onto the sound, eyes glittering as his hand found the beer bottle again.

“Seriously?” You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms in a playful gesture of mock indignation. “It’s been six days and you’re already considering yourself behind schedule?”

He gave a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “It’s not just about having the camera. It’s about actually using it. I had high hopes for this week.”

“Sometimes its okay to just enjoy the moment, Az.”

He leaned in slightly, his eyes twinkling with playful intensity. You felt a catch in your breath at the way his expression shifted. It was enough to remind you that Az wasn’t just kind and attractive; he was a suave college boy when needed.

“Ah, but the burden of my artistic aspirations are too great,” he said, his voice low and playful, “How will I ever manage without my schedule?”

A comedian, truly. You raised an amused eyebrow. “And I’m the Type A one?”

"You are." He grinned. "Who counts the days they've been on vacation for, anyways?"

"Okay that's not fair."

Azriel chuckled and walked over to a vase on the counter. The vase, a clear, simple one that had come with a bouquet of flowers for Rhys’s mother, was part of a collection Azriel started—a small yet meaningful tradition of saving bottle caps from vacation. You took the opportunity to glance at his back again, taking in the intricate tattoos that adorned his shoulder blades. The designs seemed to pulse with life against his skin when they caught the light.

“It’s cool seeing all of the details in your tattoos. I never really noticed them before.”

Azriel turned slightly, his gaze meeting yours as he considered your observation. “Is this you admitting that you’re staring at my naked back?”

“Do you want me to be staring at your naked back?”

Azriel dropped the caps into the vase and walked back towards you. He gave you a nonchalant shrug, his mischievous smile lingering slightly on his lips, casual and knowing.

“It’s hard not to stare,” you added, tracing idle patterns onto the counter, unaware of how the motions mimicked the swirls on Az’s skin. “You, Cass, and Rhys have the most ink out of everyone I know. My eyes naturally gravitate.”

“And here I thought my back was special.”

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks and you quickly looked down at the counter, hoping it would hide the color spreading across your face. Your smile was so wide it almost hurt. You met his eyes once more. They were already on you.

“I will tell you that your wings seem a bit bigger than Cass or Rhys’s.”

Azriel’s grin widened at your response. He leaned forward, resting on the counter and lowering his gaze to meet yours. “Don’t tell them that.”

He took a swig of his drink. You watched the path of the liquid down his throat, tracing it to his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. You cleared your throat, laughing softly. “Never.”

He looked at you for a moment, gaze soft and contemplative. A thoughtful glaze found his eyes, as if he were lost in deep reflection.

“What?”

Your voice came out meeker than intended.

“I’m just really glad you’re here.” Azriel said. His voice was sincere, carrying with it a weight that made you pause.

You sucked in a breath. “Me too. It’s nice to be around you guys. All of you.”

“Would I be a dick if I said that I’m glad you and Eris broke up?” Azriel paused. “Because now you can be here with us.”

You bit back a smile, your cheeks warming slightly. “Maybe just a tiny bit.”

But the corners of your lips still twitched upwards, forming a lopsided smile.

He shrugged, a casual grin returning to his lips. “In that case, consider it thought, not said.”

You smiled at him, feeling a nervous flutter in your chest. The dim light of the kitchen seemed to cast a warm glow around him, making his features appear even more inviting than usual. He looked soft now, and you found yourself struggling to understood why, at one point, you were unbelievably intimidated by him.

Freshman year you would be having a heart attack now, truly. You could still feel her deep down in your mind, beginning to hyperventilate with excitement.

You looked down shyly, trying to steady your racing heart, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before pointing at the beers.

“Do you need help with those?”

“Sure,” he replied with a grin, pushing one towards you. “I can never say no to you.” His words sent a rush of warmth through you, and you bit your lip to prevent your smile from growing even more. Forget alcohol— subtlety is what you needed more of. He rounded the kitchen counter.

As he neared you, he paused, his eyes flicking to your forehead. Placing the beers back down, he reached out, his fingers hovering inches from your skin. You scrunched your brows in confusion, blinking rapidly as his face came closer to yours. His touch was feather-light, so soft it was almost imperceptible, yet it sent a shiver down your spine all the same.

“What—” you began, but the words caught in your throat.

“There,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. He brushed something from your temple, his fingers lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary. You felt your cheeks heat up, a growing blush spreading like wildfire.

You couldn’t help but imagine how Azriel must be with those he loved beyond friendship—how his gentle gestures must perfectly soothe the hearts of those he held dear. The soft touches, the attentiveness, the small actions that made Azriel so uniquely himself. The thought lingered as he pulled away, rubbing his fingers with a small, smile.

“Some sand,” he said, his voice casual, but the warmth in his eyes gave it a softer edge.

You managed to breathe out a thank you, the breath escaping you in a soft rush. Another shiver ran through you, not just from the chill, but from the unexpected intimacy of his touch. You stared at the counter, hoping it would hide the flush on your cheeks and the way your smile made your cheeks ache.

Azriel seemed to have a sudden realization. “Aaand,” he said, turning on his heel and walking briskly into the living room. Moments later, he returned with a small jog, tossing you a hoodie. “It’s mine, not Cass’s, but hopefully it’ll work.”

The hoodie smelled faintly of him—an understated blend of his personal scent that made you feel a little warmer. You took it from him, the fabric soft and reassuring against your fingers.

“Thanks,” you said, smiling as you pulled the hoodie on.

“Ready?” he asked, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before he grabbed the remaining beers.

You nodded, following him back outside. As you stepped into the night, you couldn’t shake the lingering warmth on your temple. It felt as if the very spot on your head held an imprint of his touch, a marker of his fingerprints.

