#x eris

[onlybeeewrites]

A Dance of Ash and Steel

Requested: No <3

Pairing: Oc!FemElara x ????, platonic!Azriel x oc!Elara

Warnings: blood, gore, violence, cursing, characters being assholes

A/N: Omg??? Bee’s posting again??? Yeah I read the entire ACOTAR series and have been itching to write so I hope you all enjoy! This is my first time writing for and original character so I really hope you all enjoy and please let me know what you think! 

A Dance of Ash and Steel: Next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Breathe.

Breathe. 

Breathe.

Breath.

The pain was hard to breathe through. More so than usual. That was saying a lot too considering she liked to believe she had a high pain tolerance. 

But the pain seeped into her bones like rain into the dirt. Soaking into her being and clinging to her bones with every movement. Every breath. Every heartbeat. 

Yes. She had trained for this. Prepared herself mentally for years. Trained to withhold her tongue. Trained to learn to just take it. To be the warrior that she was born for. To follow the instincts and unrest that flowed in her very veins. She was trained to take the pain and power through it before one of three options occurred.

Number one, she somehow finds a way out of there.

Number two, someone somehow realizes she’s been taken and somehow knows where she is to come get her out.

Or number three, death. 

The third wasn’t particularly her favorite option, but between the three choices? It seemed to be one the Cauldron was favoring. 

How long had it been? Weeks? It had to have been that at least. But she couldn’t tell. There was nothing in that Cauldron damned cell that would help her tell, or even hint. The only thing that allowed her to have an idea of time was when the autumn court soldier would come by with her food. Never anything substantial. Just enough food and water to keep her alive. 

She could feel the weakness of it effecting her. She could only a few days in after her first interrogation. It was the classic beating. The threats. Urging her to share what her High Lord has been up to. What her brother had been up to. 

But she didn’t utter a word. She hadn’t spoken a word, not to them. Unlike her smartass brother, Elara always knew when to keep her mouth shut. Though that always seemed to piss them off more. 

But it told her one thing.

Beron was paranoid. 

Why? She was still trying to figure that out. The concussion didn’t help either but that wasn’t the point. It didn’t matter what she knew if she couldn’t get out.

But that was the hard part wasn’t it? Her eyes could barely stay open those days. Exhaustion settling deep into her bones. Her wings, though cut up, they were still in tact, sagging behind her. Her dark hair matted, sticking to her forehead, covered in dirt and grime. 

Cauldron she really needed a bath. And Madja. And Rhys. Mor. Az. Cassian.

It wasn’t unusual for them all to be away for weeks at a time. Whether it be Cassian to the camps or Azriel when he would be away on a spying mission for Rhys. 

A pained breath left her cracked lips, her head rolling forward, her chin resting against her sternum. It had been hours since she had been fed. Almost a day. Maybe a day? 

Her mind was growing more and more cloudy each day. Weaker. None of it was good. The longer she waited. The longer she was held there the more difficult it would be to escape. 

Her hands flexed slightly against the chains that bound them at her sides. The same ones where her emerald green siphons would be. But those were taken too. Everything was taken. Her blades. Her two Illyrian daggers that were always at her waist; gifts from Azriel. And her Illyrian sword, Avisra; her gift from Cassian. 

She wasn’t sure where they were, but she wanted—needed—to get them back before she even thought about escaping.

It was times like this where she really wished she had some of Rhy’s fancy powers. And it was times like this where she hated it, but she felt completely helpless. Weak. And for once in a very long time….hopeless.

“For an Illyrian warrior…” a voice crooned, breaking the silence of the damp cell, and clearing the running ongoing thoughts that ran through Elara’s head, “I’m surprised it only took a few weeks to get you all broken and quiet like this,”

Her hazel eyes dragged their way up. Looking from the floor under her, all the way up to spot Eris. Heirs to the Autumn Court. And she wanted nothing more than to smack that stupid fucking grin on his stupid face.

“C’mon, little bird. Don’t you want to go home? I doubt you want to stay here with me for longer than you need to,” he taunted, walking across the cell to where she was bound to the stone wall. His hands were comfortably tucked in his pockets, his boots echoing off the floor.

Elara just glared at him. Hating him, first of all because she fucking despised the guy. And she didn’t forget what he had done to Mor; who had grown to be like her own sister. And just like Cassian, Elara became incredibly protective. So she gathered up whatever moisture was left in her dry mouth and *spat* at Eris and staring him down.

Eris’ amusement flickered away, like snuffing out a light. Quick and instant. He wiped away the spit before reaching up and grabbing her cheeks with his hand, causing her lips to pucker.

“I’m trying to help you get out of here. If you stopped being a stubborn brat you’d see that.” He growled before gripping her face tighter and letting go with such force, her hair jerked sideways.

“So I’m going to give you this one chance. I’m going to leave the door unlocked. And you’re going to have about….ten minutes before the next guards come for your interrogation. Good luck, little bird,” 

Eris turned on his heel stalking away from the Illyrian female. His expression blank, though Elara couldn’t see it. Though the last thing she saw was a wave of his hand, leaving the door open. 

And the next thing she knew she fell to her knees. Her torn leathers scraping against the cold and dirt stained ground. 

Her eyes widened in disbelief as she pulled her sore arms close to her. Her wrists red and raw. But free.She didn’t think twice after that, stumbling to her feet, she let out a groan as her body screamed in protest. Cuts, bruises, burns littered her skin along with grime and dirt and sweat.

She sure was a sight to behold.

She stretched out her wings, thanking the Mother that they were unharmed. A few cuts here, but nothing that would hinder her ability to fly. Her wings weren’t the biggest. And she may not have been the strongest. But by the Cauldron, she was fast. Faster than her brothers. And being fast was all that she needed.

Tucking her wings then tightly to her back, she waited for her vision to stop swimming before she moved through the dim corridors of the Autumn Court dungeons. Or at least what she assumed it was. 

Though before she could find a way out, she needed a few things. 

She needed her weapons. Her daggers, sword, and siphons. 

Barefoot, clad in torn leathers, she pressed herself against the cold stone walls, her every sense on high alert. The air was thick with smoke and the scent of blood—not hers, not this time. The guards would notice her absence soon when they came around and she needed to be long gone before then.

The hallway opened into a larger chamber, the dim torchlight barely cutting through the darkness. And there, at the far end of the room, she saw them.

Her daggers. Her sword.

Relief and adrenaline surged through her veins as she staggered toward them, ignoring the way her vision swam. 

Almost there.

But then, she stopped.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

The metallic scent of blood was stronger here, more pungent. It wasn’t just the lingering stench of violence. But was fresh.

Elara’s hand reached for the hilt of her sword, but she hesitated as her eyes darted around the room. And then she saw them.

The autumn court guards.

All three of them lay sprawled across the floor, their bodies still warm, throats slit cleanly—too cleanly. There was no sign of a struggle. No sound of a fight.

Just silence.

And then—movement.

The shadows stirred before she could react, curling at the edges of the room, slithering toward her like living things. Her body tensed, instinct screaming at her to *run*, but a familiar presence swept over her, dark and comforting all at once.

Elara turned sharply, her heart still hammering from the adrenaline.

Azriel stood at the other end of the room, his siphons glowing faintly, shadows swirling around his boots like a second skin. His scarred hands were relaxed at his sides, but there was a sharpness in his hazel eyes—a fury barely contained.

She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“Az.” Her voice was hoarse, relief thick in the single syllable.

His gaze swept over her, assessing, calculating. He didn’t miss the bruises and raw red skin on her wrists, the cut above her brow, the way she swayed slightly as if her body was on the verge of giving out. Her usual tawny skin was now a concerning paler shade.

Then, with a single, slow blink, he said, “Took you long enough.”

Elara huffed a tired laugh, though the sound was laced with exhaustion. Her body now relaxing as she felt the security of her brother, “You could have gotten here sooner.”

Azriel stepped forward, his movements fluid, silent—always so damn silent. “You seemed to have things under control.”

She rolled her eyes, but when she went to grab her daggers, her hands trembled. Azriel saw it, of course he did, but he said nothing. Instead, he reached out, gently pressing one of the blades into her palm. The weight of it was grounding.

Elara tightened her grip around the hilt, her fingers flexing as she forced her breathing to steady. Now wasn’t the time to break. She could do that in the privacy of her own room. Maybe while in the bath. After her report to Rhys. Swallowing she then fastened the siphons to the back of her gloves. 

“Cassian?” she asked after a moment, her voice quiet. Trying to remain steady. Trying to remain the warrior she was trained to be.

“He’s waiting.” Azriel’s expression didn’t change, but there was something softer in the way he spoke, in the way his shadows curled toward her as if offering comfort. ���Rhys sent me ahead.”

Elara nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Azriel reached for her sword, fastening it to her back with swift, efficient movements, as if sensing she didn’t have the strength to do it herself.

She should have said thank you. Should have let herself lean into the comfort of his presence. But she only nodded again, steeling herself.

Azriel watched her carefully, then, in that quiet, steady voice of his, he said, “Let’s go home.”

And this time, Elara let out a breath of relief, because home had never sounded so good.

It wasn’t long before she bathed, changing into some comfortable clothes. But her mind kept wonder back to how she got home in the first place. It was almost infuriating that she didn’t escape on her own. No. She wouldn’t have been able to break out of that cell by herself. Not without his help.

Him. Eris. The heir to the autumn court. Went and helped her. Why? She had no idea. And she went over it hundreds of times in her head, almost as if she missed something. Anything, really. Though what stuck out was his last words to her before he left.

