#starlight's fanfic

[kibagib]

Drew these two scenes for @starlightvld, and their wonderful story, Couch Surfing.

Go read it right now! It's finished, it's full of feels and it has a happy ending, it's what we deserve!

Really, it's been a pleasure to draw these two idiots in love <3

[happy74827]

A Smile From Hell

[Homelander x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Despite the amount of unpredictability The Homelander has, he still catches you off guard with something as small as a smile.

WC: 3576

Category: Angst, Supe!Reader {TW — Homelander for obvi reasons}

In honor of Season 4’s weekly releases, this one is for the Antony Starr girlies (and you @summerrivera777777)

『••✎••』

John fucking terrified you.

He terrified everyone, really.

He had the power to level an entire city block with a glance. He was strong enough to crush a man's skull with one hand and fast enough to catch a bullet. He was an unstoppable force of nature. He was The Homelander, and he was a threat to anyone who stood in his way.

But, the thing was...

You knew everything about him. Everything.

And he absolutely despised that, but there was nothing he could do to change it. You had seen him at his most vulnerable and pathetic. You had seen his humanity, it’s amazing he still has any after the way Vought has abused him, and you had seen his inhumanity.

Jessica, or Sister Sage, had confronted you on several occasions, trying to get you to tell her your secrets. She wanted the upper hand on her arch nemesis, the only one in the world who was a threat to her. It was her mission to end the reign of the superhero she hated most, and she was willing to do anything for it.

You could see right through her, and you didn’t need magnificent amounts of intelligence to do so. You could see the fear in her eyes. You could see the doubt in her face, hear the strain in her voice, feel her uneasiness when she was near him.

John knew it, too. He just simply chose to ignore it. He had grown used to being the scariest man in the room. It’s been that way his whole life, and it seemed it was going to stay that way.

But, despite all that fear, she came to you for answers. Again.

And this time, the question was a simple one. It was so simple, yet completely understandably complicated.

How are you allowed to live?

That was a question that stumped you. It took you a long time to grasp the meaning of it, the specific answer she was looking for.

After a few clarifications, you finally understood what she meant.

She wanted to know why John allowed you to live. She wanted to know why he hadn’t killed you. She wanted to understand why you were the only person alive after calling him by his name.

Not his stage name, his real name.

For being the most intelligent person on the planet, you’d think that she’d be able to understand it. I mean, the answer was right there, in front of her face. She didn't need to be a genius to figure it out; all she needed was a little more insight.

A little bit of understanding.

"Respect," you said, your voice soft. Your words were clear, though, and she heard them perfectly.

The confusion on her face was evident, as was her disbelief.

"What?"

"It's respect. Anyone I respect is someone that deserves my respect."

She snorted.

"Right," she said. "Like he could actually respect anything other than himself."

"He's capable of it if that's what you're thinking," you told her. "And this isn’t about him respecting me; it's about me respecting him."

She narrowed her eyes at you, her suspicion rising.

"Why would you respect him?" she questioned. "You're not blind; you know exactly who he is."

Yes, you did. You knew more than most, and compared to The Seven now, you probably knew the most. His actions? Completely unredeemable. He was, in fact, a monster; there was no arguing that. He was a horrible, twisted, monstrous individual; no one would deny it.

His actions weren’t excusable, but he had an explanation. A reason for why he was the way he was.

He wasn’t born a monster; he was turned into one. That… that was the respect part. You respected him because you respected his story. You respected his pain. You respected his anger.

You respected his past; anything after that was on him.

"I don’t like using stage names to those I respect enough, so I call him John. He allows it because he knows I don’t mean it the way others would if they used his name; it doesn't hold the same power with me."

She rolled her eyes at you.

"Same goes for you, Jessica; I have no desire to call you Sister Sage."

Her flinch was barely visible, but you still caught it. Again, what is intelligence if not knowing the chances of a particular outcome?

"I’ve noticed you don’t call Deep or that fire chick by their real names."

You just smiled, leaving her to solve that answer for herself, and it didn’t take long at all. You knew the exact moment she came up with a conclusion. She was quite predictable, in that regard. Maybe you should’ve been the big-brained hero instead.

And now, you really should’ve been because when you turned down the hall, catching wind of the elevator doors opening, you knew he had listened to it all.

But you didn’t say anything, and you really didn’t say anything after a simple glance at him.

He was completely drenched in blood, a look that would terrify even the toughest of men. But not you, oh no, you were very used to that. He’s done a lot worse.

Besides, you were too distracted by the fact that the blood wasn't his. Too distracted by noticing how this time was different. He was smiling, but it wasn’t his usual cruel smile. This time, it was genuinely happy.

Relief, almost.

It reminded you of the night you two bonded. No, not that type of bond. The bond that told you both that you weren’t alone.

He had a friend, but he wasn’t really your friend. You don’t believe you could ever consider him one. Not really, not with the things he has done.

But, still, you were the closest thing he had to a friend. You were the closest he had to an equal, a person he could relate to. Jessica carried the same intelligence (obviously a lot more), but the similarities between the two of them stopped there.

You had a similar history but different outcomes.

And that reveal between the two of you happened that night. This was way back, even before Starlight joined. Back when The Seven was in its prime.

Stillwell threw a party, something she always loved to do before Teddy became her focus. It was the usual: people in fancy dresses and suits, lots of champagne and liquor.

The difference, however, was the main focal point. Usually, given Vought’s status, all of The Seven members were the main event. Everyone was mandated to wear their hero outfits. It was a great way to advertise and get people to buy more of the products.

The theme this time, however, wasn’t about the group. It wasn’t about any of you. For the first time in a long while, John wasn’t in the spotlight.

Due to this, Stillwell banned everyone from wearing their costumes. No capes, no spandex, no leather, no masks. Just suits and dresses.

It was nice, actually. A little break from the norm. It felt good to go a night without the tight leather on your skin. You were actually surprised at how well it was received.

The rest of the members of the group seemed to be having a wonderful time as well.

Except for one.

He was standing in the corner, glaring at everyone. Madelyn had an entire argument with him about the suit. You weren’t there, but you knew exactly how it went.

His costume was a part of him. It was a symbol. It was a mask. A representation. An embodiment of who he was. Without it, he was a naked target.

Madelyn clearly did not give a single shit. In the end, the argument resulted in the two of them getting into a screaming match, causing him to storm off in a fit of rage.

So, there he was, standing alone, seething at anyone who passed him. Madelyn won; of course, she did, and she didn't even bother trying to apologize. She wasn't sorry.

She was just mad that he refused to listen in the first place.

But, hey, that wasn’t your problem. You were enjoying yourself. The night was going pretty well; the alcohol was flowing nicely, and the music was just right. You were dancing and laughing and having a great time.

But, of course, things weren't always easy for you.

You weren’t expecting it to last long; you weren’t one to have good luck. You knew, deep down, that the night was going to come crashing down on you. You were just waiting for the ball to drop.

The ball dropped the moment you decided to go cheer up the sourpuss.

It was obvious the way his shoulders tensed, and his head tilted ever so slightly. He knew you were approaching. He was aware.

"Don't," he said.

He was clearly angry, and you weren’t smart enough not to push. This is where Jessica’s powers would have benefited you greatly.

You ignored his warning, walking up beside him, mocking his stance.

"You okay?" you asked, your tone soft and light, a hint of playfulness.

His eyes flicked over to you, and the glare he gave was terrifying. His eyes were so intense, and his teeth were clenched. You could see his jaw tensing.

He was a volcano, ready to erupt.

You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

"I'm fine." Humorously enough, it sounded like the opposite.

"Really?"

He turned his head to look at you, his anger increasing by the second.

"Don’t you have anything better to do?"

You shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm choosing to talk to you."

He looked away from you, grumbling, "And why's that?"

"Because you’re ruining the party," you answered. "Miserable face and all."

He rolled his eyes. He actually does this a lot, believe it or not. It's the only expression he has besides anger that isn’t fake.

"And why do you care?"

You shrugged again. "I care about enjoying myself, and I can't do that when you're moping."

He turned his head towards you. He was not amused.

"Go find someone else to entertain yourself with.” He pointed behind him. "I’m sure Deep will be glad to show off his fish facts."

That one caused you to make the same face he had moments ago. The absolute look of disgust on your face was enough to bring a smug grin to his own.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Don't make me throw up, John."

The name.

It was a simple slip-up, nothing more. But, of course, it meant so much more. This was before everything, so it doesn’t seem likely that a slip-up like that wouldn’t result in consequences, but it secretly was a turning point.

He could've killed you.

He could've easily grabbed you and thrown you across the room, and no one would be able to comprehend what had happened until after you were unrecognizable.

He didn't, though.

No, instead, he stared at you, his face blank, and his mind processing. You were nervous, of course. You had no idea what was going on in his head.

After a minute, a look of realization came upon him, and you could see the exact moment the gears started turning.

Then, a simple hum fell from his lips. One said he wasn’t expecting it but was deciding whether to accept it.

Then, after a few seconds, his face relaxed. His jaw was unclenched, his eyes softened, and his eyebrows relaxed.

"Let’s have a chat."

Uh oh. That’s a code red—a sign of danger.

You were so done.

And yet, for some odd reason, you followed him. You don’t know why. It was a stupid move, in your opinion. You should've run while you had the chance. You should’ve listened and just punched fishlips or something.

You didn’t, though.

You followed him, allowed him to fly you somewhere private, and just waited. You waited for your imminent doom. You were going to die; you were sure of it.

But, for some reason, your death never came.

Instead, the two of you landed on the tower’s roof, the cold New York air hitting you hard. He had set you down on your feet and went all the way to the railing.

You stood awkwardly, waiting for him to turn around with those beams in his eyes, but they never came.

He was just looking out into the city, his back turned to you, his hands on the railing.

After a few minutes of silence, he turned his head, looking at you through the corner of his eye.

"Aren't you going to ask?"

Ask what? What was there to ask?

There were plenty of things to ask, actually, and yet you had no idea what the right thing to ask was. Because, again, even here, he was unpredictable and unreadable.

You didn't want to anger him; you knew that for sure. But you were also tired of his mind games. It was a constant battle of wit, and you were sick and tired of being left in the dust.

So, you chose something simple to say. Something easy, yet not so simple to answer.

"Are you going to kill me?"

You wouldn’t be surprised if he turned around with a smile and answered yes.

He didn’t, though. Oh no, he stayed turned, staring into the city, his eyes searching. Searching for what you didn't know.

"No."

Simple and clear.

You didn't respond, and he didn't elaborate. It was silent, and it was cold, and it was a tense moment.

But you didn't leave. You just watched him, watched his movements. The way his shoulders hunched over, his head tilting down, the grips on the railing, the way his hair slowly became unstuck due to the wind.

You always thought his hair looked better when it wasn't slicked back, but this is the first time you've ever seen it that way. It was… it was nice.

Then, his shoulders relaxed, and his head straightened. He didn’t turn around, and he didn’t speak. He just looked over his shoulder at you, his eyes piercing yours.

Even with a few strands of hair on his face, his eyes were so sharp and clear. So blue. So cold.

It felt like they were reaching deep into your soul.

It was terrifying. He was terrifying.

"Do you remember your parents?"

The question took you by surprise. It wasn’t what you were expecting, but then again, this whole encounter was the definition of unexpected.

"Yes. Why?"

His eyes scanned yours as if looking for a lie. Then, he turned back around, leaning on the railing.

"I can't remember mine," he said. "Sometimes I wonder if I even had them."

Oh. Oh. This was huge. This was a big one. You had to search deeply even to find out his actual name. Now, here he was, telling you of his past.

Of all people, he chose to tell you.

You didn’t know how to feel about that.

You were honored, yes. You were excited, definitely. But, most importantly, you were worried. Is this him letting you in? Or is it him preparing you for your demise?

It was an unknown territory, a field of landmines. You knew a lot about his past already, but now he was aware of the fact that you knew. He knows, and yet he is still giving you the information.

Why?

"I mean, it doesn't make sense. Everyone has parents, right? And I couldn't have been born out of nowhere. So, I must have had parents. A mom, a dad, some form of guardians."

His face was scrunched, and his eyebrows were furrowed. You could see the way his brain was working. He was really thinking about it, wondering how the pieces fit together.

He was struggling to make a connection, and he was mad at himself for not having it.

"I'm assuming your childhood wasn't the best," you said. You knew it was a risky move, joking about his past, but so far, he seemed to like the boldness and humor.

And he did, in fact, let out a snort.

"Understatement of the year."

You smiled but quickly stopped. It was a serious conversation, and smiling probably wasn’t the appropriate reaction.

Silence filled the space again, and he was back to thinking. He was trying; he was really trying. But he just couldn't.

It wasn't the fact that his parents were a mystery; he's come to terms with that. It was the fact that he couldn’t remember anything.

All he remembered was the torture, the pain, the experiments… nothing about how he got there. Nothing about the people before the scientists. Nothing about a home. And the fact that they were currently building a fake one for him made him so angry.

It was a mockery—a complete joke.

He felt all of these emotions and yet couldn't express them.

And he was frustrated. He was pissed off and tired and angry and sad and empty and-

"Did you rip off your tie?" Your eyes had caught sight of his bare neck, the black fabric missing.

It was the only way to pull him out of his head, and, to your surprise, it worked. You could see the moment he snapped back to reality, the moment he was pulled away from his mind.

"Yeah," he answered. "It was suffocating me."

You could tell.

His hair became more unkempt due to the wind. The strands of hair on his forehead were getting in the way, and it was getting annoying. Not for you, no, but for him.

For you, it was… humanizing. It made him seem a little less like a god.

He lifted his hand, his fingers gently combing through the locks. It was a struggle, a normal struggle that you've had with your own hair.

Plenty struggle with deviating the locks away from their desired location. You've had your own fair share of moments.

But this was the first time you'd seen him experience it. The first time witnessing him do something so simple and basic.

Such a human thing. It had you wondering what else he was capable of.

He sighed, his hand dropping back to the railing. Again, it is a normal thing to happen. But, it had you smiling, the corners of your mouth curving ever so slightly.

The action did not go unnoticed.

"What?" he asked, not even bothering to turn around.

You shrugged. "I've just never…"

Your mind kept changing images. His hair, his eyes, his shoulders, his jaw, his nose, his ears, his neck, his hand, his lips, his chin, his cheekbones, his eyebrows, his skin…

Everything is listed in your mind, including the little imperfections and details that make him, well, him. This was the first time you saw him anything other than perfect.

The perfect monster he was, the god of all men. The man of the century, the one to take the world by storm. The strongest, the smartest, the best.

The symbol, the image, the mask.

The facade.

This was the first time you saw him as just a person. A human being. Just a regular guy.

"Sometimes I wonder how different life would be if you were…"

Normal.

The word was at the tip of your tongue. You could've said it; you should've said it. It was the truth. It was obvious.

But you couldn't.

He knew where your sentence was going, though. Of course, he did.

"If I was… what?" He still wanted to hear it. He was looking for validation, and he wanted it from you. His eyes were on you, his body turned, but there was this one odd thing.

A smile.

It wasn't his usual one. The one you were used to. The one that made everyone scared and uneasy. No, this was a real smile.

A soft, small one, but still a real smile.

A true smile. As if he knew the words you were going to say, as if he knew your thoughts, and he found them amusing.

You found him amusing.

And just because of that, you didn’t give him the validation.

"It’s fucking freezing out here," You coughed in hopes of successfully changing the subject. "I’m gonna get a jacket."

He was going to argue, but you were already walking off, telling him you’d take the emergency ladder down.

Nothing was spoken about that night. No words were exchanged.

But something had changed. Something had shifted. You weren’t quite sure what it was, but it was something.

So, seeing that genuine smile again in that elevator was a shock.

He had the same face as he did on that roof. It was that smile. That one specific smile.

Capable.

That's what it was.

He was capable.

He was capable of feeling and being human. He was capable of being something other than a monster.

He was capable.

All he said to you when you walked by was a simple goodnight. Something so small, yet so big. This time, those words seemed to have a little more meaning.

So, just to raise his unsettling mood, you winked and said, "Goodnight, John."

Again, a smile.

The smile.

It was hard to continue walking, and it was even harder not to turn around. But you did.

You did it knowing you were going to have a hard time sleeping. Knowing that, no matter what, you weren’t going to forget that smile.

The demon that still had a little bit of humanity in him.

A demon that was capable.

[moonlight-records]

Princess Backpack | LN4 (SM AU!)

pairing: lando norris x biker!reader (they/she pronouns!)

summary: an f1 driver and a biker finally take their crushes off of social media

warning: minor suggestive if you squint

FC: none!

a/n: for @norrisleclercf1 as a treat for passing your exam!

yourusername tagged serpents_unite

liked by yourbestfriend, serpents_unite, and 1.1m others

yourusername late night rides are the best rides @ serpents_unite

view all 846,043 comments

user204 YES MORE BIKING CONTENT

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yourbestfriend QUEEEEN!!!!

↳ yourusername right back at you 😉

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user49 WAR IS OVER WE ARE BACK!!!!

landonorris

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, oscarpiastri and 1.3m others

landonorris it's race weekend so have some throwbacks 😉

view all 982,305 comments

carlossainz55 please tell me you were careful

↳ landonorris of course

user694 YESSSSSSS

user025 UGGGGH SO FIIIIIINE 😫

user739 it's criminal these are throwback photos and this is the FIRST time I'm seeing them cause GOD DAMN 🥵🥵

oscarpiastri you forgot to post when you almost fell off

↳ landonorris hey oscar, HUSH! ↳ carlossain55 HE WHAT? ↳ landonorris NOTHING!!!

yourusername oh to be that car or under the car but remove the car--

landonorris liked this comment ↳ user597 YOU'RE SO RIGHT ↳ user973 wish this was twitter so i could retweet this ↳ user024 not lando liking the og comment ↳ yourusername HE WHAT? OH MY GOD I HAVE TO GO INTO HIDING

yourusername

liked by yourbestfriend, landonorris, and 839,205 others

yourusername The choke hold this sport has all for a silly British McLaren driver 😫

view all 506 comments

user20 OMG! You watch F1?!

↳ yourusername I do!

user256 What sport is this?

↳ yourusername Formula one! ↳ user256 interesting! Is it free in the US? ↳ yourusername Outside the three American circuits on ESPN, sadly no. You can pay for F1TV for all the fun perks but you should totally NOT look the many sites to pirate it for free. DON'T do that 😉 ↳ user256 good 📝 to 📝 know

yourbestfriend ME AND YOU BOTH

↳ yourusername it's horrible. we should go for a ride ↳ yourbestfriend PLEASE!!!

user39 God this season has been so SILLY 😭

landonorris sorry? lol

↳ yourusername AOPJFOIEA HA IT'S FINE ↳ landonorris oh good 😉

yourusername

liked by landonorris, yourbestfriend, serpents_unite, and 1.3m others

yourusername everyone meet Shelly ☺️ still sucks I have no backpack 🙄 backpack applications are opened

view all 485,205 comments

user024 SHELLY IS SO PRETTY UGGGH 😫

user694 the photoshoot is about to fucking SLAP I JUST KNOW IT

yourbestfriend AM I CHOPPED LIVER TO YOU?!

↳ yourusername NO BUT YOU'RE BUSY RIGHT NOW 😔 when will my wife return from war? ↳ yourbestfriend so my darling 🫡

user495 OH TO BE YOUR BACKPACK!!!!

user053 I would KILL to be your backpack

landonorris are applications still open?

yourusername liked this comment ↳ yourusername i mean...yeah 🫣 ↳ landonorris where do I sign up? ↳ user035 OH??? 👀👀👀 ↳ user347 who is trying to WOO OUR BIKER?? ↳ yourbestfriend 😏

landonorris tagged yourusername

liked by yourusername, maxverstappen, carlossainz55, oscarpiastri, and 1.5m others

landonorris i am certified passenger backpack now 😚🥰

comments on this post has been limited

carlossainz55 amigo you stress me out

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maxverstappen oh god here we go

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↳ landonorris wasn't planning on it but message received ↳ yourbestfriend good! ↳ yourusername THATS MY WIFE 🗣️🗣️ ↳ yourbestfriend YOU KNOW IT!!

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↳ landonorris you know it babe 😉 ↳ carlossainz55 BABE? ↳ maxverstappen you got a PARTNER? ↳ yourusername guess cat's out of the bag now.. ↳ landonorris haha yeah...well look at the time! Gotta run!

[anundyingfidelity]

me when 'the boys' pull up the most disgusting, grotesque and bizarrely exaggerating scene ever on screen for parody, satire or social criticism purposes (or just because, idgaf):

[assriels]

honeyed temptations

pairing: azriel x reader 

word count: 2.2k

warnings: some smut and suggestive language (mdni 18+ only pls!!), swearing, azriel is whipped for u but is also very stubborn, domesticity/fluff

summary: despite azriel’s relative indifference to most things, he absolutely, undeniably hates the heat. and fucking loves when you wear sundresses.

a/n: continuation of my ongoing headcanon that azriel is actually kind of a stubborn baby, especially with his mate; i have a summer oneshot for cassian coming out soon! <3

masterlist

banners by @/cafekitsune <3

Azriel was fucking furious. It was like the sun had a personal vendetta against him, determined to steal any and all comfort from him as he baked in the hot morning sun in your shared bedroom.

Peak summer in Velaris was nothing to scoff at. Though the Night Court was hailed for the beauty of its moon and stars, the same could not be said for its seasons. It was a solar court and that meant that its moon waxed and waned through the full dearth of the seasons. And summer just so happened to be Azriel’s least favorite. 

Though he could handle the strikingly cold winters the Night Court had to offer — it snowed quite heavily in Illyria, afterall — the heat of the summer was unbearably oppressive. It didn’t help that his current residence was the House of Wind, built high on a mountain cliff where the heat rose and was entirely too close to the sun. Not even the House’s breeze helped staunch his somewhat over exaggerated agitation at the rising temperatures. 

It was still morning, but it seemed that the sun had decided that it would be especially insufferable today, showboating its prowess even at 9 in the morning. 

“C’mon Az,” you implored, gentle hand poking his bare shoulder. “Rhys is here, we have a meeting.” 

He pouted at you from where he was sprawled out on the bed, not having bothered to get up — or put clothes on — despite having been awake for an hour now. He rolled onto his side to get a better look at you, hoping that if he pouted enough you’d have mercy on him and let him stay naked and as cool as possible; the thought of putting on clothes — most of which he owned were black — made Azriel’s head ache. 

“‘s too hot.” 

You huffed a laugh at his childlike petulance. Who would have guessed the feared Shadowsinger of the Night Court couldn’t handle a little heat? 

“You’re being a baby,” you chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed as you attempted to negotiate with your mate to get out of bed. 

It was then that he took stock of your appearance. You had always been much less bothered by the heat than he was — and much more functional in it — and so your morning routines were never disrupted. You had already bathed and gotten ready, pretty little sundress skimming your curves as the hem tickled the skin on your legs. 

“You look nice,” Azriel noted with a hum of appreciation. Ordinarily, he would’ve reached over and pulled you on top of him to make both of you late for Rhys’s meeting for an entirely different reason, but he couldn’t fathom getting any more sticky and sweaty than he already was, so he resisted. Instead, he opted for toying with the hem of your dress in contemplation.

“Is this new?” He asked, taking in the sweet honey yellow linen and thin straps. You nodded your head and smoothed your hands down your front, fixing the neckline of your dress in a way that had Azriel’s eyes burning holes through your skin. 

“Do you like it? I bought it when I went out with Feyre the other day.” You intentionally left out that you had bought it with the explicit purpose of using it to tempt your mate out of bed, knowing that he always needed a little bit of incentive in the summer. 

Assessing hazel eyes tracked the familiar planes of your body, face lit with an entirely different kind of heat now, “Yeah, I like it.” 

His gaze lifted to yours and you nearly gave into him. The adoration in his eyes and the blush high on the apples of his cheeks was mesmerizing, “You’re very pretty, you know.” 

Azriel’s unfiltered affections for you always made your heart beat quicken, and your attention shifted to his hand resting comfortably on your thigh, thumb drawing innocent circles on your skin. You bent over to kiss him briefly in thanks before patting his hand and getting up off the bed. 

You could’ve sworn you heard Azriel whine in protest, but it was drowned out by the sound of you sifting through the dresser, no doubt searching for clothes to throw his way.

He watched you from his spot on the bed, eyeing the way the hem of your dress billowed from your waist and just barely covered the curve of your ass. He was convinced that he could stare at you for an eternity and still find new parts of you to marvel at. 

Before he could get too lost in his greedy appreciation of your beauty and the stunning way your dress complimented every curve and dip of your body, you were tossing clothes at his face.

“Stop staring and get dressed!” You laughed, “You know Cass is gonna give you shit for being late. Again.”

It was no secret to those closest to Azriel that he was an absolute terror when the summer rolled around. Though it only took a week or two for him to adjust and become begrudgingly functional again, the days leading up to his revival were always a source of great amusement to the Inner Circle. Ah, the perfect Shadowsinger finally reveals his flaws, Cassian would consistently tease.

He only groaned in response, rolling onto his back once again to stare at the ceiling. 

You sighed. Truthfully, you found this side of him endearing – and quite funny – but you knew he had a job to do and nothing would get done unless he was, at the very least, clothed. Sauntering over to the bed, you looked down at him with your hands on your hips. You were met only with a stubborn look in return; you could’ve sworn you glimpsed the ghost of a defiant smirk curving his lips, “Make me.”

You reeled at his challenge. Fine, you would make him. 

The bed shifted as you straddled him on all fours, careful not to let any part of you touch any part of him. His hands came up instinctively to grasp your hips as he didn’t even try to hide his triumphant smile. But you wouldn’t let him get away with it, at least not now.

You encircled his wrists in your hands, guiding them above his head to pin them to the pillow. Both of you knew he could easily wriggle out of your grasp, but Azriel was aware that this was riling you up just as much as him so he conceded. Allowed his beautiful mate to do whatever she pleased.

“Don’t touch,” you commanded in his ear, punctuating your words with a slow swirl of your tongue along the shell of his ear. “If you listen, I promise I’ll be so, so good for you.”