You smiled for the rest of the night.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Part Three

authors note: this series is the only thing keeping me going rn, just two sweethearts with crushes on each other and a lovely beach….and cass with a pornstache 😏

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters 

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound

@melissat1254 @m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers

[flickering-chandelier]

The Best Thing That’s Ever Been Mine

Pairing: CEO Azriel x Coworker Reader

Summary: Azriel and Reader have been dating for a while, effectively keeping it a secret at work, despite their frequent make-out sessions. When a different coworker asks Reader out, Azriel gets very, very jealous.

Based on this request! 🩷

Warnings: Az gets a little possessive, some very brief smutty moments

Word Count: 3.7k

Anne, the secretary, called your name, poking her head into your office. “The boss wants to see you.”

“Thank you,” you smiled faintly at her, smoothing down your skirt under your desk, schooling your face into a neutral mask even as heat rushed through your body.

Tapping your foot, you waited impatiently in the empty elevator, going to the top level where you made your way to the CEO’S office. 

You knocked on the door and he glanced up at you briefly before his eyes landed back on the stack of papers on his desk. “Come in,” he said.

Once you stepped over the threshold, his eyes darkened as they met yours again. “Close the door,” he said gruffly, authority dripping from every part of him. 

Slowly, you closed the door behind you. 

Eyes locked on yours, he stood up, rolling up his shirtsleeves as he stalked toward you, revealing his muscled forearms. 

He stopped when he was toe to toe with you, his body towering over yours. He reached behind you and locked the door.

In the next moment, his hands were on your face and he was kissing you deeply, his tongue sliding into your mouth as you clung to him.

His lips trailed down your neck and you moaned softly, unable to hold it in. He covered your mouth with his hand, smirking into your skin. “If you can't stay quiet, I'll have to send you back to your desk.”

You nipped at his hand with your teeth and he laughed quietly, spinning you around and backing you up toward his desk, his mouth back on yours.

When your ass collided with his massive wooden desk, he lifted you up and sat you on top of it, spreading your legs wide and stepping between them, all without breaking the kiss.

His hand ran up from your calf to your thigh, under your skirt. 

“Az,” you warned, breathlessly.

“Hmm,” he hummed, his hand pausing its ascent, his thumb drawing soothing circles on your skin.

A knock on the door made you both freeze. He sighed into your neck in frustration before silently, expertly helping you to your feet, smoothing your clothes, your hair. 

By the time Azriel casually said, “Come in,” you were seated on opposite sides of his desk, looking for all the world like two coworkers who were having a professional meeting.

Azriel nodded to you politely as the intruder entered his office: your cue to leave.

You stopped in the bathroom before returning to your desk, dabbing cool water on your face, on the back of your neck. 

A year ago, when you had started working here, you remembered meeting your CEO and thinking that he was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. You had spent months daydreaming about him, longing for him to notice you, for him to linger by your desk or look at you during a meeting.

Then one day, it happened. At the end of the day, you were getting on the elevator on your way out and he was in it. Alone. 

You stood side by side, your heart pounding. Standing so close to him, the realization hit you how massive his body was compared to yours, and you couldn’t help but glance at him as you made the descent down to ground level.

He cleared his throat, and your eyes whipped to him. “You look nice today,” he said. 

Immediately, you felt heat rush to your cheeks. “Thank you,” you said, feeling breathless. 

When the side of his mouth turned up into a half smile, you simultaneously realized that you had never seen him smile before, and you would do just about anything to make him do it again.

His eyes bore into yours, alight with an emotion that you couldn’t quite place. 

Quietly, he said your name, taking a step closer to you. 

Azriel must have seen the lust written all over your face because he jabbed the hold elevator button with his thumb, not taking his eyes from yours as the elevator lurched to a halt. 

Another moment later and you were being pushed against the wall, his hands on your neck, in your hair, his lips devouring yours. 

“Is this okay?” he said against your lips, and you could only moan, could only wrap your arms tighter around him. 

That night, you ended up at his massive penthouse, tangled up in his sheets. 

You had been together ever since.

It was thrilling, if you were honest with yourself. Azriel had thought that it would be best to keep your relationship a secret at work. You had readily agreed, not wanting to deal with the potential backlash of people finding out you were sleeping with the boss.

The first time the two of you made out at work after the elevator had been a bit of an accident. You really did need to go to his office to talk to him about something. It was confidential, so you had closed his door behind you.

…And as soon as the business was over, the pleasure started. He had smirked at you, pulled you into his lap, and kissed you senseless.

After that, it became difficult to avoid. Any time the two of you found yourselves alone together, one of you was pulling the other into a kiss.

The fact that you had never been caught only spurred you on further. You did admit that sometimes it got a little reckless. 

But that was all part of the fun.

Unfortunately, you didn't see Azriel for the rest of the day, though you did get a lot of work done because of it.

That evening, you were peering into your near empty refrigerator with a frown, when you got a text.

Azriel: Come over.

You rolled your eyes, smiling. 

You: What's the magic word?

Azriel: Pretty please come over.

You: Much better. 😘

Azriel: So you're coming?

You: I haven't eaten yet…

Azriel: I'll order whatever you want.

You: !!! I'm leaving now.

Mere moments after you knocked on Azriel's front door, he had you pinned against the wall with his body, his length prominent against your ass, his lips on your neck.

“Bitter about how things ended at work, huh?” You asked as his hand traveled up your bare thigh.

He growled into your skin. “You've been on my mind all day.”

“Oh yeah? What have you been thinking about doing?” You teased, pressing your ass further against him.

