valentine
you’re so dark, babe. but i want you hard
pairings: wednesday x fem!reader
word count: 2.55k
warnings: smut, mentions of dissecting animals, strap-on referred to as cock (w receiving)
summary: enid convinces you to get wednesday a valentine’s gift so you think of something morbid, reader is a shape-shifter and a huge arachnophobe
a/n: this is my first time writing a fanfic let alone smut so do keep that in mind ;)
MASTERLIST
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The rain creates a relaxing sound against the greenhouse’s glass as Miss Thornhill teaches. It’s so relaxing that you’re one blink away from the spectacular thing that is sleep. Your eyes feel heavy and slowly roll back every so often, it’s taking all your willpower not to fall asleep. Most of the other students are listening, and some messing about. Enid’s giggling can be heard which causes Miss Thornhill to send her a knowing glare with a raised brow. Enid, who is sitting a row down from you, quickly becomes quiet, her face turning red, almost like a beetroot.
You then avert your gaze to the girl sitting next to you, Wednesday. You can’t help but wonder how she has such good posture… with how straight she’s sitting, there’s no way on Earth her back doesn’t hurt. But, there’s no denying that you feel like you’ve got a back of an 80-year-old.
09:38
That’s what the clock reads. You groan internally, still another 22 minutes left of the lesson. At least you don’t have to write and give your poor hand a workout… right?
After spending the majority of the lesson talking about the plant that’s situated (in seed form) on every desk, Miss Thornhill finally instructs the class to plant it in their designated plant pot.
Wednesday takes the watering can before looking over at you with a deadpan expression.
You frown, too tired to even understand what she’s signalling. You stare at her blankly before speaking. “Wha-“
“-The seed.” She points out the obvious, her once deadpan expression turning into a slight glare at your laziness.
You take the seed out of the packet, placing it into the dirt but you jump, quickly pulling your hand away. “Fuck me! There’s a spider!” You push yourself away from the desk. If it wasn’t obvious by now; you’ve got arachnophobia.
Miss Thornhill’s eyes widen at the sudden commotion. She averts her gaze to you and Wednesday. You’re sat quite a distance away from your desk whereas Wednesday just rolls her eyes, returning to the task.
“Y/N, please. Be more mindful of your language.” Miss Thornhill affirmed, causing a few students to turn their heads. Her tone is stern but soft at the same time, giving her that nurturing presence.
“I’m sorry, miss- but I almost just died.” You protested an expression of disbelief painted on your face. Still shaken by the whole thing. It’s hairy legs… ugh. You close your eyes with a frown, shivering as you recall what you’d just witnessed. Your response elicits a few muffled chuckles from your classmates.
Miss Thornhill just sighs in response, crossing her arms and looking at you with a sympathetic expression. “If I hear any more of that language coming out of your mouth; you’ll get detention.” You let out a small sigh at her words, slumping down into your chair out of defeat.
Wednesday glances at you from the corner of her eye, an amused yet displeased look. “Remind me, why do I entertain you with my company?” She mutters, not at all amused by your little show with the spider.
You let out a small huff at her words, crossing your arms and moving closer to the table. “Where did it go?” You ask, warily looking over at the plant pot.
“I threw it across the classroom,” Wednesday replied nonchalantly. Placing the watering can back down once she’d finished.
Your eyebrows raise, looking over at her with a heartfelt pout. “Aww, thank you, Wends!” You jokingly put a hand over your heart, showcasing your ‘appreciation’ of such affection.
“I didn’t do it for you. It was merely a distraction to me. Don’t flatter yourself.” She responds, looking over at you with a glare. Her back is still as straight as ever and her arms are crossed. Deep down both you and her know she did it for you.
The bell soon rings, signalling the end of the lesson. You stand up, tucking in your chair before picking up your bag. Wednesday’s already gone, it’s as if she just vanishes into thin air the moment the bell rings. Not once have you seen her leave the classroom.
Enid quickly catches up to you, both her hands resting on her backpack’s straps. She smiles brightly, it’s sickening how happy she always is.
“So… Have you got Wednesday anything for good ole Valentine’s Day? You do know that’s tomorrow?” She proclaimed, her eyes wide with anticipation as she strides beside you in the hallway.
You let out a small sigh, rolling your eyes. “You know how she feels about that day. She ‘doesn’t see the point in such a frivolous and commercialised holiday.’” You mimic, making a bad impression of her.
Enid pouts, looking at you with puppy eyes. It’s irritating how nosy and obsessed she is with you and Wednesday’s relationship. It’s as though she doesn’t know what privacy is or what boundaries are.
“Come ooonnn, Y/N! Get her something!” She presses, it’s obvious you’re not going to win this. You clench your jaw, looking over at her before sighing. You hesitate before nodding. Enid swirls in response, jumping up and down ever so slightly which elicits a few glares from the other students in the hallway. She ends up bumping into a student, she’s too distracted apologising so you take this as a chance to slip away.
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21:53
That’s what your phone read. Throughout the day you’d been thinking about the perfect gift for Wednesday. You’re lying on your back in bed. Yoko, your roommate, is down in the shower block, you’re alone. Your eyebrows suddenly raise, eyes widening.
Dissecting!! Dissection..? whatever.
You should catch an animal that she can… cut open? Whatever it is she does. You smile to yourself, fist-bumping the air at your spectacular idea. You take out your phone, searching up ‘popular dissecting animals.’
• frogs
• fetal pigs
• cats
You frown at the results… Not gonna kill a poor cat, where in the hell would you even get a frog and fetal pig?? You scroll down more, your eyes land on the perfect animal: a rat.
They’re everywhere, you’re also pretty sure that the school’s waste area is full of them. Easy target. You prepare for your rendezvous. Finding a carrier bag to put the rat in.