Unexpected emotion flooded his chest as he resisted the urge to break the tension with his affection for you. You were already so good for him. In more ways than he could have ever wanted, more ways than he ever imagined. But he kept his mouth shut, and focused only on the way he could feel the hem of your dress kissing his skin as your mouth nipped at sucked at all the places that drove him insane. 

“C’mon, Az,” you cooed, licking a sinful path up his neck before you blew on his skin, reveling in the way goosebumps rose on his flesh despite the sweltering weather. “Get up for me, huh?”

He didn’t miss the double entendre as you tracked a scathing wet trail down his body, your tongue — frustratingly — the only part of you touching him. He was being difficult and you were making him pay for it by teasing him in ways only you knew how to. Azriel groaned low and deep when your cool breath hit right beneath his bellybutton, abs flexing as he willed himself to maintain his composure. You still weren’t touching him, and he was already embarrassingly hard, body desperate to feel your skin on his. 

His brow furrowed with concentration and lust as he met your gaze right before your lips puckered and you took the head of his cock – pretty and swollen and throbbing just for you – into your mouth. Azriel’s head flopped back onto his pillow as he loosed a long, deep breath, a cross between a sigh and a moan so pleasing to hear that you nearly forgot your initial intentions. 

One well placed stroke of your tongue had your eyes meeting his yet again, all dark pupils and a thin ring of gorgeous hazel. You were the picture of perfect seduction, pretty lips split open on his cock, bent over him in such a way that gave him an unobstructed view of your cleavage beneath your dress. You released him with a sinfully wet pop! as you pulled back and smiled at him, sweet and teasing before you blew gently on his tip. Azriel shuddered.

Oh, Mother above. He was milliseconds away from flipping you onto your back and tearing your godsforsaken dress right off you — or maybe he’d keep it on — but you were faster, jumping just out of his reach and off the bed, as if you hadn’t just addled his mind with fantasies of all the ways he could fuck you in that dress. 

The wicked smirk of satisfaction curving your lips told him that you’d had your intended effect. Azriel was barely able to recalibrate his bearings in time for him to notice you heading towards the door. He sputtered in disbelief, “Where are you going?”

Before you traipsed out the bedroom door, you turned back to look at him, “To be continued, mate. After you get dressed.”

When you shut the door behind you, Azriel could have sworn he heard your giddy, maniacal laughter echo in time to the sound of your footsteps down the stairs. Now he had two problems: 1) he was still hot as the fires of Hell and 2) he was achingly hard and knew he’d have to make a concerted effort not to look too long at you in that dress all day if he wanted to cling to what little composure he had.

He sighed as his shadows swirled around his ears, barely offering any reprieve from the heat. 

Pretty mate. So, so pretty. Everyone thinks so. 

Make that three problems: 3) Cassian would be making innocent comments about you looking so good in that dress just to irritate him. 

The possession roiling around in his gut – courtesy of the mating bond – was his final straw as he scrubbed a frustrated hand down his face. Fucking fine, he would put the damn clothes on. 

☾𖤓 epilogue ☾𖤓

“Where’s that overgrown child you call a mate, anyway?” Cassian quipped after you made your appearance in the dining room for breakfast. 

“Exactly where you think he is,” you laughed over a bite of toast.

“What’s wrong with Azriel?” Feyre implored innocently, “Is he not feeling well?” 

Rhys chuckled and shook his head, “Azriel is not very fond of the summer—“

“That’s an understatement,” you and Cassian mumbled under your breaths in tandem.

“—and it’s a nightmare getting him to do anything in heat like this. But luckily we have Y/N.”

Before your High Lady could ask the question on the tip of her tongue, Cassian stole a piece of bacon off your plate, ignoring the way you protested, “I mean, you’ve seen how whipped he is Feyre. He’ll do anything if Y/N even suggests she wants him to. Az only gets out of bed in the summer because she asks.”

In retribution for your stolen bacon, you speared the rest of Cassian’s eggs and forked them into your mouth before he could inch away from you. You didn’t respond, knowing all too well that Azriel actually would not get out of bed even if you asked, leaving you to resort to other…tactics. 

“I’m not a child, you know.” Came Azriel’s petulant interruption as he greeted you with a brief kiss to your head and the rest of his family with a grunt of acknowledgement, “I can do things on my own, in case you forgot.”

“We’ll stop calling you one, once you stop acting like it,” Cassian taunted.

Azriel’s scoff was his only response as he sat down next to you at the table, plating two pieces of bacon in front of you to replace the one he knew Cassian had no doubt probably taken. You smiled up at him gratefully, and despite the still sweltering heat that had only seemed to have gotten worse as time progressed, he smiled back. 

Feyre was in awe; it was like the heat had melted away his stony exterior, leaving the real Azriel exposed for everyone to see. Feyre met your gaze across the table, a mischievous glint in her eyes that told you she was more than privy to the extraneous measures you had taken to coax your mate out of bed.

“How do you do it?” Cassian not-so-quietly whispered to you. 

“I have my ways,” you responded cryptically with a smirk as Azriel’s hand ventured beneath the hem of your dress, squeezing your thigh.

You would most definitely be paying for your little shenanigan in the bedroom later.  

[soulofapatrick]

Wingspan - Azriel x female reader

Summary: You decide Azriel's lap is where you'll sit which leads to something new

Warnings: Semi-smut; male orgasm

Words: 5K

Notes: I feel like im teasing you all with no real smut these last few ACOTAR stories hehe - you will get your smutty pt 2s I promise

Y/N's POV

As I step into the lounging area of the House of Wind, the warmth from the fire crackles softly in the background, but the room is full of quiet laughter and relaxed conversation. Every seat is taken.

Cassian is sprawled out on the couch nearest the hearth, his muscular frame looking far too large for the space, his arm slung lazily around Nesta. She’s sitting beside him, legs tucked beneath her, engrossed in a book but absently resting her hand on his thigh. Across from them, Feyre sits next to Rhysand, her head resting against his shoulder as they talk quietly, her soft laugh occasionally filling the room. Rhys lounges with that familiar ease, and the moment I step inside, his eyes meet mine. A brow quirks, and I know instantly that he’s about to summon another chair for me.

I shake my head, just the smallest movement, and his smirk widens knowingly.

Elain is seated next to Mor, both chatting lightly, and Amren is perched in an armchair with a drink in hand, glancing up from a book now and then, clearly uninterested in the chatter around her.

But my eyes find him. Azriel is sitting alone in a solitary armchair, slightly apart from the others, his long legs stretched out in front of him, one ankle crossed over the other. His shadows swirl faintly around his shoulders, and he holds a barely touched drink in his hand, eyes distant as if lost in thought.

Without a word, I make a beeline for him, my heart picking up speed as I approach. His hazel eyes lift when he senses me coming, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. His expression softens almost immediately, though, his gaze innocent, confused, as if he can’t quite believe I’m heading straight for him.

I don’t stop. I reach out, nudging his arm gently, and he instinctively shifts the glass from his lap, his breath catching in his throat as I slide smoothly onto it, settling into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

For a moment, he’s utterly still, his body tense beneath mine. The faintest hint of a blush creeps across his cheeks, and I can feel the way his breath hitches slightly, like he’s trying to keep his composure. His free hand hovers awkwardly for a second, unsure where to rest, before it finally settles on my waist with a cautious, almost reverent touch.

Azriel says nothing, but his lips part as if to speak. I glance up at him, catching the quiet storm of emotions swirling in those beautiful hazel eyes—surprise, uncertainty, but beneath it all, a soft warmth that he tries to hide behind his usual stoicism.

His shadows dance lightly around us, curling closer as if they, too, are reacting to the shift in our proximity. The room around us seems to fade, the others’ conversations becoming distant as we sit there, close, his breath steadying but his chest still rising a little too fast. He’s not used to this kind of attention—not from me.

I reach for the glass in his hand, gently prying it from his grasp. His fingers linger on the cool surface for a moment before he releases it, watching me closely. Without breaking eye contact, I raise the drink to my lips, taking a slow sip. The liquid is smooth, warming as it slides down my throat, but what really heats me is the way Azriel’s eyes darken, honing in on the way my tongue darts across my bottom lip to catch the last drop.

His gaze is searing, intense, as if he's committing the moment to memory, and for a heartbeat, it’s just the two of us in the room. Then, as if by some unseen force—probably Rhys or Amren—the glass vanishes from my hand. I barely have time to process its disappearance before Azriel moves.

It’s instinctual, primal—the way his scarred hands slide up my waist, firm and possessive, pulling me closer. Before I can react, his face buries in the crook of my neck, and I feel the warmth of his breath as he inhales deeply. He’s holding me like he needs to, like being close to me is the only thing keeping him grounded. I can feel the faint tremor in his arms, the way he tries to keep his composure even though he’s giving in to some deeper urge.

I relax against him, sinking into his embrace, my body shifting slightly in his lap as I try to get more comfortable. The movement causes his grip to tighten, and a low, guttural sound escapes him—a growl, quiet but unmistakable, rumbling from deep within his chest. The sound sends a shiver racing down my spine.

That’s when I feel it—him. Stirring beneath me, hardening as I shift, and it’s my turn for my breath to catch in my throat. The weight of him beneath me is undeniable now, and suddenly, every inch of space between us feels electric. I can’t breathe, can’t move, trapped in the tension that pulses between us, my heart hammering against my chest.

Azriel's breath hitches as I shift slightly in his lap again, the movement sending a jolt of awareness through both of us. His grip on my waist tightens, almost as if he’s afraid I might slip away. His face remains buried in the crook of my neck, and I can feel the warm brush of his lips against my skin, his breath coming in uneven, shallow pulls. His scent—night-chilled wind and cedar—wraps around me, intoxicating and overwhelming, and I can't help but lean into him, the tension between us crackling in the air.

For a moment, all I can hear is the sound of his breathing and the steady thrum of my own heartbeat, loud in my ears. His hands, calloused and scarred from years of battle, hold me like I’m something fragile, but there’s a rawness to the way his fingers press into my skin, as though he’s fighting the urge to pull me even closer.

I shift again, just slightly, and this time, a soft moan escapes his lips, barely audible but filled with a need that sends heat pooling low in my belly. My own breath catches in my throat, a shiver coursing through me as I feel the hard length of him press more insistently against me. My heart races, and I know that he feels it too—the pounding rhythm of it against his chest, the rising heat between us.

Azriel finally lifts his head, and when his eyes meet mine, they’re darker than I’ve ever seen them, his usual calm shattered by the hunger simmering just beneath the surface. His gaze flickers to my lips for a brief second, and I see the way his jaw clenches, like he’s holding back from doing something he desperately wants to do.

I feel his grip loosen slightly, his thumbs brushing against the fabric of my shirt in small, absent circles, but his eyes never leave mine. The tension between us hums in the air, almost unbearable now, as if the world around us has disappeared, leaving only this moment. My body feels like it’s on fire, every nerve on high alert from his touch, his closeness.

I open my mouth, trying to find something to say, but before I can, his scarred hand moves, sliding from my waist to the back of my neck. His fingers tangle in my hair, gentle but possessive, as he tilts my head just slightly, his face so close to mine that I can feel the heat of his breath ghosting over my lips.

"Are you... okay?" His voice is low, hoarse, like he’s barely able to get the words out, his control hanging by a thread. There’s a vulnerability in his question, as if he’s afraid of what my answer might be.

I nod, swallowing hard, my body trembling against him. "Yes," I whisper, my voice breathy and uneven, and his grip on my neck tightens, just slightly.

The corners of his lips twitch, but it’s not quite a smile. More like he’s relieved, as if that simple word unlocked something within him. His gaze drops to my lips again, and this time, there’s no mistaking the hunger in his eyes.

Before I can even process it, his mouth is on mine—slow at first, tentative, like he’s still unsure if he’s allowed to have this. But then I kiss him back, and something inside him snaps. His hand tightens in my hair, pulling me closer, and his other arm wraps fully around my waist, holding me against him as his lips move hungrily against mine.

His kiss is fierce, consuming, like he’s been starving for this moment and can’t get enough. I melt into him, my hands finding the front of his shirt, clutching at the fabric as if it’s the only thing tethering me to reality. Every brush of his lips, every stroke of his tongue sends sparks of heat racing through me, and I can’t think—can’t focus on anything except the feel of him, the way he tastes, the way his body responds to every movement I make.

When we finally break apart, both of us are breathless, our foreheads resting together. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his eyes still dark with need, but there’s a softness there now, too, something tender that makes my heart ache.

His voice is barely a whisper when he speaks. "I've wanted this... for so long." His confession hangs in the air between us, raw and unguarded, and I can see the vulnerability in his eyes, the fear that maybe I don’t feel the same.

But I do. Gods, I do.

I press my lips to his again, softer this time, letting him know without words that I want this too—that I want him. His body relaxes beneath me, the tension melting from his shoulders as he kisses me back, slower now, more controlled, savouring the moment as if we have all the time in the world.

And in this moment, in Azriel’s arms, it feels like we do.

Our breaths mingle, warm and shallow, as we slowly pull away from the kiss. The world seems to stand still around us, every sound muffled by the rush of blood in my ears, by the feel of his hands still gripping me, like I’m the only thing keeping him anchored. I finally glance around the room, blinking as if waking from a dream, and that’s when I realise we’re alone.

The others—Cassian, Nesta, Feyre, Rhys, Mor, Amren, and Elain—they’re gone. At some point, they must have quietly slipped away, leaving us here in the lounging area, tangled together on the chair like some kind of forgotten secret. My face flushes with sudden awareness, the intimacy of the moment crashing over me now that we’re truly, utterly alone.

Azriel must sense it—the sudden flush creeping up my neck, the way my body stiffens just slightly. His eyes narrow, a flicker of concern passing through them, but before I can even speak, the world around me shifts.

It happens so fast—one moment I’m sitting on his lap, surrounded by the warmth of the fire, and the next I’m engulfed in darkness. Not just darkness, though—his shadows. They wrap around me, soft, velvety, and thick, their weight comforting and familiar as they pull me under. I barely have time to register the sensation of falling before I land, gently, on something soft beneath me.

I blink up, my breath catching as I realise I’m on my back, lying on the plush surface of a bed. The shadows swirl around me before retreating, leaving nothing but the low glow of candlelight to illuminate the room. My heart pounds in my chest as I take in my surroundings—the large bed beneath me, the soft sheets crumpled around my legs, the faint scent of night-blooming flowers hanging in the air. And then, I see him.

Azriel is hovering above me, his body blocking out most of the dim light, his wings half unfurled like a dark halo around him. His hands are braced on either side of my head, caging me in, and his face is only inches from mine. The shadows still dance around his shoulders, swirling lazily, but his gaze… his gaze is locked on me, and it’s intense, burning with something that makes my breath catch all over again.

He’s staring at me like I’m something precious, something he can’t quite believe he’s allowed to have. His lips part as if to speak, but he hesitates, his eyes flicking over my face as if he’s memorising every detail. His presence is overwhelming—warm and solid and intoxicating, and I can’t help the way my body reacts to him, my skin buzzing with the nearness of him.

Azriel’s wings flutter slightly as he hovers above me, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts, eyes locked onto mine with a fire that seems barely contained. The room around us is dim, the only light spilling in from the moon outside the windows, casting long, gentle shadows that seem to dance across his features. His wings frame him, dark and powerful, the membranous folds trembling with barely concealed tension.

I feel it too, the overwhelming tension that hangs between us—thick, electric, like a storm about to break. My pulse races, the heat between us coiling tight in my chest, and I can’t help but take in the sight of him. His muscles are taut beneath his shirt, his shoulders broad and wings extended just enough that I can see them twitching, the sensitivity of that velvety skin so evident even from where I lay beneath him.

His eyes are locked on me, dark and molten, and the connection between us, the bond we share, hums with the weight of his desire, of his need. I feel his emotions as if they’re my own—raw, unfiltered hunger. It’s like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing there’s no way back, and part of me is already tumbling over it.

The bond pulses with an intoxicating mixture of want and restraint. I sense his struggle to hold back, to keep himself in check, even though the thread of control is so thin it feels like it could snap at any moment. His shadows swirl restlessly around us, as if they, too, are caught up in this moment, drawn to the fire igniting between us.

“Azriel…” I whisper, my voice barely audible in the quiet of the room, but the sound seems to break whatever thread of control he was holding onto.

His gaze softens, and without a word, his head dips, his lips brushing against my throat, feather-light but sending sparks racing through my veins. His breath is warm against my skin as he inhales deeply, as if he’s savouring the moment, the feel of me beneath him.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” His voice is a low, gravelly whisper against my neck, filled with equal parts wonder and restraint. His hands, those scarred, powerful hands, slip down to my waist again, pulling me closer to him as he presses his body flush against mine, his weight grounding me.

I shiver beneath him, the flush on my face deepening as I feel him everywhere—his solid chest pressed against mine, his hips brushing against my legs, his scent surrounding me, wrapping me in warmth and desire. My pulse races, and I know he can feel it, can hear it with those sharp senses of his.

I open my mouth to respond, but the words die in my throat as he lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine again, dark and full of that smouldering intensity that makes me feel like I’m the only person in the world. His thumb brushes against my hip, a simple touch, but it sends a wave of heat coursing through me.

Azriel's lips curl into the faintest of smiles, and then, as if unable to hold back any longer, he leans down, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that’s slower this time, more deliberate. It’s not rushed or desperate like before, but deep, exploring, savouring. His mouth moves against mine, teasing, tasting, and I can’t help but arch into him, the heat between us growing more intense with every passing second.

The soft sheets crumple beneath me as I reach up, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as I kiss him back with everything I have. He responds with a low, guttural sound in the back of his throat, the sound vibrating against my lips, and it sends another shiver down my spine.

His body shifts above me, his weight pressing me deeper into the mattress, and I feel the hardness of him, unmistakable now, as he presses against me. My breath hitches, and I can’t stop the way my hips move, instinctively arching up toward him, seeking more of that delicious contact.

Azriel breaks the kiss with a sharp intake of breath, his eyes hooded and dark as he pulls back just enough to look at me. His expression is raw, full of want and need, but there’s something else there, too—something vulnerable, as if he’s asking for permission.

"Tell me to stop if you want me to," he murmurs, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper, but I can hear the restraint, the effort it takes for him to hold back.

I meet his gaze, my heart pounding, and slowly, deliberately, I shake my head. “Don’t stop.”

That’s all it takes.

The moment the words leave my lips, Azriel’s entire demeanour shifts. The restraint he’s been holding onto starts to unravel, his gaze darkening to a molten amber that sends a shiver through me. His hands tighten on my waist as though he’s been waiting for this—waiting for permission to lose control.

And then, his mouth crashes back onto mine, but this time the kiss is deeper, hungrier, as if he’s been starved for this. His tongue teases mine, coaxing and tasting, and my body responds with an intensity that surprises even me. I can’t help but arch into him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as I pull him closer, needing more of him, more of his touch.

Azriel groans softly, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against me. His hand slides down to my thigh, his strong fingers digging into the soft skin as he hitches my leg over his hip. The movement presses our bodies together in a way that has me gasping, feeling every inch of him against me.

And gods, he feels good. So good it’s almost overwhelming.

He drags his lips from mine, trailing hot kisses down my jaw and to my neck. Each one is deliberate, like he’s savouring the taste of me, and I tilt my head, giving him more access. He doesn’t hesitate. His teeth graze the sensitive skin of my throat, and I gasp, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure racing through my veins. His wings shift slightly behind him, a subtle twitch as if even they are responding to the growing tension.

I slide my hands down his back, feeling the hard muscles beneath the fabric, and then lower, fingers brushing the edge of his wings. His reaction is immediate. A low, guttural sound rumbles from his chest, and his wings flare, just slightly, the movement causing him to press more firmly against me.

I do it again, trailing my fingers along the sensitive membrane, and Azriel gasps this time, his breath hitching. His wings are trembling under my touch, the connection between us growing more electric.

"Careful," he murmurs, his voice hoarse, strained. "They’re... sensitive."

I smirk, teasing him again with the softest brush of my fingertips along the arch of his wing, watching as his reaction mirrors the way he would if I touched him elsewhere—his body tensing, his grip tightening on my waist, his breath catching in his throat.

“Sensitive?” I murmur back, voice low, playful. “Good to know.”

Before I can do it again, Azriel’s patience seems to snap. In one swift motion, he pulls back, grabbing the hem of my shirt and yanking it over my head, discarding it without a second thought. His eyes rake over me, dark and full of hunger, and he lets out another growl, the sound making my pulse race.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, barely loud enough to hear. But I do, and it sends a flush of heat through me. 

Without hesitation, his hands return to my body, but this time, he doesn’t stop. His mouth follows the path of his fingers, trailing hot kisses down my neck, across my collarbone, and lower still. His lips and hands explore every inch of me as if memorising me, worshiping me.

And all the while, his wings—those magnificent, powerful wings—shudder in time with his touch, as if they are just as desperate for contact, just as in need of attention.

My breath hitches as I lift a hand, letting my fingers gently trail over the scars that line his forearms, feeling the tension thrumming beneath his skin. His breath falters, and I can sense him tip just a little closer to losing himself, feel the wild, unconfined need rippling through the bond.

Without breaking eye contact, I let my hand drift higher, toward his wings.

His reaction is immediate. The moment my fingertips graze the soft, sensitive skin of his wing, a shudder runs through him. His wings flare slightly, trembling as though he’s fighting not to let them fully expand. I can feel his breath catch, the bond between us flaring with the intensity of his pleasure, the sensation so strong it nearly knocks the breath from my lungs.

I don’t stop, letting my fingers trail along the edge of his wing, marvelling at how the slightest touch sends shockwaves through his body. His wings twitch, and his control slips just a little further. His whole body is trembling now, the tension in him barely held together, and the bond surges with the primal, visceral pleasure he’s feeling.

"You’re playing with fire," he growls, his voice low and dangerous, but there’s a glint of amusement, a challenge hidden behind the heat.

Before I can respond, he’s kissing me again, harder this time, more possessive. His hands slide lower, fingers digging into my hips as he presses his body more firmly against mine, and I can feel every inch of him, hard and ready, against me.

The intensity between us builds, a slow, burning heat that’s all-consuming, and I can’t help the soft moan that escapes me, my body arching into his touch. A soft groan escapes him, low and guttural, as his hands grip my waist, holding me as if I’m the only thing anchoring him to reality. But when I press a little harder, tracing the ridges of his wing, something in him snaps.

He buries his face in the crook of my neck with a desperate, almost feral groan, his breath hot and ragged against my skin. I feel the sharp bite of his teeth grazing my neck, almost too hard, but the pain mingles with pleasure so intense it sends a shiver down my spine. His hands tighten around me, pulling me impossibly closer as his wings tremble violently beneath my touch.

Before I realise it, Azriel’s entire body convulses with the force of it, a full-body shudder that ripples through him as he comes undone, his breath heavy and laboured, his wings quivering beneath my hands as the overwhelming pleasure tips him over the edge. His face remains buried in my neck, his lips pressed hard against my skin, and I can feel the pulse of his heartbeat racing, hear the low, guttural groan that escapes him as his body tenses and then releases in wave after wave of pleasure. His hips jerk into mine and I can feel the way embarrassment tinges the thread of our bond to I just kiss the side of his forehead as he rides out his orgasm. 

The bond between us flares white-hot, filled with the intensity of his release, and I can’t help but gasp, feeling every shudder, every tremor as if it’s my own. His wings continue to tremble beneath my touch, and I keep my fingers there, gently stroking the sensitive skin, letting him ride out the final waves of pleasure until his body slowly begins to relax.

Azriel’s breath is still hot against my neck, his body pressed so intimately against mine that I can feel every lingering tremor that still rocks through him. For a moment, neither of us moves, suspended in the quiet aftermath, with only the sound of his heavy breathing and the rapid beat of our hearts filling the room. But then, I feel it—the unmistakable tension of his body growing rigid again, the slow but deliberate shift of his hips against mine as the evidence of his renewed desire presses hard against my thigh.

Slowly, Azriel raises his head from where he’d buried it in my neck, his breathless groans now replaced with quiet, almost desperate pants. His hazel eyes lock onto mine, and they’re no longer merely molten—they’re molten chocolate, deep and swirling with so much raw need that it nearly knocks the breath from my lungs. His gaze is intense, but beneath the fire burning there, I see something else—something that makes my heart stutter in my chest.

He’s pleading.

“I need you,” he whispers, voice rough and low, his hands shaking as they grip my waist just a little tighter. His forehead rests against mine, eyes heavy-lidded but full of a barely contained hunger. His lips part as if he’s about to speak again, but it’s as though the words are too difficult to form. Instead, they tumble out, strained and needy, “Please…”

There’s no mistaking the fervent desire coursing through him. His body, his wings, even the bond between us pulses with it. He’s already hard, ready, and I can feel it—the urgency in every inch of him as his hips press forward, seeking any relief. But despite the wild hunger coursing through him, despite how his entire body shakes with need, he still waits. He still pauses. His fingers twitch slightly at my sides as if every fibre of his being is fighting for control, waiting for permission.

The gentleman in him, even in this frenzy, is waiting for me to say yes.

One word, a singular thought, chants in my head over and over again, echoing through the bond, through every breath I take as I look up at him. It’s a need that matches his, an all-consuming fire that burns hotter with every second that ticks by.

Mate.

I reach for his shirt without thinking, my hands trembling with the same need that’s consuming him. My fingers curl into the fabric, and I don’t even hesitate. I rip it in two with a force I didn’t know I had, the sound of tearing fabric filling the room as the shirt falls away from his body in tatters.

Azriel lets out a low, rough groan as the shirt is discarded, his wings flaring slightly, and his eyes darken even further—if that’s possible. His skin is flushed, the muscles of his chest and arms rippling under the soft moonlight, and I can’t help but run my hands across the broad expanse of his chest, feeling the way his breath stutters beneath my touch.

But we’re not done.

Azriel’s hands move down to his trousers, and with one smooth motion, he’s shucking them off, kicking them aside with an urgency that leaves my heart racing even faster. The sight of him, naked and unashamed, standing over me with every inch of him ready and willing, sends a fresh wave of desire crashing through me.

My own body burns, flushed with heat as I feel the bond between us pulsing with an overwhelming surge of need. He moves with precision, fingers deft but trembling as he does the same to me, discarding every layer between us until there’s nothing left, until I’m as bare to him as he is to me.