“Good luck, little bird,”

~~~~

The night air was cold as Azriel pulled them through the shadows, the tendrils of darkness wrapping around them like a second skin. Elara clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay upright, but the exhaustion was creeping in, threatening to drag her under. Her body ached, bruises deepening with every breath, but she refused to let it slow her down.

She had fought her way out of that cell. She had survived. She could make it home.

Azriel’s grip on her arm was firm, steady—grounding. The first tingling of comfort she’d felt in weeks. Three weeks maybe? It seemed to have been that long according to what Eris hinted at.

“Almost there,” Azriel murmured, his voice cutting through the stillness between them. But his grip tightened slightly on her, urgent, eager to get her back home. 

She swallowed hard, nodding even though her legs trembled beneath her. Shadow traveling had always left her disoriented. She didn’t do it often, always opting for flying. But after everything she had been through, it felt like her bones were being pulled in a hundred directions at once.

The wind shifted, and then, in an instant, Velaris came into view. The soft glow of the Sidra, the twinkling lights of the city—home.

Elara barely had time to process it before they landed just outside the townhouse. Her knees buckled, her balance slipping, but before she could hit the ground, Azriel’s arms were around her.

“Steady,” he murmured, holding her against him.

She gritted her teeth, frustrated by the weakness in her limbs. “I’m fine.”

Azriel huffed quietly, unimpressed. “You’re barely standing.”

She wanted to argue, but before she could, the door to the townhouse was wrenched open.

Cassian.

His face was a storm of emotion—anger, worry, relief all crashing together as his gaze landed on her.

“Elara.”

She barely had time to brace herself before he was there, his arms wrapping around her tightly. The impact sent a fresh wave of pain through her ribs, but she didn’t care.

She let herself sink into the warmth of her brother’s embrace, let herself breathe for the first time since she had been taken.

“I’m fine,” she murmured against his shoulder.

Cassian pulled back just enough to cup her face, his eyes scanning every bruise, every cut, his jaw tightening. “You are *not* fine.”

Before she could snap back, more figures appeared in the doorway.

Rhys. Mor. Amren. Her family. 

Their eyes were sharp, their worry evident, but Elara could barely focus on them before Cassian was turning on Azriel.

“What happened?” His voice was low, dangerous.

Azriel didn’t flinch. “Autumn Court ambush. She escaped on her own. I tracked her before they could find her again.”

Cassian’s fists clenched at his sides, fury simmering in his hazel eyes. “They’re dead?”

Azriel gave a slow, cold nod. “Every single one. That I saw at least.”

Elara swallowed, watching as Cassian’s shoulders tensed, his breathing heavy. But then he looked back at her, and all the fight drained from his face.

“I should have been there.” His voice was barely more than a whisper.

Elara shook her head. “You were. I just had to find my way back.”

Cassian exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before pulling her in again, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Then, Mor was there, stepping forward with soft but determined eyes. “Let’s get you inside.”

Elara wanted to protest—wanted to tell them she was fine—but her body betrayed her, her exhaustion catching up all at once.

Azriel’s hand brushed against her back, a silent reassurance, before Cassian lifted her effortlessly into his arms.

She didn’t fight him. Didn’t argue.

Because for the first time in weeks, she was safe.

She was home.

[skrunglebeasts]

put three f/f ships you like in the tags. doesnt matter how obscure or embarrassing the media, go for it. and no, your m/m ship doesnt count as women

[whatyousae]

lover boys who are down bad for you, worshipping the ground you walk on like you are some goddess. if someone asks how did they pull you they wouldn't know what to say.

"i don't even know man.."

he patiently waits for you to finish trying on all the dresses that caught your attention in the mall. carrying your bags hell he even knows how to wear your purse without making it look weird on him.

switches shoes with you when your feet starts to hurt from all that walking, offering to carry you on his back. when you get home you always give him a kiss on the cheek as a thank you gift.

"why are you looking at me like that?"

you often ask him that question, he says he likes watching you do your things. he does, but that's not the real reason. he loves the way your eyelashes look when they are curled, the way you pout your lips when you think so hard about something, how your eyebrows are furrowed when you get upset at something.

he buys you small things or expensive things because he thought you would like it. huh? so what if it's nearly the rent of your apartment? as long as his girlfriend likes it he has no regrets.

he flexes you when he notices people are googling at you, showing them that no one can have his pretty girl. only he can.

he just loves his pretty girlfriend so much and he is not afraid to show it

kimetsu no yaiba: RENGOKU, tanjiro, zenitsu, giyuu, GENYA, gyomei

jujutsu kaisen: YUUJI, choso, gojo, geto, NANAMI, YUUTA, inumaki

bluelock: ISAGI, bachira, kunigami, REO, karasu, KAISER

bungo stray dogs: dazai, SIGMA, tachihara, chuuya, FUKUZAWA

hunter x hunter: kurapika, LEORIO, phinks, wing

2024 @whatyousae — do not copy, translate, or post in any platform.

[eri-is-online]

This is how that scene should have really gone

(I can't believe my shitpost art is now my most liked art lmfao. also shoutout to the guy who commented on my last post that all the other fanart is too homo this ones for you bro <3)

[deathberi]

[nekoo3001]

Came home a little early

[azsazz]

Scorched & Scarred

Eris x Reader

Summary: You are the only healer that Eris has ever really trusted.

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, wounds, blood, gore, scarring, angst.

Word Count: 1680

_________________________________________

You don’t say a word when he appears in your room, swaying in his spot.

You can’t. For one, he won’t hear of it. Wouldn’t deign to respond with merely a grunt of acknowledgement should you bring his state up. He doesn’t want your help, except that he does. He doesn’t want your sympathy, but he has it. He hates it. He hates that he loves it.

Today, is a particularly bad day.

You bite back the gasp in your throat when you blink through the bleariness of sleep. His head is hung toward the ground and he’s hugging himself so tightly that for a moment, you fear that he’s holding his insides in his hands. Even still, you don’t miss the blood dribbling from his nose. Or is it spilling from a split in his lip? Crawled up his throat from his lungs? Nothing would surprise you. There’s a gash on his forehead, like the one he received weeks ago, splitting his brow in two.

“Eris,” you breathe, throwing back your sheets. There’s a bite of cold as your toes hit the floor that you don’t register. You’re already halfway to him, arms outstretched, worry struck across your face.

He flinches. You halt, remembering who it is that has come to see you. The abused eldest son of the Court of Autumn with an affinity for pain.

You need to be gentle.

You need to be you.

You can’t approach him quickly. You can’t set your hands upon his bruised and banged skin until he’s ready, until his breathing has evened out. You can see the way he’s freaking out, the terror behind those amber eyes. He knows exactly who you are, but his father’s threats hang in his head like a broken record, taunting him, telling him not to seek a healer.

Should his father find out he crawled into your chamber like the pathetic male he thinks he is, his punishment will be even worse.

You wait patiently; a gentle hand offered like he’s a scared dog. You know the drill: wait until Eris allows you to touch him, and then you may begin your healing. It doesn’t matter how much fear seeps into your own expression the longer you wait, Eris takes his time finding his footing before reaching his trembling fingers out and placing his hand in yours.

You’re desperate to squeeze him like a lifeline, but you must keep your touch gentle. You slowly guide Eris to the foot of your bed where you help him sit before assessing his wounds. His face is mottled with cuts and bruises. There’s a tear in the shoulder of his silky, olive-colored shirt, the fabric clinging to the wound that oozes blood.

You swallow back the emotion that seizes your throat.

Your hands are tepid against his cheeks. Your power trickles through his body like magma, warming him to his bones. He clenches his amber eyes shut and bites back a whimper, not of pain, but because he hasn’t felt an embrace like this since the last time he was in your arms. He steels himself so he doesn’t careen into your hips where he can rest his head and wrap his trembling hands around your legs to pull you close.

Eris hasn’t been touched this softly in a long time.

In fact, you’re the only one to ever see him like this. Well, besides his father and the fae sadist he sometimes uses to dole out his punishments. You know every cut, laceration, broken bone he’s ever had. You’re the only one he trusts to heal him.

He can feel the words you want to say, the ones you’re keeping locked in your chest. Your hands are soft as they trail down his back, tender, as if your featherlight touch will do anything to stop the intense pain that burns through his body like a lance. Every single touch is a new wound to his skin, another blade dragging down the length of his spine, a stab of something he’s never experienced plunging into his heart.

Eris holds in a scream.

“Say it,” he grits when his tongue can form the words. The pain ebbs slowly, much too slowly for his liking. He sits before you, a broken prince. If his father knew where he crawled off too after the punishments that he received, you’d surely get the same treatment, and Eris can’t fathom the thought of you experiencing anything close to what has been done to him. He can’t even stand when you hit your elbow on the edge of your dresser or when you bite your tongue when he brings you lunch when you’re knee deep in work. Because fae heal quicker than humans, his father expects Eris to continue his days in debilitating pain until the wounds close on their own. Until he learns his lesson.

He trembles when your fingers brush over the bruises on his cheeks, moving fully away from the freckled skin of his back. The wounds are healed over the best you can manage, but there is no fixing the scars that run long lines down his back, from when he was a boy, from before you were a healer.

Your breath stalls in your throat at the same time Eris captures your wrists in his hands, halting your movements. There’s a cut in his lip, across the bridge of his nose that has shifted out of place. Both of his eyes are painted with dark circles beneath them, but they shine amber with anger.

“Say. It.”

You shake your head softly, gently pulling from his grasp. You brush your thumb across his lip, watching intently as the skin knits back together. Eris’ eyes flutter and you catch the painful bob of his throat, the one that makes him grimace and his lashes clump with wetness. “I won’t.”

“You must.

So, it is with a voice shaky with fear that you murmur your worries aloud, “He will kill you next time.”

You admission is like a breath of relief to Eris. He exhales harshly but doesn’t drop the one wrist his fingers are still wrapped around. Of course, you tell him this every time he visits you, and with his appearances to your private quarters for healing become more frequent, it’s only a matter of time until he’s so harmed that you won’t be able to bring him back.

“He won’t,” he says, and it doesn’t even sound like he believes it. He has six brothers. Six heirs to the throne. Six replacements.

You shake your head to yourself, quickly wiping the tear that rolls hot down your cheek before Eris sees.

Your warmth is much different than his. It’s soft, a reassurance against his skin. Healing. The fire that flares through his veins is of something much coarser. He is fueled by hatred and jealousy. Disappointment and failure.

Nothing has ever been easy. Eris keeps his feelings locked up tight. He has learned under the sharp blade of a knife poised beneath his chin. What they didn’t know is that harsh words they sprung cut deeper than any weapon ever could.

Your words are…he doesn’t know how to explain what the minute tremble of fear in your voice means. He stopped being fearful a long time ago, but here you are, fearing for him. That one day they might go too far, might cut his tongue from his mouth or pierce an eye out with the tip of a blade. Like they might let their restrain snap and become the bloodthirsty beasts he always knew they were. That they’ll kill him one day soon.

The way your hands feel against his skin makes emotion clog his throat. He has never felt a touch speak so many words. He’s never been treated softly. He’s been ignored by his mother and abused by his father. Neglected by both.

He doesn’t understand the way you make him feel. The clenching of his stomach, the rapid beating of his heart, the feeling that stirs between his legs when he sees you.

He wonders for a moment how your warm hands might feel wrapped around a different part of his body.

Eris closes his eyes. The tension rolls from his shoulders with each wound that heals. His head bobs and he can’t help but slump into you as the adrenaline wears off and exhaustion weights heavy on his body.

You catch him, cradle him against your body. Your fingers find his auburn hair and rub lightly.

Eris moans against your legs and the feeling vibrates through your body. You carefully keep your thighs from clenching.

“Eris,” you whisper, stroking every part of him that you can. Someday you’ll be brave enough to tell him how he makes you feel. How strong you think he is, how badly he should leave this court and not look back. For now, the terrified feeling in your chest stops you from admitting just that. “You need rest.”

“Stay?” He asks, and a sad smile cracks your lips. He barely even knows where he is, that you haven’t found him bleeding on the floor of his room and are patching him up. All he knows is the caring cradle of your arms.

“Yes,” you murmur, and help him lean back into the spot where you’d leapt from your bed upon his arrival. You help him with his shoes, his belt and the scabbard at his hip, sans weapons.

They always take his weapons.

A noise of surprise catches in your throat when Eris’ hands close around your hips and he yanks you into the plush bed with him. He’s already half asleep, fully clothed, and he releases you just enough for you to slip under the sheets and pull them up around the both of you. By the time you settle, Eris is clinging to you like a lifeline, a thigh tucked between your legs, his arms a vice around your back. You’re entrapped in his limbs, exactly where he wants you. Exactly where you want to be.

[part-time-pixie]

“I want to know what's going on with you two. I see the way you look up at her as she trots by.”

[dumb-ster-fire]

His Unholy Voice

Azriel x mate!reader

Summary: Cassian dares Azriel to call Y/N a “good girl,” and the River House descends into chaos.

a/n: Y/N has shadows and starlight powers because why not?🤭 This tid-bit of info will make sense as you read.

Masterlist

———————————————————————————

The late afternoon sun slanted lazily through the windows of the River House, bathing the living room in golden light. The air hummed with quiet conversation and the soft clinking of glasses, the occasional flutter of faelight drifting near the ceiling like drowsy stars. Velaris stretched peacefully outside the tall windows, but inside, the Inner Circle was gathered in their usual chaotic harmony.

Cassian was draped across one of the oversized couches like a lounging mountain, one foot on the coffee table, sipping from a glass of something amber. Nesta was curled beside him, her legs tucked under her as she read, pretending to ignore him—but everyone could see the slight curve to her lips at whatever nonsense he’d just said.

Rhys was stretched on another couch, Feyre leaning against his side as they shared a blanket, her sketchpad resting on her knees. She was absently doodling swirls of starlight and wings, her free hand curled around Rhysand’s fingers. Mor sat on the floor nearby, polishing her nails with a spell that shimmered gold and green with every flick of her hand. Elain, quiet but present, was perched in a window seat with a tray of tea, and Lucien lounged beside her, one arm slung lazily over the backrest as they chatted in low tones.

Amren reclined in a dark armchair, looking like a cat in the sun, sipping a goblet of something no one dared ask about, eyes half-lidded but sharp as ever.

Azriel sat in an armchair near the fireplace, shadows curling lazily around his shoulders like smoke. He had a book in his lap, unopened, because his attention kept flickering toward the open doorway leading to the kitchen.

That was where Y/N was.

They could hear her moving, her bare feet padding softly across the tile, cabinet doors opening and shutting, and an unmistakably muttered, “Where the fuck are the cheesy things?” drifting into the room.

Azriel’s lips quirked at that—barely—but the others noticed.

Cassian saw it first. And grinned like a predator spotting prey.

“Hey, Az,” Cassian said loudly, his voice a low drawl. “I dare you to call Y/N a good girl when she walks back in.”

The room went still for a beat.

Azriel’s shadows recoiled, like startled birds.

Feyre choked on her tea. Mor burst out laughing. Nesta looked up sharply, her brows lifting. Even Amren cracked one glowing eye open, clearly intrigued.

Elain blinked in quiet horror. Lucien looked like someone had lit a match under his chair.

Azriel didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe for a second.

“That’s low,” he muttered, but his voice betrayed the flicker of interest. Mischief.

Cassian leaned in, devilish. “Come on, brother. She melts when you say it. Like a dying star. She forgets her name. For science.”

“You’re an idiot,” Azriel replied, but he was already shifting, the barest smile tugging at his lips.

Cassian’s eyes glinted with glee. “For the record, I dare you.”

From the kitchen came the crinkling sound of a bag being triumphantly torn open. And a triumphant, “Aha!”

Y/N stepped into the doorway, holding a bag of some cheesy snack triumphantly, her hair catching the sunlight, shadows trailing behind her like a cloak, starlight dancing in her eyes.

And Azriel, cool as ever, looked up at her from his chair and said—soft and low, like a forbidden promise, the kind of voice that could make anyone forget the world—

“Good girl.”

Y/N froze.

The snack bag slipped slightly in her fingers.

The world—no, the entire house—held its breath.

Her pupils dilated. Her chest rose sharply with a breath. Knees buckled just a little. A flush crept up her cheeks, slow and deep. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

Cassian exploded into laughter. “CAUGHT!”

Nesta threw a pillow at him.

Mor squealed. “She’s literally blushing! Az, do it again—do it again!”

Feyre nearly dropped her sketchpad as she laughed. Rhysand looked vaguely scandalized. Amren smirked over the rim of her goblet.

Azriel… was already on his feet, stalking toward Y/N like a shadow come to life, all dark promise and slow steps, his smirk lazy, knowing.

Y/N stood there like someone had unplugged her brain, cheesy snack bag clutched in one limp hand, completely undone by two words.

“Stars,” she muttered, barely audible. “That’s not fair.”

He stopped just in front of her, dipped his head until their mouths almost touched, and whispered once more, like a gift and a curse—

“Good girl.”

The snack bag hit the floor.

Chaos erupted in the living room behind them.

But Y/N only had eyes for Azriel, and he for her.

Cassian, somewhere behind them, crowed: “Best. Dare. Ever.”

Y/N didn’t stand a chance.

Not with that voice in her ear. Not when his hand slid around her waist with the barest pressure, fingers splaying possessively over her hip. Not when his shadows curled around her ankles and calves like warm silk, winding upward in slow, teasing spirals. Her knees gave a telltale wobble, and she might’ve leaned into him more than she meant to.

Azriel tilted his head, studying her with that impossibly focused gaze, the one that said he saw everything—every blush, every flicker of breath, every tremble she couldn’t quite hide.

“You dropped your snack,” he murmured, his lips brushing her cheek, but there was laughter in his tone now. Teasing. Dangerous.

Y/N’s voice was a whisper, scandalized and aroused and helpless all at once. “You’re evil.”

Cassian, from the couch: “Confirmed. Absolute menace. But we love him anyway.”

Rhys groaned into Feyre’s hair. “We need to start setting rules for these gatherings. Like no weaponized mating rituals in the living room.”

Mor was wiping tears from her eyes, still giggling. “Can’t believe how fast her soul left her body. Az, what did you do to her?”