Immediately he flipped your dress up and pulled your panties down. You dug your fingernails into the wall as he unbuckled his belt.

You moaned, leaning your head back as he entered you in one fluid movement. 

His hips slapped against you over and over again as he moved in quick, deep thrusts. You were both so riled up that it didn't take long for you to finish.

Once you were cleaned up and your clothes were back in place, he kissed you gently before taking your hand and leading you to his massive, unbelievably expensive kitchen that he never used.

Spread on the counter were take out bags from three of your favorite restaurants. 

You looked at him pointedly and he shrugged, smiling faintly. “I didn't know what you wanted, so I got your top three.”

Laughing, you stood up on your tiptoes to kiss him again before getting two plates from the cabinet and opening one of the bags. “You could've just waited to order until I got here,” you said, handing him a plate.

“I couldn't let you go hungry after I ravished you,” he smirked.

You carried your plate to the table, and he sat across from you, falling into companionable silence as you ate.

After dinner, you retired to his bedroom. He had an entire closet of clothes for you there that he had slowly built up after you started dating. You tried to resist at first, but you had to admit it was convenient.

You changed into pajamas and cuddled with him as the two of you fought over the remote. 

“Sweetheart, we watched your show last time,” he said, one hand on your chest to hold you back while he raised the other far above his head, changing the show you had put on to a documentary.

You groaned, flopping back against the massive mattress dramatically. “Az, you pick the most boring shows in the world. Can't you pick an interesting documentary about murder or something?”

He raised an eyebrow at you and you seized your opportunity, pouncing on him and wrestling the remote from his hand.

You rolled to the opposite side of the bed, cradling the remote in your hands and giggling while you changed it back to your favorite reality TV show.

Azriel let out a resigned sigh as he pulled your body back into his. “Alright, fine. You win.”

Grinning, you kissed him and settled into his embrace for the rest of the night.

The next morning, you woke up with Azriel's absurdly early alarm and swore.

“Hmm?” He asked sleepily, kissing you before he even opened his eyes.

“I didn't mean to sleep over on a weekday.”

“Why does it matter?” He mumbled into your skin.

“People can't see us showing up at work together.”

“I can call a car for you,” he said. “Or we can risk it and try to be sneaky,” he smiled, kissing a line down your neck.

“Don't you think we've been risking it enough?” You asked.

Azriel settled back against the pillows again. “I don't know. With you I feel pretty invincible,” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes and he laughed. “It's up to you,” he said, kissing you one more time before padding to the adjacent bathroom. 

You followed him, stopping in front of your side of the double sinks, pulling out your toothbrush in tandem with him. He faced you as you both brushed your teeth, gently brushing stray hair out of your face. You shook your head, smiling lightly, though you did love this side of him, the one that could make any menial task feel romantic. 

He kissed your temple after you had both brushed your teeth, and you took out the makeup and hair products from the drawer he had set aside for you as he stepped into the shower. 

By the time Azriel was out of the shower, you were still finishing up your makeup. He stood behind you, smiling softly, watching your reflection as he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on the top of your head, a fluffy towel wrapped around his waist. Even after all this time, he still gave you butterflies, still set your body on fire when he touched you. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he said softly.

You couldn’t help but smile. “You’re unbelievably hot,” you said, your voice teasing but your eyes alight. 

He barked out a laugh before kissing the top of your head and sauntering back into his bedroom. “Good to know you still think so.”

Shortly after, your makeup was done and your hair looked presentable, and you joined him in the bedroom, where he was pulling his pants on, still shirtless. 

“It was my first thought, you know,” you said, arms crossed, eyes intently watching his body, every ripple of the muscles in his forearms, his biceps, his stomach. 

“What was?” he asked, looking up at you as he slung his shirt on, buttoning it up. 

“The first time I saw you. All I could think was that you’re the hottest man I’d ever seen.”

His smile turned slightly predatory as he stalked closer to you, the top few buttons of his shirt left undone. “I know. I could see it in your eyes,” he murmured, bringing his hands to your waist, his lips drifting closer and closer to yours. 

“You could?” you breathed.

“Well, I saw some kind of spark,” he said, slowly moving his mouth to your ear before playfully taking your earlobe in between his teeth. “I was hoping it was for me.”

Your breath came out in a soft exhale, your heart rate picking up speed. “We need to leave soon,” you said, trying to focus.

“Yes, we do,” he murmured, before kissing you softly, cradling your face in both his hands. 

It took every bit of effort you had to gently push him away. “Get dressed,” you said breathlessly. 

He laughed, reaching up and buttoning his shirt as you pulled out a skirt and blouse from “your” closet. “As you wish, my love,” he said, his eyes shining with amusement.

You couldn’t get enough of him that morning. So, you decided to take your chances and ride with him to work. His sportscar’s windows were tinted so extremely that nobody could possibly see in, and Azriel made it a point to always be the first one in the office, so you hoped that there wouldn’t be anyone around to see you get out of the luxury vehicle. 

His hand rested casually on your thigh as he drove, and your eyes were glued to him. With his designer sunglasses, his pristine suit, his expensive watch, he looked like he should be on the cover of some magazine for rich men, making them all drool with envy. 

Sure enough, the parking lot was completely empty when Azriel pulled into his reserved parking space. 

He smirked at you, squeezing your thigh. “I told you it would be fine, baby,” he murmured, leaning in to give you a long, slow kiss. 

You let yourself sink into the kiss, into the feeling of him, for a few beautiful moments. 

After a bit, you went inside hand in hand, thankful for the empty hallways. In the elevator, he pulled your body to his, threading his fingers through your hair, kissing you until the doors opened. 