His eyes never leave mine, and there’s something almost reverent in the way he looks at me now, like he’s seeing me for the first time, or maybe like I’m the only thing that exists in this moment. His hands are gentle as they skim over my skin, but there’s a trembling edge to his touch, a tension that speaks of the frenzied desire threatening to overtake him.

And through the bond, I feel it too—the storm brewing inside both of us, the need to come together, to consummate what’s been simmering between us for so long.

Azriel’s wings twitch, his breathing erratic as he hovers above me, every muscle in his body taut with restraint. He lowers himself, his body pressing against mine, skin to skin, and I feel the weight of him, the heat of him. His breath ghosts over my lips, and his voice, husky and raw, whispers again, “Tell me… tell me what you want.”

I feel his body trembling, barely held together by the thread of control that’s slipping fast. His hands are on either side of me, but it’s his wings that twitch, sensitive and exposed, sending a shudder through him every time they brush against the sheets. His eyes plead with me, and I know that this moment is the tipping point. All I have to do is speak the word, give him the permission he’s so desperately seeking.

And the bond between us pulses, thundering in my chest, as that singular word echoes louder and louder in my mind.

Now.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

[acourtofmishapandmistakes]

Bumps, Blunders & Baby Kicks

Azriel & Reader Fluff Fic

Summary: As she enters her eighth month of pregnancy with her mate Azriel, the reader struggles with relentless discomfort from perpetual warmth and frequent need to pee. The story is filled with moments of tender comfort and delightful fluff.

Content Warning: Pregnancy, kissing, and accidental punching.

The bedroom sweltered like a furnace, suffocating despite the windows thrown wide open. Outside, the Sidra usually whispered cool breezes that now seemed to have lost their way, leaving only what felt like the heat from a scorching oven, clinging to your skin.

At eight months pregnant, with the weight of your unborn child pressing relentlessly from within, each movement felt like wading through molasses. The thin sheet that once promised some semblance of comfort now lay discarded by your feet. You shifted from your side to sit up, letting out a slight groan. Your hand swept over the curve of your belly. With the other hand, you brushed back the damp tendrils of hair that had glued themselves to your forehead, each strand saturated with sweat. 

You let out a frustrated humph, struggling to take a deep breath, a task that had become increasingly difficult these days. You glanced at the empty space beside you on the bed. In the first few months of your pregnancy, Azriel had been almost inseparably attentive, hardly letting you out of his sight. He doted on you endlessly, always touching you, constantly checking if you were okay. By the third month, his constant vigilance had nearly driven you to smother him with a pillow while he slept. While you cherished the increased presence of your mate, his overprotectiveness had begun to feel suffocating, and you had gently nudged him to resume his duties at the Night Court, though with less risk involved.

You had returned to your work in the library after overcoming your morning sickness, determined not to be treated differently just because you were pregnant. The idea of being seen as weak or fragile irked you deeply. So you resisted, sometimes pushing yourself too hard, often ending your days exhausted and spent.

 Azriel was reluctant to spend nights away, he valued these evenings with you, cherishing the time before your new babe arrived. However, it didn’t seem right for him to skip the meeting in the Summer Court, especially when that relationship was still in its infancy. Azriel had given you a long, passionate kiss, promising to return home as soon as he could. He then gently cupped your belly, whispered something too soft even for your fae ears to catch, and kissed your stomach. With that tender gesture, he winnowed away to the River House to meet with Rhys.

You gently ran your hand up and down the curve of your stomach. “Is it as hot in there for you as it is out here?” you murmured to your babe. As you fluttered your fingers across the top of your belly, the babe responded with a lively kick. Azriel had thoroughly enjoyed discovering all the ways to engage with the babe, from talking to them to gently pressing your belly to feel them push back. Each time you felt a kick, you’d call out to him, and no matter where he was, he’d appear in moments, eager to place his hands over yours and feel the movement too. He had been so disappointed when he missed the first of those tiny, internal kicks. 

At the tiny kick, a smile spread across your face. Then, abruptly, you felt an overwhelming urge to pee—a sensation that seemed to dominate your days lately. Sighing, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and carefully stood up, arching your back in an attempt to ease some of the persistent ache. You stretched your arms high above your head, trying to loosen the tightness that gripped your body. 

You ambled into the adjoining bathroom, the soles of your feet gently padding on the hardwood floor—a gracious gift from Feyre and Rhys when they learned of your pregnancy. The townhouse was your sanctuary. While Cassian had insisted that you and Azriel stay with him and Nesta at the House of Wind, you had joked that two pregnant females under one roof might leave only one male mate standing. Besides, you cherished the privacy of your own space with Azriel, and he seemed delightfully committed to "christening" every surface of your new home.

You paused by the large bathroom mirror, taking a moment to admire your side profile. Gently, you ran your hands over the curve of your stomach, tugging at the oversized t-shirt you'd claimed from Azriel after your own clothes had become too snug.

That’s a nice image, Azriel's voice echoed softly in your mind, his words a warm mental caress that brought an instinctive smile to your lips.

What are you doing up? you sent back to him, your mental voice tinged with a mix of surprise and warmth. Normally, you kept your side of the bond open when he was away, though his was often shielded due to his duties. Every now and then, you'd send him mental snapshots of you and the babe whenever he could receive them.

We just got back to our rooms, Azriel replied, his mental presence flickering like a comforting candle in the dark.

You glanced out into the deep, dark night. It has to be close to like 2 in the morning. What kept you out?

Azriel’s chuckle, rich and warm, flowed through the bond. Cassian got into a drinking contest with some of the Summer Court guards. Given his history, neither Rhys nor I thought it was a good idea to leave him unattended.

You couldn’t help but laugh. Fair response. Did he win?

Does anyone win in that situation? Azriel mused. He’s going to have a killer headache tomorrow morning, and I’m going to have to hear him complain about it. Also, I learned he can belch his ABC’s. Which he did. Four. Different. Times.

Oh good, you replied, already picturing the next gathering, I’ll have to ask him to demonstrate next time I can get a few beers in him.

I don’t think you would need to coax him, Azriel responded, amused. He seems pretty proud of himself. A beat passed. Are you doing okay? babe okay?

You stood up, having finished what felt like the longest pee ever. We’re both fine. Your babe just finds it hilarious to sit on mom’s bladder at night. That, and I’m just constantly hot.

Well, we knew that, came Azriel’s cheeky retort, and you could almost see his teasing grin.

I mean because of the pregnancy, you heathen.

I’m sorry my babe keeps making you have to pee. I’ll be sure to address it with them at our next meeting, Azriel joked, his voice soothing even across the distance.

I would appreciate that, you responded with a light laugh, exiting the bathroom and returning to the bedroom. Needing a break from the oppressive indoor heat, you stepped out onto the patio to catch what little coolness the night air could offer. When are you coming home?

Does my beautiful mate miss me that much? Azriel's voice was soft and playful.

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn't see it. Your mate misses the foot massages and back rubs, that’s for sure. And your babe misses your voice. They’re quieter tonight.

His warmth enveloped you through the bond, a comforting embrace from afar. I’ll be home soon, he promised. Just a few more things to wrap up here.

Get some sleep, my love, you urged, feeling the heaviness of your own eyelids as a testament to the late hour.

I’m not the one carrying an unborn child, Azriel teased back.

The babe and I are both heading back to sleep, you responded, settling the conversation toward a close.

Goodnight, my love, and goodnight, my sweet babe. Dada misses you so much. His words were tender, filled with longing. Though no one knew for certain if unborn fae babes could sense their parents through the bond, you felt a heightened awareness from your babe whenever Azriel spoke like this. Perhaps there was something to the old tales after all.

You ran a hand over your stomach once more, a gesture both comforting and connective, then closed your eyes, letting the cool breeze from Velaris ease the persistent warmth enveloping you. After a moment savored in the night's gentle caress, you made your way back to bed, your heart and mind a little lighter, carrying the goodnight wishes of your mate with you into dreams.

Later that same night, you felt the warm caress of a hand pushing your hair from your face. In a flash your eyes open and you punched one hand out into the stomach of whomever was touching you. You jolted up, kicking your way to the other side of the bed, arms drawn in a fighting stance. Azriel doubled over, the air knocked from him. 

Azriel sucked in a pained breath, managing to straighten up slightly as he held a hand to his stomach. His shadows fluttered around him, mirroring his surprise and discomfort. "I was just trying to be sweet," he wheezed, a forced grin not quite hiding the sting of your reflexive punch.

Your heart sank a little, guilt mixing with the remnants of your adrenaline rush. "Oh, Az, I'm so sorry. I thought—I didn't realize it was you," you stammered, the initial fear dissipating as quickly as it had surged.

He took a few more deep breaths, regaining his composure, his smile becoming more genuine. "It's alright. I should have known better than to sneak up on a warrior—even one who's eight months pregnant."

You lowered your arms, your stance relaxing, your expression apologetic. "I didn’t mean to hit you. It just... it happened so fast. But also, by the Cauldron Az!”

Azriel finally chuckled, the sound a bit strained but filled with affection. "Trust me, love, I've learned my lesson. Next time I'll make sure I'm not within striking distance when I come to give you a midnight kiss."

"Maybe just stick to verbal greetings from now on—at least during the night," you suggested, half-joking but also serious, not wanting to risk another misfire.

"Protective mom instincts, huh?" he chuckled, his shadows settling back as his breathing eased. “Can I touch you now without getting maimed?" he joked, his tone light but his gaze searching for reassurance.

You nodded, opening your arms in a peace offering. "Come here, you. Just maybe announce yourself next time, especially in the middle of the night.”

“Fair point,” he responded. “Alright, I am going to hug my mate now, and maybe kiss her, depending on how the hug goes,” Az announced. 

“I am accepting the hug and aware of what is to come,” you joked back.

Azriel's embrace was a sanctuary of warmth and familiarity, his presence alone soothing the ambient heat that had been your constant companion these past months. The subtle change in his scent—a richer, earthier tone—seemed to ground you further, drawing a deep, content sigh from your lips as you nestled into his hold.

“I thought you wouldn’t be home till tomorrow?” you queried, tilting your head back to look up at him, curiosity lighting your features.

He responded not with words, but with a tender kiss, sealing his lips to yours in a brief, loving gesture. When he drew back, the smile on your face lingered, eyes fluttering open slowly. “I couldn’t sleep, kept thinking about you,” Azriel confessed softly, the hum of his voice vibrating against your skin. “So I left a note for Rhys, letting him know I’d come back early. If he needs me, I can always go back tomorrow.”

“You know, next time you have to go to the ocean side, maybe consider bringing your heavily pregnant wife who currently runs at about ten thousand degrees so I can get some of that ocean air,” you suggested playfully, your lips puckering slightly in anticipation of another kiss.

Azriel's laughter melded into the kiss, his breath mingling with yours in a dance as intimate as the touch. The kiss deepened, and his hand found its way to your belly, thumb caressing the life within with a reverence that had grown over the months. His connection to both you and the babe deepened in these moments, a bond visible in his every gentle touch and loving glance.

The babe responded to his touch with a small kick, a tiny but sure presence making itself known. You placed your hands over his.

Azriel broke the kiss to lower his head toward your belly. “Hi little one,” he murmured affectionately, his lips pressing a soft kiss there. Another kick met his greeting, a silent echo of recognition. “Were you good to your mama while dada was gone?” he asked, voice playful yet filled with genuine curiosity.

“They were fine, a little restless earlier today when we were out on a walk, but other than that, they’ve been quiet,” you answered, running your fingers through Azriel's hair, anchoring him close, his head cradled against your stomach.

Azriel wrapped his arms around your hips as you stayed there together for a moment. He pressed another kiss to your stomach before resting his chin atop your swollen belly looking up at you. You leaned forward and gave him a soft peck on the forehead. “Az,” you started.

“What, my love?” He asked back, smiling. 

“I have to pee.” You said, pushing him back from you. 

You hauled your body from the bed and scooted into the bathing room, hearing from over your shoulder, “You always have to pee.” 

[pit-and-the-pen]

Hi hi hi - saw your requests are open and I just NEED needy Azriel, I mean I want this man to be so downright desperate, hands and knees type beat just to touch and feel reader. Give me all the begging and dare I say….subby Az?

I give you full creative control on if you wanna add plot or not! Love your writing!!!

I am not used to writing desperate men so I hope I did this justice.

warnings: Smut (+18), begging, slight orgasm denial (more prolonging), teasing, p in v sex, oral (f receiving), wing play, Azriel just being needy and horny. Mostly unedited (per usual),

WC: 2.5k

Azriel assumed that this is what dying felt like. Well not really. He had been close to death enough times to know that this was the exact opposite. It felt like he was burning. It was rare that they got sent on different missions, even rarer still for one to get sent out without the other. But this mission required no males to be present and that left Azriel far away from his mate. Selfishly, he missed you. You were just doing your job. Helping evacuate a temple of priestesses and taking them to safety. But he wanted you here, back beside him in his bed. 

Every day still felt like the frenzy to him. More often than not the two of you are sneaking away to some corner or closet. He kept waiting for it to go away, for the day when his blood didn’t rage through him at the sight of you but the day never came. Not that he was complaining, you were the most beautiful female he had ever seen in his long life, and you were more than well aware of the effect that had on him. 

So he suffered. Days turned into a week and he had to leave your house entirely. Even being able to smell you on the sheets was making every inch of him ache. It didn’t do any good. No amount of training with Cass or burying himself in work. Nothing. Feyre and Rhys assured him that it was no trouble for him to stay but Azriel noted the wide birth the couple gave him as the days stretched on. Even his shadows were affected, either disappearing completely or swirling around him like a tornado. Whispering in his ears questions of where you were, where the small shadow that lived around your wrist was and just exactly why it had been so long without you. 

Azriel felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin and was about to lay into his brother for kissing Feyre in front of him when a shadow alerted him of someone entering your shared home. Not just anyone. You. He was out of the townhouse faster than he could blink, winnowing right to your front door. The front door that was still open, you just stepped through it. He stood still for a heartbeat. Only enough time for your smell to flood him. It was like a drop of rain after crawling through a desert. He took three long steps until he was able to wrap you in his arms. He felt all the tension leave his body at the felling.[A low rumble left his chest as he just held you tight against him, drinking in the feeling of your arms returning the embrace. Your hands were rubbing small circles into the middle of his back doing nothing to help the desire that was starting to burn through him. A small noise left your mouth as he scented his own arousal in the room, felt his body respond to the soft touches. 

You tried to pull out of his hold, peering up at his face slightly but he refused to let his arms loosen. Only pulling you tighter against him. Your hands trailed their way up his back, being mindful of his wings, until your fingers were resting in the shorter hairs on the back of his head, scratching at the skin there. Another low rumble pushed out from his chest, closer to a purring noise. 

“Sweetheart.” His voice was tight enough that you couldn’t help but look at his face now. He saw your lips part slightly as you took in his flushed face, knowing his pupils must have been blown wide at the crushing need that was racing through him. His shadows wrapped around the two of you, cocooning you in their warm darkness. 

“Did you miss me that much?” Your hand was now trailing down over his shoulder, his collarbone, his chest and lower until your hand had just brushed the front of his pants. 

The air whipped around both of you and you tried to adjust to the dim lights of your bedroom. 

Azriels hands were all over you. Tugging at the layers of your clothing. The silk overdress you wore was pulled over your head and thrown onto the floor. 

Azriel pulled on the strings of your corset, the stupid garment taunting him with every second it was still on your gorgeous skin. He pawed uselessly at the binding, all thumbs as you lightly giggled. He let his head rest on your shoulder. “Gods, please just get it off.” He mumbled against your soft skin. He felt your small nod and the flex of your shoulders as you went to unlace it yourself. Steadier fingers having it off in a matter of seconds. He pulled his head up and was greeted with you only in a thin under dress. That he could handle. Wasting no more time, he gripped the hem of the dress and pulled it over your head, throwing it into the same pile as your skirt. He whined,whined, at the sight of your bare skin. The slight swell of your breast, the  fullness of your stomach that was so soft under his scarred hands, wide hips that were perfect for him to grab onto. He looked at you like every inch of you was carved by the mother herself. 

He couldn’t stop himself as he sank onto his knees, like that golden thread was tied lower than normal. “Az..” You started, breath hitching as he slung your leg over his shoulder. He bit back a moan at the smell of your arousal. He wanted to drown in it. Glancing up at you, he could see your mind still far away. 

“Please. Want to make my mate feel good.” He groaned into the plushness of your inner thigh. The vibrations of his voice sending a shiver through you. Your head had barely nodded your yes before he dove in between your legs. He let out a loud throaty moan at the first swipe of his tongue between your folds. His arm going to wrap around your waist to keep you upright. Your back arched into his touch, bucking your hip when he latched onto your clit. His name was flowing out of your mouth as your hands tangled into his hair. Azriel let out a high whimper that lit your whole body on fire. You pull again and are met with the same high sound from him, matched with him trusting his tongue in and out of you. Your legs threatened to give out underneath you as he slid a thick finger into you. Eyes squeezing closed and throwing your head back as he alternated between slow languid flicks of his tongue and fast driving thrust with his fingers. You were racing towards your orgasm, and let your mate know as much 

“So close, Azzy” you moaned, legs trembling at trying to stay upright. His answering moan vibrating through you. Your toes curled against the floor, back arching pushing you closer to him and you were just about to tip over the edge when he pulled away, finger stilling inside you. 

“Az, what?” You were panting, head still a little fuzzy with the orgasm that was ripped away from you. He just shook his head, tongue sweeping out to clean off his face. He pulled his fingers out of you, a move that had you whining at the loss of feeling. Azriel rose to his full height and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling your lips to his. You could taste yourself on his tongue and it only made you deepen the kiss. His hands snaked down to the back of your thighs and you didn’t hesitate to let him lift you up, ankles locking behind his back. You thought he would carry you to the bed across the room but you instead felt one of the walls press against your back. 

“I missed you so much.” Azriel said into the sensitive skin of your neck before he sucked harshly on the skin. You rocked your hips against his, desperate for relief. Azriel pulled his head away from your neck to look you in the eyes. His pupils were so wide there was no sign of that comforting hazel. 

“Show me how much you missed me then.” A slight smirk graced your face when you heard his sharp inhale. He pressed his hips into yours, meeting your small motion. He swore lightly under his breath, a hand instantly going to fumble with the ties of his pants. Your own hands reached down to help since your position didn’t give him a lot of leverage. The two of you had his pants pulled down just enough to free his throbbing cock. You felt the bead of precum as it pressed against your stomach. His forehead pressed against yours as you reached down to line him up with your aching hole. He pressed his hips forward and he stilled after an inch. His breathing was already heavy and his wings twitched behind him. 

“Missed this too. Gods.” he pushed in until your thighs met, settling all the way in. Your head fell against the wall with a soft thud. “All I could think of was being inside you. How much I missed the way you feel around me, the way you taste.” His words were punctuated by long, slow pushes of his hips. You knew your nails were digging into his shoulders as every snap of his hips sent you up the wall. 

“Az, harder.” You stuttered out. He was moving too slow and as amazing as he felt you needed his faster, harder. Needed him everywhere. He rested his head into the crook of your neck, shaking his head in a no. 

“Want to take my time with you.” 

“Az please.” 

Another shake of his head and when you tried to press your heel into the small of his back, he wrapped a gentle hand around your ankle to stop the motion. At the contact you let your leg slide closer to the ground. Azriel looked up at your face, concern lined in his eyes. He pulls away from you and places a gentle hand under your chin. You don’t speak, just place a hand on the center of his chest and push lightly, he backs up until his legs are hitting the edge of the bed and you gently give him one last push so he’s laying on his back. You’re quick to climb onto his lap, sinking back onto him with a low moan. 

“Darling. What-” His cheeks are stained red and his voice comes out far breathier than you normally hear from the spymaster. Your thighs meet his stomach and he attempts to grab at your hips. 

“Oh no. You said you wanted to take your time, so we’ll take all the time I want.” You saw as you raised yourself off of him slightly and sank back down. He groans a broken version of  your name. Hands once again going to grab your hips. You let out an exasperated sigh and take his wrists in your hand. You press them above your head. And he could push you away in a second if he really wanted to, overpower you in a heartbeat. But he lets you keep his wrists pinned to the mattress, shadows swirling around the tanned skin under your hands, helping you hold him down you realized. “Keep them right there, Az.” You whisper into his ear, lips ghosting over the shell. He shudders slightly but nods his head. You release your hands from around his wrist and go to trail a single finger along the hard outline of his wings. He throws his head back, eyes scrunched closed as you run your nail all along the outside. Soft and steady. You reach the end and repeat the motion on the other side. 

“Gods. Please. Sweetheart. Move please.” He whines as your tongue licks along the same path of your finger. “Point made. Gods, just move.”

“I don’t think I will.” You breath against the sensitive membrane of his wings and you feel him throb inside of you. You pay it no mind, moving your hips at the perfect angle that your clit is rubbing against the hard planes of his stomach. A moan tumbles from your lips and he makes a small whimper. You feel his arms tense as he tries to tug against his shadows, but it seems that they took your warning more seriously that he did as they don’t let him budge. He bucks his hips, throwing all of his strength into the motion and you move on him. No amount of bracing could keep you fully seated. But you only give him that one thrust before you shift your attention back to his wings. 

His breathing is short and huffed as you alternate between licking and trailing your fingers against his wings. You sit up enough to see his face, his eyes are shut tight, the muscle in his jaw ticking with how hard he’s clenching his teeth together. 

Taking the opportunity, you give him a soft bite on his collarbone at the same time you lift your hips up. You move until he’s almost slipping out of you before you push back down. His wings flare out underneath him. His eyes open to look at you fully now. 

“Please. You made your point. Gods please. Move.” He babbles, sounding winded. His hands are clutching the sheet above his head. You surge forward to capture his lips as you start to really move. His hands are instantly on your hips, guiding you up and down on his long length. And you let him. You could tell he was already close, riled up from you playing with his wings for so long. 

“Wait. Sweetheart.” He whimpers out, trying to get you to slow down again. Trying to get you to cum before he does. But you only speed up your motions, 

“But you’ve been so good for me, Az.” 

“Want you.. This was supposed to be about you.” You ignore him again, closing your eyes and pushing your chest out at how good he feels. The way he fills every inch of you, the smooth glide of him against your walls. The only sounds are your moans and your skin meeting together. His hips meet yours perfectly with every thrust. Moans are tumbling out of his lips like sweet music. His hands squeeze your hips and hold you against him as he shudders underneath you. He comes with a roar and you moan loudly when you feel him empty inside of you. He keeps his grip tight as you ride him through it. You go to slide off of him but before you can you’re back is on the mattress, him hovering over you. 

“I’m going to enjoy every second of this.” He says before he lowers his lips to yours and makes you cry his name over and over again.

[scorpioriesling]

Caught in 4k H.C.

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

Pairing(s): Reader x Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, Lucien, Eris, and Tamlin

Warnings: mdni, 18+, smut, masterbation, mentions of multiple kinks if you squint

Summary: A collection of head cannons where you catch the ACOTAR boys fantasizing / jerking it :) Just for funsies and I hope you like, lol. I also included photos for each! <3

SR’s Note: Honestly I saw this new photo / fan art of Lucien andddd I had to do something with it. The ween was staring at me… I was quite literally caught in 4k. SO, here we are, here’s an idea, I rolled with it. Enjoy, all you freaks (;

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

Rhysand

Would absolutely be jerking off at his desk, in his office. Doors locked, he thinks no one is home.

He would start slow of course, then speed it up, thinking about you — how you looked before you’d left for downtown Velaris this morning, your hair up in that cute ponytail that showed off your pretty face.

Last time he had you at his desk your hair had been in a ponytail. His fist made for a rather sturdy hair tie.

“Ohhh,” he let out a small sigh, thinking of how your body looked as he pounded into you relentlessly from behind, your round little ass reverberating with every snap of his upper thighs against it. He squeezed his cock harder, thinking about the sounds that came with those thrusts-

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, his head rolling back as he relaxed back in his chair, pumping his cock faster and faster, the image of your naked body pushing him toward his impending release. The way the desk would creak as his dick reached unimaginable depths inside you, sliding in and out so fucking fast; your body fit perfectly with his.

“Rhys! I’m back!” Your honey-filled, sing-songy voice rang out from the downstairs foyer just before he could release, and he immediately halted his movements. How long had he been doing this? He glanced at the clock — surely you hadn’t been gone that long.

The soft patter of footsteps rang out on the stairs, and he stuffed his still-hard dick back into his formal pants, struggling to tug the zipper up and attempt to conceal his erection. You’d surely notice, and he’d surely be embarrassed.

The door to the office swung open, and sure enough, you stood — bags in hand, ponytail and all. The bright smile on your face faltered when Rhys’ failed attempt at a warm greeting was recognized.

“What’s wrong, sweet heart?” You asked, setting down the paper bags and striding over to his desk. No no no, he thought. You needed to get out of here, at least until he could calm down.

“Nothing, my love.” He smiled, embracing you as you moved to sit on his lap. You shifted slightly, looking at all the papers atop his desk.

“You’ve got a lot of work it seems,” you say. He sighs lightly. “Yes my love,” he responds, kissing your cheek. The feel of you against him stiffens his cock, and he can only pray you don’t notice.

“Mhm,” you hum, shifting on him once more. Rhys’ breath comes out ragged, and you side-eye him with a smirk. “Almost the same amount as when I left earlier,” you point out. A small tinge of pink flushes his cheeks and you chuckle, kissing the tip of his nose before gazing tensely into his eyes.

“What were you doing up here all alone, anyways?” He meets your eye with an equally challenging stare. “Working.” He says coolly. You smile humorlessly, moving to straddle him instead. Instinctively, his hands cup your ass, squeezing hard. He knew what you were doing, but you didn’t care. It worked, and that’s all that mattered.

“I have something… else… you could work on, if you’d like?”

Cassian

He’d trained with you enough by now that he’d gotten used to your… attire. The way your tight leathers clung to your body, every dip and curve of you outlined for everyone to see.

He didn’t care so much now that you’d been together so long, but something about you striding in that morning stirred something in him.