Shape-shifting into a bird of prey was your best bet at catching a rat. Especially with the limited time you had. You hate shape-shifting, your body always felt all yucky and tingly afterwards. But, as cheesy as it sounds; she’s worth it.
As soon as you sneak out of the building, the cool air hits you. It’s a clear sky, giving you a perfect view of the stars. The moonlight creates a relaxing and dark atmosphere. You walk to where the bins are. The autumn leaves crunch under your feet with each step. You place the carrier bag on the floor, making sure you’ll be able to put the rat in once you’re a bird.
You shapeshift into a hawk, perching yourself on a roof that gives you a perfect spot to spy on the area. Using the exceptional eyesight of the bird, you spot a rat. You keep your eyes locked on it, waiting for the perfect moment.
Spotting the perfect moment, you swoop down, you extend the bird’s leg, capturing the rat with your claws. You fly over to where the bag is situated, dropping the rat into it. You shape shift back into your human form, looking at the live rat. Wednesday would probably prefer it to be alive- at least that’s what you think.
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05:00
Your alarm went off painfully early. Wednesday was always up early in the cafeteria. You saw this as a chance to give her the ‘gift.’ It may not be conventional but she’ll like it… right? In her own way.
You soon get dressed, dragging yourself out of your dorm and to the cafeteria. The plastic carrier bag in your left-hand carries the rat. It’s not moving, might be asleep or might be dead. You don’t know.
Wednesday is already there, she’s the only person besides the dinner crew there. She’s got a bowl of the odd porridge she eats every morning. You know better than to ask what’s in that. You wouldn’t be surprised if she had some bugs in there for ‘protein.’
“Hiya, Wends… Wed-nes.” You smirk, sliding yourself onto the chair opposite her. You know she hates nicknames but it’s not your fault she’s extremely fun to tease.
“Y/N.” She responds dryly, her eyes focused on her porridge. She’s happy to see you, though she’ll never admit it or show it, she is. She moves her eyes onto your face, a curious glint in them.
“You’re not usually up this early.” She states, acknowledging the fact that you’re not a morning person. It’s pretty obvious, you still look half asleep.
“I got you something for Valentine’s Day. Just hear me out before you say anything.” You plead, bringing the bag up and placing it on the table. Definitely unhygienic.
Wednesday opens her mouth to protests but decides against it. She sighs and lets go of her spoon, leaning over and looking in the bag. Her eyebrows raise ever so slightly. Not at all expect the Valentine’s gift to be an animal.
“It’s for the dissecting stuff. I don’t know what it’s called.” You shrug, adjusting yourself to a more comfortable position on the stool.
“A rat.” She hums, moving her gaze from the sleeping rat and onto you. Her face portrays the fact that she seems to be impressed.
“I don’t like such a commercialised and pointless day… But, I must say, I’m not exactly opposed to such a gift.” Her dark eyes analyse the animal in front of her. She nodded one last time before averting her eyes to your face.
You smile at her reaction. Glad that she reacted well. Wednesday on the other hand stares at you, she’s very much happy with such a thoughtful gift, but she’d never admit that- not while she’s alive anyway.
She looks around the cafeteria, making sure there are no prying eyes. She turns back to you and grabs you by your tie, pulling you into a soft kiss. The kiss conveys an unspoken ‘thank you’ from her. After a few seconds, she pulls away, going back to her breakfast.
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Wednesday had been experimenting on the rat specimen all evening in Eugene’s shed. Holding a scalpel, she observes the rat’s organs, pulling the skin back with her gloved hands to see different angles.
By the time you’d arrived, she was finished. The shed was nice and clean, the rat nowhere to be seen and her equipment back in her satchel. Wednesday, still in the school uniform, pats her blazer down, making sure she looks presentable before turning to greet you.
“Hello.” She greets, her voice soft. She leans back against the desk that’s in the shed, her arms folded against her chest.
“I was entertained by the rat you had given me.” She says, her eyes fixated on yours before she continues hesitantly. “…Thank you.” She whispers, moving her gaze away due to the vulnerability she’s feeling.
You smile, just nodding in response. You understand she’s feeling a bit uncomfortable with how open and vulnerable she’s feeling, you don’t want to escalate those feelings. You move closer, eat step sending a surge of electricity throughout you. Your hand moves forward, gently taking her own. Leaning down, you brush your lips against hers allowing Wednesday to close the distance, which, she takes. Wednesday leans forward, capturing your lips into a dance with her own.
After a few moments, Wednesday pulls away, a small smirk on her face. She turns around and reaches for her black satchel. Her manicured nails brushed against the leather. She unzips the back and pulls out a harness- sorry… strap-on?
“How’d that even fit-“ She quickly cuts you off, lifting her cold finger to your lips, silencing you. A small amused smirk plays on her lips.
“The Addams family holds many secrets…” She purrs, her nails gently scratching your cheek, causing a shiver to run down your spine. Very relaxing. With skilled hands, she secures the strap-on around your waist, even through your clothes you can feel the cold leather. Her fingers linger, tracing the outline. You shiver at her touch, captivated by the intensity of her gaze.
“I might open up to this nauseating holiday after this…” Without wanting, she shoves you back roughly, causing you to stumble onto the floor. She straddles your body, the strap-on pressing up against her stomach. Her pale hands reach under her skirt, pulling her black lacy panties to the side.
“Inside. Now.” She says, her tone leaving no room for argument. You quickly nod, your hand wrapping around the cock and blindly positioning it at her glistening entrance under her skirt.
Once she feels the tip run against her, she lowers herself down. Impaling herself with the cock. A small sigh escapes her lips, eyes closed as she starts to move. Her hands on your shoulders for support.
“Guide me.” She coaxed, looking down into your eyes. Her face is flushed, hair slightly dishevelled. It’s a sight a single soul would never expect to see or happen. You obliged to her request- or demand, your hands move to her hips, helping her move. Her hips buck involuntarily now and then.