“I said two words,” Azriel said innocently, though his hands hadn’t left Y/N’s waist.

“That you said them,” Feyre pointed out, grinning. “Big difference. If Cassian said it, she’d punch him.”

“True,” Y/N muttered, finding her voice again as she blinked up at her mate, trying to gather her strength. “You’re the only one allowed to say that.”

Azriel’s smirk deepened, pure male satisfaction.

“Say it again and I swear I will melt into the floor,” she whispered, half a warning, half a dare.

He leaned closer, and it was ridiculous—how even his breath on her skin made her insides twist.

But he didn’t say it again. No, instead he brushed a kiss just beneath her ear and murmured something else, something private, only for her—

And whatever he said made her clutch his shirt and mutter something in a language none of them understood. Her accent had thickened, her cheeks were flaming, and her shadows were writhing like they didn’t know what to do with themselves.

Azriel just smiled.

Lucien raised a brow from his seat. “I think we just witnessed the mating equivalent of a death blow.”

Elain looked down into her teacup, face burning.

Cassian was howling with laughter. “She short-circuited! You broke her! Y/N, you good?”

Y/N slowly turned her head over Azriel’s shoulder and leveled Cassian with a look of pure venom—except her lips were twitching upward at the corners.

“I’m going to shove cheesy snacks into your mouth until you shut up.”

“Promising me snacks? That’s not the threat you think it is.”

Azriel sighed, then bent down and retrieved the snack bag from the floor, brushing it off before pressing it into her hands. “Here. For your trouble.”

She squinted at him. “If you say it again in that voice, I will not survive the night.”

“I’ll be gentle.”

“Azriel.”

But she was laughing now, flushed and glowing in that way she always got around him—like starlight blooming just beneath her skin. He pressed a soft kiss to her temple and led her back toward the couch, one hand still at her waist, and she let him.

The others watched them settle onto the floor near the hearth, Y/N leaning into Azriel’s side with the snack bag in her lap, still looking vaguely dazed. Azriel passed her one of the cheesy crisps like she was the queen of Prythian and this was some sacred offering.

Cassian, watching them with exaggerated horror: “We just enabled something truly terrible.”

Nesta: “Good. Now shut up.”

And as laughter filled the room once again, Y/N whispered, only loud enough for Azriel to hear, “I like being your good girl.”

Azriel didn’t say a word.

But his shadows swirled with contentment, and his smile—slow and secret—could’ve set the whole house on fire.

Cassian leaned back against the couch like a smug, overgrown cat, swirling the remains of his drink in his glass. He was watching Y/N and Azriel with that all-too-familiar gleam in his hazel eyes—the one that usually meant trouble was brewing.

Y/N was still nestled beside Azriel near the hearth, curled into his side, her legs tucked beneath her, munching on a cheesy crisp like it was the last edible thing in Prythian. Her cheeks were finally losing some of their deep blush, her breathing mostly even again.

Cassian clearly decided that peace had lasted too long.

With a slow, sly grin, he said to the room—loudly enough that everyone could hear, especially the couple in question—

“Now I’m just curious what her reaction would be if Az said, ‘on your knees.’”

Silence.

Actual, stunned silence.

Rhys choked on air.

Feyre gasped, her eyes wide as dinner plates.

Mor made a noise that was half-squeal, half-scream. “CASSIAN!”

Elain made a soft, scandalized squeak and buried her face in her hands. Lucien immediately reached for his drink, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

Nesta didn’t look up from her book, but her lips twitched as if she were biting back a laugh. “Gods, you’re such a shit-stirrer.”

Azriel didn’t even blink.

Y/N?

Y/N went completely still.

The kind of still that said every system in her body had shut down and restarted in a blaze of chaotic what the fuck.

Her hand froze halfway to her mouth, cheesy crisp inches from her lips. Her pupils dilated so fast it was like someone flipped a switch. She made a small, choked sound and looked at Azriel like he’d somehow already said it.

And Azriel… gods-damned Azriel…

The corner of his mouth lifted. Just slightly. Slowly. Like he was very aware of her reaction—and storing it for later use.

He said nothing.

But his shadows purred.

Y/N slowly turned her head toward Cassian, blinking like someone had just slapped her with a lightning bolt.

“Do you want to die?” she asked sweetly.

Cassian threw his head back and cackled. “Stars, it’s even worse than I thought! You didn’t even say it and she nearly melted into the floor!”

“Cass,” Azriel said, voice low and dangerous—not angry, but possessive, like a quiet warning growl. “Keep talking, and I’ll give her that command right here.”

Y/N made another helpless noise, turning red from her collarbones up.

Mor was dying, absolutely shrieking. “I can’t! I can’t—Az, if you say it I swear I’ll combust!”

Rhys, rubbing his temples like a father who’s lost control of his children: “Someone—anyone—please stop this. Elain looks like she might faint.”

Lucien reached over and gently moved Elain’s teacup away from her lap before something catastrophic could happen.

Meanwhile, Y/N was clutching Azriel’s shirt now, her head buried against his shoulder like she could hide from the conversation—but her body betrayed her. The way her legs shifted, the arch in her back, the way her shadows curled tight around her thighs—

Azriel bent his head close, and whispered something only she could hear. Her gasp was audible.

Cassian, watching the whole thing unfold like a delighted villain, grinned ear to ear. “Yup. That’s going in the record book.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “You have a record book?”

He waggled his brows. “I do now.”

Y/N finally peeked up from Azriel’s shoulder, her voice hoarse but steady. “I hope you know that when I recover from this, I’m kicking your ass.”

Cassian smirked. “Fair. But worth it.”

Azriel ran his hand slowly down her spine, a look of dark promise in his eyes.

And he murmured—not loud enough for anyone else to hear, but enough to make her shiver—

“Later.”

Y/N didn’t make a sound.

She just melted. Again.

And Cassian lost his mind.

“YOU GUYS! YOU’RE GONNA KILL HER! STOP!”

Azriel just smiled. And this time… even Rhys looked a little afraid.

But, of course, he was not done.

Because Azriel never let go of an advantage once he had it—and right now, Y/N was flushed, breathless, barely hanging on to the frayed remains of her composure. Cassian’s comment had been the match, but Azriel? Azriel was the flame.

The Shadowsinger reached lazily into the snack bag still resting in Y/N’s lap, pulled out one of the crisps—one of those curled, golden cheesy ones—and held it between his fingers.

Completely casual. Like he hadn’t just whispered promises into her ear. Like he wasn’t still the reason her entire nervous system was currently short-circuiting.

Then, ever so innocently, he turned to her and murmured—

“Open your mouth for me.”

The room went dead silent.

Again.

Feyre’s jaw dropped.

Mor screamed.

Cassian made a wheezing sound and nearly fell off the couch.

Lucien covered his face with his hands and muttered something like, “Oh, for the love of—”

Even Amren, lounging in a chair like some ancient, unimpressed cat, raised a single dark brow.

Y/N?

Y/N made a sound that could only be described as a high-pitched whimper.

Her spine straightened like she’d just been electrocuted, and her hands flew up as if she didn’t know whether to push him away or drag him closer. Her mouth opened—and then promptly snapped shut again, eyes wide in horror at her own reaction.

Azriel blinked at her, all innocence. “What? It’s a snack.”

Liar.

Y/N was staring at the chip like it was the One Ring and she was about to fall to her doom.

“Y-you…” she tried. “You know what you’re doing.”

Azriel tilted his head. “I’m feeding you.”

Cassian, clutching his stomach, howled. “Oh my gods, she doesn’t know whether to eat it or beg.”

Nesta muttered, “I swear if he keeps this up, she’s going to ascend to another plane.”

Mor flung a pillow at Azriel. “Stop corrupting her!”

“Too late,” Y/N whispered, eyes still locked on her mate.

She was vibrating. Her shadows were wrapped tight around her legs again, her starlight flickering faintly along her fingers like her powers couldn’t figure out how to help her.

Azriel leaned in, his voice velvet and low, and added with that damn smirk—

“Be a good girl and open up.”

Y/N made a strangled sound and obeyed before she could think. Mouth open, eyes dazed, spine arching slightly like every cell in her body had been commanded.

He placed the chip on her tongue with gentle, devastating precision.

She didn’t even taste it.

Cassian died.

Dropped off the couch entirely.

Nesta didn’t bother catching him.

Rhys buried his face in Feyre’s lap and moaned. “Make it stop, please, make it stop—”

Elain looked like she was experiencing a crisis. Lucien had gone utterly still beside her, wide-eyed. Mor was wheezing through her laughter.

Y/N, eyes fluttering closed around the cheesy crisp, finally swallowed, then slumped back against Azriel’s shoulder, absolutely done.

“I hate you,” she mumbled.

Azriel just brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, utterly unrepentant.

“No, you don’t.”

And stars help her—

He was right.

Azriel, the insufferable, beautiful bastard, glanced down at his fingers—now dusted with that unmistakable cheesy orange powder from the crisp he’d just fed her. He inspected them with a faint smirk, clearly considering his next move.

Y/N, still recovering, was half-sprawled against his side, her mind mush, her pride in shambles. Her heart was racing, her skin still flushed. One little command and she’d folded like wet parchment.

So, of course, of course he wasn’t done.

Without a word, he lifted his hand—the one with the cheesy dust—and held two fingers in front of her lips, tilting them slightly in offering.

And then, in that dark, low murmur that somehow sounded like a kiss laced with sin—

“Clean my fingers for me, sweetheart.”

Cassian let out an actual scream. Mor shrieked with laughter and nearly fell off the couch.

Feyre smacked Rhys on the arm to stop his uncontrollable snorting. Elain made a noise that may have been a gasp—or a gasped prayer. Lucien had gone completely still again, one eye twitching.

Nesta was watching now, intrigued. “I want to see if she combusts.”

Y/N stared at Azriel’s fingers like they were the gates to Hel. Her lips parted—reflex—and then she slapped a hand over her own mouth.

“Azriel!” she squeaked behind her fingers, eyes wide with shock, heat flooding her cheeks again. “You can’t just—in front of everyone—”

He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just kept his hand out, that smug little tilt to his mouth.

“I’m just asking for help,” he said, utterly innocent. “You made me touch those chips. Now I’m all messy.”

Cassian, choking on laughter: “This is torture. I didn’t know watching someone descend into horny chaos could be this entertaining.”

Mor couldn’t breathe. “She’s gonna spontaneously ascend. Like full fae goddess mode, just out of sheer flustered thirst.”

Y/N, trembling with internal conflict, very slowly lowered her hand from her mouth. Her eyes were locked on Azriel’s, pupils dilated, lips parted, and her voice came out as a whisper:

“…You’re going to pay for this.”

Azriel’s voice dropped even lower. “Gladly.”

And gods help her—

She leaned forward.

Just the barest brush of her tongue over his fingertips, her eyes fluttering shut like she hated herself for it—and also maybe wanted to crawl into his lap and never leave again.

The moment her tongue touched his skin, his shadows shuddered.

Azriel inhaled through his nose like he’d just been handed every fantasy he’d never dared admit aloud.

Cassian actually collapsed, face-down on the floor, sob-laughing.

Rhys sat up and pointed a warning finger. “No one is allowed to say another word for the rest of the evening.”

Mor was crying. “It’s too late! They’ve corrupted this space forever!”

Y/N leaned back again, cheeks aflame, and buried her face in Azriel’s shoulder with a muffled groan.

“You’re evil,” she muttered.

Azriel wrapped an arm around her and kissed the top of her head, his voice velvet and pure satisfaction.

“You love it.”

Cassian was still on the floor, pounding the hardwood with his fist like this was the greatest entertainment Velaris had ever known. “I take it back—this is better than sparring. Someone bring popcorn. No—cheesy crisps. Give me the cheesy crisps. I want to see what happens if I hold out my fingers.”

Azriel didn’t even look at him. “Try it and lose them.”

Y/N was vibrating in place, her face buried in Azriel’s neck, clearly trying to become one with his shadows to escape the utter humiliation and arousal that had consumed her.

Feyre had thrown a pillow at Rhys. “You’re the High Lord, do something!”

Rhys looked entirely too amused for someone supposedly in control. “This is divine punishment. For all of us.”

Lucien muttered, “I feel like I’m intruding on some very private mating ritual.”

Elain was pink, sipping her tea with trembling hands, her eyes so wide they looked like they’d never close again.

Amren hadn’t moved. “Honestly, I want to see how far this goes. My money’s on Y/N throwing Azriel through the wall before the hour’s done.”

Nesta, still cool and unreadable, just said, “I’ll help patch the wall when it happens.”

Azriel turned to Y/N, still cradling her like she was precious—and absolutely wrecked.

He tilted her chin up just enough to see her eyes, voice low and wicked.

“Still hungry, love?”

Y/N blinked up at him, her voice a whisper. “You are cruel.”

Cassian, from the floor: “He is! Isn’t it amazing? It’s like watching a temple girl be corrupted by the darkest male in existence—”

He paused. “Wait. That’s kinda what’s happening.”

Mor was crying again. “Y/N’s going to explode, and I’m not missing it.”

Y/N—desperate for payback—finally pushed herself upright. Her shadows flickered, starlight trailing her fingertips as she glared at Cassian.

“Oh, you think you’re safe?” she said, voice still breathy but gaining strength. “You want chaos? Fine.”

She pointed a single glowing finger at him. “If you don’t shut your mouth, I will say something to Nesta that will leave you begging.”

Cassian’s smugness vanished instantly.

His head snapped toward Nesta. “She’s bluffing.”

Nesta looked up slowly, like a lioness stirring in the sun. “She’s not.”

Cassian’s eyes went wide. “Y/N. Y/N. We’re friends. Friends.”

Y/N, voice sweet and laced with vengeance: “Then be quiet, General.”

Everyone howled.

Cassian threw a pillow at her. She caught it mid-air, shadows snatching it and gently setting it down beside her.

Azriel was beaming. Actually smiling, proud and delighted.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured in her ear.

Y/N melted. Again. “Gods-dammit—Azriel—!”

“Language,” he whispered, far too amused.

Feyre buried her face in her hands. “We’re never having a normal night again.”

Rhys sighed dramatically. “There’s no such thing as ‘normal’ when your brother’s sex voice ruins the entire living room.”

Azriel looked entirely unbothered. “Not my fault she’s obedient.”

Y/N shrieked.

Lucien spit out his wine.

Cassian groaned. “I will never get that image out of my mind.”

Amren sipped her bloodwine and muttered, “Good. Maybe next time you’ll think before daring the Shadowsinger to speak.”

Y/N launched a pillow at Azriel’s face.

He caught it one-handed, grinning. “You missed.”

Her voice came out in a growl, low and breathy.

“I never miss.”

Everyone froze.

Cassian: “Oh, she’s fighting back now.”

Nesta closed her book. “Let her.”

Azriel leaned in again, a challenge in his eyes, his voice practically dripping shadow and seduction.

“Then prove it, little star.”

And just like that—

That was it.

Y/N snapped.

With a strangled sound—something between a shriek and a gasp of pure exasperated sexual frustration—she launched herself fully into Azriel’s lap.

Azriel barely had time to blink before—

WHUMP.

A pillow hit him square in the face.

Then again.

WHUMP. WHUMP. WHUMP.

“Y/N—” he choked, trying to grab her wrists. “Y/N—”

She straddled him, knees on either side of his thighs, hair wild and falling into her face, eyes blazing, and just kept hitting him with the pillow.

“You. Smug. Bastard. That. Voice. Is. A. Warcrime!”

WHUMP. WHUMP. WHUMP.

Azriel’s shadows scattered in shock, clearly not sure whether to defend him or help Y/N.

Cassian was on his back on the floor, kicking his legs in hysterical laughter. “She snapped, I told you! She SNAPPED!”

Nesta smirked, folding her arms. “I like her more every day.”

Feyre was howling now, clinging to Rhys who looked like he’d aged ten years in the last five minutes. “I don’t even know who I’m rooting for anymore!”

Lucien murmured to Elain, “Should we look away?”

Elain: “I want to…but I can’t.”

Mor had completely lost it, tears running down her cheeks. “This is the best night of my life. I’m going to commission Feyre to paint this.”

Azriel had given up trying to stop her. He just sat there, letting her rain down justice, biting back laughter—though his shadows were trembling, and his smile was only growing wider the more she attacked.

“Mercy,” he said finally, shielding his face with one hand, catching the pillow with the other. “I surrender.”

“You do not!” Y/N shouted, WHACKING him again. “You think you can just ruin my brain in front of everyone and get away with it?!”

“Technically, you climbed into my lap,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching.

WHACK.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

WHACK.

“You’re not allowed to be hot and smug at the same time!”

Azriel caught the pillow again and suddenly flipped them, faster than anyone could react. Y/N gasped as her back hit the cushions beneath him, the pillow pinned between them, his body covering hers. Shadows coiled around them like a barrier, separating them from the howling laughter around the room.

He leaned close, nose brushing hers.

His voice, damn him, dropped again—

“You like me best like this.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Her fingers fisted in the front of his shirt.

Cassian yelled from the floor, “STOP! I’M TOO YOUNG TO BE EXPOSED TO THIS MUCH TENSION!”

Amren stood and dusted off her pants. “Alright. That’s enough. If they start dry-humping on this couch, I’m burning the place down.”

Azriel looked at her without moving. “We’d at least move to the guest room.”

WHACK. The pillow hit him one more time.

Y/N, face flushed and breathless, just stared up at him and muttered:

“…You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Azriel’s grin was all teeth and shadows.

“We both know that’s a lie.”

And every single person in that living room just lost it.

Y/N made a noise—a sound that wasn’t even a word, more like the wail of someone at the very edge of sanity and desire. A feral, strangled growl of pure exasperated chaos.

Then—

Her hands flew up.

And she wrapped them around Azriel’s throat.

Not tight—just enough to shake him.

Azriel let it happen.

His head bobbed slightly as she rattled him like a goblet of wine she was about to shatter. “I hate you!” she half-snarled, half-whimpered, glaring into his stupidly beautiful, smug, night-kissed face.

Azriel didn’t fight back. Just sat there on top of her with that infuriating little smirk tugging at his lips, shadows dancing gleefully behind him like they lived for this exact brand of foreplay.

“You are insufferable,” she hissed, still shaking him, face flushed, heart pounding.

Azriel blinked at her, calm as ever, and asked in the softest, silkiest voice:

“Harder?”

Cassian screamed. “I’M GOING TO ASCEND. AZRIEL’S KINKY. I CALLED IT. I KNEW IT.”

Feyre launched a pillow at him. Rhys tackled him with another.

Lucien actually choked on air and wheezed, “Is this what mating bonds are supposed to be like? Is this…normal?!”

Mor fell off the couch this time, full-on cackling.

Elain had gone completely still, blinking very slowly like her brain was buffering.

Nesta looked like she’d just been handed her favorite wine and a front-row seat to the greatest soap opera in Prythian. “I’m learning things I can never unlearn.”

Y/N released his throat with a groan of utter despair and let her arms flop back down against the cushions.

Azriel, absolutely pleased with himself, leaned down again until his nose brushed hers, shadows still coiling like smug little bastards.

“Finished?” he asked, voice all dark silk.

Y/N stared up at him with narrowed eyes and a trembling lip.

“…No,” she said.

Then she pulled him down by the collar and bit his jaw.

Azriel groaned, low and sharp, the kind that made everyone in the room turn to stone.

Cassian’s voice, faint: “I don’t know if I’m scared or impressed or—actually, no, I’m just scared.”

Rhys looked like he wanted to bury himself in the floor. “Mother above. Take me now.”

Amren drained her glass and muttered, “I told you. We should’ve just let her kill him that day.”