He walked you to your office and lingered in your doorway, still holding onto your hand, giving you one more kiss before he went up to his office, shooting you a bright smile over his shoulder.

Through most of the work day, you didn’t see Azriel and kept to yourself in your office.

That is, until Spencer showed up, knocking on your door with a smirk before entering your office, leaving the door ajar. It was toward the end of the day, and most of the office had cleared out by then. 

Spencer wasn't your favorite person in the office. He was a cocky asshole, to put it blatantly. Nobody really liked to work with him, but especially not the women. His ego was bigger than anyone's, though he had done absolutely nothing to deserve it.

“Hey,” he said with a crooked smile, leaning casually against the door frame.

“Hi, Spencer,” you said, trying to keep your voice mild. “What's up?”

“I was thinking that you and I should get dinner sometime,” he said, shooting you a cocky grin that you had seen him use on other women in this very office.

You raised your eyebrow, saying cautiously, “Like a date?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “If you want to call it that.”

Fighting the urge to scowl, you said politely, “No, thanks. I have a boyfriend.”

He looked annoyed, like he wanted to say more, but thought better of it. He blundered through a somewhat awkward goodbye before he left you alone in your office again.

As soon as Spencer's footsteps faded, Azriel was in your office, his eyes on fire.

“What,” you said, surprised, “Did you hear all that?”

He growled, kicking your door shut before he was taking your hand and pulling you upright, kissing you hard, his tongue and hands unyielding.

You gasped in surprise as he lifted you in his arms and set you on your desk, still kissing you relentlessly, his hands wandering over your thighs, your cheeks.

“Az,” you breathed, but he cut you off with another searing kiss.

“You're mine,” he said against your mouth.

“Of course I am,” you said, leaning back slightly, trying to suck air into your lungs.

“Say it,” he ground out before kissing you senseless again.

“I'm yours,” you gasped, clutching to him. 

He pulled back finally, holding your face in his hands, gazing into your eyes. “And I'm yours,” he said.

“Az,” you said gently, running your thumb on his bicep in what you hoped were soothing movements. “I love you. You know that.”

“I know,” he said, breathing heavily. “I just-- that pissed me off. That guy really fucking pisses me off.”

You laughed, despite yourself. “Me too.”

He sighed, kissing you softly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you said, leaning in to kiss him again. 

“I'm sorry I got -- you know,” he winced slightly.

“You don't have to worry about anybody else,” you said. “You're the one I want.”

“I know,” he murmured, kissing you softly. 

Spencer must have really gotten to Azriel, because he took you out to an extremely expensive restaurant that night, and he didn’t take his eyes off you for a moment while you were there.

You couldn’t help but grimace as you looked at the menu, some of the prices for an entree were more than you’d spend on food in a week. 

“Get whatever you want,” Azriel said, reading your thoughts.

“Az, these prices are ridiculous.”

He smiled faintly. “Get whatever you want,” he repeated, his eyes softening. 

You sighed, and when the waiter came by, you did indeed get what you wanted. 

As soon as you were alone, he reached for your hand across the table. “I am sorry about earlier.”

“It’s okay,” you said. “I just don’t get why you got so jealous. Spencer’s a sleaze.”

Azriel laughed lightly. “You’re the most important person in my life,” he said, his eyes sparkling under the dim lights. “I love you. I don’t like that an asshole like him thinks about you.”

You ran your thumb along his hand absentmindedly. “I’m sure he’s already moved onto thinking about somebody else.”

His eyes darkened slightly. “He better have.”

For the rest of the evening, his hands were on you, like he didn’t want to let you go. 

The following day, there was a mandatory meeting that Azriel was leading, one that both you and Spencer would be required to attend. 

You didn’t think much of it. You and Azriel had been in countless meetings together since you had started dating, and the two of you had always been perfectly capable of remaining professional throughout them, never raising any suspicion that you knew of.

Azriel, as always, was the first one in the boardroom, sitting at the head of the table with his laptop open, a stack of notes next to it.

He smirked and winked at you as you walked in and sat down a few seats away from him. 

“How are you today?” you asked pleasantly, as if you hadn’t woken up in his bed and already snuck up to his office once that morning. 

“I’m doing well, how are you?” he said in his boss-making-small-talk-with-his-employees voice.  

You nodded as a few of your coworkers wandered in, laptops under their arms. “Oh, you know. Can’t complain.”

Azriel turned his attention to the people settling in around the room, getting the pleasantries out of the way. This was a part of the job that he hated, you knew. He would much prefer to stay silent unless absolutely necessary, but he also wanted his employees to like him, to trust him.

Everything was pretty business as usual, until Spencer walked in and sat right next to you. Even from where you were sitting, you noticed Azriel’s muscles tense. There were half a dozen other open seats that Spencer could have sat in, and you were sure that Azriel was thinking the very same thing.

Spencer smirked at you as he opened his laptop. “How was your night?”

“Fine?” You said, using all of your focus to keep your eyes from flitting over to Azriel.

“Just fine?” Spencer asked, clearly amused. “Hmm. Sounds like it could've been better if you hadn't turned me down.”

Before you could form a response, Azriel cleared his throat, starting the meeting abruptly, his eyes practically burning a hole into the side of Spencer's head. 

Azriel, who was usually so good at concealing his emotions, at wearing his face in a mask of indifference, was visibly ruffled. There was a slight edge to his voice as he updated us, his eyes narrowing slightly every time they drifted over Spencer.

You wanted to reach out to him, to try and bring him back down to earth, but you obviously couldn't do that.