Over the next few minutes, her movements evoke small whimpers every so often and small sighs of pleasure. Her noises started to escape her cold lips more often, signalling she was getting closer and closer to the edge. Her forehead rests against yours as she continues to ride you, her moans and the sound of the cock entering her is all that can be heard. She kisses your cheek, letting out another small whimper as your fingers move to her sensitive bud under her skirt. Your thumb rubs tight circles against the swollen bundle of nerves, her hips grinding down on both your thumb and the cock.
“Oh- Th… That’s it, good… pet.” She whispers breathlessly, her tone betraying how needy she is for a release. Her nails dig even tighter into your shoulders, even through your blazer you swear she’s broken your skin. Wednesday’s teeth are gritted as her movements become more forceful.
“Bite my neck… Now.” Her hands bury in your hair, using it as leverage to push you into her neck. You open your mouth, your teeth coming into contact with her neck, biting down. She throws her head back, both out of pleasure and wanting to give you more access. The metallic taste fills your mouth, hearing her noises and the taste elicits a moan from you.
“Y/N…” She moans in a growl-like manner as she climaxes, her juices coating the silicone cock. You take your hand away as you move away from her. She collapses against you, breathless as she recovers from her climax. Her hips bucking and legs still shaking around you. She pulls back and looks at you with that same smirk as she did earlier. She presses her hands against your chest, pushing you so your back is fully pressed against the floor.
“Now… Be good, pet, and lick me clean.”
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Practice On Me — Part Six — Azriel x Reader
Note — Tumblr still isn’t allowing me to tag some of you. I’ll keep trying but if you haven’t already, make sure you check in settings that your username is able to be searched/tagged! Mwah 💕
Summary: Reader seeks comfort after the events in Fenlaros. Lines are crossed that can’t be uncrossed. Actions come with consequences.
Word Count: 6.9k
Warnings: Some violence. Things get fiiiilthy. 18+, NSFW, smut, minors dni.
It’s not clear who punches who first, because fists are flying left and right. The male in front of you lands a harsh hit on your cheek, the metal of a ring catching your skin, but there’s no chance to register the burst of pain, because you’re being shoved, and you’re shoving back, and your knuckles are pummelling into another male’s face while his friend sends a punch straight into your gut.
It’s that impact that winds you too much to move. You’re doubling over, trying to draw breath while the fight continues around you. The same male goes to hit you a second time.
But he doesn’t have a chance as Rhys comes lunging at him and knocks him to the floor. Your friend is as flawless with his fists as he is with steel. The Fenlaros male doesn’t stand a chance against him.
This is…this is bad. If you can somehow round your friends up and get out of there before it gets any worse, you may be able to escape the repercussions. A fight like this between two camps could carry a punishment anywhere from revoked privileges to an outright flogging. You’d really rather not face a disgruntled Lord of Windhaven upon your return.
Through the brawl, you’re searching for both Azriel and Cassian. You’ve lost sight of them both completely. And you know they can hold their own, that they’re some of the best fighters in all of Illyria, but the four of you are vastly outnumbered. Even the trio of your closest friends have limits, and being dogpiled by a group of males out for blood surely brings them close to theirs.
Someone grabs the back of your shirt, and with your breath having returned to you somewhat, you round on them, ready to defend yourself once more. However, it’s Cassian who looms over you, hair tousled and shirt wrinkled.
He yells at you over the noise, “This is getting out of hand! We need to get out of here!”
Thank gods he’s choosing to be sensible for once. You suppose even Cass knows when a fight is worth having.
“I’m trying to find Az!” You shout back. “I don’t know where he—”
“Kaeda already pulled him out. Let’s grab Rhys and go!”
Now is a really, really inappropriate time to feel jealous.
And yet jealous, you are.
And maybe even a little hurt, too. Did Az even try to find you before making an exit with Kaeda?
You banish the thoughts, allowing Cassian to wrench you through the people and mostly avoid getting hurt, besides the odd wayward fist that isn’t intended for you. The second he spots Rhys, still fighting with the male who winded you, he’s grabbing him firmly by the collar of his shirt and leaving no room for protest.
“We’re getting out of here before this turns really bloody.” He tells him loudly.
Rhys doesn’t put up a fight. He nods, straight on board with the exit strategy. His wild, alert gaze swivels to study you. “You’re alright?”
“Fine.” You nod. “Let’s go.”
It turns out the exit strategy is to just shove through hordes of people until you find a way out. Rhys is keeping hold of Cassian and you’re keeping hold of Rhys, and the three of you create an aggressive little train that wends through the chaos until cold air washes over you, and you’re spilling out onto the front path. You can hear the distant whoosh and thwack of the Fenlaros lot having no choice but to turn on each other.
“Y/N!”
You turn, just in time to see Az pushing away from a wall, Kaeda in tow. She carries a bloodied dish rag that she was clearly using to dab at his bust lip, but she falls back as Az strides over to you.
“I was looking for you everywhere.” He grabs your chin in his hand, turning your head to the side. “Your cheek is cut.”
You stare back at him, waiting for him to say something — something that even vaguely resembles an explanation as to why he started all of this.
“We should really get out of here—”
“Does it hurt?” He interrupts Rhysand’s interjection, his touch gentle despite the ferocity in his gaze. His thumb brushes over your cheek.
You’re too pissed off to care about his concern.
“I’ll live.” You snap, shoving him away from you. “Azriel, what the fuck?”
“My sentiments entirely.” Cass mumbles.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You continue. “You were the one who said coming here was nothing to be worried about, and then you start that? Have you totally lost your mind?”
“My sentiments entirely.” Rhys echoes.
A muscle in Azriel’s jaw ticks. He takes a step back, swallowing hard. “Sorry for being protective—”
“Possessive, more like—”
“It’s my fault.”