You were laughing in that vivacious way you did, usually with Gwyn and Emerie and Nesta — a lot of times, when he was lucky, with him too.

He smiled at the sound of your voice, floating down the stairwell toward the training ring. His back was to you; but when he turned and caught the sight of you, your legs bare and midriff exposed, his breath faltered a bit.

Sure, he’d seen you completely nude before, but in front of your peers? Your friends? Especially during training… he wasn’t sure how he would handle two hours of this kind of torture. He could already feel the blood rushing to his cock at the sight.

“Y/N this isn’t- You know for training you can’t-“ he fumbled. Gwyn giggled, and you rolled your eyes.

“Cassie, it’s like a hundred degrees in here today. You said we weren’t doing hand to hand anyway; what’s the harm in lighter clothing?” You shrugged. He only stared blankly at you, commanding his eyes not to drift past your collarbone.

His hand jerking his cock later that day was the harm in lighter clothing.

He let out soft breaths, leaned back as he sat on the edge of his bed.

He thought about how that tiny little tank top was stretched thin across your generous chest, how his eyes traced over the outline of your bra when you did your warm ups. Gods… how many times he’d ripped thin little things like those off of you, how many times he’d toyed with you, undoing your lacy bras you’d wear just for him…

He kept pumping, thinking about how your tits bounced when he purposefully assigned the group jumping jacks and high knees exercises, and how painful his cock grew during your session.

He thought back to the times he drilled into you on this very bed, your knuckles white on the headboard as he shoved his cock deep inside of you, your screams of pleasure only encouraging him further.

It was borderline torturous today during cool down yoga, watching you in downward dog, your spine arched, your long legs on display. Under your shorts, he could only imagine the panties you had on — maybe his favorite, the glittery kind he could easily slide down your legs with his teeth.

Usually, this was before he would lick your cunt until you shook beneath him, your slick covering his lips and chin.

Had no one else attended training this morning, he honestly would’ve taken you right there; yanked your mini shorts over that perky little ass and drove himself straight inside of you. “You want to tease me? You know what happens when you play around,” he knows you love it when he spanks you-

“Cassie?”

He stilled, his chest heaving as he opened his eyes. Lo and behold, you were before him again. You hadn’t yet changed out of your training attire, and as your eyes trailed over his form on the bed, taking in what he was doing — you closed the door behind you.

“Baby, I-“ he stammers, and you only smirk at him.

“I suppose the new outfit this morning worked, hm?”

Azriel

It was hard, so painfully hard having a mate as beautiful as Azriel. So hard having a mate so beautiful, but was gone so often on missions that you found yourself at times taking care of your needs on your own.

You couldn’t blame him for it, you were quite lucky. But little did you know, he would need to take care of his own twice as much.

On this occasion, it was a case of… well, miscommunication. He was scheduled to be gone on a mission, and you’d told him you would stay the night with Morrigan instead of being alone in your shared home for the evening.

Of course, that was not what happened.

Azriel finished his mission early. He reported to Rhys, flew back home, and was happy to have a night off with rest and relaxation. He even lit candles in the house, for christ sakes.

He knew you were at Mor’s, and though he missed you so much, he didn’t want to take away from girls night. He’d walked in on one once and… well… let’s just say he’d never do it again.

Azriel was padding around the flat, finishing the last few sips of black coffee from his mug when he passed the sapphire door. His steps faltered, only for a moment, and he tipped his mug back to drain it, still eyeing the opened door.

Curiousity, and years of spy work must have gotten the best of him. He sat his mug on the hallway table, pushing against the usually locked door. This room was off limits to everyone, that was, except you and Azriel.

His breath caught in his throat as he made his way through the room, sitting in the plush chair near the center of it.

“Oh…. my…” he breathed. He leaned forward, his gaze flickering between the various vibrators scattering the ground. He stared, feeling unable to move — that was, other than his dick, which began to twitch beneath his leathers.

He continued to gaze, cataloguing which items weren’t in their holding places. Other than the vibrators, there were clamps missing, and maybe-

His cock fucking throbbed. He sat back in the chair, yanking on the ties and binds to free himself from his pants. Finally, finally getting his dick in his hands, he allowed his mind to wander further.

When were you in here alone? It had to be within the last few days, it didn’t look like this before he left. He slid his scarred fingers over his long shaft, thinking of you in this room, the things you’d done together in here. What you’d likely done alone.

“Mmmm,” he grunted, holding himself tighter. He thought of your tight cunt, how he had to work his thick cock into you every. Single. Time. “Fuck,” he muttered. You always looked so beautiful, a gorgeous, ruined mess for him, all tied up on the bed. Gods, the sounds you’d make, how they’d echo off the walls, through the entire house-

“Fuck baby, so tight for me,” he groaned. He usually wasn’t so vocal, preferring to hear you much more instead, but alone… he wished he could talk your ear off. Tell you to play with yourself, right in front of him so he could watch.

Gods, if he were here, watching you cry out against your vibrator thinking about him… there’s no way he would be able to hold back.

“Good girl, good fucking girl, take it, take all of it-“ he sucks in a breath, his gaze snagging on a pair of lacy underwear discarded by the bed. He quickly snatches them up, remembering how they looked last time you’d had them on.

The soft sound of the front door opening and closing pulls Azriel from his haze, immediately tossing the underwear back under the bed. He shoves his dick inside his leathers, groaning as his pants protest against his size. You weren’t even supposed to be back tonight — maybe the plans with Mor fell through.

Within minutes, he’s closing the door as quietly as he can, sure you won’t suspect a thing. He smiles lightly to himself. Hopefully, if you’re home to stay, you’ll be in the mood to finish what he’d already started.

He’s almost halfway down the hallway, heading for the foyer when a cough sounds from behind him — the other end of the hallway. He turns slowly, and sure enough; his eyes meet yours. Only for a moment though; he can’t help but notice the sheer nightie you’ve managed to slip into, breasts pushed up from your hands clasped behind your back.

“Having fun in there by yourself?” You tease, jerking your chin toward the sapphire door across the hall. Azriel doesn’t move a muscle, his thoughts racing.

“H-how did you know I was in there?” He asks, his tone low. You only giggle, taking a few steps toward him and revealing your hands at once. One held his mug, which he hadn’t noticed wasn’t on the hallway table anymore.

“Seems we’ve both forgotten to put our things away, hmm?” You wink. “I’ve lived with the Spymaster long enough to pick up on a few things, Azzie.”

Lucien

With Lucien, things were always *almost* a little more than “friendly”. Sure, you’d been best friends for centuries now, but over time, you’d both begun to realize there was more to it than just being friends.

“It’s truly not that complicated,” Tamlin explained. “She likes you, you’re clearly in love with her — I don’t see where the problem lies?” But, Lucien still only sighed.

“We’ve been friends so long, I just don’t want anything ruined,” he’d explained. That only made his High Lord friend laugh.

“I think it was ruined, my friend, the moment you let your feelings cloud your judgement. Which was a very, very long time ago.”

Honestly, he wasn’t wrong. In your youth, you and Lucien were simply platonic; you’d grown up together, bonded over the horrors you’d both endured and helped each other through, and found comfort in relying on one another.

But over time, that changed. Suddenly, attending Balls and Galas with Lucien sent flutters through your stomach. Going to dinners with him on quiet evenings warmed your heart, and now when he brought you flowers for your table — it felt new, it felt… more.

“Well, aren’t you the loveliest couple Prythian has to offer!”

This would happen often.

One of you, or both, would hastily explain that you’re just best friends. Well, you used to, anyway. Last time the older woman in the market made a comment as such, Lucien just smiled politely and held your hand tighter, continuing on as though nothing happened.

The moment that had tipped it all though… oh boy. You’d been in the kitchen of the manor, baking apple tartlets as autumn was approaching and they were Lucien’s favorite from back home. He had joined you, wanting to learn from someone with such a talent and, honestly he just wanted to spend time with you.

“Okay, next we need flour… Lucie, that’s you,” you whispered the last part, and Lucien snapped out of his daze. His hand dropped from his chin, propping his head up on the counter as he gazed at you from across it.

“Hm? Oh, I’m sorry,” he stood, searching for and grabbing the bag of flour from behind him. You smiled, taking it from him and measuring out a few cup fulls. He resumed his position, looking to you once more.

You met his gaze, your hand stopping midway between the bowl and bag. “Lucien, I thought you wanted to help me,” you said.

“Right, right, I do,�� he moved toward you, pushing up the sleeves of his tan waffle-knit sweater as you dumped in another cup. Your breath caught as his hands appeared on either side of you, the sudden feeling of his toned body pressing against your backside lightly ceasing the air from your lungs. You tried to remind yourself to resume your breathing as normal — the steady rise and fall of your shoulders measured now by his chin resting atop your left one.

“Next… we, have two eggs,” you explained. You take them from the carton, and Lucien chuckles behind you, his body so close you can feel every movement and muscle beneath his clothing.

“Allow me,” he says smoothly, his arms caging you in closer along your sides as his hands rest atop yours. “I think I know how to at least do this part.”

You allow yourself a laugh, but it comes out breathless. He does as such, cracking them into the bowl and setting down the shells.

“Alright, now next is… hey!” You squeal, turning to face him in shock. He laughs, his smile radiant as you look down your nose at the dash of flour smeared on it. You reach for the bag, but you’re too slow — Lucien has both of your wrists held tight in an instant, pinning you to the counter with his hips against yours. Your noses are mere inches apart, and he continues grinning.

“Lucien, this isn’t-“ He doesn’t let you get another word in before he smushes his lips against yours, and you instinctively soften against him. Years, you’d waited years for this — the feel of him against you, his lips touching yours. All of those almosts, all the lingering touches, all of the sleepovers and hugs that went on too long, all those times your hand held his.

Now that he’d had you once, he only wanted more.

Which was why he sat in his favorite spring meadow now, trying to clear his head.

He couldn’t.

He only thought of you.

You, in all your beauty. The way your hair would always fall perfectly around your face. How you felt, your soft lips pressed against his. How your body, he was so careful to protect, felt pressed against him that day. He hated how hard his cock was just thinking of your ass pressed against him.

When he’d caught you off guard and finally kissed you… Gods, you’d look so lovely laid across the counter, wrists held above your head in his grip. He’d worship you and kiss every inch of you if you’d let him. Tartlets be damned; he’s sure you’d taste even better.

He was smiling to himself in the afternoon light when the most beautiful voice made itself heard before him.

“I can only wonder what you’re dreaming about to have such…” You playfully tease, your sentence trailing off. His eyes fly open, and he sits upright, looking at you and trying to find some kind of response.

“No! No, I uh, was just drifting off, just lounging here, against this uh…” he pats the fallen tree trunk behind him.

“…wood?” You finish. He shakes his head slowly, a smile creeping onto his lips. You giggle, dropping to your knees before him and adjusting your skirt around you. You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and he blushed.

“Well, tell me what you were thinking, then? Maybe I’ve thought of things similar.”

Eris

It was a beautiful morning — perfect for the horseback ride Eris had planned with you that day. He knew you had a few duties to tend to into the evening, and he wanted to squeeze in a little alone time beforehand if he could. You were more than happy to oblige.

“I’m not sure I’ve seen the leaves this red so soon in the season before,” you pointed out, looking around the autumn grove in wonder. Eris looked too, his focus landing on you once more like it had countless times already that morning. He knew, of course his mate was gorgeous, but… you were truly getting the best of him today.

“Maybe the season is getting longer,” he said absentmindedly, watching how your hips moved forward and back as your horse trotted along. Fuck, if you didn’t have obligations clogging your schedule later today, he’d have you off that horse and sitting on him instead. Gods what he’d give to feel that tight, pulsing cunt throbbing on his awaiting dick-

“Ooh! Eris look! Those are honeycrisp!” You said excitedly. “We have to get some, your mother has been looking everywhere for these.” Eris mentally kicked himself for being such a … guy. He was so happy just to spend time with you right now, and of course his mind was going to sex when his absolute gift of a mate was innocently noticing the apples dangling from the trees, thinking of others while his mind was only thinking of you.

Then again, he only ever seemed to think of you.

“Anything for you, dear.” You flashed him a smile then, and his spirits lifted higher. He led his mare toward the trees, sliding off and tying the reigns as you slowly approached behind him. You were shorter than him, and though you had enough courage for the entire Autumn court, you didn’t mind a gentle helping hand every once in a while. You handed your mate your own reigns, watching as he tied them to a branch as you also made to de-saddle.

His strong hands slid around your waist, firmly placed on either side as he hoisted you from the animal with ease and set you gently on the ground in front of him. You grinned up at him then, your hands still on his shoulders as a sudden rush went through you. You couldn’t help but remember the excitement you’d felt all those years ago when he was but a simple schoolgirl crush to you; that feeling remaining even now that you’re mated to the Autumn heir.

“I love you,” he said then, his one hand cupping your cheek and pulling you in for a kiss. You leaned into him, his hands roaming over your body as you felt his pants tighten slightly against your stomach. You chuckled, breaking for air before he got too many ideas.

“Apples?” You suggested. He nodded, swallowing thickly, but you could see the lust swelling in his irises. Once all your tasks were done today, you were sure you’d be seeing more of this side of him later tonight. “Apples,” he agreed.

The Lady of Autumn was more than thrilled with the discoveries you and Eris had come back with, her gratitude for the both of you evident before she bid the both of you goodbye. Watching you go, even for a few hours felt like torture for Eris. He shook his head, cursing the dirty thoughts racing through his mind — but they wouldn’t stop.

They surely didn’t stop as he sat before the fireplace at sunset, lazily sipping the last remnants of whisky from his glass as he scanned over the court’s weekly newsletter. The words were a blur; he was just passing the time and waiting for you to come home. Waiting to get his hands on you again.

Gods, your lips had tasted so good this morning, so warm against the cool air of the grove. Fuck, that little waist… when he’d had you the other night, bent over on the bed, fucking himself into you relentlessly, his hands gripping your smooth skin-

He wasn’t sure when he set down his glass, or when his paper hit the floor, but his fingers were now gliding over his cock, throbbing with need. His head rolled back, short breaths coming out between his parted lips.

The way your body moved this morning… he let out a soft groan. He thought of you, sitting on his lap, the fire casting a golden glow around you, bouncing up and down on his length. You didnt need any other fire — you emitted light yourself, everything you did, everywhere you went. You were the sun itself.

“Y/N…” he sucked in a breath, yanking on his cock. He thought about the tiny lingerie you’d wear for him, how he could pull it down over your tits and take one of your nipples between his teeth as you rode him harder…

His groans were cut short as a soft, familiar mouth met his, and he slowed his strokes but smiled into the kiss in realization. You pulled back an inch, a few tendrils of your hair tickling his neck and shoulders as you leaned over the couch above him, taking the scene in fully.

“Did you miss me?”

Tamlin

The sharp knock at the door startled him, his gaze drifting from the reports on his desk to the entrance of his study.

“It’s nearly ten thirty, Sir,” Alis peeked her head in. “I’m going to turn in for the night, unless there was anything else you needed.” Tamlin’s eyes widened in realization, and he looked at the wall clock for confirmation. Sure enough, 10:27 p.m. He sighed heavily.

“No, no, I’m quite alright Alis. Tell me, has Y/N turned in already?” He asked. His heart clenched as he tugged on the bond with no response. He’d told you he would be done with these reports hours ago, but, per usual to no avail. He hated disappointing you.

“I haven’t seen her since nine, Sir.” Alis said. He only nodded, and she closed the door quietly. Tamlin rubbed his eyes, shuffling his files into neat stacks and flicking off his table side lamp before heading toward the master bedroom.

Upon entering, his heart dropped even more. Of course you’d gone to bed, why wait up? He’d done this before. Promised to be done with work only to stay awake for hours into the night, not giving you the attention you’d deserved from him.

You. His mate.

His mate that, upon further inspection, must have believed he would finish on time tonight. You’d fallen asleep in a petal-laden lingerie set, barely leaving anything to the imagination. Tamlin’s lips pressed into a thin line — it was one of his favorites. Now he really felt bad.

Not only did he feel bad… he felt horny.

He stepped as quickly and quietly as he could across the hall toward the master bathroom, closing the door and leaning against the sink.

His chest heaved, and he stared at himself in the mirror, his cock growing harder and harder in his pants. He needed a shower, now.

He flipped the water on, allowing the steam to cloud in the bathroom before he cracked open the door to the hallway, just an inch so some of the hot air could filter out. The moonlight illuminated the space enough through the window — he avoided turning on the lights.

It was only after he’d stripped and gotten into the warm water that he’d started fisting his cock.

Images of you played in his mind, some recent, some from the past. The first time you’d made love in the garden — you had daisy petals all through your hair, your back bridging as it arched in pleasure while he ate you out. Gods, you tasted so sweet — sweeter than any honey Tamlin had ever tasted, in his court or beyond it.

His free hand braced against the cool tile of the shower wall, his other running along his thick length faster.

The images burned into his brain of you laid out on his desk — one he’d been spending so much time at lately with his stupid papers — your mouth open, crying out his name as he worked your clit with his fingers.

Your hands felt so good tangled in his hair… he’d missed that so much, he knew it was his own damn fault for not giving you enough of really anything lately.

“Gods Y/N,” he gritted out, his teeth clenched. The warm water ran over the defined muscles of his back, a reminder, but not quite as exact as the feeling of your fingers on him during those nights of the frenzy. That’s when you’d gotten that adorable, flowery little number anyway that you were wearing now — were you asking to be fucked like that, again?

He groaned at the thought, biting his lip in anticipation. The way you’d looked, so peaceful and delicate, your hair laid prettily on your pillow — but he knew.

Every once in a while, you wanted him crazy. You didn’t want nice, gentle, garden love-making. You wanted mating-bond, frenzy-crazed, sex. The kind that had you once drenching the sheets with your cum, squirting from you as your mate pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you. The kind that had you shaking as you sat on his face, his nose nudging your clit as his tongue played in your folds.

“FUCK,” Tamlin swore, pumping his dick so hard, feeling his release building, imagining your tongue on him instead, your awaiting mouth and beautiful, round eyes gazing up at him from the floor…

“Looking for somewhere to, finish?” You asked, stepping lightly into the shower behind him. Tamlin stilled, his face flushing at being caught in the act.

“I… sweetheart I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, I-“

“You didn’t,” You interjected, crossing your arms beneath your breasts. Tamlin’s cock jerked, his eyes roaming hungrily over your naked body. The cute outfit was something, yes, but your body, just you — now that was something he’d prefer over anything.

“…but I wish you would have.” You raised an eye brow at him.

His eyes darkened at your words and he chuckled, looking to the floor and shaking his head slowly.

“Y/N, I don’t think I’ll be able to last very long-“

“Try me,” you challenged, stepping forward as his gaze met yours. “We haven’t yet done it in the shower.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

[bxlladxnnabxtch]

Desertion & Destruction

Rhysand x Reader

❀​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​❀

Summary: Rhysand discovering you had left didn't go as gracefully as anyone expected.

Read Pt. 1 of Desertion & Destruction - HERE

Read Pt. 5 - HERE

Warnings: Blood, Yelling, Violence, Angst.

By the time Rhys had realized you’d left the Night Court, you were already over the border.

And Feyre stood, stunned and faintly terrified over the chaos that ensued.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN SHES GONE?” Rhys was livid, indescribably so. His instincts were clawing at him, screaming at him to go after you. He could barely think through the chorus in his head yelling at him that you had left, you were gone. The logical, High Lord thinking part of himself said that he couldn’t do anything, couldn’t go after you. You were over the border, out of his court, and with tensions as high as they already were, he couldn’t risk walking into another court. They would take it as an unspoken declaration of war, especially considering he sent no correspondence beforehand- and that he was so close to Amarantha Under the Mountain. He was stuck.

A cornered animal is almost as dangerous as a wounded one.

Unfortunately for Azriel, Rhys was both.

“She left yesterday and headed straight for the border.” Azriel spoke matter-of-factly, as if he was giving a mundane report to his High Lord about observations he had made while out on a mission. He didn’t owe anything to Rhys, not after the way he had treated you. Right now, he was his brother, first and foremost, High Lord status be damned.

“And you helped her?” Rhys asked incredulously, a scowl upturning his features that had Azriel’s feet spreading, back straightening. Cassian tensed from beside them, noting the warrior stance Azriel had casually slipped into. He became mildly concerned about where this conversation was headed, and if the streets outside the townhouse would survive Azriel and Rhys duking it out in the middle of the entryway.

“What would you rather have me do? Leave her to rot like you did?” Azriel hissed through his teeth, shadows stirring from their dormancy. Rhys bristled, a flash of unrestrained power flared through his violet irises, lighting them up and making them shine with an iridescent hue. The ground rumbled beneath them, the movement causing Cassian to tense, shooting a concerned look at Azriel.

“Easy.” He warned, the tension becoming thicker with each passing second. He could tell Rhys was getting too riled up, his rage combined with his instincts roaring at him to go after you and his power that was no doubt bucking against its restraints, this could turn deadly real fast- too fast. Morrigan stepped in front of Feyre the slightest bit, watching the conversation pan out. Despite how heated it was getting, she seemed content to let them sort it out amongst themselves, although that didn’t stop her from urging Feyre to get behind her should things go south.

Azriel’s siphons blazed a bright sapphire.

He continued, “Turn my affections on to another fae?” He asked, waving his hand toward Feyre in a gesture that told the group he didn’t care much for her. Rhys’ figure grew taunt, like a spring that was wrung tight, ready to launch at a moment’s notice “Plaster posters around when she slips your leash?”

Cassian barely had time to blink before Rhys had Azriel up against the wall. The house shook from the impact, pictures falling off the wall and smashing on the ground as a yelp sounded from behind Cassian. Whether it was from Feyre or Morrigan, he didn’t know- didn’t turn around to find out. Rhys seethed, his forearm against the shadowsingers throat as he bared his teeth. “Don’t talk about my mate.”

Azriel wondered at what point his loyalty had turned over to you. Him and his brothers had grown up together. They had fought countless battles- killed thousands, and saved each other more times than they could count. But still, staring at Rhys as he was pinned to the wall, his High Lords arm digging into his neck as he felt a tremor shake the house under his barely restrained power- he knew he’d gone wrong somewhere.

Cassian jumped in, tearing Rhys off of Azriel as the High Lord struggled to push through him. Azriel ignored Cassian’s attempt to break it up, despite the shout of warning Cassian had shot at him. Azriel stepped forward, inches away from Rhys’ face as he snarled “You abandoned her just like you did Under the Mountain.”

Rhys had plowed through Cassian and was on Azriel in a second. Cassian barely had time to react as he stumbled back, attempting to regain his balance. Mor immediately turned around, ushering a panic-stricken Feyre up the stairs of the townhouse as Rhys and his spymaster threw each other to the ground.

The first punch landed directly in the center of Azriel’s face, making him recoil slightly before sending Rhys into a side table in the entrance to the foyer. Only a grunt left him, barely an acknowledgement of the wood that had slammed into his side before they lurched at each other again.

They scuffled on the ground for a moment, Rhys crawling on top of Azriel as the spymaster attempted to shift his weight, aiming to flip him over. His attempts ultimately failed as he was slugged again, his head being sent careening, cracking against the hardwood floors. He felt it collide, the blinding pain that shot through his head and down his spine, throbbing in his temples. He grit his teeth, his siphons fluttering, the light flickering until it came to a head.

A blast of blue light collided into Rhys, sending him into the wall behind him. A crack formed in the drywall as he hit, the sound audible in the once chaotic room that now sat still. A groan sounded from Rhys as he slumped down the wall, the pain no doubt incapacitating him for the time being.

Before one of them could regain their bearings and go at it again, his shadows swarmed him in a frenzy. It was almost as if they were panicked, the way they zipped around him. He felt the warm blood leak from his nose as he heard the first whisper. A murmur, almost like a graze as it spoke, mutterings of your journey, a fall, a broken wing.

Fuck.

Azriel hadn’t even given half a thought to the mating bond before he and Rhys went at it- of how it would affect you. Though before he could scramble to his feet and rush to you, a voice sounded from behind him.

“Cauldron boil me, what happened in here?”

His head rang, and a jolt of pain zapped through him as he looked up to find Amren staring directly at him, Mor at her side as she looked between him and Rhys. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to will away the headache that began to set in from the blow to the head. “Words were exchanged.” Azriel gritted out, ignoring Cassian as he arched a brow in slight amusement. Mor let out a whistle as she surveyed the foyer, the broken table, dented floorboards, and the pictures that lay shattered on the floor.

“No shit, I was wondering which ones had you willing to blow the entirety of Velaris apart.” Amren said, not sounding too enthused at the state of the room. She sent a pointed looked to the crack in the wall, the drywall caving in slightly and exposing the stunts underneath. Azriel rubbed his temples as he sat up on his knees, one hand coming to brace himself on the hardwood. “The ones that told Rhys he’s been a shit mate.” Azriel quipped, a layer of frustration edging his tone as he couldn’t stop the headache from raging on. “Ah.” Amren tutted, dark hair swaying with her steps as she walked up to the High Lord. “Get up.”

Rhys blinked blearily, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as Amren’s eyes shone with a flicker of that foreign power. It had appeared Rhys had his fill of fighting for the day, and rose to his feet without complaint, only a muffled groan of pain leaving him as he heaved himself up the wall.

Amren snapped her fingers toward Mor, nodding her head towards Rhys as she helped him steady himself. Mor seemed to understand as she let out an annoyed sigh, making her way over to the two as Rhys braced himself on the wall. Mor clicked her tongue as she gave Rhys a once over, but spared the ladder any further comments as she grabbed hold of him and Amren. The trio disappeared in a plume of black smoke, leaving Cassian and Azriel in the decimated foyer.

Cassian let out a snort, his steps avoiding the dents along the scuffed floor as Azriel grimaced weakly. Cassian held out a hand in expectation, waiting a beat before Azriel took it and he hauled him up. Azriel stumbled, tripping over his own footing as he struggled to keep upright. Cassian tsked. “Last time you had a concussion was 120 years ago.” Azriel shot him a glare, flinching when he felt another jolt of pain throb through his temples. He ignored Cassian’s comment, instead gesturing to the vacant space where Rhys once stood. “Where’d they go?”