Mor was wheezing, pointing at Azriel. “He’s not even pretending to be cool anymore!”

Azriel, who was now half-lost in Y/N’s hair, let out a satisfied sigh against her ear.

“Still sleeping on the couch?” he murmured.

Y/N’s voice came out breathless, dangerous.

“You’re lucky I don’t banish you to the Illyrian mountains.”

Azriel nuzzled her. “You’d miss me by sundown.”

And Y/N—poor, flustered, still-fuming Y/N—just groaned again and muttered:

“Mother help me, I would.”

The entire Inner Circle groaned in unison.

Cassian had dragged a blanket off the couch and was now dramatically wrapping himself in it, rocking back and forth on the floor like a war survivor. “They’re saying the cutest filth to each other. I can’t live like this. I can’t go on. I need therapy. I need a temple. I need to bathe in salt.”

Nesta kicked him lightly. “You’re the one who started this.”

“I didn’t know it would become a religious experience!” he shot back, clutching the blanket tighter. “He whispered ‘harder’ while being choked—I can never look him in the eyes again.”

Feyre had officially surrendered, head in Rhys’s lap as she weakly muttered, “This is our house. Our house. We have a child. A toddler. We had dinner here an hour ago.”

Rhys was staring blankly at the ceiling. “We should burn the furniture.”

Azriel had not moved.

Still straddling Y/N, his chest rising and falling a bit faster now, jaw still tingling from where she’d bitten him. His shadows rolled lazily over her hips, slipping under the hem of her shirt like they knew no shame, brushing her skin like they were claiming her all over again.

Y/N glared up at him, cheeks burning, breath coming fast.

“I will get revenge for this,” she hissed. “This humiliation. This entire performance.”

Azriel only smiled, infuriatingly calm. “Then I look forward to it.”

WHUMP.

She hit him in the chest with the pillow again.

WHUMP.

He caught it and held it there, pinning her hands beneath his, voice low.

“Or you could surrender now. I’ll go easy on you… maybe.”

Her eyes blazed.

“You want surrender?” she whispered.

And then—in front of everyone—she arched up and bit his collarbone.

Azriel made a sound that could only be described as a choked growl, his wings flaring just a bit, shadows suddenly swirling like a storm.

Mor shrieked. “OH MY GODS.”

Cassian threw the blanket over his entire head. “I’M DEAD. BURY ME WITH HONOR.”

Lucien stood up and announced, “I’m going to go walk into the Sidra and never come back.”

Elain, softly: “I didn’t even know Fae could blush that much.”

Amren just stood, hands on her hips, and said, “Someone bring the child. Let him see what he must never become.”

Azriel looked like he was this close to losing every last shred of composure. His fingers curled around Y/N’s hips, grip possessive, eyes glowing faintly gold in the low light.

Y/N’s voice was a purr now, dangerous and smug. “Still think I’m the one surrendering?”

Azriel blinked down at her—and then, in the most unbothered voice possible, purred back:

“I’m letting you win.”

Y/N howled in rage and launched the pillow at his head again.

Mor collapsed in screaming laughter.

Cassian rolled onto his side and yelled into the floor:

“WHEN THEY GET MARRIED WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE.”

Nesta, dry as bone, replied, “Good. Maybe then we’ll have peace.”

And Feyre just reached for the wine bottle with one trembling hand.

“…I need three glasses just to forget tonight even happened.”

Azriel was laughing now—an actual full-on laugh, rare and wicked and infuriatingly attractive, his head tilted back slightly as Y/N shoved at his chest again, huffing like a dragon about to breathe literal star fire.

“You’re not letting me win,” she snapped, trying to sit up—only for him to lean down again and trap her with his body, his smirk infuriatingly close.

“Oh, but I am,” he purred, his voice brushing over her skin like velvet wrapped in shadows. “Letting you think you have the upper hand… while I enjoy the view.”

Y/N’s eyes blazed. “You are unbelievable.”

“And yet…” Azriel hummed, brushing his nose lightly along her jaw, just enough to make her entire soul glitch, “you’re still under me.”

There was a pause.

And then—Y/N’s voice went low and dangerous, her accent cutting through like a blade of silk.

“Fine.”

She grinned slowly.

“Let me show you what I do to people who underestimate me.”

Everyone in the room simultaneously—

“OH MY GODS.”

Cassian, muffled under his blanket: “SHE’S GONNA DOM HIM I KNEW IT—”

Feyre was openly drinking from the wine bottle now. “Rhys, portal me to Hewn City. I’d rather deal with Keir.”

Rhys, wide-eyed, whispered, “They’re worse than us.”

Mor was gone, rolling off the couch, clutching her ribs. “I can’t. I can’t—this is the best mating bond I’ve ever witnessed—how are they not combusting?!”

Nesta gave a sharp nod. “I give them ten minutes before they disappear upstairs.”

“Five,” Amren said flatly. “Three if he says anything else in that voice.”

Lucien had left the room. Vanished. There was no trace of him. Smart man.

Azriel’s shadows coiled tighter around Y/N’s waist, amused and pleased, while she leaned up again and whispered something in his ear—inaudible to the others, but it made his breath hitch, his hands tighten around her hips, his wings flex like he was very suddenly and urgently remembering he had a mate, and that she was his.

Cassian peeked out from under his blanket. “Did she just—did she say something or—did his soul just exit his body?”

Azriel was still for a heartbeat. Two.

Then he stood.

Effortlessly. With Y/N still in his arms.

She let out a very pleased, smug hum, arms twining around his neck, chin perched on his shoulder.

“Don’t wait up,” she said sweetly over his shoulder.

Cassian dramatically fell back onto the rug. “THEY’RE LEAVING. THEY’RE DOING THE THING. ABANDON SHIP.”

Rhys, cradling a glass of wine now, muttered, “I am the High Lord. I should be able to kick people out of my house.”

“Should being the key word,” Feyre muttered, pouring herself another glass and handing one to Nesta.

Amren raised her empty glass. “May the walls stay standing.”

“Unlikely,” Mor replied, still giggling. “But we’ll have fun guessing what breaks first.”

And with that, Azriel and Y/N disappeared up the stairs, shadows curling behind them like curtains closing on a performance that had left the audience in awe, horror, and unholy amounts of secondhand arousal.

[parkerslatte]

The Purest Kind of Love

Azriel x Fem!Reader x Eris Vanserra

Warnings: smut. mentions of abuse. mentions of torture. blood and injury. mentions of childbirth. inner circle being assholes. near death experience. [more warning will be given as story progresses]

Summary: Four years ago, Azriel and Y/N made a bargain. They would form a relationship until either of them find their mates, once that happens, their relationship would end. No tears. No arguments. That was how it would be. However once the four years pass, both Azriel and Y/N realise how they have settled down in the life they had built together.

At the celebration of the new Autumn High Lord, everything Y/N and Azriel had built comes crashing down as a mating bond snaps between Y/N and Eris. Staying true to the bargain, the relationship between Y/N and Azriel ends.

Though as Y/N and Eris get closer, through some kind of divine intervention, Azriel always seems to be around with the mated couple. Feeling arise and truths come to light the longer they all spend around each other. However, not everyone is approving of the budding relationship. Truths come to light and some may not be so positive.

Current Word Count: 18,530

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

TAGLIST CLOSED

•••

Contents:

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

Part Eleven

Part Twelve

Part Thirteen

Part Fourteen

Part Fifteen

Part Sixteen

Part Seventeen

Part Eighteen

Epilogue

A/N: Welcome to my new series I have coming out! Everything is planned and is a little bit longer than I originally intended though I cannot wait to share it with everyone!

[callsigns-haze]

Greatest treasure

Summary: Eris, newly crowned High Lord of Autumn, prepares for a grand ball while keeping his wife and their three-year-old son, Azer, a secret from the courts. During the event, Azer accidentally reveals his fire magic, causing panic and leading the Inner Circle to discover his existence. Meanwhile, Eris and Y/N, lost in their own world, share a passionate moment in the rain before returning to find their son distressed.

Warning: Contains alcohol, cursing, teasing, mentions of smut, kissing, court politics, mentions of war, distress.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x reader

English is not my first language so I apologies for mistakes

Eris stands by the window of Azer’s nursery, the late-afternoon sun casting a warm golden glow over the room. The space is cozy, filled with soft autumn hues—deep oranges, rich reds, and browns, like the leaves of the season his court embodies. Your three-year-old son, Azer, sits on the plush rug near his bed, his copper hair glinting like flames in the light. His amber eyes, so much like his father’s, are rimmed with unshed tears as he clutches a small wooden fox, one of his favourite toys.

“Mama, Dada,” Azer says, his tiny voice trembling. “Why can’t I come? Wanna come, too!”

You kneel beside him, smoothing back a lock of his fiery hair. “Oh, my little love,” you say gently, your heart breaking at the wobble in his voice. “This ball is for grown-ups. You get to stay here and have fun with Miss Lyra tonight.”

“But I wanna see,” he hiccups, his face crumpling as tears begin to fall. He tries to hold them back, but soon, soft sobs wrack his small body. “I wanna be with you, Mama. With Dada.”

Eris moves from the window, his regal presence as commanding as ever, though his sharp features soften as he crouches beside you. He reaches out, his long fingers tenderly brushing away Azer’s tears. “Little firefox,” he murmurs, his voice rich and soothing, “I know you’re upset. But you’re my biggest treasure, and treasures like you need to be kept safe.”

Azer hiccups again, his small chest heaving as he shakes his head. “Not treasure. Azer!” he cries, his voice breaking. “Wanna go with Mama and Dada!”

Eris chuckles softly, though his eyes glisten with emotion. “Oh, you are most definitely Azer,” he says, his lips quirking into a smile. “But you’re also my treasure. And treasures stay where they’re safe. Do you understand, little firefox?”

Azer clings to your dress, burying his face against your leg, his tiny fingers fisting the fabric. His sobs quiet slightly, though his hiccups continue. “No ball,” he mumbles, still unconvinced.

You exchange a glance with Eris, your heart aching at the sight of your son’s distress. Eris leans forward, lifting Azer into his arms despite the toddler’s reluctance to let go of you. “Come here, little one,” Eris says, his voice soft as he cradles Azer against his chest. “I know it’s hard, but I promise we won’t be gone forever. And while we’re away, you’ll have a grand time with Miss Lyra. She’ll tell you stories, maybe even about foxes.”

Azer sniffles, his arms wrapping tightly around Eris’s neck as he presses his tear-streaked face into his father’s shoulder. “Don’t wanna,” he whispers, though his sobs are slowing.

A knock at the door signals Lyra’s arrival. The young fae woman steps inside, her kind smile unwavering even as she takes in the scene. “Hello, Azer,” she says gently. “I hear we’re going to have an adventure tonight.”

Eris looks at her over Azer’s head, his expression unreadable but his tone laced with quiet authority. “Good luck,” he murmurs.

Lyra nods, her smile unwavering. “We’ll be just fine, my lord.”

Gently, Eris pulls Azer away from his shoulder, holding him so they’re eye to eye. “Be good for Miss Lyra, little firefox,” he says softly. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

Azer sniffles but nods reluctantly, his small hand reaching out for you one last time. You kiss his forehead, murmuring reassurances before Eris passes him to Lyra.

As you and Eris leave the nursery, the sound of Azer’s soft hiccups follows you, tugging at your heart. Eris takes your hand in his, squeezing gently. “He’ll be fine,” he says, though you suspect he’s reassuring himself as much as you.

Eris strides down the corridor beside you, his hand resting lightly at the small of your back. The grandeur of the Autumn Court is on full display tonight, with servants bustling to and fro, preparing the grand hall for the event of the decade. Despite the meticulous perfection surrounding you—the gleaming floors, the intricate floral arrangements of russet and gold—you can feel the tension radiating off him like heat from a flame.

His jaw is set, his golden eyes narrowed in thought, and his long fingers occasionally twitch at his side, as though yearning for something to grip. You pause mid-step, turning to face him fully.

“Eris,” you say softly, resting a hand on his chest. “We still have two hours before the ball. What’s on your mind?”

He blinks down at you, momentarily startled, before his expression softens. Still, the strain remains etched in his features. “All the High Lords and their families under one roof,” he murmurs, his voice low and thoughtful. “It’s an honour, but also a risk. There’s no telling what alliances may shift tonight—or what grievances may surface.”

You reach up, cupping his cheek, and he leans into your touch for just a moment, closing his eyes. “You’ve worked so hard for this, Eris,” you say, your voice steady and reassuring. “Your father ruled with fear, but you’ve brought peace. Everyone will see that tonight.”

His lips twitch into a faint smile, though his eyes remain shadowed. “Peace is fragile,” he replies, his hand covering yours where it rests on his face. “One misstep, one word out of place, and it can shatter.”

Before you can respond, the sound of hurried footsteps echoes down the corridor. You turn just in time to see Lucien rounding the corner, his auburn hair slightly dishevelled as though he’d been in a rush. His russet eye sparkles with mischief, but the golden mechanical one remains as stoic as ever.

“Ah, there you are,” Lucien says, his tone light as he approaches. “And here I thought you might still be in the nursery with Azer. Poor kid looked ready to stage a rebellion when I passed by earlier.”

Eris snorts softly, though the tension in his shoulders eases ever so slightly. “He’s not happy about missing tonight,” he admits, glancing toward the direction of the nursery.

Lucien raises a brow, his trademark smirk firmly in place. “Well, can you blame him? I wouldn’t want to miss a chance to see all the High Lords bickering like children either.”

You laugh, and even Eris’s lips curve into a reluctant smile. “You always know how to lighten the mood, Lucien,” you say, grateful for his timing.

Lucien winks at you, then looks back at his brother. “Don’t let them get to you, Eris. This is your court now. They’re all just guests in your house.”

Eris inclines his head, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. “Wise words,” he says, his tone laced with amusement. “For once.”

Lucien feigns offense, clutching his chest dramatically. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” he quips before straightening. “I’ll see you both later. Just try not to burn the place down before the ball starts.”

As he saunters off, you glance at Eris, catching the way his lips have softened into a true smile. For a moment, the weight on his shoulders seems lighter, and you take his hand in yours.

“Lucien’s right,” you say quietly. “This is your court. And tonight, they’ll see the ruler you’ve become.”

Eris squeezes your hand, his gaze holding yours with a warmth that speaks louder than words. “With you by my side,” he murmurs, “I can face anything.”

Eris’s golden eyes hold yours as the tension in his frame melts away, replaced by something softer, more intimate. Without a word, he steps closer, his hand sliding from your waist to the curve of your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. He leans in, his breath warm against your skin, and presses a feather-light kiss to your lips. It’s tender and unhurried, a quiet moment in the chaos of the day.

When he pulls back, his gaze searches yours, his expression open in a way he allows only for you. “How are you feeling?” he asks softly, his voice low and laced with concern.

You hesitate, glancing down at your joined hands before looking back up at him. “Nervous,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “This is my first ball, Eris. And not just any ball—it’s your ball. Everyone will be watching, judging.”

His brows knit together, and he shakes his head slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a reassuring smile. “Let them watch,” he says, his tone firm but soothing. “Let them judge. You are my wife, my queen. No opinion matters more than mine, and in my eyes, you are perfection.”

Your chest tightens at his words, emotion welling up inside you. “You make it sound so simple,” you murmur, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

He leans down again, his lips brushing your forehead this time, lingering as though to anchor you. “Because it is,” he murmurs against your skin. “They’ll see your strength, your grace, just as I do. You’ve already won them over, my love. They just don’t know it yet.”

His confidence, steady and unwavering, wraps around you like a protective shield. You nod slowly, the tension in your shoulders easing as you draw strength from his presence. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice steadier now.

Eris straightens, his hand still cradling your face, his thumb tracing idle circles on your cheek. “Thank me later,” he says, a playful glint in his eyes. “After you’ve dazzled them all.”

A laugh escapes you, soft and light, and you realize how much he’s managed to calm you with just a few words and a single kiss. “I’ll hold you to that,” you reply, your smile widening.

“You always do,” he says with a smirk, his fingers lacing through yours as he leads you further down the hall, his hand a steady, grounding presence in yours.

The grand staircase of the Autumn Court’s palace gleams before you, each step a work of art with intricate carvings of leaves and vines, polished to a mirror-like sheen. You descend slowly, your arm looped through Eris’s, the weight of the evening settling over you with each step. The chandeliers above—crafted from amber and crystal—cast a warm glow that dances across the walls, making the entire space seem alive.

As you step onto the marble floor of the ballroom, you pause, taking in the sheer magnitude of the space. The room stretches farther than you remember, its high vaulted ceilings adorned with autumn leaves that seem to flutter as though caught in a gentle breeze. The rich hues of gold, crimson, and burnt orange dominate the décor, and the air is filled with the soft hum of string instruments warming up in the far corner.

You glance around, your brows furrowing slightly as you take in the grandeur. “Did it… get bigger?” you ask, your voice quiet but tinged with awe.

Eris glances down at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Not exactly,” he replies, his tone amused. “Though I did make a few… adjustments.”

“Adjustments?” you repeat, arching a brow as you look back at the ballroom.

He gestures subtly toward the far end of the room, where a raised dais now sits, flanked by towering arrangements of fiery flowers. “The ceiling was enchanted to give the illusion of more space,” he explains, his voice laced with pride. “And the dais was added to ensure everyone has a clear view of their High Lord and Lady tonight.”

You bite back a smile, glancing up at him. “You mean so they can have a clear view of you.”

His golden eyes glint mischievously as he leans in closer, his breath brushing your ear. “Perhaps,” he murmurs, his voice low, “but I suspect they’ll find their gazes drawn to you.”

Heat rises to your cheeks at his words, but you quickly compose yourself, your gaze sweeping over the ballroom once more. The attention to detail is staggering, from the delicate leaf patterns etched into the marble columns to the soft golden light that seems to bathe everything in warmth. The room hums with anticipation, even though most of the guests have yet to arrive.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you say, your voice soft but sincere.

Eris tilts his head, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “It’s not just for me,” he says quietly. “This is your debut as well. I wanted it to be perfect for you.”

Your heart swells at his words, and you squeeze his arm gently, your nerves settling ever so slightly. “It’s perfect,” you assure him, and for the first time that evening, you truly believe it.

As you and Eris walk further into the grand ballroom, the low hum of the musicians tuning their instruments fills the air, mingling with the soft rustle of your gown as it sweeps across the polished marble floor. Despite the grandeur surrounding you, your thoughts drift back to the nursery, to the way Azer clung to you, his little hands trembling as he sobbed.

You stop walking, your steps faltering as a pang of guilt twists in your chest. Eris notices immediately, turning to face you, his golden eyes filled with concern. “What is it?” he asks, his voice low and gentle.