Both your heads snap round as Kaeda steps closer. She stares between you, wide-eyed. Doe-eyed. Looking like she stole the last slice of cake and has a litany of evidence stacked against her.
“He was being protective over me.” She says, and you freeze. She angles herself towards Azriel. “I shouldn’t have mentioned that Thedis and I have history. I don’t know why I did. I’m sorry, I—I didn’t think you’d react like that.”
Oh.
Oh.
That’s—that’s not what you thought was happening.
Clearly, you and Kaeda have two very different understandings of what went down.
You study Az closely, waiting for his reaction — to see if Kaeda is right, and it wasn’t you he was starting a fight over at all.
He stares at her like she’s spoken in a foreign tongue. He opens his mouth.
“Shit.” Kaeda swears suddenly, looking past him. “Shit, that’s my father.”
Each of you swivels around to see the colossal male striding down the path towards you, two slightly — very slightly — smaller males flanking either side of him. His long hair falls about his head in unruly waves, and there’s something ruggedly handsome about his face that kind of makes you want him to smother you with his ridiculously huge bicep. Everything about him is dark. His eyes and his beard and the whorls of Illyrian tattoos that cover the expanse of his neck.
This…this is a male who could snuff out a family of six just by looking in their direction. And his gaze zeroes in entirely on Azriel.
Cassian yanks you closer by the back of your shirt. “Let’s go—”
“He’s going to want to speak with you.” Kaeda turns to Azriel. “You’re the only shadowsinger around here. He knows who you are. He’s intrigued by your power.”
Az continues to watch his approach. And then he squares his shoulders. “Fine.” He doesn’t even glance your way as he says, “I’ll see the rest of you back in Windhaven.”
You don’t like this. Not one bit. Who knows what the male might do to Azriel? You want to say something, to protest—
But Kaeda links her arm through his, and you know there’s no point. This isn’t your fight.
“Don’t get yourself into even deeper shit.” Cassian says, lifting you into his arms.
Kaeda doesn’t seem worried. She rolls her eyes at that. “He’s not going to hurt him.”
You can’t help staring at her. She seems so sure, so unbothered. Not just by what her father might have in store, but by the entire situation. She seems almost…smug.
Az did start an entire fucking brawl over her, after all.
You can’t meet his gaze as you cling to Cassian. Too much has happened in a short space of time. It makes you feel…full. Uncomfortable. You need some space from Az to process what exactly just occurred.
And it seems like your wish will be granted. It’s clear, as he steps closer, that Kaeda’s father has no interest in the rest of you. His cat-like eyes follow a shadow that coils around your friend, and you could swear his lips want to smirk. Like there’s some inside joke the rest of you aren’t privy to.
“Go.” Azriel says, and neither Rhys nor Cass need telling twice. They don’t seem particularly concerned.
Your gaze snags on Az just as Cassian’s arms tighten around you, and he shoots into the skies with an unpleasantly steep climb. Rhys does the same.
And as Kaeda and Azriel become smaller the higher you go, you’re just able to glimpse Kaeda’s father stopping before him and shaking his hand. It’s then that you look away.
This isn’t for you to worry about. It’s—
It’s between him and Kaeda.
✧: *✧・゚✧・゚: *✧・゚✧・゚: *✧・゚✧・゚: *✧・゚✧・゚: *✧・゚
The thing about flying — or, in your case, being flown — is that it’s invaluable for moments of pensiveness. There’s no better time to face your thoughts than when the clarity of the sky stretches all around you.
But that can also be really fucking dangerous. Because you think. And then you think some more. And then suddenly, you’re thinking about anything and everything all at once, thinking about ifs, buts, maybes, thinking yourself into a bad mood.
And that is precisely what you do.
You are pissed the fuck off.
So pissed off, you want to scream into the void, at the shifting landscape below. You’re pissed off with Azriel, with his actions, with your entire situation.
He has never been as stupid, as reckless, as he has been recently. Never did you think you’d see a day where Cassian was the more sensible of the two. You’re used to Az being the mediator, to always approaching situations with a rational mind.
And yet these days, he’s a ticking time bomb. You don’t know who he might have a problem with, and clearly you don’t know why, given that you so wrongly assumed his protectiveness — possessiveness — flared up over you.
Of course it was Kaeda. How stupid you are.
Lust is one hell of a blinding light.
Every few seconds, you tell yourself you’re not going to think about it. And then a few seconds after that, you’re straight back to that constant screech of AZRIELANDKAEDAAZRIELANDKAEDAAZRIELANDKAEDA.
If this is who he’s becoming because of her…you’re not sure that’s a good thing.
By the time Cassian is setting you down in front of the cottage, your mood is absolutely foul. You feel sobered by the situation. You may as well have not had a drop of alcohol at all.
Rhys doesn’t stick around. He tells you and Cass that he’s going to Velaris — he wants to explain what happened in Fenlaros to his father before the High Lord can hear it from anyone else. And so it’s just you and Cassian traipsing into the cottage, freezing cold and fed up that the night went how it did. Your stomach is starting to ache where the male punched you, the cut on your cheek starting to sting.
You head straight for the kitchen and begin turfing through the cabinets, looking for a half-empty bottle of whiskey or a snack or something. You slam each cabinet door closed, but it does nothing to alleviate your irritation.
Cassian lights a fire, his eyes watching you closely. Perhaps he can sense that something is brewing in your veins. And he’d be right about that — you’re just not sure what it is.
Finally, you sit up on the kitchen counter and settle on biting into a stale bread roll. It’s dry and tasteless, but it occupies your mouth and stops a scream from escaping.
“I want to clean that cut on your cheek.” Cass strides over to the kitchen, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Only in your heart. “No.” You lie.
He nods, and just like the other night, he begins gathering medical supplies. He’s getting good at this. You kind of want to tell him not to bother, to just let the cut sting, but you’re brooding too much to get the words out.