When he turned the focus over to someone else who started updating everyone about recent developments, his eyes landed on you and finally softened a bit. You smiled faintly at him and he seemed to relax.

It was an effort to focus on the meeting, to not stare across the table at Azriel.

Later, when Azriel said you all were free to go, you jumped up and exited quickly so you wouldn't have to deal with any more idiotic comments from Spencer.

You hid out for a little bit before you deemed it safe to go up to Azriel's office. You knocked lightly on the open door and he looked up from his desk and nodded toward the door behind you to close it.

You closed the door quietly behind you and went to him. He wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning into you. 

“It would be wrong to fire him, right?”

You laughed, leaning in to kiss him. “Yes.”

He sighed. “Right.”

Gently, you took his face in your hands. “Ignore him.”

Frowning, he said, “When he's making comments like that to you?”

“Yes,” you said, kissing him softly. “I can handle myself if he says something like that again.” 

He nodded. “I know you can.”

For a few moments, he just gazed at you. “What is it?” You asked.

Smiling, he said, “It's just… I love you.”

Kissing him sweetly, you said, “I love you, too.”

@loving-and-dreaming @birdsflyhome @hanuh @sheblogs @iambored24601 @thalia-as-blog @melmo567 @azrielshadows1nger @cigvrette-dvydrevms @evergreenlark @mariamay02 @yourqueenlilith @sillysillygoose444 @headacheseason @halibshepherd @ecliphttlunar @bookloverandalsocats

(sorry y'all I just realized that I didn't actually tag most of you because I'm Stupid so that's why you're being tagged now lol)

[surielstea]

Beg For It

1k celebration request

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader (mafia au)

Summary: Reader is ovulating, enough said.

Warnings: Smut | minors dni | p in v | no foreplay | unprotected sex | heavy breeding kink | allusion to pregnancy | petnames (baby, sweet girl, brat) | bondage (shadows) | no plot, just smut.

2.4k words

I don't know what it was exactly that was wrong with me. I wasn't normally this clingy but for some reason, all I could think about was my very dangerous, very busy husband. He was all I wanted as of late, and if I didn't constantly have my hands on him I think I would collapse.

"Baby, I have to go to work," Azriel sighs, stumbling towards the door as I latch to his waist, draping over him and making him drag me along with him.

"Don't want you to," I whine, tightening my hold.

"Love," He sighed, stopping our game of push and pull, and rather turning to face me. I look up at him with a pout to my lips and his eyes soften, his hands coming up to my jaw. "My pretty girl," He admires, his thumbs rubbing over the tops of my cheeks. "What's gotten into you, hm?" He tilts his head and I shrug mischievously, knowing damn well what was making me so needy. "Tell me," He encourages and my frown deepens.

"I'm ovulating," I grumble and he smirks.

"Oh yeah?" He says, his voice dropping and I groan, playfully hitting his chest in a futile attempt to get him to stop teasing.

"Stop, you know what that does to me," I say and he chuckles, catching my wrists to stop me from pummeling him anymore.

"My poor baby," He hums as I wrap my arms around his torso rather than punch him and stuff my face into his chest, unable to get close enough.

"Don't pity me," I huff.

"Then what is it you'd like me to do?"

"Stay," I mutter. "Please, you can spend all day filling me," I attempt to coerce but he seems unwavering.

"You're insatiable," He grumbles, his hands meeting my hips.

"It's your fault," I huff into his chest, his expensive cologne enveloping me.

"Yeah? How so baby?" He said, pulling away to look at my expression, my brows crinkled with an evident pout painting my lips.

"You know how," I cross my arms defensively.

"I don't think I do, use your voice hun," He encourages and I curse, looking at him with a defeated expression.

"You and your pretty words get me all bothered and you know it," I confess and he smirks.

"Do they?" He leaned closer and I groaned, pushing him away and stomping down the hallway.

"Whatever, just go to work already," I grumbled, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Aw, don't be like that." Arms wrap around my waist and pull me into a chest. "It's alright baby, just say you want me," He hums, kissing down my neck, making me clench my legs together.

"Az," I sigh, my hand coming to his cheek. "You have to go to work." I push him away by the face but he twists out of the position so he is in front of me once again, blocking my path towards the hallway.

"Well, I can't just leave my needy wife all alone now can I?" He tilts his head and I close my eyes, cursing him for making this all harder than it had to be.

"I'll be fine," I mutter, lifting onto my toes and pecking his cheek before fluidly moving past him. "Go." I make a gesture with my hands that waves him away as if one of the most feared men on the continent were a child in need of directions.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you really want me to leave." Azriel's hands return to my hips before I can get too far, his grip tightening as he pulls me right back into his chest so I am flushed against him.

I grit my teeth, looking up into his hazel eyes. It was no wonder it was his job to interrogate whatever poor soul wronged the crime syndicate, it seemed as if it was impossible to lie to him when staring into those pools of hazel. Emerald and gold melded together, a rim of blue lining his pupil, and orange on the outermost edge. They were the first things I noticed about him, and they will always be my favorite physical features of his. He knew that, of course, he also knew that I was a terrible liar.

"Tell me you want me to leave," He encourages and I stifle a sigh, looking away because I unfortunately couldn't find it in myself to even attempt. I wanted him, and he seemed willing enough to give me him.

His smirk widens. "That's what I thought," He concluded in a snarky tone, but before I could manage a retort he picked me up by my hips and tossed me over his shoulder like a rag doll.

"Az! Let me go!" I pound my fists into his back but he was too busy trailing his large hand up the back of my thigh to care. "Azriel," I groan, now kicking my feet. But that didn't seem to phase him either, and he didn't put me down until we were in our bedroom and he could throw me onto the bed.