You glance around the empty room, ensuring no one is near enough to overhear, before looking back at him. “I feel terrible about leaving Azer,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “He was so upset, Eris. The way he cried, the way he begged to come with us…” Your throat tightens, and you shake your head, willing yourself not to let the guilt overwhelm you.

Eris’s expression softens, and he steps closer, his hand coming to rest against your cheek. “Little firefox is safe,” he says gently. “Lyra will care for him as if he were her own. You know that.”

“I know,” you murmur, your voice trembling slightly. “But it doesn’t make it any easier. He doesn’t understand why we had to leave. All he knows is that we’re not there, and he wanted to be with us.”

Eris sighs softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a soothing gesture. “I feel it too,” he admits, his tone quieter now. “Every time he cries like that, it feels like my heart is being torn apart. But this—tonight—is important. For our court, for our family. He’ll understand one day.”

You look up at him, searching his face for reassurance. “What if he doesn’t, Eris? What if he remembers this as the night we chose the court over him?”

His brows knit together, and he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. “He won’t,” he says firmly. “Because when this ball is over, we’ll go straight back to him. We’ll hold him, kiss him, tell him how much we love him. Azer knows he’s our world—he feels it every day in the way we care for him.”

The conviction in his voice eases some of the tension in your chest, and you close your eyes, drawing strength from his presence. “I just hate seeing him so upset,” you whisper.

Eris tilts your chin up, his golden eyes locking with yours. “So do I,” he says softly. “But Azer is strong, just like his mother. And Lyra is with him. He’s safe, loved, and cared for. That’s what matters most.”

You nod slowly, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “You’re right,” you say, though the ache in your chest lingers. “I just needed to say it.”

His lips curve into a small smile, and he presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment. “You never need to keep anything from me,” he murmurs. “Not your fears, not your guilt. I’ll carry them with you, always.”

The grand ballroom is serene for a moment, the soft hum of the musicians and the flicker of enchanted autumn leaves overhead creating a tranquil atmosphere. You’ve just started to steady yourself, leaning into Eris’s calming presence, when the sound of frantic footsteps echoes through the halls.

Eris straightens, his golden eyes narrowing as he turns toward the source of the commotion. The double doors at the far end of the ballroom burst open with a resounding thud, and Alev, one of Eris’s younger brothers, comes barrelling in. His crimson hair is wild, his face flushed with exertion. Behind him, Lucien storms into the room, his expression murderous, his mechanical eye glowing ominously.

“You little bastard!” Lucien shouts, his voice reverberating off the marble walls. “I’m going to kill you!”

Alev skids to a stop in the centre of the ballroom, his chest heaving as he glances around wildly. His gaze lands on you and Eris, and he raises his hands in mock surrender. “Eris! Help! Your psychotic brother’s lost it!”

Lucien’s growl is low and dangerous as he stalks toward Alev, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “Lost it? You set my bloody room on fire, you little menace!”

Alev’s eyes widen in mock innocence, his lips twitching as though he’s holding back laughter. “I didn’t set it on fire! I just—enhanced the ambiance! You know, for the ball.”

“Enhanced the ambiance?” Lucien roars, his mechanical eye flaring brighter. “You scorched half my wardrobe!”

Eris pinches the bridge of his nose, a long-suffering sigh escaping him. “For the love of the Cauldron,” he mutters under his breath before stepping forward, his authoritative presence silencing the chaos.

“Alev,” Eris says, his tone calm but laced with warning. “What did you do?”

Alev shifts nervously, the smirk fading slightly under his older brother’s piercing gaze. “It was just a little spell,” he admits, his voice lighter than it should be. “A small spark to set the mood. I may have underestimated how... flammable Lucien’s curtains were.”

Lucien points an accusatory finger at him. “Curtains, rugs, half the bloody furniture—Eris, I swear, if you don’t deal with him, I will.”

Eris raises a hand, silencing Lucien with a single look. “Alev,” he says slowly, his voice like a crackling flame, “do you have any idea how much chaos you’ve caused? Tonight of all nights?”

Alev grins sheepishly. “I was trying to help! You know, add a little Autumn Court flair to his otherwise... bland quarters.”

Lucien lets out an incredulous laugh, clearly seconds away from lunging at his brother. “Bland? You—”

“Enough,” Eris snaps, his voice sharp and commanding. Both brothers freeze, their gazes snapping to him. He exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose again. “Alev, go fix what you’ve destroyed. Now. And if I hear so much as a whisper of another incident tonight, you’ll wish it was Lucien dealing with you instead of me.”

Alev blinks, then nods quickly. “Right. Fix it. Got it.” He turns on his heel and bolts for the doors, though not without throwing Lucien a cheeky grin over his shoulder.

Lucien groans, running a hand through his hair as he turns to Eris. “You see what I have to deal with? How have you not strangled him yet?”

Eris smirks faintly, his composure returning. “Patience,” he replies, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “And the knowledge that one day, he’ll slip up enough to give me a good excuse.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, the tension from earlier momentarily lifted. Eris turns to you, his expression softening. “Shall we expect more dramatics tonight, or are you ready to face the ball?”

“With your family?” you tease lightly. “I’d say both are inevitable.”

Eris chuckles, offering you his arm once more. “You’re learning,” he says with a smirk, leading you toward the doors. “Now, let’s see if we can survive the evening without another catastrophe.”

You pause just before the grand ballroom doors, your arm still looped through Eris’s. Your gaze lingers on him, soft and questioning, and he stops in his tracks. He knows that look of yours—he’s learned it all too well. The unspoken request, the subtle tilt of your head, the way your lips press together as though you’re carefully choosing your words.

“You want to go check on him,” Eris says quietly, his voice laced with understanding.

You nod, biting your lip. “I know Lyra is with him, and I know he’s fine, but… this is the longest I’ll have been away from him since he was born. It feels—”

“Strange,” Eris finishes for you, his golden eyes softening as they meet yours. “I know.”

You glance down at the floor, guilt pooling in your chest. “I just… I need to see him, Eris. Just for a moment.”

He gently lifts your chin with his fingers, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “My love,” he says softly, his tone carrying a calm authority, “I understand how you feel. Truly. But Azer is safe. This is good for him. He needs to learn a little independence, and so do you.”

You blink at him, your emotions warring within you. “I just feel like I’m abandoning him,” you whisper.

Eris sighs, his hand slipping to rest on your waist. “You’re not abandoning him. You’re showing him that his mother is more than just his caretaker. That she’s strong, graceful, and capable of leading beside me. And when we go back to him tonight, he’ll see that too.”

You nod slowly, his words sinking in, though the ache in your chest remains. Before you can reply, the sound of hurried footsteps echoes behind you, and you both turn just as Alev comes bounding into the room.

“Alev,” Eris says sharply, his brows furrowing, “what now?”

Alev skids to a stop, his hair still slightly dishevelled, though his grin is as irreverent as ever. “Relax, brother,” he says, holding up his hands. “I just thought I’d let you know—I stopped by the nursery on my way back down.”

You inhale sharply, your attention snapping to him. “And? How was Azer?”

Alev hesitates for half a second, glancing nervously over your shoulder. It’s only then that he sees the warning glare Eris is shooting him—a silent command to tread carefully.

“Oh, uh… he’s fine!” Alev says quickly, his grin widening. “Totally fine. Lyra had him all snuggled up in his favourite blanket. He wasn’t crying or anything. Just… looking at his little fox toy. Happy as can be.”

You exhale a shaky breath, relief washing over you. “Thank you, Alev,” you say sincerely, your shoulders relaxing.

Alev shrugs, his grin turning a little sheepish. “No problem. Figured you’d want to know.”

Behind you, Eris arches a brow, his golden eyes still fixed on his younger brother. “Thank you for your… insightful report,” he says dryly, though his tone carries an unspoken promise of consequences if Alev had dared say anything to upset you.

Alev throws him a mock salute before backing away, his grin still in place. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. Try not to burn the place down while I’m gone.”

As he disappears back into the corridor, Eris sighs and turns to you, his hands sliding to rest on your arms. “See? He’s fine,” he says softly. “And now, so are you. Let’s do this together.”

You nod, leaning into him for a brief moment before squaring your shoulders. “Okay,” you whisper, allowing him to guide you forward.

With Eris by your side, you take the final step into the ballroom, ready to face whatever the evening holds.

-----

The ballroom is alive with music, laughter, and the soft clinking of glasses, but it all feels distant, a blurred backdrop to your rising tension. You sit at one of the ornately carved tables near the edge of the room, the deep burgundy of your wine a sharp contrast to the delicate gold trim of the goblet you hold. You take another sip—no, more like a gulp—your grip on the stem tight enough to make your knuckles ache.

Three hours. Three endless hours. You’ve smiled, curtsied, and exchanged pleasantries with the High Lords of Spring, Dawn, Summer, and Winter. Each interaction had felt like a delicate dance, one misstep away from disaster. Tamlin of Spring had been cordial enough, though his words carried a stiffness that matched the tight line of his jaw. Thesan of Dawn had been polite and warm, his genuine curiosity about your role as Lady of Autumn easing some of your nerves, if only for a moment. The Summer Court’s Tarquin had offered a quiet strength in his presence, his words measured but kind. Kallias of Winter had been formal, his icy demeanour a stark contrast to the fiery warmth of the Autumn Court.

And through it all, you’d managed to maintain the poised, composed exterior that Eris had assured you would command their respect. But now, seated alone at the table, your mask of grace and elegance is beginning to crack.

Your gaze flicks across the room to the Night Court delegation, where Lucien is engaged in animated conversation with Rhysand, Feyre, and their inner circle. Even from this distance, you can see the easy camaraderie between them, the subtle smiles and the occasional laughter that spill from their group. You know Lucien feels more at home with them than he does here, and while you understand, it does little to soothe your unease.

Helion, at least, had been a comforting presence earlier in the evening. You’d known him long before tonight, ever since Eris’s mother, Arlene, had moved into the Day Court after Beron’s death. Helion’s warmth and humour had provided a brief reprieve from the relentless formalities of the evening, but now, with him occupied elsewhere, you feel untethered.

Eris is across the room, locked in conversation with one of his advisors, his expression sharp and unreadable. You know he’s keeping an eye on you, even from afar, but right now, his watchful presence does little to ease the knot of anxiety in your chest.

As you lift your goblet for another sip, a familiar voice cuts through the noise. “You look like you’re plotting someone’s demise,” Alev remarks, his tone laced with amusement as he slides into the seat beside you.

You glance at him, raising a brow. “And if I were?”

He grins, leaning back in his chair with an air of casual defiance. “Depends. Is it someone I’d enjoy watching you take down?”

A small, reluctant smile tugs at your lips, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I think the only thing keeping me from snapping is this wine,” you admit, swirling the liquid in your goblet. “And even that might not be enough.”

Alev chuckles, his crimson hair catching the golden glow of the chandeliers above. “Come on, it can’t be that bad. You’ve survived half the High Lords already. What’s one more?”

You cast a pointed glance at the Night Court, where Lucien is still deep in conversation. “It’s not just one more,” you say quietly. “It’s Rhysand and his entire inner circle. They’re… intimidating.”

Alev follows your gaze, his expression thoughtful. “They don’t look so scary to me. Lucien seems to be holding his own.”

“Lucien is used to them,” you counter. “I’m not.”

He shrugs, his grin returning. “Well, if they give you any trouble, just sic Eris on them. Or me. I’d be happy to cause a little chaos on your behalf.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “That’s the last thing we need tonight, Alev.”

“Maybe,” he concedes, his tone teasing. “But it’d make for a more entertaining evening, wouldn’t it?”

You can’t help but smile at his antics, the tension in your shoulders easing just slightly. Alev may be a troublemaker, but in moments like this, his irreverent humour is exactly what you need.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, your voice barely audible over the din of the ballroom.

He glances at you, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “Anytime,” he says, his voice steady and sincere.

As the night drags on, the noise in the ballroom seems to grow louder, the laughter and chatter blending into an indistinct hum. You glance over at Eris, still engaged in conversation with his advisor, his posture rigid and his expression betraying the strain of the evening.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you see him step away from the group. His stride is slower than usual, his shoulders slightly slumped, and his usually sharp golden eyes seem dimmer, weighed down by the demands of his title.

He spots you immediately, his gaze softening as he makes his way across the room. The exhaustion etched into his features is stark, his mask of courtly perfection slipping now that he’s out of the scrutinizing eyes of the other lords and advisors.

When he reaches your table, he lets out a long, quiet sigh and sits down heavily beside you. His hand brushes over yours briefly before he leans back, rubbing his temples.

“Tired already, my Lord?” you tease lightly, though your voice carries a note of sympathy.

He lets out a dry chuckle, his lips twitching into the faintest smile. “If I hear one more thinly veiled threat disguised as flattery, I might set the whole ballroom on fire.”

You laugh softly and pick up your goblet, extending it toward him without a word. He glances at you, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, but he doesn’t hesitate. He takes the wine from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours, and drinks deeply.

When he sets the goblet down, he exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

“Anytime,” you reply, your lips quirking into a small smile. “Consider it a perk of having me as your wife.”

His golden eyes meet yours, a spark of warmth cutting through his exhaustion. “The best perk,” he says quietly, his hand finding yours under the table and giving it a gentle squeeze.

His hand still resting over yours, his thumb tracing idle circles against your skin. There’s a spark of something in his eyes now, a lightness that hadn’t been there earlier. He shifts in his seat, straightening slightly, and turns to face you fully.

“Dance with me,” he says softly, his voice low and inviting, though it’s more a request than a command.

You blink at him, momentarily surprised. “Here? Now?”

His lips curve into a faint smirk. “Why not? I’m owed at least one dance tonight, and I’d rather have it with you than anyone else.”

You glance around the bustling ballroom, the glittering gowns and polished boots of the other guests reflecting the glow of the chandeliers above. Before you can voice any hesitation, Eris stands and offers his hand to you, his golden eyes glinting with determination.

“Come,” he murmurs. “I know a better place.”

Intrigued, you slide your hand into his, letting him guide you away from the crowded floor. He leads you toward the grand doors that have been opened to the gardens, where the fresh, crisp scent of rain drifts in on the cool night air. The gardens, transformed into an extended ballroom, glimmer under the soft glow of floating lanterns.

The rain is gentle, a light mist that barely kisses your skin as Eris steps into the open garden, the soft patter against the stone tiles creating a melody of its own. He turns to you, his hair catching the golden light, and extends his hand again.

“Will you dance with me here?” he asks, his voice softer now, almost tender.

You glance up at the misty sky, the droplets shimmering like tiny diamonds as they fall. “It’s raining,” you say, though there’s no protest in your tone.

“A little rain never hurt anyone,” Eris replies, his lips quirking into a playful smile. “Besides, it’s quieter here. Just us.”

Your heart flutters at the sincerity in his words, and you place your hand in his once more. He pulls you close, one arm wrapping around your waist while the other holds your hand, his grip steady and sure.

As the music from the ballroom drifts faintly into the garden, Eris begins to sway with you, guiding you effortlessly across the rain-slicked tiles. The world feels smaller here, the distant chatter and laughter fading away until it’s just the two of you, moving together under the soft drizzle.

The rain cools your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of Eris’s touch as he holds you close. His gaze never leaves yours, golden and intent, filled with a quiet affection that steals your breath.

“You’ve been incredible tonight,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the gentle patter of rain. “I know how hard this is for you. But you’ve handled it all with grace.”

You shake your head slightly, a small laugh escaping you. “If grace means aggressively sipping wine and hiding from the High Lords, then sure.”

Eris chuckles, his breath warm against your temple as he pulls you even closer. “To me, it means being yourself. Even when it’s hard.”

The sincerity in his words makes your chest ache, and you rest your head against his shoulder, letting him lead you in the quiet dance. The rain falls softly around you, catching in his fiery hair and soaking into the rich fabric of his suit, but neither of you care.

In this moment, with the garden as your ballroom and the rain as your accompaniment, the weight of the evening lifts, leaving only the warmth of his presence and the steady rhythm of your hearts.

-----

From the balcony overlooking the garden, the Night Court’s inner circle had gathered, drawn by the faint sound of laughter and the soft glow of lanterns spilling into the misty rain. Feyre leaned against the railing, her hand loosely intertwined with Rhysand’s, while Cassian and Azriel stood nearby, their dark wings slightly folded, their gazes sharp. Mor and Amren were seated on a cushioned bench, but even they couldn’t resist peering out into the rain-soaked garden below.

The scene unfolding before them was nothing short of surprising.

“There,” Mor murmured, gesturing with a tilt of her chin.

Eris Vanserra, of all people, was dancing in the rain. But it wasn’t the stiff, performative kind of dance they’d expect from the newly crowned High Lord of Autumn. This was… intimate. Genuine.

He moved with an easy grace, his hands firmly guiding his partner—you, his wife—across the rain-slicked stones. The faint music from the ballroom drifted into the night, but it seemed almost irrelevant. The two of you were lost in your own rhythm, your laughter carrying softly on the cool breeze.

“Is that…?” Cassian began, leaning forward as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“It’s his wife,” Feyre confirmed, her lips curving into a faint smile.

Rhysand said nothing, his violet eyes narrowing as he observed Eris’s expression.

They had seen him many times before: sharp, calculating, cruel. A predator dressed in finery. But now? Now, he looked like someone entirely different.

As the inner circle watched, Eris suddenly dropped to one knee, his fiery hair damp with rain, his hand disappearing beneath the delicate folds of your gown. The motion was quick, fluid, and in an instant, he pulled out a dagger from some hidden sheath at his side.

“What the hell is he doing?” Azriel murmured, his shadows swirling with tension.