“The House.” Cassian said, watching Azriel as he made his way towards the townhouse steps. “Figured you two needed a little time apart.” Azriel huffed a laugh as he sat down onto the steps rather ungracefully. A small grin tugged at Cassian’s lips as he watched his brother fumble. “And I take it Amren’s appearance was also your idea?” Azriel asked rhetorically.

Azriel never intended for this to get out of hand. A would’ve been quiet conversation had turned into a shitshow, and he didn’t know whether to feel bad or justified that the family seemed to have been picking sides. “It’s not my fault she’s the only one who can seem to get you two off of each other.” Cassian chuckled at his own joke, the laugh ringing out through the silent house. Cassian knew Feyre was upstairs and had probably heard everything that had gone down, but part of him was glad she wasn’t there to see the brunt of it.  A hell of a first impression she got.

Cassian’s smirk fell at Azriel’s lack of response. He noted the way he stared at the ground, watching the blood from his nose drip and splatter on the floorboards, staining the wood. “You care for her don’t you.” Azriel seemed to snap out of his reverie at the mention of you, his eyes glancing off to the side as he huffed incredulously. “I care about all of you.”

Cassian pursed his lips, surveying the bloodied spymaster. He sighed, looking down at the ground as he shook his head knowingly. “You know that’s not what I meant.” His tone had gone soft, Azriel gritted his teeth. He didn’t bother to respond to the remark, instead slumping against his hand that had come to cradle his head.

Cassian laid a hand on his shoulder, giving him a pat of goodwill. “Keep me updated.” He said gently, before strolling past him and up the stairs.

[bldhrry]

gold rush

Cassian x Fem!Reader Summary: After stopping your father from clipping your wings, Rhysand offers you refuge in Velaris at the House of Wind. Living with Cassian isn't terrible but he is loud and annoying and overly interested in you. Despite his overbearing nature, you can't help but start to fall for him. Masterlist

warnings: cursing, abuse, suggestive language, kissing

word count: 9.2k

author's note: lil cass slow burn! hope you like it n lmk what you think!

When you woke that morning with blood soaking your sheets and legs you knew you stood no chance against the expectations of females in the village.  You hid your ruined bed sheets and night clothes in your closet and despite an hour in the bath, your scent was simply too strong and your father pieced it together quickly.

The start of an Illyrian female’s cycle was the death of her wings and you were desperate to save them.  You loved your wings; they were unlike any of the other villagers.  Unlike their dark brown, yours were a reddish pink and the sun shone through them easily revealing all the intricate veins that hid beneath the skin.

Your father chased you around the house and despite efforts to dodge his attacks, he cornered you in the kitchen and before you knew it he had your hair in his fist, dragging you to the village square.  You were to be made an example to the other females in the camp that this was inevitable and although you were the daughter of a camp lord you were not an exception to the culture.  Your wings were not meant to be used; they were simply decorations and nothing more.

You had put up a fight, kicking and screaming and scratching your father and when you had managed to escape his grasps, the other lords were quick to tackle and pin you down.  A few received bites and threats, but this wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle.  This was an almost everyday occurrence.

Your father threw you on to the stone pavement and you rose to your hands and knees and tried to scramble away but he grabbed your ankle, pulling you towards him and flipping you around.

“I fucking hate you,” you snarled at him, kicking his stomach.

It was raining so bad you could barely see what was going on but you felt him release his grip on you but it was quickly replaced by another set of hands and your father made his way behind you.  He grabbed the talon on your left wing and pulled you up so you were on your knees and through the rain you could see the glint of the knife he held in his hand.

You started to cry, your tears mixing with the rain that was pouring down your face.  “Please,” you begged, twisting in his grasp.  

You tried keeping your wings tucked in so he wouldn’t be able to destroy them, but it was to no avail as he forced them open and pierced it with his knife.

You screamed and fell forward on to your chest.  Whoever had been grabbing you was gone and you crawled away from your father, the knife still lodged in your wing.  He maintained his grip and the more you moved, the more the knife ran down the muscles, tearing them apart.

The rain was so loud you didn’t hear the footsteps approaching or the voice that demanded your father to stop.  But you felt it.  The knife was ejected and you felt the weight of your father off your back.  You didn’t stop to see what had happened.  You pushed yourself up to your knees and stumbled; your left wing couldn’t move, throwing you off balance so you staggered forward, trying to find some place to hide but the rain made your visibility almost nonexistent.

A hand, large and firm, grabbed your wrist and without thinking you whirled around, your fist connecting with a nose.  The movement threw you off balance again and you stumbled backwards into someone else, this time their chest.  They tried to straighten you, but again, you raised your fist and swung, but whoever it was had a quicker reflex than the previous person and grabbed your wrist mid air.

“I’m here to help.”  The voice was deep, but elegant.

You tried to pull back, but their grip was too strong.  “Get the fuck away from me,” you growled.

They stepped closer to you and you squinted and as their face came into view you let out a small gasp.

It was Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court.

Rhysand, with his arm around you to support your weight, and his male companion took you to the healer and there you sat as the healer promised you that the wing would heal and you would still be able to fly.

The male companion, who you had recognized in the faelight was Cassian, the Court’s General.

“You pack one hell of a punch, sweetheart.”  He laughed and pushed more tissue into his nostrils. 

You had fractured his nose and his face was already starting to bruise.  You should’ve felt bad and apologized, but you didn’t.  You weren’t sorry and in fact you were proud of yourself for leaving marks on every single person who had attacked and put their hands on you today.  

And maybe, just maybe, Cassian should have not grabbed you so aggressively given the situation.

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” Rhysand said from across the room.  He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.  He was pissed and he made no attempt to hide it.  Despite the law forbidding wing clipping, the practice was still widespread amongst the villages.  You were lucky he was visiting that day and that your father was stupid enough to do it while he was there.

You didn’t say anything and you weren’t going to thank him either.  He needed to do a better job at preventing this.

So, you let out a breath of annoyance through your nose and straightened yourself, looking into his violet eyes.  “Thank you for doing what is expected of you, my Lord.”  You drawled out his title, narrowing your eyes at him.  This was the one thing he said he would do and yet almost every female in the village had their wings clipped.

Rhysand’s face flushed and he looked down in shame.

Cassian let out a laugh of surprise earning a glare from Rhysand.  But Cassian didn’t care.  He was in pure awe of you; in awe of the fight you put up, the strength of your punch, and your confidence of chastising the High Lord.  You showed no fear, just rage.

The healer gave you an ointment to put on your wing nightly and sent you home, but as you left you stopped, looking around.  Your father was receiving his punishment along with the other lords and you knew if you went home it would be chaos.  Your mother was gone and you had no other family.  You had no home left.

“I take it you have no other family in Windhaven?”  Rhysand stood next to you, his hands in his pockets.  His gaze was soft, sympathetic, and incredibly apologetic.

You didn’t want to let him see your fear and sadness so you scowled up at him.  “No.”

“I have more than enough room at the House of Wind in Velaris.  You are welcome to have a home there.”  Seeing your apprehension, he quickly continued.  “If you wish of course.  It is the least I can do.”

You grunted.  It was, actually.  And you really did need a place to stay.  You accepted his outstretched hand and he winnowed you away to your new home and your new life.

You lived with Cassian and Azriel in the House of Wind.  They were incredibly kind and good roommates even if they both left their dishes out and never cleaned up after themselves and put their feet up on the coffee table.  Okay, maybe they weren’t the best or the cleanest, but at least they were kind and you enjoyed their company.

Your room was on the opposite side of the House from where their rooms were.  You claimed it was because you wanted your own space, but really it was to avoid another awkward run in with an almost naked Illyrian.

Azriel was your favorite.  He was quiet, kept to himself, and cleaner than Cassian.  Every time he spoke it was with a purpose and you appreciated that.  You hated nonsensical conversations and that’s the one thing you hated about Cassian.  

He had a lot to say about nothing.  He asked stupid questions and never stopped talking; you didn’t think you had ever seen him sit in silence.  He asked you what you did with your day and when you responded with a one word answer he’d ask you for details; he asked about the books you were reading and what they were about and you wouldn’t have minded this had it not been when you were actively reading.

“How was your day today, sweetheart?”  He bounded into the kitchen and you could’ve sworn the walls shook.  He always called you that and it was obnoxious but you could tell in the tone of his voice it meant nothing more than a friendly pet name.

“Nothing.”

“Just nothing?”  He sat across from you.

You were reading yet another novel and was attempting to have a peaceful, quiet lunch.

“Yes,” you huffed your response hoping he would get the hint you wanted to be left alone.

But Cassian was stupidly oblivious.  “What exactly does ‘nothing’ entail?”

“It means I did nothing.”  You looked up and gave him a deadpan stare.  “I read and went to the library.”

He smirked.  “That’s not nothing.”  He chuckled at your frown.  “I love when you make that face.”

“I’m glad I amuse you.”  You looked back down at your book, sighing.

“You do.”  

There was something about his tone and the way he said it that made you look up and he was looking at you with an unreadable expression.  Something like sadness, and maybe longing, flashed in his eyes and for the brief second you tried to decipher it you were struck at how beautiful his eyes were.  They were hazel with more green than brown and if you looked closely enough they had a sheen about them that made them seem alive with mischief.

He quickly composed himself and flashed her a lopsided grin.  “I actually think you’re very funny.”

You raised an eyebrow at him.  “How interesting.”

He eventually left, claiming he was tired and wanted to take a nap but as you read your mind drifted to that look in his eyes.  It cut you inside and you felt an unfamiliar feeling spread in your chest.

Rhysand offered you a place in his Court and his Inner Circle after six months of living there.  He would have asked sooner, but wanted to give you time to settle in and look at him with something other than distaste.

You didn’t hate Rhysand.  You just wished he did a better job at protecting his people.  Wing clipping was cruel and stripped away all autonomy that Illyrian females had, forcing them to rely on the males in their life.  It kept them trapped in an endless cycle of oppression.

You knew it had to be difficult, hell maybe even impossible, to regulate all camps and enforce the law.  You were rational in that thought process and you couldn’t fault him for that; he was trying his best.  But that didn’t mean you couldn’t be angry for yourself and for every female across Illyria.

He made you Cassian’s “Second” despite the fact that you had no formal battle training or knew nothing about how the camps worked outside of the domestic duties of a home.  You hadn’t even been born during the war with Hybern.  You were essentially a glorified assistant with a seemingly important title.  Your job was to accompany Cassian during his visits, or rather inspection, of the camps and check for compliance and the status of the training and would be warriors, and hopefully soon, the integration of females into the training ring.

This, you scoffed at.  If Rhysand couldn’t stop wing clipping then how the hell did he think he would be able to force the camp lords to allow females to train?

You didn't care to ask questions, you were just grateful for a job and something to do.  There was only so much to do at the House and in the city and you were bored.  You had essentially become a librarian with how well you knew the library.

After saying your goodbyes after dinner you were about to fly back to the House when movement to your right caught your eye and Cassian was running after you, a boyish smile lighting up his face.

“Are you excited to be working together?”  He breathlessly asked when he came up to you.

You gave him a sarcastic look and smiled.  “Enthusiastic.”

His smile faltered and for a brief moment you felt bad, but his face lit back up and he grinned at you.  “Well, I think if we’re going to be working together at the camps then you need to learn how to fight.  What do you think?”

You mulled this over for a few seconds and shrugged.  “I was never allowed to, so I’m not going to be any good at it.”

He waved dismissively.  “That’s fine.”  Then he leaned towards you, that stupid grin on his face, and much to your disbelief you found yourself tilting your head up, your faces inches apart.  “I like a challenge.”

His tone was playful but at the same time it wasn’t.  Hidden beneath those four words was a promise.  A promise of what, you couldn’t pinpoint, but the way he said it, his voice raspy and dropping an octave made your heart skip a beat and your breath catch in your throat, a familiar heat rushing through your veins.  He seemed to notice this, his eyes glancing ever so quickly, but slow enough you noticed, between your eyes and lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow bright and early at six.”  

Training was fucking awful for both you and Cassian.  You thought too much about your movements, double guessing yourself which resulted in your stumbling and falling or a strike from Cassian.  Wielding a sword and dagger was uncomfortable and felt so unnatural that you had thrown down the ones Cassian gave you a half hour into training.  You preferred hand to hand combat much to Cassian’s dismay.  The more you trained and the stronger you got, so did your punches and kicks and while he tried to hide the bruises, he couldn’t hide the limping to his room after your sessions.

“You need to stop thinking so hard and just trust your gut.”  Cassian told you.  

It was a hot Summer day and the sun was relentless as you sweated under its hot rays.  Cassian had repeated himself at least six times by now and you were getting so frustrated.  He kept coming at you so fast and hard that you didn’t have time to register his movements.  And when he did slow down and gave you some space you spent too much time considering his next move that by the time you decided on how to counter, he had already knocked you down.

“If I trust my gut then I would just throw you off the fucking balcony.”

He laughed loudly and shook his head.  You were brash and quick witted and sometimes he would press your buttons just to hear what insult and remark you'd come up with.  You were incredibly creative with them.

You two had been training for three months at this point and you actually weren’t that bad considering how awful you were in the beginning.  He didn’t mind teaching you how to fight and in fact he knew you enjoyed the routine.  You were always on time and if he looked hard enough he could see a glimmer of excitement in your eyes.  He liked that you always had questions that even followed him out of the ring and he particularly enjoyed the way you sought him when you found something interesting in the countless books he had given you on the art of war and fighting.

You two hadn’t gotten closer so to speak, but you were tolerating his presence a little better than before.  As of recently you didn’t mind his pointless talking and incessant questions.  He had a loud personality but it suited him well; a big personality for a big male.

He was conventionally attractive and on the first day of training when you had entered the training ring, he was already there finishing his warm up shirtless and sweaty.  It had taken your breath away; he wasn’t just good looking, but he was downright sexy.  He was beautifully built with broad shoulders and extremely prominent muscles.  His hair, jet black, touched his shoulders in waves and his skin was a flawless brown that seemed to glow no matter the lighting.  His face was chiseled, resembling a god, and you found yourself admiring it while he was busying himself with preparing whatever he had planned for the day.

You hated that you started to notice all of this and the way it made you feel.  Sometimes he would catch you looking at him, your eyes fierce and aflame with something he couldn’t name.  You didn’t mean to look at him with such discontent, but you were discontented.  He was gorgeous and you liked him.  You liked him a lot.  You liked his childish and crude sense of humor and his contagious laugh.  You liked the way his brow came together when he was concentrating and the way he shifted on his feet when he was thinking.  

Cassian liked you too.  You were gorgeous with thick hair that reached your mid back with cheekbones that were high and round and a slightly pointed chin; your face resembled the shape of a heart.  Your body was unlike anything he had seen before; you had gained a lot of muscle since you had started training and it filled you out in places that he was ashamed to look at.  You had a naturally round body with wide hips and thighs and a slightly slim waist; your chest was big and your shoulders wide.  But his favorite feature were your eyes; they constantly had an analytical look to them like you could see through everything and everyone.  You regarded him with a mixture of interest and indifference and while he couldn’t figure out exactly how you felt about him, he took what he could get and tried his hardest to get and keep your attention.

It was a bit pathetic how hard he tried with you.  He followed you around like a lost, starving dog, and the only time he was fed was when you looked and talked to him.  The conversations were always short and you never cared to entertain him with a discussion that had no end goal or a discussion that wasn’t started by you.  You were selfish in that way but he would take what he could get.  Which really wasn’t a lot but he didn’t mind.

You both never forgot that night on the front lawn of Rhysand’s townhouse.  Cassian thought of the way your eyes widened and you leaned into him ever so slightly when he did the same and the way your lips, full and slightly pink, parted when he spoke.  You also thought of the way Cassian had smiled at you, a mix of joy and seduction, and his eyes, usually a light hazel, were a dark amber that seemed to see your soul in ways that made you want to hide.  In your darkest moments you thought of his voice and his breath fanning your face and the way he said those four words made your knees wobbly and you gut tightened.

Cassian didn’t just mean it in the sense that it would be difficult to train you given your inexperience but also in the sense that he knew you would be difficult to get to know.  He also knew it would be a challenge to get you to like him, both platonically and romantically.  Whether you consciously knew it, you were guarded and armed to the teeth with walls so thick nobody had yet to learn anything about you.  You chose your words carefully, but not your facial expressions.  You were quick to let Cassian know in little and polite words that you didn’t care about what he was talking about, but your face said you would rather bang your head on the table than hear him speak about the bird that took a shit on his wing as he flew to meet Rhysand and Azriel.  

“No training tomorrow,” Cassian told you as you walked out of the ring.

You had a better session today ending with you only falling once and Cassian dodging all of your jabs.

“Oh.”

Cassian could’ve sworn you sounded disappointed.

“Why?”  You finally asked halfway up the steps to the House.

“I have an assignment in Windhaven.”

You stopped on the steps and he turned to look at you.  Your eyes were sharp as they narrowed on him and he suddenly felt very naked under your stare.  He could see the gears turning in your head as you took in the information.

“Shouldn’t I be going with you?”  You finally asked after a few seconds.

It was his turn to give you a look, cocking his head to the side.  “If you want to, I guess.”

You resumed your walk up the steps, brushing past his arm and he sucked in a breath at the contact.  “Well, I think I have the right to go given we are supposed to be working together.  Right?”

“That is very true, sweetheart.”

“Yes I know.  That’s why I said it.”  A few moments passed before you spoke again.  “Why didn’t you ask me?”  Your voice was soft as you two walked into the kitchen.

He stopped in the doorway and watched as you grabbed two cups from the cupboard and filled them with water.

“I didn’t think you’d want to go.  It wasn’t anything personal, I promise.”

You hummed and leaned against the counter.  “I know it wasn’t; you’re not that kind of person.  But,” you raise your eyes to him, “it would have been nice to be asked.  I have a job here too.”

You’re not that kind of person.  The statement took his breath away and you tried to figure out why he was looking at you so bewildered.

“I’m sorry,” he gave you a soft smile and lowered his head.  His face shifted and his eyes grew mischievous and his smile turned into a grin.  His stance relaxed and he crossed one foot over the other.  “If I didn’t know any better, sweetheart, I would think you wanted to spend time with me.”

You scowled and he reveled in the way your face contorted when he annoyed you.  And you did it often.

“Well, it’s a good thing you do.”

You two left early in the morning before the sun had risen and flew in silence to the camp.  You loved flying, especially so early in the morning; the world was so quiet and peaceful and the only life around were the birds who let you fly so close to them you could see your reflection in their eyes.

You never truly felt at peace for some reason.  Your body was always wounded up with stress and anxiety and the anticipation of whatever the day was going to bring, but when you were in the sky nothing mattered but the sun on your face and the wind whispering in your ears.

Cassian could see how relaxed you were.  A smile ghosted your features and it was probably one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen.  He was looking at you so intensely that he didn’t notice he was leaning towards you until he bumped your wing with his.  

You snapped out of your trance and side eyed him and he chuckled.  “Sorry.”

You rolled your eyes.  “First time flying?”

He blushed and bit his lip.  No, he wanted to say, just looking at the most beautiful thing in the world.  But he didn’t.  Instead, he just straightened himself and led the way.

After another two hours of flying you two landed on the doorstep of Rhysand mother’s house.

“After you,” Cassian held the door open and you walked in.

It was an appropriate size with a living room and two rooms to the left and a kitchen to the right and a set of worn stairs in front of you.  A fire was already going in the hearth and it left a warm glow on the furniture and walls.

The size of the house suddenly shrunk as Cassian walked in.  His hair grazed the ceiling and he had to turn sideways to get through the door frame.  It was a comical scene and to his surprise you laughed, your head tilting back and your eyes squeezing shut.  He stilled, his hand still on the doorknob.  You looked stunning.

“What is so funny?”  Cassian shut the door and leaned against it.

“You look ridiculous.  You are too big for this house.”  You bit your lip and clasped your hands together, trying but failing to suppress another laugh.

“And that’s funny to you?”  He raised an eyebrow.

“No,” your face stilled and you grew serious, standing straighter and brushing your hair over your shoulder.  But it quickly dissolved as you let out a snort and covered your mouth, turning away.

He did look insane in this house and you weren’t sure why you found it so funny.  You were aware he was freakishly tall and built like a bull, but the House of Wind was so big it made him look an average size.  But here, in this normal sized cottage for normal sized people, he looked so out of place and his indifference to it all was hilarious.

“I’m glad my vertical condition amuses you, sweetheart.”  He brushed past you taking your bag to your room and to your shock he took his bag to the room next to yours.

“Our rooms are next to each other?”

And without looking at you, Cassian said, “yeah so be careful bringing anyone over; the walls are so thin.”

You hadn’t seen your father since you had moved to Velaris and you were glad for it.  You never liked him; he was mean and cruel and had driven your mother to madness and eventually her death.  You had never forgiven him for that or any of his misdeeds for that matter.  Sometimes you fantasized about his death and how much relief you would feel knowing he was burning in hell, paying for his sins.

You sat across from him during the meeting with the camp lords.  You wore traditional fighting leathers and like Cassian you had a sword strapped to your back.  In reality you didn’t know how to use it or how to fight, really, but appearances mattered with males who thought they were better than everyone and it mattered to you for them to know just how good you were doing.

Your father’s stare was overbearing as he took in your clothes and weapons and the hard set look in your eyes.  You looked just like your mother and he hated that.

“We are just here to oversee the training of the warriors and your preparations for the Blood Rite.”  Cassian had an easy going, but threatening smile.

He knew these people hated him.  They hated that he was a bastard; they hated how powerful he was; and they hated that he was above them, giving them orders and commands.

Devlon frowned at Cassian.  “We have 200 warriors.  They train from dawn to dusk.  And nearly all of them have qualified for the Rite.  What else is there to see?”

Cassian shrugged, rubbing his siphons.  The red glow was enchanting and intimidating.  “The specifics of our visit are on a need to know basis; I hope you understand.”  His smile was sent a chill up her spine.

Devlon’s frown grew but he knew better than to argue.  “Fine,” he sighed and waved his hand in a dismissive nature.  “Just don’t bother them while they train.”

And with that the group disbanded.  You got up along with Cassian and nodded to everyone.  They didn’t bother to look you in the eye or say goodbye as they left, but you kept your head high and your hands folded in front of you.  This made you appear strong, but in reality you were hiding your shaking hands.

When they all left you let out a shaky breath and cleared your throat, sitting back down in your chair.  You wrapped your wings around your shoulders, cocooning yourself within them.

“You okay?”  Cassian’s voice was soft and he placed a hand in between your shoulder blades.

His touch was warm and soft despite the calluses on his hands and you found yourself wanting to lean into it and maybe even ask for more.  Instead you moved away from it and cleared your throat, tucking your wings in and standing up.  

Facing him, you gave him a tight lipped smile and nodded.  “Of course.”

You two strolled through the camp after the meeting.  You weren’t really here to oversee the training, but to see about properly implementing the law banning wing clipping.  Since you had left, nobody else had been subjected to that abuse but it was only a matter of time that someone did it, causing a domino effect and it would come back in full swing.

You had only been here a day and you already wanted to leave.  It was dull and sad here and looking up at the sky you couldn’t help but let out a groan.  You missed the sun in Velaris; in Windhaven the sky was always gray and dark like this place was destined to be constantly punished by the gods.

“That bad huh?”  Cassian had noticed that you had not smiled once or chastised him for being annoying since arriving.  You weren’t sure which one concerned him the most.

“It just sucks here.”  The response was juvenile and it made him smile.

“I hate it too.”

You knew of Cassian the warrior, but nothing else except for what you saw at the House.  And it hit you in that moment you had never thought to ask and it made you stop in your tracks and you pushed out your bottom lip and squinted up at him.  “Why?”

The question threw Cassian off.  You had never asked him anything about his personal life.

“Bad memories.”  He shrugged.  “I lost my mother young and was tossed here having to beg for scraps.”  He had a far away look in his eyes and your heart lurched in your chest.

“I’m sorry,” and you meant it.

By the fifth day of the “mission,” you two had come to the conclusion that trusting the camp lords to enforce the ban was futile and that a permanent position in overseeing it was necessary.  You had known that from the start and reminded Cassian of such with a sarcastic, “I told you so.”

Cassian was writing out his report for Rhysand and you were laid out on the couch, a book in your hands.  He had made little to no progress on completing it; he kept getting distracted by you.

You were laying on your stomach with your head propped up with one hand and the other cradling the book and your leg hiked up, making your backside more prominent than it already was.  It was a crazy sight and his head was dizzy every time he beheld you.  You were completely enthralled in your book that you did not notice how tightly he was gripping the papers in his hand or the way his knee bounced furiously and the way he shifted ever so slightly in his seat.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how soft your skin would be beneath his hands or the way you would react to his touch, your back arching slightly and your breath coming out in soft pants.  You were playing with your lip as you read and he admired their color and fullness and then he pondered how they would feel against his and how you would taste as he swallowed your moans.  He could picture it clear as day and it scared him slightly how vivid and real you existed in his mind.  Cassian was so trapped in his thoughts that he didn’t hear you calling out to him or hear you walk up to him.

He jerked when you touched his shoulders and you saw how crazed his eyes looked, wide and his pupils blown, drowning out the green and leaving gold in its wake.  

“You okay?”  You asked, your brow furrowed together in concern.

He had been so quiet all night and it worried you.  He was usually talkative and aggravating but he hadn’t said a word since you two settled in the living room.  He was staring at the papers but it was like he was seeing through them and his leg was bouncing a mile a minute.  You worried you had upset him by asking about his past and you thought of apologizing but you didn’t want to bring it up again and upset him even more.

So instead you opted to leave it to him to tell you if something was wrong.

Your hand was still on Cassian’s shoulder and your face was so close that your hair tickled his arm and he sucked in a deep breath and your scent filled his senses, making his nostrils flare.  You smelled like lavender mixed with pine.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, placing the papers on his lap and prayed that it concealed his erection.

He leaned away slightly, hoping that some distance would calm his nerves and you noticed it, feeling your heart sink.

You jutted your bottom lip out slightly and exhaled through your nose, straightening but keeping your hand on his shoulder.  “Okay.  I was just checking.”

Your eyes locked with his and he still had a look that was a mixture of disbelief and fear and it made you look at him even harder and you found yourself leaning, invading his space again.