You swallow down your last, dry bite of bread, and you comment, “I knew going to Fenlaros was a fucking terrible idea.”
Cassian chuckles. There isn’t much that fazes him. “In hindsight, I don’t know what we were thinking.”
“With your cocks, probably.”
He quirks an eyebrow at you, and then his hands are on your knees, parting your legs so he can slot himself in between. You don’t protest; he’ll only start a mother hen routine and threaten to bring you to a healer instead.
He wets a rag and begins to gently dab the gash on your cheek. It hurts, but not enough. Not bad enough to drown out the thoughts of the night’s events. You go through them from start to finish, and you have to suck in a deep breath just to stop yourself from punching something.
Why had Kaeda suggested such a stupid fucking thing?
And okay, you can’t put the blame entirely on her; it’s mostly your jealousy that stokes your anger. You, Azriel, Cassian and Rhys are all fully autonomous adults. Any of you could have shot the idea down and refused to go.
But it just…it just sits funny with you, weird in your chest. Something about it feels…gross.
Again — probably your jealousy talking.
But the entire thing had been a shit show from start to finish. You should have known, from the self-loathing thoughts that were pelting you on the way there, that you should never have gone. And your failure to listen to your gut only worsens your mood.
“You push that brain to think any harder and it’ll explode.” Cassian murmurs, his warm breath fanning your face. “You can share, if you like. I may even be able to dredge up some wisdom to impart.”
You bite down on your lower lip. “Why would Kaeda’s father want to speak with Az?”
It surprises you that the question makes him smile. “I wouldn’t worry over that.” He says. “I imagine he’s more interested in speaking to Az because he’s fucking his daughter than because he came to a rival camp.”
You almost flinch at the words.
Of course, you know that by now, Azriel and Kaeda have probably taken that leap and slept together. But torturing yourself with your thoughts is different to hearing it said aloud, and by someone so close to Az, too.
It hurts. And you want to scratch away at the feeling. It might just be what tips you over.
Cass studies you for a moment, reading the change, the tightening, in your expression. He knows there’s something — but thank the gods he doesn’t know what.
He turns his attention to your hand — your knuckles must have split when you threw a couple of good punches — and he begins to clean it gently.
“Here I am again, eh? Playing healer. I should get myself an apron.”
He’s trying to make you laugh, but you can barely force your lips to twitch upwards. He drinks in your pathetic attempt with a sympathy that you can’t stand. And, sensing that humour isn’t going to be enough tonight, he tries a different approach.
“Talk to me, Y/N.” He pleads softly, dabbing gently at your hand. “Please…”
You frown. You’re thinking and feeling too many things at once to make sense of them. Running through the entire night over and over. You’re not sure which of those feelings will rear its ugly head when you try to speak.
But you open your mouth, and the words just spill out.
“I really fucking hated myself tonight.”
Cassian pauses momentarily. And then he continues his treatment to your wounds. “Y/N, fights break out every other hour—”
“No. Not because of the fight. It wasn’t that.” You swallow a lump down. “It was the flying.”
“…the flying?”
“Being carried by Rhys while the rest of you flew so freely. Knowing I’ll never be able to do that. I’m Illyrian, and yet I’m always going to be confined to the ground. I hated myself—”
“Y/N—”
“I really fucking hated myself, Cass. And to be confronted by that fact every damn time I take my shirt off…to see the fucking hideous remains of my wings—”
Your words are cut short when Cassian’s huge hands grab your face and force you to look at him. It stings the cut on your cheek, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he stares at you fiercely.
“No. Cut that out right now.” A muscle in his jaw moves. You’re looking back at a lesser-spotted serious Cassian. “There is no part of you — not one part — that comes even close to being hideous, scars or no scars. You’re brilliant. Inside and out. You’re fucking beautiful, and I love you, and I won’t have you hating yourself. Particularly not at the hands of your piece of shit father.”
For a moment, you’re so stunned by the impassioned speech that you don’t know what to say. Thanking him wouldn’t be enough. And you think you might want to cry, but tonight, crying wouldn’t be enough, either. Nor would screaming. You just…want to feel something different. Something good.
Something worth feeling.
You stare back at Cassian, and your throat bobs.
And it might be against your better judgement, but you cover his hands with yours, and you haul your mouth to his.
You can’t exactly explain it, but he has a mouth as rugged as his general appearance, something rough and untamed and just…Cassian. It’s exactly what you need in that moment. You kiss him as if you’ve kissed him a thousand times before.
You feel the moment’s hesitation on his end. It’s rare that anything is able to knock him silent, but this most certainly does. After a pause, he rips his mouth away from yours, and he stares at you, wide-eyed and flushed, reading your face as if in search of an answer to an unspoken question.
But his internal battle isn’t a long one. He seems satisfied with whatever conclusion he comes to. And then he’s surging forward and kissing you back, hard.
What follows is not slow nor tentative.
You and Cassian love each other dearly, but there are no illusions that this is anything but needed pleasure. He’s not reciprocating because he’s spent hours daydreaming about this, or because you mean more to him than any other female.
Cassian would fuck a tree if a stirred branch waved in his general direction.
And that is absolutely fine. That is exactly what you need.
He wrenches your legs further apart and yanks you to the very edge of the counter, just so he can get closer, kiss you harder. His hand snakes up the nape of your neck and bunches in your hair, strands of it tangling around his fingers, and he tips your head back, his mouth scorching hot and hungry on yours.
This is not something you’ve ever thought about, because he is just Cassian. He’s the male who pisses you off by leaving weapons lying around under couch cushions, who sings loudly at the top of his voice first thing in the morning, who fights like fighting is going out of fashion. Since the first day you’d met him, when his eleven-year-old self had looked you up and down and challenged you to an arm wrestle, he’s always just been Cassian.
You’ve always needed him in some impulsive, temperamental way — someone who keeps you on your toes, even if you complain about it sometimes. But now, you need him in a different way.