But their apprehension faded as Eris took the dagger to the hem of your dress, his movements precise as he carefully cut another slit along the fabric. The silk parted easily beneath the blade, creating a matching slit opposite the one already present. He sheathed the dagger just as quickly, the glint of the blade vanishing into the folds of his coat.

You were laughing, your head thrown back as you leaned against his shoulder, and Eris stood, brushing his fingers along the edge of the fabric to ensure it wouldn’t catch. He whispered something to you, too soft for the onlookers to hear, and then—without warning—he lifted you off the ground.

Your laughter rang out, light and joyful, as he spun you in a circle, his hands steady at your waist. The movement was effortless, as though he had done it a thousand times before. The lantern light caught the droplets of rain clinging to his hair, his suit, and most notably, the smile on his face.

A real smile.

Not the cunning smirk he so often wore, nor the sly grin meant to unsettle his enemies. This was something deeper, something softer, something the inner circle had never seen before.

“Is he… smiling?” Cassian asked, incredulous.

Mor leaned forward, her golden hair glinting in the light. “I think he is,” she said, her voice tinged with equal parts awe and disbelief.

“That’s a first,” Amren muttered, though even her silver eyes softened at the sight.

Feyre glanced at Rhys, her brow slightly raised. “Do you think he’s actually happy?” she asked quietly.

Rhysand didn’t answer immediately. His gaze remained fixed on Eris, watching as he set you back on your feet with a gentleness that seemed impossible for the man they thought they knew. The way his hands lingered at your waist, the way his head tilted down to hear your laugh more clearly—it wasn’t an act.

“I think,” Rhys finally said, his voice low, “we’ve never seen the real Eris Vanserra before.”

Below, Eris leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, his smile lingering as he pulled you closer. The rain continued to fall, unnoticed by either of you, and the inner circle watched in silence, captivated by the unguarded, unexpected display of love from a man they had always considered unfeeling.

For the first time, Eris Vanserra seemed… fae. And it left them with far more questions than answers.

The inner circle remained silent, captivated by the unexpected scene unfolding in the rain-soaked garden below. None of them had ever thought Eris capable of such tenderness, let alone joy. It was a moment so foreign, so incongruous with the man they had come to know, that they could hardly look away.

“Enjoying the show, are we?”

The voice came from behind them, sharp and laced with amusement. They all turned to see Alev Vanserra, Eris’s younger brother, leaning casually against the doorway that led to the balcony. His crimson hair was damp from the rain, and his amber eyes gleamed with a mischievous light.

Cassian narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms. “You’re surprisingly cheerful for someone who just fled the ballroom with your brother shouting after you.”

Alev smirked, shrugging one shoulder. “Eris is always shouting about something. I’ve learned to tune it out.”

Mor arched a brow, stepping closer. “And what about you? Shouldn’t you be inside, causing chaos?”

“I could,” Alev said with a mock-serious nod. “But then I wouldn’t get to see all of your reactions to this.” He gestured toward the garden, where Eris had just twirled you again, your dress fanning out as you laughed.

Azriel’s shadows coiled tighter around him, his expression unreadable. “What do you want, Alev?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Alev said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Just thought I’d join the peanut gallery for a moment. Watching Eris act like an actual person is a rare event, after all. Wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Feyre tilted her head, studying him. “You don’t seem surprised.”

Alev’s grin softened, just slightly. “Why would I be? He’s always been like this with her. The rest of you just never get to see it.”

That earned a flicker of interest from Rhysand, who regarded Alev with his usual inscrutable expression. “You’re saying this is common?”

“With her? Absolutely,” Alev replied, his gaze drifting back to the garden. “With everyone else? Not so much. She’s… different for him. Special.”

Cassian scoffed, but there was no real malice in it. “Hard to imagine Eris Vanserra being soft for anyone.”

“Maybe that’s your problem,” Alev shot back, his tone still light but carrying an edge. “You’ve all only ever seen the mask he wears for court. That’s not who he is—not completely.”

Rhys’s violet eyes narrowed slightly. “And you’d defend him, after everything?”

Alev’s smirk faded, and for a moment, his gaze hardened. “I’m not defending him,” he said quietly. “I’m just saying there’s more to him than you know. That’s all.”

The inner circle exchanged glances, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

“And if you’ll excuse me,” Alev added, his usual smirk returning, “I’ve got a drink waiting for me inside. Enjoy the show.”

With that, he turned and disappeared back into the ballroom, leaving them to mull over his words as they returned their attention to the rain-drenched garden below.

The rain had picked up slightly, but you hardly noticed, lost in the rhythm of Eris’s movements as he twirled you around the garden. The music from the ballroom drifted faintly on the air, but the sound of your laughter drowned it out, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

Eris spun you faster this time, his hand firm on yours, the other resting at the small of your back. You let out a surprised laugh, swatting at his arm when the spinning became a little too enthusiastic.

“Eris!” you exclaimed, breathless. “You’re going to make me fall.”

He smirked, the playful glint in his golden eyes shining brighter than the lanterns. “I’d never let you fall, my love,” he replied, his voice smooth and teasing. “But you do look rather adorable when you’re dizzy.”

Before you could retort, he abruptly caught you mid-spin and pulled you close, dipping you dramatically. The world tilted, your hands instinctively flying to his shoulders to steady yourself, but his grip was unyielding, his strength evident even in the gentlest touch.

“I’ll have to remember that move,” he teased, his fiery hair falling slightly into his eyes as he leaned down. “It keeps you right where I want you.”

Your heart fluttered at the intensity of his gaze, at the way the rain clung to his lashes and dampened the sharp lines of his face. “You’re impossible,” you said, though your voice lacked any true heat.

“And yet, you’re still here,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours in a fleeting, tantalizing kiss.

You let out a soft laugh, your fingers curling into the fabric of his coat. “For now.”

He arched a brow, his smirk deepening. “Careful, little fox,” he said, his voice low and teasing as he dipped you even lower, his grip unshakable. “You wouldn’t want me to think you’re challenging me.”

The rain fell heavier now, but the warmth of his breath against your skin, the steadiness of his hold, and the fire in his eyes made you forget the chill. Then, without warning, he kissed you again, this time deeper, his lips stealing the last of your breath and leaving you utterly lost in him.

When he finally pulled back, he straightened, bringing you with him as he set you back on your feet. “Admit it,” he said, his voice a mix of smugness and affection. “You’re having fun.”

You rolled your eyes, though your flushed cheeks and lingering smile betrayed you. “You’re lucky I love you,” you muttered, swatting his arm again.

He caught your hand this time, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before spinning you once more, his laughter blending with yours as the rain continued to fall.

Back on the balcony, the inner circle remained transfixed, watching the scene unfold below. Eris’s laughter—actual, genuine laughter—carried faintly through the rain, blending with the sound of your own.

Cassian let out a low whistle, shaking his head in disbelief. “I think I’ve seen everything now. Eris Vanserra laughing, smiling, and dancing in the rain? Who knew he had it in him.”

Mor leaned against the railing, her golden hair glinting faintly in the lantern light. “It’s not just the laughing,” she said, her voice quieter, more contemplative. “Look at him. He’s… happy. Like, actually happy.”

“That’s what love will do to you,” Feyre murmured, her lips curving into a small smile as she watched Eris dip you low, your laughter ringing out like a melody.

Amren snorted from her seat, her sharp silver eyes flicking briefly toward the scene. “Or madness. The line between the two is thinner than most think.”

Azriel, standing slightly apart from the group, didn’t respond. His shadows swirled around him, reflecting the tension in his stance, but his gaze remained fixed on Eris. “He’s not who we thought he was,” he said finally, his voice low and even.

Rhysand, who had been quiet for some time, rested his hands on the balcony rail, his violet eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “No,” he agreed. “He’s not.”

The High Lord’s gaze flicked to Alev’s empty chair, a shadow of a smirk tugging at his lips. “His brother wasn’t wrong. We’ve only seen the side of him that benefits his games. This…” He gestured vaguely to the garden below, where Eris had just spun you again, your dress fanning out as you swatted at him, both of you laughing. “This is new. For us, at least.”

“And you’re telling me this,” Cassian said, pointing toward Eris with an incredulous look, “is the same bastard who tried to burn Lucien alive as a kid? The same Eris who—”

“Yes,” Rhys said simply, cutting him off. “But people are more complicated than their worst moments, Cassian. He’s been playing a role for a long time. Maybe too long.”

Cassian grunted, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t argue further.

Mor crossed her arms, her gaze still fixed on the garden. “Do you think he’s changed?”

“Not entirely,” Rhys replied, his tone careful. “But maybe he’s… trying.”

“Or maybe she’s the one who changes him,” Feyre added softly, her eyes warm as she watched you laugh and lean into Eris’s chest.

Amren huffed. “Let’s not start romanticizing the brute just yet. A few dances in the rain don’t erase centuries of cruelty.”

“No,” Feyre agreed, turning her gaze toward Rhys. “But it does mean there’s more to him than we thought. And maybe that’s worth watching.”

As the conversation continued, Eris dipped you once more, pressing a kiss to your lips that left you smiling even as the rain began to drench your hair and dress. The sight of his rare, unguarded happiness lingered in their minds, sparking a quiet, uneasy realization: the man they thought they knew might not be the whole story after all.

The rain, which had started as a light drizzle, suddenly intensified into a downpour. The soft patter turned into a symphony of heavy drops, soaking through your dress and Eris’s fine clothes in seconds.

You let out a startled laugh, trying to shield your face with your hands as the water cascaded down. “Eris!” you exclaimed, blinking against the deluge. “This is no longer romantic—it’s a storm!”

Eris, his fiery hair plastered to his forehead, grinned mischievously. “Didn’t you say you wanted an unforgettable night, little fox?”

Before you could respond, he grabbed your hand, tugging you forward with an energy that made your heart race. “Come on!”

“Where are we going?” you called, laughing even as you stumbled after him.

“To the other side of the garden!” he shouted over the roar of the rain, his voice carrying above the chaos.

The two of you darted through the garden, your soaked skirts clinging to your legs and slowing your pace. Eris kept a firm grip on your hand, guiding you expertly around puddles and flowerbeds as you both ran toward the sheltered pavilion on the far side.

The rain lashed harder, drenching every inch of you, but neither of you seemed to care. Your laughter mingled with the storm, and despite the chill, there was a warmth in the way Eris glanced back at you, his golden eyes bright with exhilaration.

Finally, you reached the pavilion, the stone archway offering a reprieve from the downpour. You collapsed against one of the columns, breathless and laughing, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

Eris joined you, his hands braced on either side of the column as he leaned in close, droplets of rain rolling down his sharp jawline. “You’re drenched,” he said, his tone teasing but his gaze soft.

“So are you,” you shot back, flicking a strand of wet hair from your face.

He chuckled, his fingers reaching up to tuck the errant strand behind your ear. “You look beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in his words. “You’re impossible,” you whispered, though your smile betrayed your affection.

“And you love me for it,” he replied, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your rain-slicked lips.

For a moment, the world faded—the storm, the ball, the weight of the crown Eris now wore. It was just the two of you, drenched and laughing, hidden away in your own little corner of the garden.

The inner circle remained on the balcony, now huddled beneath the stone awning to avoid the storm's reach. The rain lashed against the marble, a distant echo to the laughter that had accompanied you and Eris as you darted out of sight into the garden. The scene below was empty now, the storm masking all but the faint music from the ballroom.

Lucien approached from the stairwell, his auburn hair slightly damp, his gold and russet eye catching the flickering light of the lanterns. He paused when he saw them, his lips curving into a wry smile.

“You’re all watching him like he’s some sort of rare creature in the wild,” he said, crossing his arms as he joined them at the railing.

Cassian leaned against the stone, smirking. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t worth watching. Your brother, spinning his wife like a lovestruck fool in the middle of a downpour?” He chuckled. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Lucien arched a brow, his good eye narrowing slightly. “Careful, Cassian. Eris isn’t as oblivious as you’d like to think. He’s likely aware of every one of you standing here gawking.”

Mor scoffed, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “He didn’t even glance this way. He was too busy playing prince charming.”

“He didn’t need to,” Lucien said, a hint of exasperation in his tone. “Eris always knows his surroundings, especially now. But I suppose none of you would understand how much that crown weighs—on him, on her.”

Rhysand tilted his head slightly, watching Lucien with mild curiosity. “You sound almost… sympathetic, Lucien.”

Lucien shrugged, his gaze drifting toward the rain-soaked garden. “I know what it’s like to have people assume they know you, to reduce you to your worst moments. And I know what it’s like to see someone you care about carry more than they should.”

His words hung in the air, a quiet truth none of them could argue.

Azriel’s shadows coiled tighter, his voice breaking the silence. “Do you believe he’s changed?”

Lucien hesitated, his jaw tightening as if weighing his words. “I believe he’s trying. For her, for their-... And that’s more than I ever thought possible.”

Feyre studied him, her expression softening. “You’ve seen it firsthand, haven’t you?”

Lucien nodded, a faint, almost reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “He’s still Eris—sharp edges and all. But when he’s with her…” His gaze flicked to the garden again, where the rain still fell heavily. “It’s like those edges dull, just a little. He loves her. Fiercely. And I think that scares him as much as it comforts him.”

Cassian snorted, shaking his head. “Fierce or not, he’s still the same arrogant bastard who—”

“Cassian,” Rhys warned, his tone light but carrying enough weight to make the Illyrian warrior pause.

Lucien’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a dangerous gleam in his russet eye as he turned toward Cassian. “He is arrogant,” he agreed smoothly. “And he’s made mistakes. But don’t let your biases blind you to what’s in front of you.”

Mor looked ready to interject, but Rhys raised a hand, silencing her. “That’s enough,” he said, his gaze lingering on Lucien. “We’re not here to pass judgment—yet.”

Lucien inclined his head, though the tension in his frame didn’t ease. “Just remember, Rhysand. Whatever you think of Eris, she chose him. And she seems happy.”

With that, Lucien stepped back, his gaze once again drawn to the stormy garden. His expression softened, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his face before he turned and walked back into the ballroom, leaving the inner circle to ponder his words in silence.

The rain continued to fall in heavy sheets as Eris led you deeper into the garden, his steps purposeful despite the mud slicking the stone paths. The storm seemed to heighten everything—the cool, wet air against your skin, the pounding of your heart, the way his golden eyes burned with something primal and unrestrained.

Before you could fully process his intent, he stopped abruptly, turning to face you. Without a word, his hands slid to your waist, and in one swift, commanding movement, he pressed you back against the soft grass beneath the open sky.

“Eris,” you murmured, your voice breathless as your hands instinctively reached up to grip the lapels of his soaked coat.

He leaned down, his body caging yours, every line of him sharp and unyielding against the storm’s chaos. “Shh, little fox,” he whispered, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver through you. “You’re mine tonight. All of you.”

His lips descended on yours, fierce and demanding, yet somehow achingly tender. The rain pelted down around you, but you barely felt it, too consumed by the heat of his kiss. His hands roamed your sides, his touch grounding you even as it left you utterly undone.

The kiss deepened, his tongue teasing yours with a skill that left you breathless. You arched into him, your fingers threading through his damp hair as his hand slid to the curve of your hip, pulling you impossibly closer.

When he finally broke the kiss, his lips brushed against your jaw, your neck, trailing heat in their wake. “You drive me mad,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and unguarded. “Do you know that?”

Your heart thundered in your chest, your voice a trembling whisper as you replied, “You’re one to talk.”

He laughed softly, the sound vibrating through you as he leaned back just enough to meet your gaze. The storm raged on around you, but in his eyes, there was only fire—fire that promised he’d never let you go.

“You’re mine,” he said again, the words a vow as his lips claimed yours once more, his body sheltering you from the storm even as his kiss consumed you completely.

Eris pulled back slightly, his breath warm against your rain-cooled skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His golden eyes roamed over your face, his expression caught somewhere between reverence and possessiveness, as though he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

You opened your mouth to say something, to tease him or demand another kiss, but he beat you to it. “I should take you back inside,” he murmured, though his hands stayed firm on your hips, pinning you to the soft, rain-drenched earth. “But I can’t seem to let you go.”

You let out a shaky laugh, brushing a soaked strand of his hair away from his face. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”

His grin was slow and wicked, the kind that always made your pulse race. “Is that so?” he asked, lowering his lips to the hollow of your throat, pressing a kiss there that made you shiver despite the heat pooling in your stomach.

The rain continued to fall, soaking through both your clothes and the soft earth beneath you, but neither of you cared. Eris shifted slightly, his body a solid, grounding weight against yours, his hands sliding from your waist to your thighs, his thumbs tracing lazy circles through the fabric of your dress.

“You’re everything to me, little fox,” he said softly, his voice raw with emotion. “Do you know that? My world begins and ends with you.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, though you weren’t sure if it was from the intensity of his words or the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered. “Eris,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you cupped his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I love you. More than anything.”

His breath hitched at your words, his lips parting as if to respond, but instead, he kissed you again, pouring every ounce of his devotion into it.

The storm raged on, but in that moment, nothing else existed—just you, Eris, and the fire that burned between you, unquenchable even by the rain.

-----

The ballroom carried on in its lively revelry, the swirling gowns and vibrant music disguising the absence of its new High Lord and his lady. Most were too engrossed in their conversations, drinks, or dances to notice that Eris and you had slipped away, though the inner circle, seated near the grand doors, had kept an eye on the evening’s events with quiet curiosity.