Cassian stilled so much he wasn’t even sure if he was breathing anymore.  His skin felt so tight and his pants even more so.  He could feel his blood pump through his veins and his heart was shuddering with every beat.  You were so, so close that it sent an irrational fear through him; anything could happen right now and a million scenarios ran through his mind, all of them including you and him kissing and what happened after that varied.

Leave him be.  Back up.  Go to bed.  The thoughts were so loud but you didn’t move.  You were entirely entranced by his gaze and you were rooted in place.  He smelled like the aftermath of a forest fire, the air thick with smoke clouding your vision and making its home in your lungs.  You felt like you were in a haze of him and you couldn’t find your way out and honestly, you didn’t want to.  It was comfortable and warm and oddly safe.

You barely heard yourself over the roar in your ears as you asked Cassian once again if he was okay, but you definitely heard the way he rasped out his response.  It was a stangled “yes” and your entire body grew hot, so much so your vision tunneled and you could only see him.

His response wasn’t just a direct answer to your question.  It was a response to the unspoken questions floating between you two and he hoped you had understood that.  It was also a plea, a one word beg for you to close the distance and let him lose himself in you.  He didn’t just want it, but he needed it.  He had this ache in his chest since the day he met you that no amount of times he thought about you while he pumped himself into oblivion could quell it.  He begged Rhysand to give you a position that would keep you close to him and you didn’t need to train in order to work with him but he made up that excuse so he could spend even more time with you.  And it was worth it even if you gave him a blank stare when he said something ridiculous or when you snapped at him for bothering you.

And this closeness was only making it worse.  You were so close but so far and he didn’t want to do something that made you uncomfortable and shatter whatever you felt for him, if you did at all.  So he stayed where he was, letting you make the decision, praying it was the one where you kissed him.

But to his utter disappointment, you released the grip on his shoulder and pulled away, giving him a pained smile.

“Okay.”  You exhaled, expelling the thoughts and feelings and his scent from your body and mind.  “Goodnight, Cassian.”  And as you walked to your room, leaving him reeling from this three minute encounter, you turned and gave him another smile.  “If you need to talk just let me know.”  

He gave you a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and felt like he was being stabbed.  “Of course.  You too.”

Neither of you slept that night.  

He spent an hour in the bathroom, making himself finish three times and even then he couldn’t get his erection to go away.  You had stood so close to him that he could see the brown that flickered in your eyes and every pore on your face and even now he could smell you on him, like it was clinging to his skin, taunting him.

You didn’t rest either.  The bed was uncomfortable and the room was too hot and the blankets made you itch.  You couldn’t stop thinking about his eyes and the way his lips were parted just enough you could imagine your tongue snaking its way in, claiming it.  If you allowed the thought to fester, which you did, you could see yourself moving against and feel his arms around your waist helping you reach your climax and you could also see his eyes, with their pupils blown, staring into yours, encouraging you.  

You made the fantasy stop there.  This was ridiculous.  You were being ridiculous.  You couldn’t say why or rationally curse yourself for these thoughts and feelings, but this was wrong and just couldn’t happen.  

It was unrealistic anyway, really.  Cassian had lived a life you couldn’t even begin to fathom and though he could act like he knew nothing, he actually knew a lot.  He always had an answer to your questions and could go on and on about the endless strategic tactics used when fighting.  You could listen to him all day if you could.

You were a camp lord’s daughter from a village that hated the existence of your gender.  Your education had been cut short and you were forced to teach yourself basic arithmetic and reading beyond a grade school level.  Your dreams were crushed beneath your father’s boot and any flame of ambition was snuffed out and replaced with patriarchal propaganda.  You were a nobody wanting a somebody.

You two were complete opposites but were the same in your insecurity: thinking you weren’t enough for each other.

The tension between you and Cassian was so thick that Azriel started to sleep at Rhysand’s townhouse.

You and Cassian still had your morning training sessions but you both pulled your punches and kept your distance which ruined the point of training.

You were avoiding him, too.  He still looked for you during breakfast and lunch and made unformatable small talk.  You couldn’t bear it and after a few days you started taking your food in your room.

You did want to be around him and hear whatever nonsense came out of his mouth and his pointless questions because you had a gripe with how you felt about him.  You felt stupid with the way your mind became foggy when he was near and how you stared at him when he wasn’t looking and most of all how your body came alive when you saw him.  It was embarrassing and you hoped by spending less time with him it would go away.

You hated crushes.  They were childish and pointless especially when pining after someone like Cassian.  You knew so many people wanted him and it was evident the few times you had gone to the city with him.  Females and even some males were shameless in the way their eyes trailed his body and the way they openly flirted with him when they stopped him in the streets.  You never felt jealous about this because you completely understood the appeal but you knew with how many people he could choose to be with, you wouldn’t be the one he wanted.

Cassian noticed the way you would scurry away when he came into the room and stiffened when he spoke to you and it broke his heart.  It aggravated him to degrees he didn’t think was possible.  You had no reason to avoid him unless you were put off by the night in the cottage and you didn’t like him anymore, if you ever did.  Maybe you were tired of being around him and the way you seemed to detest his presence prior was real and you finally got sick of it.  He wasn’t sure but he missed you in a way that was foreign to him; he missed your scowl and raised eyebrow that said ‘are you fucking serious?’  He also missed the way you would curl up on the couch, with your feet tucked in underneath you, and smile at whatever you were reading, holding your lip between your fingers.  But he especially missed your eyes and how they saw him.  You saw him in a way that was entirely too personal despite you never asking him a question; it was like you could see every single thing about him and sometimes he could see a glimmer of acceptance dancing in them.

He thought about that night in Windhaven and the way you looked at him with concern and a hint of need.  The scent of your arousal that night mixed in with your natural scent followed him wherever he went.  He would smell it at the most random moments and he was ashamed to admit that it caused a physical reaction that left him biting his lip and stifling his moans and no matter how often came, your name falling from his lips, the craving for you never ceased.  It was driving him crazy.  He had never felt like this before and he knew that even if he had you, it still wouldn’t be enough.  He had the idea that he would never not need and want you.

You had been eating a snack in the kitchen when Cassian sauntered in.  He had seen you when he had walked past and decided to essentially trap you so he could get just a few minutes of conversation.  He missed your voice.

You didn’t hear him come in but you felt his presence immediately.  It was powerful and filled the room and seeped into your pores, making you flush with heat.  Your body tensed at it and you glanced up and he was already looking at you, that stupid grin on his face.

“Hey.”  It was a greeting but a dismissive one as you looked back down at your book.

“Hello.”  

You could hear the smile and joy in your voice and you just knew he was going to bother you despite seeing you preoccupied.  You closed your eyes and inhaled through your nose waiting for the avalanche of bullshit that was going to spew from his mouth.

From the corner of your eyes you could see him brace against the counter and scan you.  Your body tensed even more.

After a few seconds Cassian sucked in a breath and bit the bullet.  “Why are you avoiding me?”

The question was unexpected and you looked up at him and frowned.  “I’m not avoiding you.”

“Yes you are.”

“No.  I am not.”  You punctuated each word hoping he would understand those simple, yet clear, four words.

“You are,” and before the scowl could take root in your face he added, “we don’t hang out anymore.”

“We never did to begin with.”

“Fine, you don’t let me hang out with you.”  Now that was more accurate.

You shrugged.  “I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what?  Walking the house and the city and reading?”  His words were dripping with annoyance and sarcasm.

“What I do is none of your concern, Cassian.”

He made a noncommittal noise and sighed through his nose.  You noticed the way his shoulders sagged slightly and he took his cheek in between his teeth.  “You don’t want to be around me anymore.”

You scoffed.  What the fuck?  “You’re being absurd.”

“Fine, then let’s hang out.  We can go to the city.”

You gave him a blank stare and looked back down at your book.  “I’m busy.”

“You’re eating crackers and reading.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose.  This was stupid.  He was being stupid.  “This is being busy for me.”  You gestured to your book and before he could counter you added, “and frankly, Cassian, if you’re taking this personally that’s just not my problem.  If you think I’m avoiding you, then maybe, you should take the fucking hint.”  Your eyes were hard as they stared into him with such conviction he stepped back even further into the kitchen counter.

He made a small noise that you could only discern as shock and a little bit of anguish, but it was quickly replaced with narrowing eyes and a set jaw.  “You’re a fucking bitch.”

This made you roar with laughter and you got up, pushing your chair back behind you.  “Excuse me?  What the fuck is your problem?”

“I try to be nice and do you a favor and be your friend and you act like it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world!”  He didn’t mean to get loud with you but he was so tired of being rejected.

“Do me a favor?”  You took a step forward.  “I never asked.  You did that on your own.  And have you considered that maybe I don’t care to be more than your roommate?  Have you considered that maybe it’s not all about you?”

He matched the distance you took towards him.  “And why is that, sweetheart?”

Because I like you.  Because whenever I’m with you I feel like I can’t breathe.  Because I want you so much I feel like my body is going to explode.

But you didn’t say that.  It was too beneath you to be that pathetic over a male.  “Because I don’t care about you.”

This stung Cassian, bad.  And Azriel and Rhysand, who had been eavesdropping, grimaced at the blow.

Cassian cleared his throat and he felt tears starting to sting his eyes.  “Well, sweetheart, that is not very nice is it?”

It wasn’t and it wasn’t the truth but the actual truth would make it too real.  You had been pining for him for months and if you said it, confronted it, spoke it into existence, and he rejected you then…you didn’t even want to consider the aftermath.  You hated the feeling of falling because you knew sooner or later you knew you would crash and hit the ground.

“I’m sorry the truth hurts, Cassian.”

Cassian took another step towards you and he was so close your chests were touching and you had to tilt your head up to look at him.

“You don’t mean that.”

You let out a breathless laugh.  “I just said it, so yeah, I mean it.”

“You don’t.”

“By the cauldron, Cassian,” you hissed and his eyes widened slightly.  “I don’t owe you shit.  So, do me a favor and fuck off.”  You turned to leave and he grabbed your wrist.

He scowled and sucked his teeth.  “You’re a fucking coward, you know that?”

You made a face, a ‘what the fuck are you talking about’ face, and it made Cassian smirk.  He loved it when you did that.

“Look me in the eyes and say that shit.”  

The demand startled you.  Not because of what he said, but because of how he said it.  Full of anger and rage and a slight twinge of despair.  His eyes were hard and dark as they bore into your soul and you sucked in a breath.  You knew he was seeing right through you and through the lies that were falling from your lips.

And it was true.  You hadn’t looked at him every time you took a jab at him.  Instead you opted to look around his face or close your eyes in feign annoyance.  This would be your downfall because the longer you looked into his eyes the more you felt like you were drowning, being pulled under and covered in the green and gold and brown that swirled in them.

“I said what I said so deal with it and leave me alone.”

He tightened his grip on you and took another step towards you and you were acutely aware of how close you two were.  One move and he would consume you.

“Say it.”

“No.”

“Why?  Because you don’t mean it?”

Yes.

“No, because I’ve already said it and I don’t want to repeat myself.”

He snorted.  “You’re impossible.”  He ran his tongue over his bottom lip and you followed the movement.

You two stood in silence for a few seconds and he saw your expression shift from one of annoyance to longing as you said, barely above a whisper, “if I did,” you cleared your throat and straightened yourself, “it wouldn’t even matter.”  You meant for your voice to sound strong and defiant but instead it came out broken and hopeless.

He matched your volume and his eyes turned soft, the brown taking over.  “It would.”

You popped your hip out and made a face that said ‘you’re joking, please be serious, and leave me alone.’  He smiled and took his lip in between his teeth.  Gods, he loved the faces you made.  So real, and transparent, and comical, and expressive.  You could say nothing but it all would be said in the ways your eyes narrowed, your eyebrows raised, and the downturn of your lips.

“It would matter a lot because unlike you I wouldn’t lie about how I feel about you.”

You didn’t say anything but you squinted your eyes and tilted your head, once again silently asking, what the fuck are you talking about?

“So, tell me the truth.”

You narrowed your eyes and huffed, stomping your foot.  “You know Cassian you are the most obnoxious and annoying person I have ever-” you weren’t able to finish your sentence because Cassian cupped your face and crashed his lips into yours.

It was the most exhilarating feeling in the entire world.  His hands, so big and warm and confident in their hold of you, made you melt and the sensation of his mouth working against yours made you see stars.  You stumbled with the force and failed your arms slightly to steady yourself, but Cassian removed one hand and grabbed your wrist again, placing it on your chest and you gripped his shirt and threw your other arm around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair.

You pushed yourself on to your toes in an attempt to get closer to him and with a small groan he arched his body down against yours and tilted his head, deepening the kiss.  You matched the way his mouth feverishly overtook yours and it wasn’t long after that he swiped his tongue across your bottom lip asking, no begging, for entrance and you allowed it, moaning as he explored and tasted you.

This was exactly how he imagined you would feel, sound, and taste.  This was even better than what his imagination had conjured up these past few months.  You were soft beneath his grasp and you moved your body as his hands trailed down your back and under your shirt, gripping your waist.  The sounds you made were small and quiet but they vibrated his body and his pants grew tighter and tighter and he feared that if you pressed yourself into him more he would come undone.

You had thought about this moment for so long, too and the reality was so much better.  His stubble scratched your chin and his hands engulfed your frame and his tongue dominated your mouth.  You wanted to be entirely consumed by him and he was doing just that and it was like the heavens had come to you.  Your hands roamed around his chest and shoulders and hair; he was firm and his skin tight as you explored his body and you ached to know every muscle and crevice, every scar and expanse of skin.  You yearned to know him and you didn’t think this level of need was possible but here you were, silently, mentally begging for him to take you and reach for the stars.

He pulled away and you followed him with your mouth, a small whimper leaving your lips.  Your eyes were still closed, reeling from his touch.  Cassian’s eyes were still closed too as he brushed his lips over yours and brushed his nose on the tip of yours.  You two were panting, your breaths heavy and moving in synchrony.

A small smirk spread across his face as he brushed his lips against yours again and you tilted your head, trying to capture them in another searing kiss.

“Tell me again,” he kissed you.  “Tell me you don’t like me.”  Another kiss.  “Tell me you don’t care about me.”  Another kiss.  “Tell me you don’t want me.”

You wouldn’t because it wasn’t true.  It was never true.  Yes he was annoying and sometimes you detested his presence but at the end of the day he was fun and kind and made it a point to include you in everything he or the Inner Court did.  You secretly did like when you asked about your day or what you liked to do.  Nobody had ever been interested in you back home; how you felt and what you wanted was of no concern to anybody.  All that mattered to your father was that the house was picked up, the laundry was done, and the dishes were clean.  It felt amazing to be noticed even if Cassian was overbearing with his interest in you.

“I can’t,” was all you said.  It was true.  You couldn’t lie anymore.  You liked him, you cared about him, and you wanted him.

“Good.”  Another kiss; this one was hot and long, making you both moan, leaving you dizzy and throbbing with desire.  

“Because I don’t just want you, sweetheart.  I need you.”

[kibagib]

Here we go with more scenes from @starlightvld's Broken Bones and Shattered Hearts <3

CHAPTERS 4-6 / CHAPTERS 10-12

[thewulf]

Hidden Away || Rhysand

Summary: Request -hi if ur reqs are open, could you maybe write a fic with rhys where feyre is not his mate but reader? can r also be tamlins sister so when he locked feyre up in the manor, he also locked r with her? then r is just trying to break the barrier but shes draining her powers in the process so when mor and rhys arrive, r is just on the brink of passing out. thank you so so much! hope u have a good day!!

A/N: Rhys is challenging! Let me know how you like it below :) As always thank you for the requests!

Pairing: Rhysand x Female Reader (Spring Court Reader/Tamlin's Sister)

Word Count: 8.4k +

TW: Talks of abuse, use of magic

As Tamlin's nearly unknown sister your life within the Spring Court is shrouded in secrecy. Tucked away from the public eye, you roam the silent corridors of the manor with your presence barely acknowledged. The manor's ancient stones, cool under your fingertips, are the closest companions in your secluded existence. Each day bleeds into the next marked only by your secret practice of magic in the hidden corners of the lush gardens where the wildflowers refuse to be tamed.

Tamlin had his reasons for keeping you a secret though they were rooted in a misguided sense of protection and control rather than genuine care. From the moment you were born your existence was cloaked in secrecy. Tamlin was always wary of political machinations and potential threats from rival courts. He believed that hiding your presence would keep you safe from those who might seek to leverage you against him. As you grew older this excuse became a method to maintain control by suppressing any threat your emerging powers might pose to his authority.

Whenever important guests visited the Spring Court Tamlin would go to great lengths to conceal your existence. Often you were confined to the secluded parts of the manor. Your movements restricted. Your voice silenced. These actions weren't just physically isolating. They were deeply wounding, reinforcing a sense of imprisonment. Over time you learned that resistance was futile. After a century of struggling against Tamlin’s overpowering magic, a magic that you could never hope to match due to your suppressed knowledge and training, you ceased fighting back. Your spirit, dimmed by isolation and the relentless dampening of your will, began to fade.

Despite all this you’ve learned to cloak your discontent with a veneer of obedience by teaching yourself the subtle arts of magic from fragments of ancient texts and whispers of the wind. Each spell you cast is a silent rebellion against the isolation imposed upon you. It wasn’t much but it certainly was something.

Meanwhile, Rhysand had always felt an inexplicable pull towards the Spring Court. This sensation was particularly strong whenever he visited Tamlin's lands. Each step within its borders intensified a feeling of latent connection. A thread of destiny that seemed to tug at his very soul. For years he couldn't decipher this feeling instead attributing it to political tensions or his natural distrust of Tamlin. However, he knew the sensation was far deeper. He just didn’t know he was connected to the bond that lay dormant between him and you waiting for the right moment to awaken.

This mysterious pull was part of the mating bond that neither of you were aware of yet. Rhysand’s visits to the Spring Court were unknowingly steps towards his destiny, towards you. His soul recognized what his mind could not yet understand. That his mate was hidden within the very walls of the Spring Court suppressed under Tamlin’s rule. It was a bond that defied explanation, woven by the threads of fate, magic, and a longing that transcended Rhysand's conscious understanding.

The monotony of your hidden life breaks when Feyre returns from Under the Mountain, changed. No longer the mortal girl who once crossed into the fae lands she now carries the weight of her new immortal form along with the haunting shadows of her trials. Initially your interactions are tentative. The air between you charged with the unsaid. However, as time weaves its slow dance you find in her a kindred spirit. Another soul chafing against the constraints of Tamlin’s overprotective nature.

Under the cover of night where the moon casts silver slivers through the windowpanes you and Feyre meet quietly. There in the tranquility of darkness, you share fragments of your lives. Your years spent hidden within these walls and her days under the mountain and the heavy price of her return. Each story shared tightens the thread of understanding between you.

In these stolen moments you reveal to Feyre the secret magic you’ve nurtured. Her eyes, reflecting the glow of your spells, flicker with a mix of surprise and a burgeoning sense of solidarity. Encouraged by her interest you find the courage to dream of more than just secretive practices. Together you whisper of freedom and plot beneath the starry sky. Your magic mingling with her newfound strength.

Tamlin had cast a powerful and intricate spell around the manor. Not just as a means of protection from external threats but also as a method of control over those within its walls. This spell was multi-layered, designed to enforce Tamlin's rule and suppress any dissent. For you it was a tangible manifestation of your confinement. An ever-present force that limited your movements and dampened your inherent magical abilities.

The spell was woven into the very foundations of the manor. Invisible yet oppressively palpable. It acted as a barrier not just against physical entry but against magical influence from outside. And crucially it curbed the magical potential of those it enclosed. For someone like you whose powers had been stifled and knowledge kept minimal the spell represented a severe handicap. A chain around the very essence of your being.

On a stormy night, you and Feyre found yourselves poring over ancient texts and forbidden scrolls. These documents were hidden away in the darkest corners of the library and contained arcane knowledge that Tamlin had likely never intended for you to find. They spoke of old magic, powerful and untamed, the kind that could potentially unravel the complex web of spells Tamlin had cast.

The air in the library was heavy with the scent of old parchment and an undercurrent of desperation. Each incantation you attempted, every ritual you performed to try and dismantle Tamlin’s barriers, drained you more profoundly than the last. The magical exertion pulled at the very essence of your being. Proof to the spell's strength and your own nascent powers trying to break free.

Feyre who was transformed and strengthened by her ordeal under the mountain was exactly what you needed beside you. She lent her newfound powers to your cause. Yet, as the night unfolded and the storm outside mirrored the tumult within her concern for you deepened. She saw the physical and magical toll the efforts took on you. The color draining from your face. Your hands trembling with the strain. But still, you wouldn’t give up. Couldn’t give up.

Despite the risk the need to break free from the suffocating constraints of Tamlin’s spell pushed you both forward. It wasn't just about escape. It was about reclaiming your right to autonomy, to magic, to life itself. The friendship that grew between you and Feyre was cemented not just by shared secrets but by this mutual struggle for liberation. A struggle against the literal and figurative walls that Tamlin had erected around you.

As dawn approached with the storm still raging outside you and Feyre reached a critical point in your efforts. A breakthrough seemed tantalizingly within reach. The words on the ancient scrolls beginning to resonate with the energy you both channeled. The walls of the manor groaned under the pressure of your combined powers. A sure sign that Tamlin's spell was finally beginning to falter.

Determined to break the oppressive chains once and for all you both head into the heart of the storm where the barrier's energy pulses strongest. The rain beats down mercilessly mingling with the energy of your combined spell. A desperate, powerful incantation aimed at shattering the bonds. The backlash is swift and fierce. A surge of raw, antagonistic energy from the barrier meets your spell head-on. The impact is like a physical blow, knocking the breath from your lungs and sending sharp tendrils of pain coursing through your veins. The world tilts dangerously with your vision narrowing.

Feyre grips your hands as her own powers flared around you both in a protective embrace. "We can do this, Y/N, just a bit more—"

But her encouragement turns to a scream of horror as your legs give out completely. Your strength finally failing. As you collapse into her arms, your consciousness fading, her fear peaks. "No! Y/N, no, stay with me, please!" The raw panic in her voice is palpable. Her plea filled with a primal terror that she cannot contain. Her scream is not just vocal. It's a surge of emotional energy that travels through the bargain she shares with Rhysand.

At that moment, in the distant Night Court, Rhysand feels a jolt. A sharp, unbidden intrusion into his thoughts. Feyre’s voice was distorted by panic and edged with despair, echoes in his mind. "No! Y/N, no, stay with me, please!" The words hit him with the force of a physical blow. His heart races. His instincts scream. Without a second thought he’s on his feet. The protective and commanding part of him taking over. Mor sensed the urgency. She looks up from her work with alarm spreading across her face.

"We need to go to the Spring Court. We must go now." Rhysand barks out. His voice brooking no argument. He can't explain how he knows only that the terror in Feyre's voice has triggered something primal in him. Something fiercely protective. As he and Mor prepare to leave Rhysand's mind races with possibilities. His worry mounting with each passing second. The bargain was not one of mates but has acted as a lifeline in this critical moment. He is driven by a deep-seated need to respond, to protect, to arrive in time.

In the dim light of the storm-lashed evening back in the confines of the Spring Court, Feyre cradled you against her as her arms forming a protective barrier against the unrelenting winds and rain that battered the walls of the manor. The spells that Tamlin had woven around the estate groaned under the strain, resonating with the fury of the storm.

As you lay there nearly depleted by your attempts to break through Tamlin’s magical barriers you found every breath to be a battle. Feyre leaned close. Her voice barely audible above the howl of the wind. "Help is coming, Y/N. Just hold on. Please, hold on." Her words were infused with a mixture of determination and desperation. A fervent plea cast into the chaos of the night.

Despite her assurances you knew that Feyre had no way of knowing if help would truly come. She wasn't versed in the intricacies of the bargain she made, nor did she understand the silent, unseen forces that might be at play beyond the reach of Tamlin’s spells. Her faith was not based on certainty but on hope. A hope that Rhysand was somehow attuned to the peril you faced and would sense your need and find a way to breach the seemingly impenetrable defenses of the Spring Court.

As the minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the storm outside seemed to mirror the tumult of your emotions. With every gust of wind, with every crack of thunder, you felt the edges of your resolve fray. Yet with Feyre’s presence and her unwavering support it fortified you. Together you were wrapped in the scant warmth her body provided against the chill of the rain. You waited silently hoping.

Feyre continued to whisper into the storm. Words of encouragement and silent prayers mingled with the rain reaching out into the night as if the very force of her will could summon the help you so desperately needed.

As Rhysand and Mor race through the turbulent night sky the urgency of Feyre's distress call pulses within Rhysand. However, the formidable magical barrier erected by Tamlin at the Spring Court looms as a daunting obstacle. As they approach the boundary Rhysand's expression turns contemplative knowing they must penetrate the shield without triggering a violent magical backlash that could harm those inside.

"We can't just break through. It could harm them," Rhysand says. His thoughts on Feyre and the unknown others who might be caught in Tamlin’s protective snare. He suspects there are more secrets hidden within the Spring Court than Feyre alone.

Mor nods before pointing towards a section of the barrier shimmering less steadily than the rest—a weak point. "Here, let me," she offers, her hands glowing with a soft, probing light.

Together, they carefully manipulate the energies. Mor’s magic coaxing the threads of the barrier apart while Rhysand supports and stabilizes the surrounding spells to prevent a sudden collapse. The barrier relents under their skilled hands. Parting just enough to allow them a silent passage.

Once inside they quickly make their way towards the garden guided by the unerring pull of Rhysand's intuition, which grows stronger with each step. The night air is heavy with the scent of rain-soaked earth and the lingering traces of magic.

There, under an ancient oak, they find you lying in Feyre's protective embrace. Your appearance is startling to Rhysand. You were someone he's heard of but never met. A whispered secret of the Spring Court. Feyre’s eyes were wide with fear and relief. She meets their stares as they approach.

Rhysand’s initial intent to aid Feyre shifts as he catches your gaze. Something profound stirs within him as your eyes lock. There’s an unexpected jolt. A powerful surge of protectiveness that grips him. His knees nearly buckle under the sudden intensity of the emotion. His breath catching in his throat. The connection is unexpected, overwhelming, and in that moment, the significance of your presence begins to dawn on him.