You part your mouth from his, just long enough to rip your shirt off and chuck it vaguely over his shoulder. Cass watches as you unclasp the bandeau that covers your breasts, and that’s being thrown away, too, and now your top half is naked, and Cassian is growling. It’s not even that he hasn’t seen these parts of you before, but you’d think it was the first ever time, going by the way his eyes darken, and a thousand sinful thoughts flit over his face.
“Fuck.” His voice is deeper. Both of his hands cup your breasts, and he kisses you again. “I love these.”
You smile, and you lock your legs around his waist, and you both groan as you yank him as close as he can get, and you’re grinding the centre of you over the bulge in his breeches. That, alone, feels too good — the length of him pushing through the barrier of your clothing. It’s not enough. You need more. You need him inside you.
Cass seems to echo the sentiment as he growls and finally yanks you fully off the counter. “No screwing around.” He says through gritted teeth. “I need to fuck you.”
His hands are at your breeches, and he’s ripping them open, and you’re so wet between your legs that you have to rub your thighs together, desperate for some kind of friction. Cassian notices, of course, and one side of his mouth tips up into a smirk.
“Turn around.”
You do.
You’re happy to be commanded. You don’t want to be in charge, don’t want to teach.
You want to be taken, and you want to be taught.
His rough hands shove your breeches all the way down, and then he’s seeing to his, ripping at the buttons and stays just enough to pull the hard length of him out. You turn your head to drink in the sight, but he doesn’t allow it.
He slams your front against that counter, and then he’s at your back, the head of his cock brushing against you as he murmurs into your ear, “How do you want it?”
You think your mouth might be watering. “Hard.”
“Hard?”
“Hard.”
“Brace yourself, then, sweetpea.” He grabs your hands, plants them firmly on the counter, calluses biting into your skin. His teeth graze the shell of your ear as he asks, “Are you ready for me?”
You couldn’t be more ready if you tried. You moan, pushing your ass back against him. His chuckle is felt through every inch of you.
He moves one hand down, drags it down your body, slots it between your legs. Your hips give a little jerk as he mops up some of your wetness with his fingers.
“Oh, yeah, you’re ready for me.” There’s a smirk in his voice. His fingers land on your clit, and he nips your ear again. “Good girl.”
You open your mouth — to say something, or to beg, you’re not sure. But there’s no chance.
The head of Cassian’s cock is guided to your entrance. You gasp at the mere feeling of it bumping against you, teasing the opening.
And then he fucking thrusts all the way in, hard enough that you slam once again against the counter. Medical supplies go flying onto the floor.
And gods, it feels too good.
There’s a tiny bite of pain, yes, but it’s pleasurable — more a feeling of fullness. He’s pushed all the way in to the hilt, and the guttural noise that leaves him might just be enough to make you come. It’s animalistic, the way he groans, almost a snarl.
“Hard?” He repeats, withdrawing slightly.
You gasp, your head tipping back. “Hard.”
“Thank the Mother.”
You yelp as his hand suddenly smacks against your ass cheek, and then he’s spreading you open and thrusting in again.
He is not gentle.
He is not soft or tentative or even kind.
This is how Cassian — the much-feared Illyrian — fucks.
And you like it, want it, need it. You push back against him to remind him he doesn’t need to be gentle. Forget about the fact that you’ve always known each other, that you have a fondness for each other.
Fuck me, you communicate silently. Ruin me, and make me forget who I am.
He growls, as if those very thoughts reached him mind-to-mind. And fuck you, he does.
You’re slammed again and again against the counter, hard enough to bruise and leave marks. His balls slap against your skin as he damn near rams into you at an unstoppable force. He’s grunting and snarling and panting. His hands suddenly clasp both of your arms, and he pulls them behind your back, holding onto them and thrusting faster.
“Fucking knew,” he growls, “that your cunt would feel like this. That you’d squeeze my cock like this.”
He slows just slightly — just enough to roll his hips and make sure you feel every single inch of him stroking the inside of you. The shout that leaves you doesn’t even sound like you.
“You like that, sweetpea?” He chuckles darkly. He pushes in to the hilt again, and you moan — a mistake that comes with a penalty. His hips still. “Give me your words, sweetheart. I want to know how much you need my cock.”
“Cassian.” You grit your teeth. “Fuck me.”
He withdraws. Slams into you again. And then the rhythm picks up, the pace fast and raw and unbeatable. Gripping onto your arms gives Cass the perfect leverage to take you exactly as you want him to take you, as he wants to take you. He can’t possibly go any faster, reach any deeper.
Heat coils in your lower belly. You meet every one of his thrusts by bucking against him, and it spurs your body on. You can feel something brilliant building beneath your skin and firing through your veins.
And when he lets go of one of your arms and dips his hand between your legs, his fingers immediately finding your clit, you’re not at all sure that you won’t just explode.
As you feel the head of his cock hit deep inside you, unable to go any further, as the pads of his fingers circle your clit, the noise that leaves you is unlike any other noise you’ve ever made. You’re vaguely aware of a sudden surge of wetness between your legs that drips down your thighs. Cassian made you squirt.
He half-laughs-half-groans, and his teeth nip your ear. “Sweetpea,” he bites out, “who knew you were such a filthy girl? Is this what I’ve been missing out on?”
You can’t speak — words fail you. You’re utterly incapable of doing anything but making your breathy little noises, your fractured moans, as Cassian pounds into you. His ministrations at your clit don’t even falter, even as he lets out a noise that hints at his own release being close.
“Come for me again.” Your wetness still drenches his hand, you know, but it’s not enough — he wants more. His finger presses down hard on your clit, and at the exact same moment, he lands a harsh kiss on your neck that turns into a suck. He slams into you so hard that you have to grip the counter to stop yourself being winded for the second time that night. And you erupt.