I recovered quickly, looking up at him with creased brows as I fiddled with the hem of my nightgown. "Oh don't act all shy now," He taunted. "C'mon baby, tell me what you want," He came to the edge of the bed so he was directly in front of me, his large frame looming over mine. "Or you could show me," He offers, holding out a hand and I look down at the hem of my nightgown and then back up to him. I grab his outstretched hand and push it under my dress, silently encouraging him to take it off. He seems to understand and does exactly as I wish.

The fabric falls to the floor within seconds and I fall back into the mattress, my head landing in the pillows as I watch him mount over me.

I hastily work at getting his shirt off, the silent thrashing of clothes filling the room as he kisses down my neck towards my collarbone.

"Az please," I implore, discarding his shirt down onto the floor with reckless abandon.

"What is it? Tell me what you want," He breathes into my lips. I arch up into him as the need in my chest intensifies.

"I can't wait any longer, please I need you now," I cry, my hands coming to the hem of his pants.

"Yeah? You gonna beg for it?" He incited and I whimper, attempting to press my legs together but he made the movement impossible with his hips settled between my thighs.

"Fuck, please Azriel," I fall deeper into the pillows, my need for him all-consuming as I allow myself to plead.

He leans closer as my pathetic voice fills the room, his nose running up the column of my throat before he begins placing sweet kisses down it. "More," He demands and my back arches up, my peaked breasts brushing against his chest.

"You can take me however you want, just gods, fuck me Az please," Tears fill my eyes as if I was begging for my life, yet that was what satisfied him.

"Turn around for me then, hips up alright?" He said and I nodded, quickly doing exactly as he said, my cheek going down onto one of the many pillows on our bed as I hiked up onto my knees. I can hear him sliding off his belt behind me, thrashing his pants off quickly afterward.

He hovers over me, lips pressing gentle kisses along the side of my neck in a soothing manner. I leaned into that touch, my head reclining to rest on his shoulder.

Shadows pinned me down onto the bed, dark tendrils twining around my wrists and ankles as he aligned his hips up with mine, his tip prodding teasingly at my entrance and I squirmed beneath him, writhing as I clenched around nothing, silently begging for him. "Shh, I know baby, I know it hurts," He runs a hand down my back, a soft caress to calm me. And then, he was pushing in.

"Az," I whimper as he finally sheathes himself, the wide head of his cock entering my core. I groan at the stretch, my back into his chest as he continues moving in, every inch making it harder and harder to breathe.

"So fucking, tight," He grits through his teeth, both his hands coming to my hips as he forces them back onto his cock. I screamed, clenching the sheets beneath me as he thrusts shamelessly deeper, with no caution to his movements as he picks up a steady rhythm. "This is what happens when I don't stretch you out first," He grunts. "So needy for me, impatient brat." His hands grip my hips tighter. "You gonna— gonna punish me?" I taunt, tears already forming in my eyes.

"I bet you'd like that hm? My dirty girl," He admires, pushing in all the way when I try to reply, cutting me off and replacing my words with a sudden moan, the sound ripping through me as he bottoms out inside of me.

I scream his name, the stretch so pleasurable that it brings pain. "Fuck, fuck Az I can't," I gripe, tears running down my cheeks.

"But you said you wanted this," He retorted, leaning over me so his lips were beside my ear. "You begged, remember?" He purred and a shiver ran down my spine as I flushed pink at the recent memory.

"Mhm," I nod, attempting to blink away my tears.

"Az." My back bows as he thrusts powerfully, deeper, so much deeper. Fuck, I could practically feel him in my womb. The thought alone left me clenching around him desperately, my body aching to be filled by him.

"Azriel," I moan, my tears cascading down my face like a waterfall but I didn't care anymore.

"What is it, baby?" He asked his voice half a groan.

"Breed me, please," I murmur, fully prepared to begin begging.

"Fuck," He sighed at my words, his forehead coming down to rest on my shoulder as he continues pulling out only to push back into my throbbing cunt.

"Az," I grip at the sheets, my need to release quickly turning overwhelming. "Please, I wanna have your babies," I whine and he smiles against the soft skin of my back.

"Yeah? You want me to give you more than one?" He purrs and I sigh in pleasure at the idea, sinking lower into the bed. "Mhm," I nod dumbly and within a moment his thrusts fold over in force, the strength doubling as his hips clap against the backs of my thighs.

My body screamed for release but I ignored it, I was going to draw this out as long as possible.

"Fuck, I'm gonna breed this tight cunt," He confesses and I squeeze around him at the idea, my core whirring with an uncontrollable need.

"Please," I cry, lying on the pillow pathetically as he continues stuffing himself inside of me. "Want you to come inside," I gripe, my voice fragile and raw but it only urged him to increase his speed.

"Is that right? Want me to get you pregnant? Get your belly all round with my kid?" He suggested and I quickly nodded, feeling beyond just agreement.

"Azriel," I arch deeper, my chest nearly flat against the mattress as I kept my ass up, making him feel all the more deeper inside of me.

I squeezed tighter around him and he twitched at the sensation. I smiled, prideful that he was close already. "Don't pull out," I whisper, reaching back and placing my hand on his cheek. "Want you to fill me," I throw my head back onto his shoulder while his thrusts continue, rocking the bed back and forth with the creaking of the headboard slamming against the wall. "You close?" He pants out and I nod frantically, unable to get the words out despite how badly I wanted to reach my climax.

"I can't," I manage but it was barely audible. "M'gonna—" I can't even finish my sentence before my orgasm takes me full throttle and I'm finding release on his heavy length.