Feyre, lounging at the table beside Rhysand, tilted her head toward the doorway, her brows furrowing. “Do you see that?” she murmured, her voice low but sharp enough to catch her companions’ attention.

Cassian, who had been nursing his drink, looked up and followed her gaze. Near the doorway, a small figure stood hesitantly, his auburn hair glinting in the flickering light of the chandeliers. His clothes were finely made but slightly rumpled, as if he’d been running or hiding.

“That’s a child,” Mor said, her tone incredulous. “What in the Mother’s name is a child doing here? This isn’t exactly a family gathering.”

Azriel’s shadows curled tighter around him as he observed the boy. “He’s too young to be here alone,” he said quietly. “Someone should—”

Before he could finish, Feyre gestured toward Lucien, who was standing nearby. “Lucien,” she called, her voice cutting across the noise. “Come here for a moment.”

Lucien approached, his gaze sharp as he followed their pointed looks toward the boy. The moment he saw him, his body stiffened, his eyes widening in recognition. “Azer?” he muttered under his breath before suddenly striding forward.

The inner circle exchanged puzzled glances as they watched Lucien kneel in front of the boy, his expression softening as he gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Azer,” Lucien said, his tone both firm and kind. “What are you doing here, little one? Where’s your sitter?”

The boy’s wide, teary eyes looked up at him, his lower lip trembling. “There was… a fire in my room,” Azer hiccupped, his voice high and distressed. “She told me to step away.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened. “A fire?”

Azer nodded, tears spilling down his cheeks. “I—I made a spark, Uncle Lucien,” he confessed, his tiny voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to! I didn’t know I could do that.”

The revelation hit Lucien hard, but he quickly scooped the boy into his arms, holding him close as Azer began to sob in earnest. “Shh, little fox,” he murmured, trying to calm him. “It’s okay. You’re not in trouble.”

“Where’s Mama? Dada?” Azer cried, his small hands clutching at Lucien’s tunic.

Lucien’s heart clenched at the desperate plea, but his focus remained on soothing the boy. He turned back toward the inner circle, carrying Azer with a protective arm around him.

As he approached, the group’s expressions ranged from confusion to shock. Feyre, in particular, seemed stunned. “That’s—” she started, her gaze darting between Azer and Lucien. “Is he…?”

Lucien didn’t meet her eyes. “Yes,” he said shortly. “This is Azer. Eris and Y/N’s son.”

The table fell silent, the revelation striking like a thunderclap.

Cassian was the first to break the silence. “Wait, Eris has a kid? And no one told us?”

Mor blinked, her mouth opening and closing as if trying to find words. “How… when…?”

Before anyone could press further, Alev appeared, his expression one of mild alarm as he approached the group. “What’s going on?” he asked, his gaze flicking to Azer.

Lucien, his tone sharp, said, “Azer lit a spark in his room. It’s his first time using his powers.”

Alev’s face paled, his hand instinctively running through his hair. “Oh, cauldron,” he muttered. “This might be my fault. I told him a story earlier—about how I accidentally set your curtains on fire. He must’ve…”

Lucien’s glare was deadly. “You what?”

Azer hiccupped, his small body trembling in Lucien’s arms. “I didn’t mean to,” he sobbed, his face buried in Lucien’s shoulder. “I just wanted to see if I could make a spark like Uncle Alev.”

Alev looked stricken, his guilt plain as he reached out to touch Azer’s back. “Little fox, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to try that.”

The inner circle exchanged stunned glances, their earlier judgments of Eris and you now tempered by the sight of the distraught child.

Rhysand, always the calmest, leaned back in his chair and said quietly, “Well, this certainly explains a few things.”

“It explains everything,” Feyre added softly, her gaze lingering on Azer, who clung to Lucien as though his life depended on it.

Cassian let out a low whistle, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair. “So, not only does Eris have a kid, but he’s been hiding him? Makes you wonder what else he’s keeping secret.”

“More like why he hid him,” Mor added, her voice laced with sharpness. “If he was so proud of his son, why wouldn’t he—”

“Enough,” Lucien snapped, his voice cutting through their remarks like a blade.

The group stilled, turning to face him. Lucien’s expression was uncharacteristically hard, his russet eye blazing with anger while his mechanical one whirred faintly as it focused on each of them. Azer, still clinging to him, hiccupped softly, his tiny hands fisting in Lucien’s tunic.

“You can say what you want about me,” Lucien began, his voice low and fierce. “And you can say what you want about Eris. But you will not speak of Azer like he’s some kind of scandal to be dissected.”

“Lucien—” Feyre started, but he cut her off with a glare.

“No,” he said firmly. “You don’t understand. Azer wasn’t hidden because Eris wasn’t proud of him. He was hidden because he was born during Beron’s rule.”

The air in the room seemed to grow heavier at the mention of Beron, the former High Lord of Autumn whose cruelty was well-known.

“If Beron had known Azer existed,” Lucien continued, his voice shaking with restrained fury, “he wouldn’t have lived to see his first birthday. Eris and Y/N kept him hidden to protect him, not because they were ashamed.”

Mor’s expression softened slightly, but her tone remained skeptical. “I’m not saying they didn’t have reasons, Lucien. But keeping a child secret for years—”

“You don’t get to judge them,” Lucien bit out, his tone sharp. “You have no idea what it was like in this court. What it took to survive, let alone to keep a child safe.” He adjusted Azer in his arms, his hold protective. “Azer is not to be a topic on your tongues. Not now, not ever.”

Azriel, who had been silent until now, leaned forward slightly, his shadows curling tighter around him. “We weren’t trying to judge the child,” he said carefully. “But it’s… surprising. That’s all.”

Lucien’s gaze narrowed, but he nodded curtly. “Surprising or not, Azer is off-limits. I don’t care what you think of me or Eris, but you will leave him out of it. He’s innocent in all of this.”

The inner circle exchanged glances, a mixture of unease and understanding passing between them. Rhysand finally spoke, his tone measured. “Fair enough, Lucien. We’ll respect your wishes.”

Lucien’s shoulders relaxed marginally, but the fire in his gaze didn’t fade. “Good. Because Azer isn’t just Eris’s son. He’s my nephew. And I won’t let anyone treat him like he’s some kind of stain on our family.”

Azer whimpered softly, his little voice breaking through the tense silence. “I want Mama and Dada.”

Lucien’s expression softened immediately, and he pressed a kiss to the boy’s rain-damp hair. “I know, little fox,” he murmured. “We’ll find them soon.”

For the first time, the inner circle seemed to see Azer not as a symbol of Eris’s secrets but as a scared, vulnerable child. And in that moment, no one dared say another word.

Alev came rushing back into the ballroom, his normally composed expression frazzled as his eyes scanned the crowd. His coat was slightly askew, his hair damp from the rain outside.

“I’ve looked everywhere,” he said breathlessly, his voice tight with frustration as he approached Lucien and the inner circle. “I can’t find Eris or Y/N anywhere.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened as he shifted Azer, still rocking the boy gently in his arms. Azer clung to him, his tiny fingers fisting in Lucien’s tunic, his sobs quieter now but no less heart-wrenching.

“Keep your voice down,” Lucien hissed, glancing around to ensure no one else overheard.

“They’re probably somewhere in the gardens,” Alev muttered, running a hand through his hair. “But it’s pouring out there, and they’re not answering any of the usual signals.”

Before Lucien could respond, a soft but firm voice interrupted. “Azer? What are you doing down here?”

Everyone turned to see Lady Arlene, her elegant figure framed by the light from the grand chandeliers. She moved with a regal grace, her auburn hair swept up, her amber eyes sharp but filled with concern. Helion followed closely behind her, his expression curious as his golden gaze flicked to Azer.

“Mother,” Lucien said, his voice heavy with relief.

Arlene’s eyes widened when they fell on her grandson, who was still trembling in Lucien’s arms. Her expression softened instantly as she stepped closer, her skirts brushing the floor. “What happened?” she asked, her voice gentle as she reached out to stroke Azer’s hair.

Lucien sighed, his grip on Azer tightening protectively. “There was a fire in his room,” he explained, keeping his voice low. “He… lit a spark. For the first time.”

Arlene froze, her hand stilling against Azer’s curls. “A fire?” she repeated, her tone laced with both shock and understanding. “Oh, my little firefox.”

Azer sniffled, lifting his tear-streaked face to look at her. “I didn’t mean to, Grandmama,” he whimpered. “I just wanted to try like Uncle Alev said.”

Alev visibly winced, muttering, “I really shouldn’t have told him that story.”

Arlene shot him a pointed look but said nothing, focusing instead on her grandson. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice soothing. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Powers like yours can be tricky at first.”

Helion stepped forward then, his golden armour glinting in the light. His expression was equal parts curiosity and pride as he looked at Azer. “First sparks, hmm?” he said, his voice warm and deep. “A sign of strength, little one. Nothing to fear.”

Azer sniffled again, his big, teary eyes meeting Helion’s. “But I scared my babysitter. And I couldn’t find Mama and Dada.”

Lucien tightened his hold, rocking Azer gently. “They’ll be back soon,” he promised. “You’re safe now.”

Arlene exchanged a glance with Helion, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I’ll go find them,” she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Helion nodded, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. “I’ll come with you.”

As they turned to leave, Arlene glanced back at Azer, her expression softening once more. “Stay with your uncle, little fox. I’ll bring your parents back to you.”

Azer nodded weakly, his head resting against Lucien’s shoulder. The boy was exhausted, his earlier sobs having worn him out, but the occasional hiccup still shook his small frame.

The inner circle watched the exchange in silence, a mix of emotions flickering across their faces. Feyre’s gaze lingered on Azer, her expression unreadable, while Cassian and Mor exchanged wary looks. Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his eyes sharp as they followed Arlene and Helion’s retreating forms.

Lucien finally broke the silence, his voice low and firm. “Say what you want about Eris and me, but Azer isn’t up for discussion, I said it more than once but I'll say it again. Not tonight, not ever. He’s a child—a good child—and he deserves better than to be the subject of your scrutiny.”

Feyre nodded slowly, her tone soft as she said, “You’re right. He doesn’t deserve that.”

Lucien’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though the fire in his gaze didn’t dim. He glanced down at Azer, his voice softening as he murmured, “You’re safe, little fox. Your parents will be here soon.”

As the room settled into a tense quiet, Azer stirred in Lucien’s arms, his hiccups subsiding into soft breaths. He sniffled, his small hands clutching at Lucien’s tunic as he lifted his tear-streaked face. His wide, amber eyes—so much like his father’s—scanned the room, landing on Cassian, Azriel, and Rhysand.

Azer blinked, his curiosity breaking through the haze of his earlier tears. “Why do they have wings?” he asked, his voice small but clear as he pointed a tiny finger toward the three Illyrians.

The question caught everyone off guard, and for a moment, the tension in the room softened. Cassian exchanged a glance with Azriel, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“We were born with them,” Cassian said, leaning back in his chair and giving his wings an exaggerated stretch. “They’re part of being Illyrian.”

Azer tilted his head, his small brows furrowing in confusion. “What’s an Illyrian?”

“They’re warriors,” Lucien explained gently, his tone patient. “They come from a different part of the Night Court.”

Azer’s eyes grew even wider as he looked back at the three males. “Warriors? Like Dada?”

Azriel’s lips twitched in what might have been a smile, though his shadows curled tighter around him. “Something like that,” he said quietly.

Cassian chuckled, his grin widening. “I bet we could teach you a thing or two about being a warrior, little one.”

Lucien shot him a sharp look. “He’s three, Cassian. Let’s not give him ideas.”

Azer ignored the exchange, his attention fixated on Rhysand now. “Can I have wings too?”

Rhysand, who had been watching the interaction with quiet amusement, leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “I don’t think wings are something you can grow, little one,” he said, his tone light. “But you don’t need them to be strong. You’ve got fire in your veins, just like your father.”

Azer’s face scrunched up as he considered this, then turned back to Lucien. “But wings would be fun,” he insisted, his small voice earnest.

Lucien sighed, a soft chuckle escaping him despite himself. “You’ll have to make do without them, little fox.”

The inner circle exchanged subtle glances, their earlier wariness giving way to quiet intrigue as they observed the boy’s innocent curiosity. For a moment, the weight of secrets and past grievances seemed to lift, replaced by the simple wonder of a child discovering the world around him.

Azer’s gaze lingered on the Illyrians for a moment longer before he nestled back into Lucien’s shoulder, his tiny voice murmuring, “Maybe one day…”

Lucien smiled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Maybe one day,” he agreed, his voice filled with quiet affection.

The tension in the room only deepened when Lady Arlene, Helion, and Alev returned, their faces marked with worry. Alev’s hair was even more dishevelled than before, and both Arlene and Helion looked like they had braved the worsening storm outside.

“No sign of them,” Arlene announced, her voice tight as she approached Lucien and Azer. “The gardens are sprawling, and the rain is turning into a storm. They could be anywhere.”

Helion placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, though his own concern was evident. “They’re clever. They’ll be fine. But we should keep searching.”

Azer, still in Lucien’s arms, babbled softly to himself, seemingly unaware of the adults’ growing unease. His little voice carried a mix of words and toddler gibberish, his fingers playing with the collar of Lucien’s tunic. His eyes, though still red-rimmed from crying, were wide with curiosity as he noticed the way Azriel’s shadows danced around him.

“’Shadows,” Azer murmured, his small hand stretching out toward the wisps of darkness that curled and swirled around Azriel like living things. “Wanna play.”

Azriel glanced down at the boy, his expression unreadable. His shadows seemed to hesitate for a moment before one daring tendril crept closer, teasingly twirling around Azer’s outstretched fingers.

Azer giggled softly, the sound tinged with sniffles as he tried to grab at the shadow. “Gotcha!” he exclaimed, his toddler speech slightly garbled. “No… no run!”

Azriel allowed a rare, faint smile to tug at the corner of his lips as his shadow darted away, only to circle back and flick at Azer’s tiny fingers.

Lucien sighed, adjusting Azer in his arms as he watched the interaction. “Don’t encourage him, Azriel,” he muttered, though his tone lacked any real bite.

“I’m not doing anything,” Azriel replied smoothly, though there was a flicker of amusement in his voice.

Azer giggled again, distracted from the earlier upset as he babbled nonsense words to the shadow, his sniffles gradually fading. The storm outside intensified, the sound of rain pounding against the grand windows of the ballroom filling the room.

Arlene stepped closer, her hand brushing over Azer’s curls. “We need to find them,” she said softly, her worry now etched plainly on her face.

Helion nodded, his gaze moving toward the doors. “They can’t have gone far, even with the storm. We’ll keep searching.”

Alev, standing nearby, hesitated before adding, “I’ll check the garden pathways again. Maybe they found cover somewhere.”

As the adults strategized, Azer turned his attention back to Azriel’s shadows, a tiny smile breaking through his lingering tears. His little hand swiped through the air again as he mumbled, “Come back, shadow. No hide!”

The sight of the toddler’s innocent determination seemed to soften even the tension between the inner circle and the Vanserras, at least for a moment. But the storm outside raged on, a reminder that the ones they were all looking for were still nowhere to be found.

-----

The storm had turned the garden into a shimmering maze, the rain coming down in heavy sheets that drenched everything in its path. You ran through it, your laughter ringing out despite the chaos, your hand clasped tightly in Eris’s. The muddy ground squelched beneath your feet, and your gown, once pristine, clung to your body, the fabric soaked through.

Eris, his hair plastered to his forehead, glanced back at you, his golden eyes alight with amusement even as the rain poured down around you both. “You’re going to ruin that dress,” he teased, though his own immaculate attire wasn’t faring much better.

“Better the dress than my ankles!” you shot back, already fumbling to pull off your soaked shoes. The delicate heels were no match for the slippery garden paths, and you nearly tripped as you tugged them free.

Eris caught you before you could fall, his strong hands steadying you as he grinned. “Careful, love. I’d hate for you to twist an ankle before our grand re-entrance.”

You laughed breathlessly, finally kicking the shoes off and tossing them onto the wet grass. “I think it’s a little late for grand, don’t you?”

Eris raised a brow, clearly unbothered by the state of your dishevelled appearance. “You forget who you’re with.” His voice was low, teasing, and entirely too self-assured as he pulled you closer. “I can make anything grand.”

Rolling your eyes, you tugged him forward, your bare feet splashing through puddles as you both ran toward the faint glow of the ballroom ahead. The rain was relentless, but it only added to the thrill of the moment, each step a mix of wild abandon and shared laughter.

As you reached the edge of the gardens, the sound of music from the ballroom grew louder, mingling with the rhythm of the rain. You paused for a moment under the partial cover of a sprawling oak tree, catching your breath as Eris leaned down, his hands braced on his knees.

“You know,” you panted, brushing wet strands of hair from your face, “we probably look ridiculous.”

Eris straightened, his golden eyes gleaming despite the storm. “We look like royalty,” he said smugly, though the grin tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. “Just… slightly soggier than usual.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you grabbed his hand again. “Come on, Your Highness. Let’s get back inside before they send a search party.”

As you reached the edge of the gardens, the rain pelting down harder than ever, Eris tugged you back beneath the shelter of a sprawling oak tree. His golden eyes glimmered with mischief as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“Do we really have to go back inside?” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, barely audible over the storm. “The ballroom’s full of people I’d rather avoid… and you’re far more interesting.”

Before you could respond, his lips found yours, warm and insistent despite the chill of the rain soaking through both your clothes. His hand slid up your back, fingers tangling in your damp hair as he kissed you with a fervour that made you momentarily forget the storm raging around you.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing uneven. “Why don’t we just stay out here?” he suggested, his tone teasing but his intent unmistakable. “The rain, the grass… It’s far better than listening to advisors drone on or exchanging pleasantries with people who don’t matter.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, though your teeth chattered from the cold. “Eris, it’s freezing, and we’re both covered in muck. Look at us!”

He glanced down, his shirt clinging to his chest and the once-immaculate fabric smeared with dirt. His boots were caked with mud, and your gown was a waterlogged mess. He grinned, utterly unbothered. “We’ve looked worse. And I still think you’re stunning.”

You swatted at his chest, though it lacked any real force. “As flattering as that is, I’m not about to let my teeth chatter out of my skull just to indulge you.”

Eris sighed dramatically, though his grin remained. “You ruin all my fun, you know that?”