"We will get you both out of here," Rhysand finds himself saying, the words carrying a weight he hadn't anticipated. His voice is gentle. Meant to reassure as he reaches out to steady you. His own magic instinctively flaring to envelop you in a warm, healing glow.

The touch confirms what his heart has already started to suspect. The mating bond, still new and unexplored, thrums with a rightness that transcends his understanding. It’s only when he helps lift you, his arms secure around you, that the realization fully settles in… his fate is irrevocably tied to yours.

With Mor and Feyre's assistance they carefully navigate back through the garden. Rhysand carrying you with an ease that belies the turmoil brewing within him. Each step back through the breach in the barrier is a step towards a new unknown, a journey he hadn't planned but now cannot imagine avoiding. As they slip back into the night heading towards the sanctuary of the Night Court Rhysand is quiet. His thoughts a whirl of possibilities and new realities. Beside him Mor watches thoughtfully. She was acutely aware that the High Lord of the Night Court was about to embark on a profoundly personal journey.

-

The night was deep and still when Rhysand was abruptly torn from his sleep. A sharp, jarring pulse of panic surged through the bond—a connection still new and startling in its intensity. It was you, finally waking from your long, enforced slumber, and the raw fear that washed over him from your end of the bond had him on his feet before he fully registered moving.

His heart raced as he crossed the space between his private chambers and the room where you rested. The halls of his residence silent save for the quiet thud of his bare feet on the cool marble floor. The bond pulsed with each heartbeat guiding him directly to you underscoring the urgency of your distress with every step he took.

As Rhysand approached the door to your room, he paused, taking a deep breath to calm the storm of his emotions. He needed to be a presence of peace for you not one of turmoil. Gently pushing the door open he stepped inside. His eyes quickly adjusting to the low light that bathed the room in gentle silvers and blues.

There you were attempting to sit up, your movements clumsy with weakness and disorientation. The room's luxuriousness that meant to comfort seemed only to add to your confusion. You grasped at the sheets. Your breathing quick and shallow as if the soft fabrics were the only things tethering you to reality.

Rhysand’s heart clenched at the sight. It was one thing to feel your panic through the bond, but quite another to see it etched so clearly across your features. He approached slowly. His presence commanding yet gentle, stopping a respectful distance away to not overwhelm you. His deep-set eyes, usually a striking shade of violet were clouded with concern.

"It’s okay, you’re safe here," Rhysand said. His voice a soft yet firm anchor in the swirling uncertainty you felt. His relief at seeing you awake, even in such a state, was palpable in his tone. Despite the fear there was an underlying gratitude that you were finally conscious. That there was a beginning of recovery however fraught it might be. "You're in Velaris, the heart of the Night Court." He adds hopping to provide you some comfort.

"Velaris?" you repeat. The name unfamiliar and puzzling. You squint at him trying to place the city that sounds more like a myth than reality.

"Yes, Velaris," he continues noting your confusion. "It's a city unlike any in the fae realms, hidden and protected by powerful spells. It's a place of peace and freedom. It is far from the reach of those who would impose their will unjustly." His voice holds a note of pride when he speaks of the city, and his explanation paints a picture of a safe haven. A contrast to the oppressive atmosphere of the Spring Court.

Seeing your slightly eased expression he decided to introduce himself, "I'm Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court." He keeps his tone even giving you space to process the flood of new information. "You were very ill, so we brought you here to recover. Tamlin cannot reach you here. Our city's protections are strong."

His explanation about Tamlin brings a different kind of tightness to your chest—the fear of pursuit and retribution. Feeling and seeing your growing anxiety, Rhysand adds, "Tamlin has no power here. You and Feyre are both safe and you will always have a place in Velaris."

As Rhysand speaks of Velaris and its protections you find yourself momentarily comforted by his description of the city as a safe haven. Yet, another concern quickly surfaces, tugging at your thoughts with earnest sincerity.

"And Feyre?" you ask. Your voice carrying the weight of genuine worry. "Is she okay?" Your expression reveals the depth of your concern not just for your own situation but also for Feyre who had been entangled in your fate by association.

Rhysand’s expression softens further at your question. His smile tinged with a mix of admiration and surprise. He steps closer, his presence comforting rather than overwhelming. "She is doing well," he assures you, leaning down slightly to meet your gaze more directly. "Are you going to ask about everyone but yourself?" His tone is light and teasing yet it carries an undercurrent of deep respect for your altruism.

He finds it endearing how your first thoughts are for others even in your own time of uncertainty and recovery. It’s a trait he notes is incredibly sweet. Almost too kind for someone who grew up under Tamlin's strict and often harsh rule as his sister, no less.

A faint smile flickers across your face at Rhysand’s light teasing before it quickly fades. You glance away looking out over the vista that the Night Court offers feeling a sudden tightness in your chest. "I... it's just easier to worry about others," you murmur. Your voice barely above a whisper. The unfamiliar concern in his eyes makes you unexpectedly uncomfortable. A reminder of how long you've had to rely solely on yourself. You shift away slightly putting a small distance between you and Rhysand as if the space could help you regain some control. "I'm not used to being someone's concern," you add while keeping your gaze averted. "It feels strange I guess. Not having to fend for myself."

Your words hang in the air showing the walls you've built from years under Tamlin's rule. The Spring Court was a place where self-reliance wasn't just a trait but a necessity for survival. The vulnerability of relying on someone else, even someone as seemingly gentle as Rhysand, feels as foreign as the magical landscape of Velaris itself.

Rhysand senses a subtle shift in your emotions through the bond. A twinge of discomfort, a whisper of withdrawal. He understands too well the complexities of adjusting to new dynamics of care and concern. As you glance away he gives you a moment. He respects your need for space before responding himself.

With a slight adjustment in his stance, Rhysand maintains his gentle smile, hoping to ease the tension. "Feyre visits often," he begins, his voice soft, an attempt to gently steer the conversation towards a more comfortable topic. "She's taken quite well to her roles here. She worries about you too, you know," he adds trying to build a connection through your shared concern for Feyre.

His words bring a small comfort, and you nod to him feeling a thread of relief woven through the lingering disquiet. "That's good to hear," you murmur giving yourself a moment to absorb the reassurances about Feyre's well-being.

Rhysand watches you with a thoughtful expression appreciating the selflessness displayed in your first waking moments. "Now, let’s focus a bit on you," he suggests kindly. "You’ve been through a lot and while Velaris is safe… I imagine it's quite a lot to take in."

Rhysand's words wash over you and you pause to absorb them feeling both comforted and overwhelmed by his understanding. "It is a lot," you agree softly, your gaze drifting around the unfamiliar yet beautiful room. "Everything here is so different. So overwhelming but not in a bad way."

You take a deep breath making sure to gather your thoughts before continuing. "I appreciate the safety and the peace here, Rhysand. It's just... I'm still figuring out where I fit into all of this." Your voice is tentative, reflecting your uncertainty about the future.

Rhysand nods. His expression empathetic. "And that's perfectly okay," he reassures you gently. "Take all the time you need to feel comfortable. There’s no pressure for you to decide anything right now."

Feeling a mix of reassurance and nascent courage from his support you decide to push yourself a bit. Attempting to rise from the bed, your movements are unsteady. A reminder of the physical and emotional tolls from your past. You pause, placing a hand on the mattress to steady yourself.

Rhysand notices your struggle immediately. His sharp gaze softening with concern. "You shouldn't be on your feet just yet," he cautions with his voice gentle yet firm.

You steady yourself with a hand against the soft bedding and look up at him. Your eyes were wide and earnest, silently pleading for understanding before you voice your deep-seated longing. "Please, I've... I’ve never left the Spring Court. I wish to see what other courts look like."

The raw honesty in your words strikes Rhysand deeply. He hesitates aware of the physical contact you might need to stand and walk, yet also conscious of the trauma you’ve likely endured under Tamlin's watch. His heart clenches at the thought of your centuries-long confinement. A life that wasn’t meant to be spent caged within a single court's borders.

As you continue to gaze at him with a mix of hope and vulnerability in your eyes Rhysand's resolve softens. "Alright," he murmurs. His expression a mix of encouragement and a hint of sadness for your past suffering. He steps forward offering his arm for support being careful to let you decide the level of contact you're comfortable with.

When you gratefully accept his help you leant slightly into his strength. Rhysand carefully supports you, mindful of your frailty. As he guides you slowly around the room his mind races. He was appalled by the reality that you, centuries old, have been essentially a prisoner for just as long.

"We’ll start with Velaris," Rhysand says as you take tentative steps towards the balcony. "It’s beautiful this time of year. The city is alive with lights and the people are free. You'll see, it’s a world away from what you've known."

Your curiosity brightens your features as each small detail of the room you now notice seeming to intrigue you. Rhysand watches this small transformation with a protective fierceness settling in his chest. He makes a silent vow then, to not only show you the beauty of the Night Court but to gradually introduce you to the freedoms and wonders of each of the courts ensuring you experience everything you've been denied.

With each step you take leaning on Rhysand a surprising sense of security begins to wash over you. There’s an inexplicable comfort in his presence. A safety that seems to emanate from him directly. You can't quite pinpoint why he feels so safe, why every instinct isn’t screaming for you to run from the unknown. But as you lean more heavily against him while navigating through the unfamiliar room it felt right.

Rhysand notices the subtle shift in your demeanor. The slight relaxation in your posture as you trust him more with each tentative step. It’s a trust he doesn’t take lightly as he was acutely aware of the preciousness of it given your past. He guides you gently, ensuring each movement is steady and unhurried.

“Just a little further,” he encourages softly as you approach the grand doors leading to the balcony. As he pushes the doors open a gentle breeze wafts in carrying with it the unique scents of Velaris. The crisp, clean air mingled with distant sea salt and the vibrant aroma of night-blooming flowers.

You step onto the balcony and the view that unfolds before you steals your breath away. The city of Velaris stretches out beneath a sky littered with stars. Its buildings adorned with luminescent glyphs and streets alive with softly glowing lanterns. The Sidra River reflects the lights creating a sparkling path that leads to the heart of the city. Your eyes dart from spot to spot taking in the sight of sprawling bridges. From the artistic sculptures that line the walkways to the fae moving about with an ease and freedom so alien to what you’ve known. Everything is so vibrant, so vividly alive. It's like stepping into a dream.

Rhysand watches you. His expression a mix of pride and gentle amusement. “It’s a lot to take in,” he say as his voice is barely above a whisper not wanting to break the enchantment of the moment.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe out as your voice was filled with wonder. "I never imagined..." Your words trail off as you continue to soak in the sight, the reality of Velaris surpassing any tale or description of the Night Court you had ever heard in the Spring Court.

As you stand there, awestruck, Rhysand stands close. He was ready to offer support if needed but giving you space to experience this revelation on your own terms. There’s a warmth in his gaze. A certain softness when he looks at you, moved by your reaction, understanding just how transformative this moment is for you. “This is only a part of what the world has to offer,” Rhysand finally says, his voice low and encouraging. “And you’re free to explore all of it at your own pace. You’re not confined here, or anywhere anymore.”

As his words wash over you a new fear prickles at the edges of your newfound sense of wonder. "But Tamlin..." you start. His name a dark cloud threatening to overshadow the bright promise of freedom.

Rhysand’s reaction is immediate though. He shakes his head, cutting off your spiraling worry with a firmness that is both surprising and comforting. "Tamlin will never touch another hair on your head, darling. I will ensure it." His voice is resolute as it leaves no room for doubt. The sincerity in his tone and the warmth of his smile are reassuring, conveying a depth of commitment that makes you believe him. He’s telling the truth. You can feel it not just in his words but in the protective energy that seems to radiate from him.

As you stand there on the balcony looking out over the luminous city a confusion mingles with your gratitude. He is the High Lord of the Night Court. A figure of immense power and responsibility. Why would he extend such kindness, such personal assurance, to you? His station alone would suggest a detachment from individual affairs, yet here he is, offering not just his protection but his personal attention.

"Why?" The question escapes you before you can think better of it. Your gaze turning from the cityscape to meet his eyes. "Why would you do this for me? You're the High Lord, and yet..."

Rhysand’s expression softens understanding the root of your bewilderment. "Because everyone deserves freedom and safety," he begins, his gaze steady and earnest. "And because, despite my title I see no one as beneath my care. Especially not someone who has suffered as you have under such tyranny."

His words hint at a broader philosophy. One that governs his rule, a complete difference to the oppressive leadership of Tamlin. "Here in Velaris we protect our own and now that includes you. You’re not just under my protection because of duty but because I believe in a world where everyone has the right to choose their own path, free from fear."

His explanation resonates with you. The sincerity and conviction in his voice weaving a stronger thread of trust between you. The High Lord of the Night Court you realize is not just a ruler but a protector. He was guided by a compassion that perhaps defines his reign more than his power. As you absorb his words the city of Velaris seems to glow a little brighter. Its lights a hope of the promise Rhysand offers. A promise not just of shelter but of a life reclaimed and respected.

As Rhysand's words and the gentle sincerity behind them settle over you something shifts inside you. The fear that had been a constant companion starts to ebb away instead replaced by a sense of security you hadn’t felt in a very long time. Standing beside him, overlooking the luminous city of Velaris, you allow yourself a moment to truly take in his presence. A protector not just in title but in spirit.

The tension that had knotted your shoulders begins to unwind and without fully realizing it a small smile curves your lips. It's slight but it's the first genuine smile you’ve allowed yourself in what feels like centuries. "You know, my brother made you seem terrifying," you confess as the smile growing a bit as you speak. "You're anything but that though."

Rhysand catches the change in your expression and his eyes light up with amusement. In response he flashes you a devastatingly handsome smirk, one that's known to both unsettle and charm. "Did he now?" he says lowly. His voice laced with mock severity before it softens into warmth. "Perhaps I should be offended but coming from Tamlin I'll take it as a compliment."

His response was light and teasing. Spoken to ease the atmosphere, to let you know that it's okay to relax, to laugh, to feel safe. "Tamlin has always had a flair for the dramatic," Rhysand continues. His tone playful now. "But I hope that here in Velaris you’ll see me as I am. And perhaps find that the 'terrifying' High Lord of the Night Court can also be a friend." His words were spoken with a gentle candor and encourage a lighter heart. The warmth in his voice, the open invitation to view him as more than just a lord but as a person, deepens the budding trust and comfort you feel in his presence.

As the night air swirls around you carrying with it the vibrant energies of Velaris you find yourself more receptive to the idea of a new start. Rhysand with his easy charm and sincere protection seems not just a guardian but a companion on this journey of rediscovery. His ability to blend strength with kindness, authority with empathy, makes you believe that maybe, just maybe, you can truly start anew here.

"You make it sound almost easy," you reply. The smile now firmly in place, feeling more natural than it has for ages.

Rhysand's smirk softens into a genuine smile. "I'll do my best to make it feel that way," he assures you. "You’ve had enough of the hard path. It’s time for you to experience the peace you deserve."

-

In the weeks following your awakening Rhys had been a constant, reassuring presence by your side as you navigated the complexities of the Night Court. The city of Velaris had begun to feel less like a foreign land and more like a potential home. Rhys had carefully gauged when you might be ready to meet more people. He was intentionally keeping even his closest friends, Cassian and Azriel, at a distance to allow you time to adjust. He mentioned plans to introduce them soon ensuring that you felt comfortable with each new step.

During this time your days were filled with activities that gradually stitched you into the fabric of this new life. Rhys guided you through physical training sessions aiming to strengthen both your body and spirit. But it wasn’t all rigorous. You spent serene afternoons with Feyre, dabbling in painting. Despite your initial lack of skill Feyre was a patient teacher, encouraging every brushstroke. In exchange you helped her continue learning to read turning each session into a mutual exchange of growth and laughter.

It was a clear, crisp day in Velaris. The kind of day that made the light seem to dance off every surface, imbuing the world with a vivid sharpness. You were in the middle of a training session with Rhysand in one of the secluded gardens of the Night Court practicing your swordplay. The metal felt cool and heavy in your hands as it slowly became more familiar with each controlled swing and parry.

Rhys was ever the patient instructor. He watched and guided you, his instructions both precise and encouraging. As you moved to execute a particularly complex maneuver, something unexpected happened. Amidst the focus on your movements and the rhythm of the blades, a sudden surge of warmth blossomed deep within your chest radiating outwards like the morning sun cresting the horizon.

It was an intense, engulfing wave that seemed to momentarily still the world around you. The sensation was as if a veil had been lifted, connecting you to Rhysand in an indescribably profound way. It felt as though your very souls had reached out and intertwined creating a bond that pulsed with life and energy.

"What... what was that?" you gasped, lowering your sword as you looked up at Rhysand, your heart pounding not from exertion but from the shock of the unexpected connection. The air between you seemed charged, heavy with a significance that you struggled to comprehend.

Rhysand’s eyes met yours with a spark of recognition and perhaps something akin to relief flashing across his features. His stance softened, and the world seemed to resume its usual pace, but the atmosphere remained changed. It was thick with the newfound awareness between you.

"That," Rhysand said softly. His voice steady yet filled with a warmth that echoed the sensation in your chest, "was the mating bond. It's rare, profound. A connection of souls that can occur between two individuals. It seems it has chosen to manifest between us now."

His words sank in, each one laden with meaning as you tried to process the enormity of what had just occurred. The bond, this deep and intrinsic link, had unveiled itself without warning. It aligned you with Rhysand in a way that went beyond mere physical presence or shared goals. It was as if a part of you had known him, deeply and irrevocably, for much longer than you physically had.

The weight of his confession hung in the air. Heavy with the realization of how deeply the bond affected him from the very beginning. “You mean, we’re..." you started, the reality of his words slowly sinking in.

"Mates," Rhysand confirmed gently. "Yes. And while that might mean many things, know this—you're not bound by it against your will. We can explore what it means together, at your pace." The reassurance in his words allowed you to smile, feeling a genuine connection to the path unfolding before you. The bond was no longer just an abstract force. It was a tangible link between your present recovery and a future filled with possibilities.

Rhysand watched you with something akin to awe as you carefully practiced the sword techniques he had shown you. "We have all the time in the world," he said softly. His eyes never leaving yours. "There's no rush. You’re safe here, with me, with us, in Velaris."

His words seemed to only deepen the stir of emotions within you. Pausing, the sword momentarily forgotten in your hand, you met his gaze, vulnerability shadowing your features. "And... are you okay with that? A bond with me of all people?" Your voice was tinged with disbelief as though the very idea of someone like Rhysand being tied to you was something unfathomable.

The sadness that flickered across Rhysand’s face was swift, a passing cloud on a sunny day, but it was enough to reveal the depth of his feelings. He set aside his own weapon and stepped closer with his expression turning earnest. "I can't think of anything I'd want more," he said quietly while reaching for your hand to provide a tangible reassurance. "These past few weeks of getting to know you, seeing your strength and your kindness. It's not just the bond that makes me feel this way. I... I already care about you, deeply."

His confession hung in the air between you, sincere and heartfelt. The way he looked at you in that moment, his eyes filled with a gentle intensity, made it clear that his words were not merely spoken out of obligation or a sense of duty that the bond might impose. They were rooted in genuine affection and respect for the person you were.

Rhysand gently squeezed your hand, his touch warm and encouraging. "I consider myself incredibly fortunate to have this bond with you," he continued with a soft smile touching his lips as he tried to alleviate the heavy atmosphere. "You're remarkable darling. And yes, I am more than okay with it. I’m grateful."

His reassurance was spoken with such candor and helped ease some of the uncertainty that weighed on you. The bond was once a source of confusion and a reminder of your past constraints but began to feel more like a gift. An unexpected but precious connection to someone who not only promised safety but offered understanding and companionship.

As Rhysand released your hand and stepped back, giving you the space to process his heartfelt words, a sense of warmth unfurled within you. The weight of uncertainties began to lift replaced by a burgeoning sense of connection to this man who was both your protector and, unexpectedly, your confidant.

Mirroring the soft smile that graced Rhysand's lips you found the courage to voice your own budding feelings, simple yet profound. "I like you too, Rhysand," you said. Your voice carrying a tender sincerity that made his smile widen. "More than I thought I would." The admission was shy, sweet. A genuine acknowledgment of the bond growing between you both not just magically but emotionally.

His eyes lit up with a mixture of relief and happiness. The atmosphere around you charged with a gentle, joyful energy. The training session resumed but now there was a lightness to your movements. A reflection of the ease settling in your heart. The conversation with Rhysand, though brief, lingered in your mind like a cherished melody. It was a powerful reminder of the new beginnings and genuine connections now possible in your life with Rhysand and the Night Court. A life that was slowly but surely becoming your own.

As you navigated through each day your confidence grew and the tapestry of your new life in Velaris began to weave itself more vividly. Each encounter, each lesson with Rhysand, and every quiet moment spent under the stars of the Night Court fortified your sense of belonging. These experiences were threads in a vibrant, ever-expanding fabric, each one adding strength and color to your life.

One evening as you stood beside Rhysand on the quiet sanctuary of your favorite balcony overlooking Velaris, you felt a calm certainty settle over you. Below, the city sparkled. A tapestry of light and life that seemed to pulse with the same vibrant energy that now flowed through your veins. Rhysand's gaze was fixed on the horizon, the soft glow of the city lights casting shadows across his strong features when you turned to him ready to voice the thoughts that had been crystallizing in your mind.

"You know," you began. Your voice steady and clear, "I've spent a lot of time thinking about what all of this means. The mating bond, this new life, everything."

Rhysand turned to you with his expression open and attentive. The bond between you hummed softly. It was a growing and comforting presence at the back of your mind.

"I've realized that this bond... it's not just a tie to you. It's a connection to myself. To a life I didn't think was possible," you continued. The words flowing more freely than you expected. "I accept it, Rhysand. Not just accept it… I'm grateful for it. For you."

A slow smile spread across Rhysand's face. That beautiful smile you were slowly coming to cherish. "I can't tell you what it means to hear you say that," he said as his voice was thick with emotion. "You've become a part of this world. A part of my world in a way I always hoped but never dared to expect."

Encouraged by your acceptance and the growth you had shown Rhys felt that the time was right for a significant next step. As the days progressed and you continued to integrate more deeply into the fabric of the Night Court he planned an upcoming evening that would mark a new chapter in your life. The occasion was chosen with care. Not rushed but timed perfectly to coincide with your readiness to meet new faces and embrace the wider community of the Night Court. It was a testament to your journey thus far and a celebration of the future you were building together.

With the day finally set, a gentle breeze whispering promises through the halls, the stars above Velaris began to unveil themselves in the twilight sky. The air was charged with a sense of anticipation. Rhysand who was usually the epitome of composure carried a subtle excitement mixed with nerves as he prepared to introduce you to Cassian, Azriel, and the rest of the Inner Circle. This evening was not just another night. It was a milestone, a true celebration of your integration into his world and the bonds you would soon form with those closest to him.

You had spent the afternoon with Feyre who had helped you select a gown for the evening. The dress was a deep shade of midnight blue and adorned with silver threads that mimicked the starlit sky of Velaris. It perfectly embodied the essence of the Night Court. As you descended the grand staircase the gown flowed around you like a night shadow brought to life.

At the base of the steps Rhysand waited. His usual composure shaken as he caught sight of you. The world seemed to pause, his breath caught in his throat, his heart raced rapidly. There, in the soft glow of the House of Wind you looked not just a part of the Night Court but as if you were its very spirit. The realization that you were his mate, utterly beautiful and resplendent in the regalia of his court, struck him with renewed force.

Rhysand who was ever mindful of the boundaries and comfort of those around him had been particularly cautious about not overwhelming you with the intimate connection that mind-speaking entails. Despite this, the sight of you this evening descending the grand staircase dressed for the event was simply too much for him to resist. The gown you wore reflected the starlit sky of Velaris and accentuated your presence. It made you seem as ethereal as the city itself. Overcome with admiration, he reached out with his mind. "You look breathtaking, darling," his voice echoed in your thoughts for the first time in a while, startling you slightly with its warmth and closeness.

The mental whisper drew a surprised laugh from you. A sound that delighted him to no end. Rhysand's smile broadened. His eyes twinkling with mischief as he observed your reaction. "I see we still need to work on your shields, won't we?" he added playfully. His tone warm and teasing. It was moments like these he cherished deeply. Ones that always kept you on your toes. A trait you’d come to love about him.

Blushing slightly at the intimacy of his mental caress you couldn't help but respond in kind. Your newfound boldness surprising even yourself. "Perhaps I left them down on purpose Rhysand," you flirted back. Your mental voice a soft murmur that only he could hear.

Rhysand’s eyebrows shot up in amused surprise. A rich laugh escaping him that resonated deeply in the space around you. "Is that so? Well, in that case, I might have to keep complimenting you just to see what else you intentionally leave unguarded," he teased back, the affection in his voice unmistakable.

His impulsive act, born from a burst of admiration, turned into a playful exchange that highlighted the growing ease and affection between you. Rhysand quickly added sensing your enjoyment yet still cautious of overstepping, "Apologies if that was too much, but seeing you tonight, I couldn't help myself."

This flirty banter, interwoven with moments of laughter and shared glances, underscored the deepening connection between you both. Even as Rhys continued to respect your boundaries. He also found joy in these light-hearted exchanges, each one building upon the last. You couldn't help but smile, feeling a mix of amusement and warmth from his words. This gentle mental whisper was another sign of how your relationship with Rhysand was deepening, weaving together both profound moments and light-hearted banter.

As you reached the bottom of the stairs Rhysand gently took your hand helping you to navigate the last step. His presence was comforting and his proximity a reminder of how much had changed between you. The grandeur of the staircase faded into the background as you focused solely on him.

You couldn't help the smile that danced across your lips, nor the lightness in your heart from his words. "No need to apologize, Rhys," you responded. Your voice a blend of amusement and reassurance. "I quite liked it. It's... nice, hearing your thoughts sometimes."

"We’ll make quite the team, you and I," Rhysand said, his voice now audible. A soft yet clear tone that carried through the grand space. "With or without your shields up, darling."