You hear the exact moment the walls of your cunt clamp around Cassian’s length. The noise he makes is one that you need to commit to memory, keep for a cold, lonely night when it’s just you and your hand. You’ve never heard anything like it. You never imagined he could make a sound like it.
“Oh, gods, yes,” He damn near whines. His hand is suddenly at your back, and he pushes you down, bends you over until your cheek is pressed to the countertop. He fastens that hand at your shoulder, the other at your hip, and then he’s on the homestretch. “Oh, fuck!”
He thrusts, and he thrusts, and he thrusts — and then he goes still, his cock exploding inside you.
He grunts through every spurt, his fingers biting into your skin. You’re not sure you can move as your cunt continues to contract around him, draining him of every last drop. The counter and Cassian’s hands are the only things holding you up. If he steps away now, your legs may just buckle and drag you to the floor.
So in contrast to the wicked noises you were both just making, near-silence sweeps in, broken only by you both gasping for breath. You close your eyes, your brow furrowing. Press your forehead against the surface you’re currently slumped over. You can’t remember how to…how to exist outside of pleasure.
You are well and truly fucked out.
You’re almost content to just stay there, gripping onto the counter for dear life. But then Cassian finally slides out of you, pulling his seed with him. It drips down your legs, into your underwear. A shudder leaves you.
“Shit, that was—” Cass breathes a laugh. “Gods. Why have we never done that before?”
You manage your own weak, sated chuckle, and finally try to stand up straight. “Because friends aren’t supposed to fuck friends senseless.”
“No,” he agrees. Pauses. “But, like…it doesn’t have to make things awkward, does it? We’re both adults. Capable of sharing pleasure and…and carrying on as normal…”
Oh, bless his heart.
Non-committal Cass is now worried that a casual rearranging of your organs might turn into you falling in love.
“It’s not going to be awkward, Cass.” You snort softly. “I’m just not sure I can move.”
He stares at you. And you stare at him.
The laughter hits you both at the same time. It’s laughter of both relief and release. An acknowledgement that you both feel a darn sight better now than you did when you first walked in. The night isn’t weighing on you so heavily, now.
Is that bad? Perhaps.
But you can fuck people, too. Why…why should you regret it?
“Here.” Tucking himself back into his breeches, Cassian yanks his shirt off, handing it to you. “You can use this to clean yourself up. I’ll run you a bath.”
He turns, but you’re stopping him with a hand on his arm. “I don’t want special treatment just because we fucked. Just…be normal.”
One eyebrow quirks up. “I planned to run you a bath after I cleaned your cheek. We just got a bit…sidetracked. I’m looking after you, Y/N — as your friend.”
You study his face. He’s open, sincere — not pitying. Good.
“Okay.” You tug your hand away. “Thank you.”
He dips his chin, and then he’s strolling away again. He stops at the bottom of the stairs, turning back to look at you.
“I love you.” He says. “Just…don’t ever doubt that.”
You’re not sure you ever could. He’s one of the few constants in your life.
You nod, suddenly not sure you can make eye contact. “I know. I love you, too.”
He, too, nods. And then he disappears, and you’re listening to his boots thudding against each step of the stairs.
You wipe yourself down, tug your breeches up. Slump back against the counter. Drag a hand over your face.
You kind of just want to sleep, be unconscious, before the weighty thoughts begin to shove their way in again.
✧: *✧・゚✧・゚: *✧・゚✧・゚: *✧・゚✧・゚: *✧・゚✧・゚: *✧・゚
The summons comes early the next morning, before the sun has even arisen.
One of Lord Devlon’s cronies comes to pluck you and Cassian from the cottage, lead you to the Camp Lord’s study. Azriel is already there when you arrive.
You meet his gaze as you sit down, trying to look for some clue as to what might have occurred in Fenlaros after you’d left. All he seems interested in is checking you over, surveying you for what injuries you have as a result of the night before.
You’re not all too sure if your stomach is tender because of the punch you received to your gut, or because of how thoroughly Cassian fucked you against the kitchen counter.
Probably best not to linger on that thought for too long.
You’re sandwiched between your two friends, waiting for Lord Devlon to actually grace you with his presence. Where Rhysand is, you can only imagine — probably dealing with his father’s wrath.
You glance down at a slight, sudden pressure you feel at your leg. Azriel presses his thigh into yours, and you lift your gaze to meet his.
“You’re not too hurt?” He speaks quietly.
You shake your head. “You?”
“I’m fine. All good, Cass?”
With his typical, swaggering nonchalance that will most certainly land him in deeper shit, Cass grins and stretches his arms above his head. “Just peachy.”
“Az.” You coax the shadowsinger’s gaze back to yours. “What happened with Kaeda’s father?”
Perhaps you’re being a tad dramatic, but you’d lain awake pretty much all night, brooding on the fact that you’d fucked Cass whilst Az was being subjected to the gods knew what. Your thoughts had snowballed into preparing you for Az to return beaten black and blue — or not return at all.
But he looks…fine. A little roughed up from the brawl, but otherwise fine.
He opens his mouth, leaning closer, and that’s when the door flies open.
The three of you stand up immediately. Tuck your hands behind your backs. Bow your heads.
Lord Devlon saunters into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. His footsteps are loud and purposed as he strides to his chair.
“Sit.” He says coldly.
You take your seats once more. The Lord’s eyes skate over the three of you for a pensive few moments, before settling entirely on you. It makes you uncomfortable.
“So.” He sits back. “Who wants to take a stab at why I’m not very happy this morning?”
The three of you keep your mouths clamped shut.
“I’ll give you a clue. It’s not so much to do with a piss-poor night’s sleep, as it is to do with the fact that three of my fucking soldiers,” his lip curls as he looks you up and down, “and their little plaything,snuck off to a rival camp and picked a fight.”
“She’s not our—”
“Did I give you permission to speak, Azriel?”