The moan that rips through me is monumental, and the feeling of the moment, gods it was indescribable. A tidal wave of pure ecstasy swept me off my feet, and now I was drowning in the pleasure.

It took me a long moment to come down from that nearly celestial high, but once I did I realized I was clamped down around Azriel's cock so tightly that it was hard for him to move in and out of me any longer.

I knew he was close, the vein throbbing on the underside of his cock was proof of that.

"Fuck," He grunted lowly into the shell of my ear, my sensitive cunt twitching around his width at the sultry sound.

"C'mon Az, fill me," I whine and he nods, his forehead coming down onto my shoulder.

After one last stroke of his cock along my walls, his release finally spurted out into a direct line straight toward my womb. He groans at the feeling of his seed nestling deep inside my cunt, his small whimpers not going past my notice as he catches his breath and comes down from his high.

After a moment, ever so slowly, he unsheathes himself and allows me to fall down onto the welcoming bed.

"You did so well for me baby," He whispered, leaning down and placing pecks along the top of my spine. "My sweet girl," He hums and I mumble something incoherent about sleeping back.

"Not yet baby, I gotta clean you up," He soothes, scooping me into his arms and I whine clenching my legs together, not wanting any of his warm releases to escape me.

"M'tired," I groan but he ignores my protests and takes me into the bathroom anyway.

"Oh my poor girl," He hummed. "What am I going to do with you?" He tilts his head and I wiggle my brows suggestively.

"You could make me a mom," I suggest and he smiles, shaking his head.

"I'm already doing that, genius," He deadpans and the sudden realization overwhelms me. I wasn't pregnant yet, but that decision of being ready was enough to spur me into joy. I throw my arms around Azriel's neck and hug him tight to my bare chest.

"I love you too," He rubs my back, recognizing my silent form of affection. I nuzzle my face into his neck deeper. "My sweet girl," He sighs, his chin coming down onto mine. If everything goes well, we're soon to be parents. The idea alone at the moment was entirely perfection.

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[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Obsidian Salt

Summary: A little Witch!Reader x Demon!Rhys AU for my Spooky Season Fic List

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My hands shake around the ancient text, the worn tome heavy and dust laden from years upon years of sitting on a shelf, untouched and forgotten. The old latin script is illegible in places, the ink faded and hidden under unidentifiable stains; the parchment is dog-eared and scribbled in, the margins full of strange, archaic markings I’ve never seen used in our Coven’s rune work. These are not the spells of my ancestors, not the runes my mother and grandmother cast upon the old foundations of our family home. We are a family of witches, dating back beyond the ages of written word; I am supposed to carry on that legacy, but truth be told, I’ve always been terrible at spellwork. My potions are mediocre; powers of persuasion abysmal. I truly am a poor excuse for a witch, and everyone in the coven knows it. Perhaps that is why Sister Ruth chose me to put on a demonstration at the Solstice Festival tomorrow. If I cannot prove my worth, well, maybe it is in the best interest of the coven to throw me out, or worse, make a sacrifice out of me. 

I would not be the first.

I grip the tome a little tighter. I must prove my usefulness. I cannot fail my sisters, or worse, my grandmother.  She raised eight successful witches, it would be to her utter shame to have been my teacher all these years for nothing. 

I draw a shaking breath. These spells are old magic. Dark magic. But I must get good at something quickly, and the gods know I will not get there on any natural talent. Perhaps I don’t need to be a natural. Perhaps I just need to summon something that is. 

On the old wood floor of our basement, I have laid the circle of obsidian salt in three overlapping circles, each etched with runes of chalk for protection. Just in case, I’ve dusted the floor with dried rosemary and anise seeds; an added barrier against whatever evil I might accidentally conjure if this goes wrong. My mother’s amulet feels heavy beneath my sweater, the cold iron biting against my skin as if in warning against what I am about to do.

I take another deep breath and ignore the warning. I must not fail.

The words are clunky, foreign on my tongue, the first couple of tries produces no results at all. Perhaps I really am the worst witch ever!

I grip the tome so tight the spine groans as I try again, slower this time, sounding out each word piece by piece. I will not fail.

The whole basement is lit with candles and as I finish the final words of the spell, the light suddenly snuffs itself out. 

The air in the room drops to near freezing temperatures. My hands so stiff and shaky around the old tome that the book slips from my hands and falls somewhere in the darkness. I make it onto my knees to look for it in a mad scramble before the sound of rushing wind fills the tiny room. It’s so loud I have to cover my ears with my shaking hands. 

In the center of the salt ring, dark shadows begin to slither out from a crack in the floor, hissing like a dozen tiny snakes. 

What have I done?!

I scramble to find the book in the dark, hands tearing over the anise seeds and clumps of rosemary. Perhaps the crushed scent of herbs will be enough to ward off whatever terrible shadow I’ve just called upon!

The temperature of the room continues to drop, lower and lower, even as the screeching wind gets louder and louder. The shadows within the circle grow darker and thicker by the moment, spinning now like a whirlwind. At least the salt holds. 

And then, as quickly as the noise had begun, it suddenly quiets. All the candles light themselves again, allowing me to see where I’d dropped the book: Directly into the circle, having bounced over the line, and it now sits at the feet of the most handsome male I’ve ever seen in my life.

I can do nothing but stare. I had meant to summon some help, the soul of an old mage or a spirit from another world, perhaps, but not… well, whatever he is. He’s definitely alive, his bronze, bair chest rising and falling, making the swirl of dark ink over his skin move in twining patterns. Not a spirit, though I do not know what to make of the great, bat-like wings that sprout from his back, the leathery membrane twitching as he brings them close to his body to avoid the barrier the salt creates. And his eyes! Gods, there like two blazing, violet suns inside the sharp planes of his face. 