The playful banter that had begun in the privacy of your minds seamlessly flowed into the verbal exchange adding layers to your communication and highlighting the ease and comfort developing between you both. As you looked up into his eyes, still sparkling with that same affectionate mischief, you felt that profound connection. The bond was not just magical but deeply personal, spanning the quiet thoughts shared in whispers and the words spoken in the open.

This moment, under the soft lights and the eyes of the Night Court, solidified something essential between you and Rhysand. A partnership built on mutual respect, affection, and a delightful undercurrent of flirtation that promised many more such exchanges in the days to come.

Rhysand led you through the lush, starlit gardens of the Night Court where Cassian, Azriel, and others from the Inner Circle awaited. As you approached the atmosphere was charged with an understated anticipation. Both Cassian and Azriel rose to greet you both their expressions blending curiosity and respect.

Cassian's greeting was robust yet heartfelt. "Rhys didn't prepare us for someone quite so captivating," he remarked with a friendly nod. His tone genuine and devoid of any overstatement. His smile was infectious. He quickly added in a more casual tone, "And I hear you're as quick-witted as you are graceful. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Azriel who Rhys described as more reserved offered a calm nod. His deep-set eyes thoughtful as he assessed you with a discerning gaze. "Welcome to the Night Court," he said. His voice soft yet carrying a warmth that invited trust. During the evening as you engaged in a discussion about the strategic intricacies of the court’s defenses Azriel's respect visibly deepened. Later, he quietly shared with Rhysand, "She has a keen sense for the nuances of strategy. You've chosen well. She’s not just impressive in demeanor but in intellect."

Throughout the evening laughter and substantive conversations filled the garden. Cassian's heartier chuckles complemented your more measured humor. While Azriel engaged you with discussions that tested your insight into the court’s history and its future.

Rhysand watched these exchanges with a sense of deep satisfaction. The way you engaged with his friends. Not just with politeness but with a genuine interest and understanding solidified your place among them. Cassian’s easy camaraderie and Azriel’s quiet approval spoke volumes of their acceptance.

As the night progressed under the expansive, star-filled sky of Velaris your initial sense of being an outsider slowly dissipated. You found yourself woven into the evening’s tapestry as seamlessly as the shadows melded into the night. Each shared story, each moment of laughter, helped stitch you further into the fabric of this vibrant community.

Standing there among new friends you experienced yet another profound shift within. With Rhysand at your side and the bond between you growing stronger by the day you realized you had discovered much more than a haven. You had found a new family, a purpose, and a place where you truly belonged. The night ended not just with a feeling of contentment but with a renewed sense of anticipation for the future.

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[moonlight-records]

Fallin' in love | FC43 (SM!AU)

pairing: norris!reader x fc34

summary: a glimpse into the relationship between williams newest rookie and lando's younger sister during the best time of the year

warning: nothing

fc: n/a!

a/n: please take this in honor of spooky season. oh i also made a ko-fi if you want to support me!

ynorris posted

liked by francolapinto, landonorris, oscarpiastri, carlossainz55, maxverstappen1, and 938k others

yourusername 👹🎃👹🎃👹🎃

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user1 CUTE CUTE CUUUUUTE

user2 ugh yes love a good pumpkin patch!!

user3 the lights. the pumpkin. the vibes. 🥺

landonorris bring me back a pumpkin!!

↳ ynorris ugh, fine i guess ↳ landonorris thank you. at least someone loves me ↳ carlossainz55 we are right here ↳ oscarpiastri yeah, babe wtf.

user4 i just know this photo dump bout to go HARD

user5 WHAT ARE THE HALLOWEEN COSTUMES??? 🗣️🗣️🗣️

francolapinto ah yes, right before disaster strikes

↳ landonorris yeah like how she should've left your ass ❤️ ↳ ynorris LANDO ↳ francolapinto no no i agree. ↳ ynorris babe ↳ landonorris see! for once we agree! ↳ francolapinto but amor, if you had left me it would've meant that your dear brother and i would have more time to bond ↳ ynorris omg you're so right babe ↳ landonorris I DID NOT AGREE TO THIS??

francolapinto posted

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francolapinto 0/10. would not recommend. horrible experience.

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user6 ZOMBIE FARMS??? nah im good

user7 wtf that looks like sm fun??

landonorris oh you made it out...

francolapinto barely, but i did it! 😌 landonorris gross. ynorris LANDO. landonorris i mean, yay... ynorris even took a jump scare for me, my hero 🥰

user8 the way i would've cried

user9 please tell me theres a video somewhere of this--PLEASE

carlossainz55 where was this so i know where NOT to go

↳ landonorris BABE PLS PLS PLS PLS ↳ oscarpiastri it looks kind of fun ↳ carlossaainz55 absolutely NOT ↳ ynorris pfttt i'll text you the address to avoid it ↳ carlossainz55 thank you.

ynorris franco had a great time, everyone he's lying

↳ francolapinto i did not have a great time

francolapinto tagged ynorris in a post

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francolapinto we always have a hauntingly good time together

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user10 god bless his looks because that was lando level horrible puns smhhhh

user11 boy PLEASE 😭😭😭

user12 someone get y/n to start proofreading all his captions im bEGGING

oscarpiastri boooooo

↳ francolapinto i made this while drunk please forgive me ↳ carlossainz55 that somehow makes it worse ↳ landonorris...it wasn't that bad ↳ ynorris 👀👀👀

user13 ooooh spooky 👻👻👻

user14 how lando wishes franco was ever since he started dating y/n 😭😭

landonorris where are your sunglasses?

↳ francolapinto lost them ↳ landonorris ...I guess i can lend you a pair. BUT I need them back ↳ francolapinto really?! ↳ landonorris don't let it get to your head ↳ ynorris thank you big bro ☺️ ↳ landonorris you're welcome

user15 LFGGGGGGG

ynorris tagged yourbestfriend & francolapinto in a post

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ynorris bar at 9 and club at 10

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user16 god to be going out tonight 😩

user17 I KNOW THAT GHOST GOT MOOOVES!!! 👻🪩

yourbestfriend SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS

↳ ynorris EVERYBODY!!! ↳ yourbestfriend LFG!!!!

user18 Y/N and all her twins fr fr

user19 i just know they're playing bangers rn

carlossainz55 you didn't say you were going to a club!

↳ ynorris oh, i didn't?? ↳ carlossains55 NO ↳ ynorris oh...whoops? 😬 ↳ carlossainz55 YN!! ↳ ynorris gotta go!

landonorris ANSWER MY DAMN MESSAGES

↳ ynorris WHAAAAT ↳ landonorris DO YOU NEED A RIDE HOME?? ↳ ynorris NO. WE HAVE A RIDE ↳ landonorris YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL BOUT UBER ↳ francolapinto i'm giving her and the girls a ride home! i've been the guard dog all night!! ↳ landonorris ..thank you Franco. ↳ francolapinto you're welcome! ☺️

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francolapinto the spookiest day deserves an even spookier night with a double date

comments on this post have been limited

charles_leclerc where was my invite?

↳ ynorris next time?? ↳ charles_leclerc RUDE!!!

oscarpiastri who took the ghost arm before me??

↳ ynorris not me ↳francolapinto i was fighting carlos for a blood bag ↳landonorris BABE IM SORRY THERE'S A SECOND ARM ↳ oscarpiastri the BETRAYAL!

carlossainz55 do we really have to watch this movie? can we not watch something else?

↳ ynorris stfu you scaredy cat ↳ carlossainz55 I AM NOT--

landonorris okay, i cave. y/n you did a great job at planning

↳ ynorris aw thanks!! 🥰 but this wasn't me ↳ landonorris what?? ↳ ynorris it was all franco. my wonderfully goofy boyfriend ↳ landonorris well--credit is due where credit is done ↳ ynorris and??? ↳ landonorris and...i guess he can stick around ↳ ynorris YES!!! ↳ oscarpiastri war is over ↳ carlossainz55 finally ↳ francolapinto WOOO!!!

francolapinto love you mi amor ❤️

↳ ynorris love you too ❤️

[azziesbattybaddie]

Lady in red

Kinktober day 1 - First time/blood play

Vamp!Rhysand x reader

Rhys is always carful with you and absolutely never drinks from you, but when you finally decided to spend your first night together Rhys has some trouble controlling his hunger for you.

Word count: 1.2k

Requested: no

Warnings: smut(obviously), P in V, no protection(wrap it before you tap it guys), blood play, language, insinuated oral F receiving, vampire Rhysand(he is his own warning)

Content: 🔥

Author's note: so I've decided that I will be participating in kinktober this year but make it solely Acotar. This is day 1 so I'm super excited to start this year! Enjoy!

AN #2: oh look at that I'm already late posting, fyi I am in the middle of moving right now so if I miss a day or Im late posting I apologize but Imma try my best.

"you always look beautiful, y/n darling, but cauldron do you look absolutely radiant right now..."

Rhys stood at the doorway his hand nestled in his pockets as he leaned on the frame and simply admired your barley covered figure. You had waited for him upstairs laying under the sheets naked and waiting. you were still a virgin and you wanted your first time to be special so you decided to wait until you were really feeling the mood.

You had went with Rhys and his brothers to the gym today which is the reason you decided that tonight would be the night after seeing your boyfriend shirtless and dripping sweat as he sparred with his younger brother. The whole day you couldn't keep your mind off of wanting to lick your way from his distinct V-line to his neck. Obviously you hadn't realized that being immortal, means extended stamina and shit if I wasn't hot as fuck seeing Rhys keep moving for so damn long.

You laid under the thin sheets of your boyfriend's bed, laying bare as you waited for him to cross the room. He stalked forward as his eyes looked down your barley covered form as if he could see straight through the thin material. You leaned back on your hands and pushed your chest out with false confidence as the white fabric fell away from your chest.

Rhysand's eyes darked and stared at your exposed breasts and before taking a deep breath, dragging his eyes up to yours and lifting a knee to the bed as he crawled to you, his large frame coming to hover over you.

"as much as I want to absolutely devour you at the moment," he took a deep breath and closed his eyes taking a large inhale through his nose. "I haven't eaten in a few days and the last thing I want to do is lose control with you..."

Even though he was trying to talk himself out of taking you right then and there his body betrayed him. His hands found your waist, pulling the sheet down you expose more of your body to him. His eyes roamed over you as if he were thinking of all the things he wanted to to to you before twining his hand in the back of your hair and pulling your lips to his. His mouth was hot on yours and he pulled your body up to straddle his kneeling thighs, your lips still tangled with his. His scent filled your nose. He smells like old books and spices and leather.

"Rhys please, I trust you." You wrap your arms around his neck and grind yourself down on his lap desperately. Rhys growls as he looks down at your naked self. Gripping your waist as he guides your hips to rock against him again. The zipper of his pants, strained against his hardening cock, rubs deliciously against your clit.

You rake your hands down his chest and start trying to tear at his buttons. As soon as the honey tan skin of his stomach is revealed you shove him onto his back lightly and straddle his hips properly. You lean over him and cup his face in both hands before kissing him as tenderly as you can.

"I trust you..." You innunciante each word in hopes of convincing him to take your and stop worrying about his control. You felt his hands run up your skin and settle on your waist before your flipped on your back at an inhuman speed that made your head spin. You felt it before you registered what he had done exactly but you felt the head of him running over your slit gently.

"Look at me, darling I need you to promise me that if it hurts your going to tell me. Do you understand?" You nod your head furiously as your eyes are locked on the top of his cock barely dipping into your heat before returning. You felt like you were on fire watching but a hand gripped your chin firmly and tilted your head up to meet purple eyes. "Words, my love. I need you to use your words. Do you understand?"

"Yes Rhys, I understand ah-" you were cut off, barely getting the words out before you felt him start to sink into you. He buried his face in your neck and you felt the tiniest pricks of something sharp as he left open mouthed kisses in his wake, trying to distract you from any discomfort.

You bury your fingers in his hair tussling the locks and you feel him scratching you out. It bordered on pain but it felt so good at the same time that you hardly noticed. After a moment he bottomed out with a growl and withdrew himself before burying himself to the hilt again and licking a stripe from the valley of your breasts to your ear, nibbling on the lobe.

Rhys could feel and hear your heartbeat start to thunder in your veins and he picked up the pace. You could feel him, running your hands over his tense muscles as he thrusted unto you at a fast but gentle pace. You lock your ankles behind his back and arch your chest into him as he starts to hit a new angle.

You were lost in him. His smell, the feel of his skin, just the feel of him, it was all too much and not enough at the same time. You were begging for him too keep going, every thrust of his cock set fire to you body and you could feel a somewhat familiar burn starting to consume your stomach. That tugging in your abdomen every time the ridge of his cock rubbed against your clit as he pulled out to the top only to sink in again was maddening.

You were starting to teater on the edge your orgasm approaching at a startling pace. You tried to rock your hips against his, the bedframe creaking from your effort. The feeling of fire burning it's way through you was about to burst and you heard rhys mutter a curse to himself before a sharp pain radiated in the side of your neck. He pushed your hips down on the bed so he could drill into you as his fangs sank deep into your soft flesh, the taste of salt and sweet copper flooding his mouth as he let out a sinful groan at the taste.

"Ah- Rhys!" Yelling his name out as you came hard around him, the sickly sweet burn of his teeth in your neck throwing you head first over the edge. Rhys let your ride out your high for a few minutes before lapping at your neck to get the bleeding to stop and pulling his still rock hard cock out from you. He looked down as he did seeing a small trail of blood lacing his shaft.

"Rhys why did you stop, you didn't eve-" you didn't finish your sentence as he quickly kissed his way down your body and settled himself with his head between your legs.

"If you think I'm going to waste this little treat or that I even close to done with you tonight, than you are very much mistaken..."

[soulofapatrick]

All’s Fair in Love and War - Azriel x female reader

Summary: Azriel finds you after the war with Hybern 

Words: 2.8K 

Warnings: blood, shock 

Notes: sorry if this is messy - the idea came to me just now and I’m very tired and sleep deprived 

Y/N's POV

The battle is over. The roar of soldiers, the clash of swords, the gut-wrenching screams of the dying—they all fade, swallowed by a profound, unnatural silence. It's not the kind of quiet that brings peace. No, this stillness presses down on me like a weight, suffocating, as if the very air has thickened in the aftermath of violence. The tension in my muscles, the ache in my bones, feels as though it’s settling deep inside me, wrapping itself around my insides and pulling me down. Yet, I refuse to lie down. I won’t let myself be coddled, not when the taste of battle is still so fresh in the back of my throat.

I’m sitting upright in a rickety wooden chair, the rough, splintered wood digging into my back, but I don't care. The fabric of my tunic clings to my skin, drenched in a sickly mix of sweat and blood—my own, other people’s, I can’t tell anymore. Feyre’s insisted I lie down, insisted I let her help me, but I can’t. I need to stay here, right where I am. I need to be present, to feel the weight of my own existence, even as the world tilts and shifts in ways that don’t feel real.

My body feels wrong. Alien. Detached. It’s like I’m floating just above myself, watching from a distance. My limbs are too heavy, my chest too tight. The stinging aches from the cuts, bruises, and burns barely register against the cold emptiness gnawing at me from the inside. It feels like the very essence of who I am has been swallowed up, frozen over in a deep, hollow void that refuses to release its grip. My heart is still pounding, but the beat sounds muffled, as if I’m hearing it through a thick wall of fog.

I can taste it—the blood. The metallic tang coats my mouth, thick and sticky, like copper settling on my tongue. It tastes of death, of everything I’ve just witnessed, of the blood spilled for this fleeting victory. It makes my stomach churn, but I can’t bring myself to wipe it away. I don’t want to. It feels like a mark, like a final seal on everything we’ve just survived. A reminder of the price we’ve paid.

Feyre is beside me, but she feels so far away, even though I can hear the soft shuffle of her feet and feel the warmth of her presence. Her High Lady aura glows faintly in the dim light of the medical tent, shimmering around her like a halo, but there’s an edge to her that I recognise. The poise, the grace, is still there, but beneath it, I can see the cracks—the lines of worry etched deep in her face. She hovers near me, her hands hovering uncertainly as though she doesn’t want to break something fragile, doesn’t want to push me too far. Her fingers brush over my cheek, but I can feel the hesitation there, the caution. She’s holding back, trying not to make me feel weak.

My cheek feels raw, tender, swollen. I can feel the blood caked against my skin, drying in clumps, pulling at the tender flesh of my face. I know the wound is deep. I know it’s going to scar, leaving me with a permanent reminder of this war, this senseless battle that has taken so much from us. But right now, I can’t find it in myself to care. Not when the pain feels so distant, so muted, as if it belongs to someone else. All I can feel is the relentless grip of numbness, seeping into me, pushing out everything but the silence, the hollow ache.

Feyre’s voice pierces through the fog, soft and concerned, but it feels like it’s coming from a world far removed from me. “Y/N, you need to rest. You’re in no shape to be sitting up.”

“I’m fine,” I rasp, my voice cracked, dry as the air around me. It’s barely above a whisper, yet I feel the weight of it, the lie that I’m trying to convince myself of. “Just… let me be.”

I try to ignore the way my words falter, the way my body trembles despite my best efforts to hold steady. The exhaustion presses down on me, a weight too heavy to bear, but I refuse to admit it. Instead, I focus on the rhythm of Feyre’s breath, steady and calm, though I know it’s not as unaffected as it seems. I hear the subtle shift in her posture, the uncertainty in the way she moves around me, as if she doesn’t quite know what to do with me now. She’s worried, but she’s not pushing—she knows better than that.

And as I sit there, trapped in my own numbness, I feel the sting of my injuries fade into the background, swallowed by something deeper, something even harder to name. The tent is still, heavy with the weight of what’s happened—what’s still happening—but in the silence, there’s a steady, almost magnetic pull drawing me in. The world beyond the canvas walls is chaos, but here, in this small space, there’s a suffocating quiet, a sense of something monumental about to shift.

The flaps of the tent whip open again, and I feel it, the change in the air before I even hear their footsteps. Heavy. Relentless. The hum of power vibrates through the ground, the soft, sure steps unmistakable even before I see them.

Azriel.

Rhysand, Cassian—they follow, but it’s Azriel who fills the space, his presence tangible, suffocating, like a shadow that has always lingered just beyond the edges of my sight. And I know, even before I look up, that he's close. That shadow—his shadow—rushes in, skimming across the floor like liquid night, trailing after him, pulsing with life, like it’s an extension of him.

Feyre’s touch, warm and light, presses briefly on my shoulder before she moves away, joining her mate and the others, leaving me with Azriel, leaving me with the space between us that feels far too large and yet too small all at once. I know the others are there, I hear their words, but it’s Azriel I feel, his presence like a weight, heavy and undeniable. The shadows, they rush forward, caressing the air around me as they always do when he’s near—silent, loving, soft. His shadows have always been an extension of him, always a part of who he is, and right now, they envelop me in a comforting embrace, soothing the sharp edges of the world that try to break me apart.

I can’t move. My head still feels too heavy, too fogged with shock, and my body refuses to listen to me. But I feel them—his shadows—brush over my skin, gentle whispers of darkness, caressing me in a way that’s almost tender. They tug softly at the edges of my pain, washing over me, calming the panic that bubbles beneath the surface.

The soft thud of his boots stops directly in front of me. I don't look up. My body still doesn't listen. The shadows pull tighter around me, brushing against my skin like a lover’s touch, their cool embrace more comforting than the warmth of the sun. They make me feel whole, like I'm not slipping away into the numbness that’s trying to take me.

And then, without a word, Azriel kneels in front of me. I feel the shift in the air around him, the way his presence seems to draw everything closer, making the world feel smaller, like it's only the two of us now.

His scarred hands, the hands that have seen so much destruction, are gentle as they reach toward me. He hooks his fingers under my chin, lifting my face toward him with a force that isn't harsh but is insistent, like he won’t let me hide. Like he can’t let me hide.

And I look into his eyes. Hazel. Always searching. Always filled with that intensity, that unspoken understanding. His eyes flicker over my face, tracing the marks left by battle—the dried blood on my cheek, the swelling beneath my skin, the injury I know will leave a scar. But he doesn't look at it in disgust or pity. He looks at me. At me, the way only he ever has—like I’m something precious.

"Y/N," his voice is low, hoarse, almost cracked under the weight of what he's feeling. The shadows gather around us, encircling us both as if they're shielding us from the rest of the world. They move with him, soft, soothing, like they too are trying to hold me together. The subtle crackle of power in the air is thick, the tension between us palpable, but it’s his touch—the warmth of his fingers on my skin—that seems to hold everything still.

Azriel leans forward, and the air thickens between us, charged, electric, suffocating. His breath skims over my lips, and I know, I know, that this moment is everything. The world outside, the battle, the blood, the pain—all of it feels so far away now. There is only the space between us. Only him. Only the suffocating weight of his presence, and the shadows that pulse with life, circling us like an embrace, like a cage.

His eyes burn into mine, molten, dark, searching. His chest rises and falls, too fast, too heavy, as if he's holding his breath, waiting, as if we're both on the edge of something we can't undo. His shadows caress me, tender and possessive, as if they, too, are desperate to make sure I don't slip away. They're everywhere—on my skin, in my veins, curling around me, holding me steady, holding me together.

And then, without another breath between us, his lips crash into mine.

It's not gentle. It’s feral. Desperate. As if he's been holding himself back for lifetimes, and now that barrier is shattered. His lips are fierce, hungry, demanding, and all at once, I feel everything he’s been keeping buried—every bit of the anguish, the fear, the longing—poured into the kiss.

Azriel’s hands are on me, pulling me, urgent and fierce, as if he’s afraid I’ll slip through his fingers if he doesn't hold on tight enough. His touch is rough—scarred fingers threading through my hair, tilting my head back with a force that has me gasping, his mouth crashing into mine in a kiss that is all need, all fire. I taste blood—his, mine, I don’t care, I can't care—not when he’s here, when his body is pressed against mine, when every inch of him is breathing life back into me.

And then, without warning, he pulls me down.

I barely register the movement before I’m on the floor, my knees digging into the hard dirt beneath me, the sting of it nothing compared to the overwhelming heat that radiates from him. He’s sitting back on his knees, his thick thighs caging me in as I straddle him, my legs on either side, and the world narrows to just the space between us. His hands move to my back, pulling me flush against his chest, and the kiss deepens, more desperate, more frantic, as if this is the only way he can make sure I’m real, that I’m alive, that I’m still here.

His shadows wrap around us like a dark cocoon, curling around us both, a living thing that soothes, caresses, and holds us together. They move over my skin, tracing the curve of my spine, filling the space between us with an almost painful tenderness, as if they’re echoing the rawness in his kiss. They wrap around my arms, my waist, gently tugging me closer, pulling me against him like I belong there, like I’m the missing piece he’s been searching for.

I don’t care that the ground is rough, that the dirt is grinding into my knees, that my body is still sore and battered from the battle. None of it matters because he’s here. He’s alive. His lips are on mine, and nothing else exists. Not the horrors we’ve just survived, not the pain coursing through me, not the scars I know are already forming on my skin. There’s only him, only this moment, only the desperate, consuming way we kiss like our very lives depend on it.

His hands grip my hips, pulling me closer, his breath ragged as he breaks the kiss just enough to speak, but I’m not ready to let him go. His lips are against mine once more, rough and relentless, as if he’s trying to memorise the feeling of me, of us—of the connection that is more than just physical, more than just a fleeting moment of relief after the battle. His scarred hands slide down my sides, gripping me tightly, pulling me even closer, and I can’t help but let out a soft gasp at the pressure. His body shifts under mine, his thick thighs holding me in place as his shadows wrap tighter around us, drawing me further into his orbit.

Every breath, every movement, is a slow, steady burn, and I can feel the intensity of it seeping into my skin, into my bones. He’s not just kissing me—he’s claiming me, as if he’s afraid I’ll slip away if he doesn’t. His hands move to my back, tracing the curve of it before pressing me harder into him, his chest rising and falling rapidly as though he’s fighting for air. His lips break from mine, but only just, brushing against my jaw, my neck, as he breathes deeply against my skin, each inhale shuddering, as if he can’t quite gather himself enough to speak.

“Azriel,” I whisper, the name feeling foreign on my tongue, but I don’t care. Not when I’m here, not when his shadows are around us like a fortress, cocooning us in a darkness that’s only ours. “What are you—”

“I thought I lost you,” he cuts me off, his voice raw, rough, like he’s been holding back for too long. His lips find mine again, desperate, hungry, and the world outside us disappears.

But even as the kiss consumes me, I feel his trembling fingers against my cheek, his touch soft, reverent, like he’s afraid of breaking me, as if the battle, the blood, the scars are all still too fresh for him to truly believe I’m here.

I tilt my head back, surrendering into him, letting the kiss go deeper, matching the frantic pace of his lips as his breath catches in his throat. And as I feel him pulling me, coaxing me closer, his shadows continue to circle, holding us together in the suffocating intensity of everything unsaid.

“I can’t lose you,” he murmurs against my lips, the words desperate, raw, and heavy with meaning, as if they carry the weight of everything he’s been holding inside. “You’re... everything.”

My heart races at the confession—his confession—and my hands move to his face, feeling the roughness of his skin, the rasp of his stubble, the undeniable truth in the way he kisses me. His lips are tender now, softer, as if he's trying to take the moment in, savour it, but there's still a hunger beneath it all. Still a desperate need to make sure I’m here, that I’m alive, that I’m not going anywhere.

I don’t have the words for this. For him. For us. So I let the kiss speak for me, my hands slipping down to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.

His shadows seem to gather around us tighter, pulling me into him, surrounding us in a blanket of darkness and heat that holds us together, that swallows us whole. Everything else falls away—the battle, the pain, the fear—all of it. There’s only Azriel and me, only this moment, and the undeniable connection between us that has always been there, buried beneath the surface, waiting to break free.

And then, he pulls back just enough for us to breathe. His eyes are searching mine, dark and intense, filled with something I can’t name. Something that flickers in his gaze, something fragile, but unwavering.

“I thought I lost you,” he repeats, the words a soft, desperate plea.

I lean forward, my forehead resting against his, and I finally whisper the only words that seem to matter right now: “You didn’t.”

And as his lips meet mine again, softer this time, full of relief, of unspoken promises, I know that this is the beginning of something new, something that neither of us can turn away from.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

TAGS:

@lilah-asteria @maleficmuse @fanficscuziranout @angelbunny222