The ticking in Az’s jaw is slight, but it’s there, as he stares forward. “No, my lord.”
“Then keep your fucking mouth shut until I do.”
Your friend bows his head once more.
“Can any one of you explain why, exactly, you not only travelled to a rival camp without my orders, but why you then decided to stoke tensions between our two camps? Because, you know, that’s their territory. They were well within their rights to defend themselves and not one of them is being punished for it.”
None of you are sure whether he actually wants an answer. It’s best to just…keep your mouth shut.
“None of you have anything to say?” Devlon’s eyebrows flick up. “Fine. How about I offer you my theory? Because I’m seeing a running theme, here.”
You can feel his hard, intense stare bounce from Azriel, to you, to Cassian. Back and forth and back and forth.
But it always returns to you.
It might be in that moment that you realise there’s another layer to this, that you stupidly hadn’t considered. One that’s really going to get Devlon and his cronies grinding their teeth.
You’re female.
And it’s bad enough for males, his soldiers, to behave like this. But you? A mere, docile female? Someone who should be focused on housekeeping and finding someone to breed with?
A female stepping outside of her place is more or less considered a crime by Illyrians. And you don’t have a Camp Lord father to get you out of that very deep shit.
“It’s Y/N, isn’t it?” Lord Devlon addresses you. He knows your name. He’s a cat playing with a mouse.
You meet his gaze and nod. “Yes, my lord.”
“The blacksmith’s daughter.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Hm. The thing is, Y/N, I am here to raise armies. To oversee the training of their soldiers. As Camp Lord, that is my duty.”
You grit your teeth, bite your tongue. You hate the condescending tone that is so fucking typical of Illyrian males. It’s patronising. Offensive. He’s stating blatant facts and explaining them to you as though you are a child.
But you simply dip your chin in acknowledgment, because playing your part is the only way the three of you are getting out of here with a slap on the wrist.
“I cannot afford for my soldiers to be distracted from their training, or be seduced into making trouble for themselves.” The way he looks you up and down, in that moment, makes you feel oily. “I need my soldiers to be prepared. If war came tomorrow, do you honestly think I could send these two out onto a battlefield?”
These two. He says it with such dismissal, such contempt, that you find yourself balling your fists at your sides. He’s always singled your friends out, tried to break them. He may have to tolerate Rhysand — his father being the High Lord and all — but the tiny slither of acceptance he has for Rhys does not hold up for Azriel or Cassian. He sees them as useless. As nobodies. He’s waiting for them to lose their lives in training or combat so he can be rid of them for good.
It boils your blood.
Before you can stop yourself, your lip curls. “I think they’re two of the best soldiers in Illyria, and you’re damn well lucky to have them.”
Devlon sneers back at you. “I’m sure you would say that. If only to keep them in your bed.”
Beside you, the arms of Cassian’s chair creak as he squeezes them hard. “My Lord—”
“If either one of you speaks without my permission again, I will string you up by your balls. Understood?”
There’s a pause. And then both Cass and Az are sitting back in their seats. Offering quiet, affirmative responses.
“So.” Devlon focuses on you once more. Anger mottles his cheeks a reddish hue. “Considering every time these two land themselves in shit, you are at the centre of it, I see only one appropriate course of action. I will not have you leading them astray. Be it pointless fighting or the absolute colossal fuck up of last night, you are always the common denominator. That stops today. This instant.”
You stare at him. You’re not entirely sure what he’s getting at, but something lurches in your stomach. You swallow down a lump in your throat and grip hard onto your chair.
“As soldiers under my command,” Devlon’s eyes flit between Cassian and Azriel, “I forbid you — and Rhysand — from having any more involvement with her. You will not spend time with her. You will not speak to her in passing. You won’t even look at her. If I find out you do, you’ll regret it.”
All three of you shoot up in your seats, alarmed looks passing your faces. “You can’t do this.” You’re the first to spit.
“Oh?” Devlon cocks an eyebrow. “This is Camp Windhaven, is it not?”
“Yes, but—”
“I am Lord of Camp Windhaven, am I not?”
“Obviously—”
“Then I absolutely have the authority to give such orders, and thus, consider them given. Starting today, your involvement with my soldiers ends.”
“My Lord,” Azriel’s tone is pinched, panicked, “you don’t understand — she’s living with us right now. Her father kicked her out of his home. She has nowhere else to go.”
“Do you think I give a shit about her domestic situation, Shadowsinger?” The Lord snaps at him. “I’m here to oversee the training of Windhaven’s soldiers. Not to get involved in pointless family drama.”
“But where am I supposed to go?” You can’t help it — you slam your fist against the arm of your chair. “What am I supposed to do?”
“That isn’t my problem.” Devlon shrugs. He stands up, planting his hands on the desk between you. He leans over with a glower. “But you better run home with your tail between your legs and begin mending relations with your father, because if I detect that there’s even a hint of involvement with you and my soldiers, I will make you regret it, girl. Do not cross me.”
He tucks — no, slams — his chair under the table. It’s a dismissal. You’re not allowed to respond.
You’re silent, too stunned to think, speak, breathe, as Devlon strides to the door and rips it open.
“Get the fuck out, all three of you.” He orders, and you stand numbly from your chair. “You two,” he directs his attention to your friends, “I want your asses in the training ring immediately. Go.”
They don’t want to, you can tell. They hesitate, but ultimately, there’s no other choice. They have no authority. They’re mere soldiers in training. This is their career, their life’s work, on the line. They can’t meet your gaze as they file out of the door, and you don’t blame them.
“And you?” Devlon stops you as you try to follow, gripping onto your shoulder hard. He may as well pick you up by the scruff of your neck like a boisterous pup. “You’d better heed my warning, Y/N the blacksmith’s daughter.”
He shoves you out of the room. You throw your hands out before you slam into the wall.
“Stay. The fuck. Away.”
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