“Well isn’t this interesting,” he purrs, voice smooth as velvet.

“Gods, what have I done?” I whisper to no one in particular.

His mouth twists in a devilish grin as he bends down to pick up my tome. From the tips of his fingers come dark claws. A bit of living shadow curls over his wrist, moving like snakes across the worn pages. “No gods here, Darling.”

I, somehow, find it within me to stand, despite my shaking legs. It is still terribly cold in this basement; the source of it seems to be coming from him. “What are you?”

He chuckles as he flips through the pages, claws running affectionately over the runes written in the margins. “Why don’t you come closer and I’ll show you?”

The longer I watch him the more off I realize he is. There are fangs in his mouth, the sharp tips of them glinting in the candlelight. Tiny, glittering drops of starlight glisten in the strands of his raven-black hair. Intertwined within the ink across his chest are smaller versions of the runes written within the pages of the book. 

“I’ll stay right here,” I say.

He sticks out his full lower lip in a pout. “That’s no fun!”

He takes a step closer to the line of salt, testing the barrier with the tip of his boot. At least I managed to summon him half-way decent in a dark, leather pair of pants and boots. I don’t know what I’d do if I had summoned him fully nude. 

My cheeks flush at the thought, drifting down to follow the defined V of his abs, and where his pants slide low on his hips. If he were human I’d climb him like a tree. 

“Don’t tell me you summoned me just to gawk?” He presses. When he catches where my eyes are on his body, he adds, “Although you’re welcome to enjoy the view for as long as you like.”

I let out a huff. “I didn’t summon you for anything! I was trying to talk to the spirits.”

“There’s only one spell that can summon me, and you picked it,” he turns the book to show me the exact page I’d been reading from. “So tell me, what is it you want, Witchling?”

The way he says Witchling makes my skin flush; the heat in his tone enough to make me second guess myself. Why did I think that spell would summon something else? 

Perhaps I am a fool for saying it, but I blurt, “I need help.”

“Do tell,” he purrs.

“I’m supposed to give my coven a display of my magic tomorrow, for the Solstice, and well… I’m kind of the worst witch ever.” 

He glances at the herbs on the floor, and then back up to me. I swear there are actual violet flames moving around within his irises. I don’t know what he is, but I don’t think it’s anything that can help me. But how am I supposed to send him back without the book?

“I meant to summon a spirit to guide me in some quick magic. I didn’t mean to summon, well, whatever you are.”

“I am many things,” he says, walking a slow circle around the barrier, testing it. It’s like watching a recently caged animal at the zoo; he’s testing every point for a weak spot, and if he finds it, he’s using it. 

I swallow the lump in my throat. What do I do if he gets out?

“But you can call me Rhys.”

If there is any heat left in the room, it leaves in a rush. “As in Rhysand? One of the Princes of Hel?”

Rhys drags his claws over the invisible barrier the salt creates and I watch the magic ripple and pulse under those sharp tips. “Perhaps.”

“You need to go back,” I say in panic, even though I know it can’t work that way. I summoned him. I have to be the one to send him back. Without the book, Hel, even with the book, I can’t do anything. 

“Then send me back, Witchling.”

I’m going to have to get my grandmother, and everyone is going to know that not only am I a failure as a witch, but I am a danger to all of us. I can’t even read a spell book right! I summoned a Prince of Hel by accident!

I chew on my thumbnail, pacing now myself around the outside edges of the salt. What do I do? What do I do?

“Oh but you can’t, can you?” He teases, knocking the book against the barrier. “Not without this pretty little thing.”

The dried herbs crunch under my boots as I keep pacing. There are no other tomes like that accessible to me, not without the Elders knowledge. This one had slipped past unnoticed in my grandmother’s grand collection, I had found it by sheer luck. There were no other texts to help me out of this one, and at this rate, even if there was, could I even get it to work?

“So how about we do this my way, hmm?”

A shiver crawls its way up my spine. 

“You break the barrier, and I will help you with your little Solstice tomorrow.”

I finally turn to look at him. “You would do that?”

“After tomorrow night, you can send me back and we can pretend this whole thing was a bad dream.”

Maybe this wasn’t a mistake after all! Maybe I can still turn this around!

“You won’t cause any trouble?” I ask.

He puts a clawed hand over his heart. “I will not cause any trouble.”

“You swear it?”

“I cannot break my word, Darling,” he returns. 

My hands shake. What other choice do I have? “Just until the Solstice passes.”

“I promise you, that is all the time I will need.” I have to admit, his voice is strangely soothing. He does not strike me as some malevolent ruler of darkness at all. 

I grab a broom off the wall. “It’s a bargain then.”

He grins wolfishly the entire time, watching my every step as I approach with the intensity of a wolf stalking a deer. 

I swallow the lump in my throat. It’s only one night, what could one night hurt? With one last shaking breath, I drag the broom through the salt and break the seal.

The book clatters to the floor for a second time tonight, as he lunges forward, a clawed hand wrapping around my neck as his momentum propels me back against the wall. I hit the worn stones so hard dust rains down from the ceiling. 

Panic grips me; I have no magic to save me as a real witch ought. He’s taller than I thought he was, towering over me as his grip on me tightens to the point of pain, the tips of his claws leaving indents in my skin.  Rhys chuckles at my plight as he leans down and brushes his lips over mine in the ghost of a kiss. Ice fills my veins at the contact. “Silly little, Witchling, a night is more than enough to make you mine.”