You arched a brow, stepping back and tugging him toward the glowing lights of the ballroom. “Come on, High Lord. Let’s go before the muck starts seeping into places it shouldn’t.”

Eris followed reluctantly, though his hand remained firmly clasped in yours. “Fine,” he said, his tone half playful, half resigned. “But don’t think for a second that I’m done with you tonight.”

You rolled your eyes, your heart still pounding from the intensity of his kiss. “You’re insatiable,” you muttered, though the warmth in your chest betrayed how much you loved it.

“And you’re freezing,” he shot back with a smirk. “Let’s get you inside before you catch cold.”

The grand ballroom was alive with music and chatter as you and Eris entered, soaked from the rain and slightly dishevelled. The golden chandeliers cast a warm glow over the room, a stark contrast to the storm still raging outside. Water dripped from the hem of your dress, forming a small trail as you both walked further in. You reached up to smooth your hair, hoping to appear somewhat presentable, but Eris was already scanning the room, his sharp eyes cutting through the crowd.

It was then that his entire demeanour shifted. His gaze landed on Lucien, seated at a table near the far side of the ballroom, cradling a familiar bundle in his arms. Eris froze for a fraction of a second, his shoulders tensing before he took off in a sprint, leaving you to trail behind him, startled.

The inner circle, seated with Lucien and Azer, noticed Eris immediately. Cassian leaned back in his chair, exchanging a look with Rhysand and Feyre. They’d spent the past hour piecing together the puzzle of the little boy, thanks to Lucien’s quiet but firm explanation, but now they were about to witness the truth first-hand.

Eris reached Lucien in moments, his golden eyes darting over Azer’s tear-streaked face. Azer was clutching Lucien’s tunic with trembling fingers, his breaths coming in quick hiccups as his wide amber eyes filled with tears.

“Dada!” Azer cried out, reaching for Eris with both arms. His voice cracked with the effort, his small body shaking as his emotions overwhelmed him.

Eris immediately knelt, his hands steady as he took Azer from Lucien’s arms. “Shh, little firefox,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing despite the storm of worry in his gaze. “I’m here. Dada’s here.”

Azer buried his face in Eris’s soaked chest, sobbing uncontrollably. His little fists clutched at Eris’s tunic, his cries muffled but heart-wrenching. The room seemed to shrink as the High Lord of Autumn cradled his son, his usual composed mask cracking just enough for those closest to see.

Lucien stood, his expression grim as he addressed Eris. “There was a fire,” he explained quietly, his voice laced with both worry and frustration. “The babysitter told him to step away, but… Azer lit the spark. His powers manifested for the first time.”

Eris’s jaw tightened, his pride momentarily overshadowed by the need to comfort his son. “He’s alright?” he asked, his voice steady but low.

“He’s fine,” Lucien assured him. “Just shaken. And terrified.”

Eris closed his eyes for a moment, pressing a kiss to Azer’s curls. “It’s okay, little one,” he whispered. “You’re safe now. You’re so brave.”

Azer tried to speak, but his words came out in broken sobs. “D-Dada… fire… I—”

“Shh,” Eris soothed, rubbing small circles on Azer’s back. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re just like me, aren’t you? Full of fire.”

The pride in his voice was subtle, carefully masked by his fatherly concern, but those who knew him well could hear it. Cassian and Azriel, who had been quietly observing, exchanged a glance before stepping forward.

“You’ll soak him through,” Azriel said, his voice calm as he shrugged off his jacket. Cassian did the same, handing theirs to Eris.

“Wrap him in these,” Cassian added, his tone unusually soft.

Eris hesitated for a moment, his pride warring with practicality, before taking the jackets and wrapping them around Azer’s trembling form. The little boy clung to him, his cries quieting to soft hiccups as the warmth of the jackets and his father’s presence surrounded him.

The inner circle continued to watch, their expressions ranging from surprise to quiet understanding. This was not the cold, calculating High Lord they had expected. This was a father—protective, proud, and deeply devoted to his son.

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful as he observed Eris murmuring soft reassurances to Azer. “I never thought I’d see the day,” he said quietly, his voice just loud enough for Feyre to hear.

Feyre glanced at him, her lips curving into a faint smile. “There’s more to him than we realized,” she said.

“Clearly,” Rhysand replied, watching as Eris stood, cradling Azer close as if shielding him from the world.

The moment you spotted Eris standing with Azer wrapped in the jackets, your heart clenched. You ran toward them, your bare feet still damp from the rain, your gown dragging slightly behind you. The sight of your little boy nestled against his father, his tear-streaked face peeking out from the folds of fabric, was enough to quicken your pace.

As you reached them, you instinctively placed a hand on Eris’s arm, your gaze immediately falling to Azer. “What happened? Is he okay?” you asked breathlessly, brushing damp curls from your son’s forehead.

“He’s fine,” Eris assured you softly, his golden eyes meeting yours. “Just a little shaken. He—”

Lucien cleared his throat, stepping forward. “I’ll explain later,” he said, his voice low but steady. “He’s alright now, though.”

It was then you noticed the table behind them, where a group of unfamiliar faces watched the interaction with curious and calculating eyes. You quickly straightened, smoothing your sodden dress as best you could.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” you said, addressing the group with a polite smile despite your racing heart. “I’m Y/N, Eris’s wife. Thank you for… for helping with Azer. It means more than you know.”

The High Lady of Night Court—Feyre, you recognized her from Eris’s descriptions—was the first to speak. She stood, her expression warm and welcoming. “It’s lovely to meet you, Y/N,” she said. “You have a beautiful family.”

You smiled, a touch nervously, as the others introduced themselves: Rhysand, Azriel, Cassian, and Mor. Their gazes flicked between you, Eris, and Azer, a mix of curiosity and guarded interest in their eyes.

Azer squirmed slightly in Eris’s arms, his small hand reaching out for you. “Mama,” he mumbled, his voice still thick from crying.

You took him gently, cradling him close as he rested his head on your shoulder. His little body relaxed almost immediately in your embrace, though his pout remained firmly in place.

“This is a boring ball,” he mumbled, his tone disgruntled.

The room went silent for a beat before laughter rippled through the group. Even Eris let out a low chuckle, his hand resting on your back as you shook your head, biting back a smile.

“Well,” you said, kissing the top of Azer’s head, “he’s not wrong.”

Cassian grinned, leaning back in his chair. “I like this kid,” he said, earning a glare from Eris that only made him smirk wider.

Azer peeked up from your shoulder, his amber eyes still wet but curious as they scanned the group. He gave a little sniffle, then buried his face back against you with a contented sigh.

“Thank you,” you said again, your voice softer now as you looked at the group. “For everything.”

Feyre smiled warmly. “He’s lucky to have you both.”

You nodded, your heart swelling as you looked down at Azer. Despite the chaos of the night, everything felt a little more steady now with him in your arms.

[daycourtofficial]

It’s just to satiate the bond

Pairing: Eris x Rhysand’s sister!reader | WC: 2.3k | warnings: smut, piv, oral (f!receiving)

Summary: an agreement to have sex just to satiate a mating bond neither party wants is a great idea. Surely no one will get hurt, right?

Author’s note: this is part of my gingerfucker series but can be read by itself 😌 the next part is here

Her teeth were grinding as she walked down the hallway, her steps getting faster, trying to put as much distance from her and the large meeting room. She had to get away, she had to hide. She moved further away from the gathering of High Lords, pushing her instincts down, down, down as she went.

It was ridiculous how her body was reacting to just being in his presence, being so close to her mate. She shook her head, angrily trying to dispel that word from it.

Her ears twitched at the sound of quick steps behind her, nearly catching up to her. She quickened her pace, almost breaking out into a run, but the male that had followed her was quick to push her into an open door, shutting it behind them.

“What the fuck, Eris? Let me out of here.”

Eris stood blocking the door, not letting her move past him. Her arms reached for the knob before quickly being swatted away.

“No.”

“What is wrong with you?” She huffed out the question, not expecting much of a reply.

“Me? What is wrong with you?”

“I’m mated to an asshole.” Being so close to him was making her head spin, his scent of whiskey and smoke made her heart rate pick up.

His amber eyes danced with amusement. “Surely you understand mates are equals, so whatever I am, so are you.”

“You are a child.”

“You are the one who ran away.”

“To get away from you!”

“How did that work out for you, princess?”

He was grating on her, annoyance causing her teeth to grind again. She tried taking in a deep breath, hoping it would calm her nerves.

“It’d work better if you weren’t keeping me in here.” Her voice attempted to make the words sweet, missing the mark they came out with too much bite.

“I have a proposition.” It was difficult being this close to him. She picked up nearly every detail about him in this proximity: the freckles that trailed beneath the color of his shirt, wondering if they continued further down. The faint scent of what must be his hounds that clung to him. The necklaces that hung from his neck, draping over ornate fabrics she wanted to run her fingers over.

“We are both less than thrilled at this mating, however I am sure you are having urges that can’t be satisfied by anyone else or yourself.” His words pulled her from the visual inspection, looking up at him to find her distraction didn’t go unnoticed.

She moved her hands across her chest, fingers tapping her elbows. She didn’t want to admit how right he was - even the sight of other males made her want to gag. Nothing and no one had satiated the intense need that thrummed inside of her since it made itself known to her.

She nodded at him to continue, but he merely stared at her. Exasperated, she finally asked, “how do you suggest we go about fixing that?”

“We need to convince our bond we are happy.”

Our bond. The words struck something primal in her, some deep desire she had to be with him.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Don’t think I can’t feel you in my chest in the middle of the night.”

“And what of it? Do the males of Autumn not want their females to know sexual desire? Rather it be unpleasant for her?”

Eris growled, the sound shooting heat through her.

“I can do more with my tongue than any male in the Night Court can do with their cocks.”

His scent was suffocating, the air around her coated with him. It was surely making her delirious, surely the only reason she heard herself saying, “prove it”.

Those two words, spoken an exhale, was all it took for the Autumn heir to move quickly.

He buried his face in her chest, his teeth nipping at the exposed skin of the tops of her breasts. A soft moan escaped from her mouth, his face tilting just enough for his amber eyes to show. He looked like a true predator as starving, wolfish eyes looked back at her.

He lifted her, grabbing the backs of her thighs to hoist her around his hips before she felt the wall hit her back. There was no time to object as he stuffed two of his fingers into her mouth.

“Hush now, Princess. Would hate for your moans to expose us.” Heat pooled in her stomach at his smirk.

Eris didn’t let himself think about what he was doing as he undid the ties on his pants. He didn’t think as he slid her panties to the side, sliding his fingers through her wet folds. He bit back the groan that was making its way up his throat at how wet she was. He didn’t think as he lined his cock up to her entrance, something inside him desperate to keep her gaze on him as he did so.

He watched her violet eyes widen as he sheathed himself inside of her, nearly coming undone himself at how perfect she felt around him.

He wouldn’t think about his previous sexual encounters, never caring about who he was with. Sex was transactional, a means to an end. This was to satiate the godsdamned bond thrumming between the two of them.

He would never admit to her he had taken all his previous lovers from behind, never caring to watch them. Never admit to the stirring his cock felt watching her eyes close, swallowing her moans.

Eris felt himself getting close to that high, felt it creeping through his body as his thrusts got sloppier.

He had to take control, couldn’t allow this weakness. His fingers held her jaw tightly. , examining her eyes with each thrust.

“I hate you,” she gritted out, teeth grinding.

He thrusted hard into her, his gaze seering as he watched her eyes roll back.

“You hate me so, and yet you buck like a common whore for my prick.” His hair was falling into his face, his punishing pace making it harder to concentrate.

“Do you ever stop talking? You’d be much more likable if you did.” Her voice was high and breathy, something inside him knowing just how close she was. Their mixed arousal was pinging throughout his chest, a sensation he had never felt before.

“You weren’t worried about likability when you started dripping on my cock.”

“Fuck you.” Her eyes were closed, searching for every ounce of pleasure he was giving her.

“Aren’t you already?” Hushed words were sending both of them closer to that edge, each desperate to land just one more barb. The arrogance in Eris’s tone sent her spiraling, pleasure ripping through her in uncontrollable waves.

Eris was furiously pumping into her as she milked his cock, her high cresting as he met his own. Between their shared orgasm, there was a split second their eyes met. The vulnerability of what they just did passed through the glance, and then it was gone, locked away deep in both their souls.

Eris’s head met her shoulder, struggling to catch his breath.

“Winded there, Lord?”

He growled at the question, his fingers quickly gripping tight to her before immediately letting go. He pulled back from her, the loss of contact making his chest go heavy. His fingers quickly redid the ties of his pants, a hand moving through his long hair.

The only sound was their labored breaths, filling the room with the knowledge that they could not go back. A fact neither of them would accept.

She moved her skirts back down, desperate to cover that seed that ran down her inner thighs.

Eris moved to the door, his back to her enough for him to bring his fingers to his mouth, swirling his tongue around the remnants of her arousal on it.

-

“It’s just to satiate the bond.” The lie fell from her lips, something she had been telling herself over and over again over the past few weeks since that first time with Eris.

“Do you like how the bond makes you hot for me?”

The pain from the tree against her face was nothing compared to how good each of his thrusts felt.

Her fingers dug into the tree, desperate for some bit of reality to cling to. It felt absurd how common this occurrence was - meeting almost weekly now just to keep the bond inside from exploding.

It was ridiculous how many nights she spent in her bed, her fingers not enough to satisfy her as her mind drifted to the male behind her.

“Better than being eternally sad over you.”

A chuckle came from him before he thrusted deep inside her, his fingers a tight grip over her hips she was sure was going to bruise.

“How would Rhysand react to finding out his precious sister has been reduced to little more than a common whore?”

“Don’t tell me you have to think of my brother in order to get off, hmm?”

His pace was punishing at her words, their back and forths doing more to him than he wished to admit.

Long fingers wrapped around her neck, tilting her head back just enough for her to see his amber eyes full of lust. She couldn’t stop the moan coming from her mouth at the intensity of his gaze, how just the sight of his eyes and one swift thrust of his hips sent her toppling over the edge of pleasure.

His pace quickened, his thrusts working her through her orgasm until he pulled her as close as possible, emptying himself inside of her.

Eris kept looking at her, his gaze focused as she tried to catch her breath. With more effort than he anticipated, he pulled his hands away from her, helping her straighten herself off the tree.

He moved her skirts, helping her straighten them out. His hand met her waist, an almost tender touch before he quickly pulled it away.

“Next time don’t make any plans afterward. You reek of sex and have the markings to prove it.” His fingers pointed at his own face, showing a line where the bark had made indentions into her skin.

He waited, not saying anything, only nodding at her before winnowing away, leaving her stranded in the woods, confused and alone.

-

“I just need a taste.”

Eris Vanserra was kneeling on the ground before her, his body disappearing beneath her skirts. He was not gentle as he grabbed her leg, throwing it over his shoulder.

“Er-oh.” Protestations die on her tongue as his mouth latched onto her cunt, his tongue pressing against the cloth of her underwear.

Her strained ears could barely make out his grumbling about “coming unprepared”, his voice muffled as his tongue made long, sweeping strokes through her folds.

He was pressing his weight into her, the only thing keeping her upright against the tree as he held her in place. The woods were echoing with the obscene sounds from underneath her skirt, but she could not care less.

Suddenly Eris grabbed her other leg, leaving her hoisted against the tree, his neck her only support.

She couldn’t hold in the obscene noises coming from her mouth. One of Eris’s hands let go of her thighs and she could hear him fiddling with the ties of his pants.

“Eris, you filthy thing. Are you touching yourself while you eat me out?”

A growl was all her retort was met with, a bite to her clit making her practically climb up the tree.

He was moaning into her, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through her.

A biting quip was on the tip of her tongue, replaced by a moan as Eris’s fingers pushed the cloth to the side, rubbing his nose through her folds. His usual sharp tongue laid flat as he licked a long stripe across her heat. She shuddered at the sensation, trying to hold off her orgasm for as long as possible. The bond inside her was thrumming, bursting with joy at being pleasured by her mate.

Her hips were desperate as they rode across his face, thighs squeezing his head to keep him in place.

The sound of Eris pumping his cock into his hand was pushing her past her limits, their weekly rendezvous leading her to know exactly how it felt in her chest when he came.

Her high was quickly squashed as he pulled away from her, causing her to fall unceremoniously onto the ground. She let out a soft gasp, both pain and surprise unable to be contained.

“What are you-“ She looked up, chastisement at the ready, only to find her mate gone, nowhere to be found. She stood on shaky legs, using the tree as a support, not wanting to admit the disappointment that followed her as she left.

-

The ground was wet beneath her skirts, the tree biting into her back as she waited. The air was cold and uninviting, as if no one should be out in it without a coat or a lover’s embrace. She tried to ignore the heaviness in her chest, telling herself, “it’s fine.”

She waited. Minutes quickly turned into an hour, the moon high in the clearing above. Goosebumps ran up and down her arms at the late hour. The bond hummed lightly in her chest, nerves too strong to find out the consequences of pulling it.

Were these daliances getting to her, meaning much more than they should? He was supposed to arrive hours ago. He had never left her waiting this long.

Worry consumed her, but the everpresent bond assured her that he was out there somewhere, fine with the distance that lay between them.

She had never waited this long for a male to show up to a date before. She stopped that line of thinking quickly, shutting it down. Reminding herself this is not a date.

She sighed, rejection and embarrassment coming off her in waves. Her chest felt hollow as she looked about the clearing one last time, desperate for any sign she missed him before winnowing far, far away.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl

Eris taglist: @magicstrengthandcourage @book-obsessed124

Gingerfucker taglist: @bookwormysblog

Thanks for reading ❣️ here’s part two

[eri-is-online]

BOOM!Stobotnik but it's OK K.O. Lets's be heroes!

There is plenty more where these came from, but I'll hold off for the time being and make another big post with smaller doodles later

[crimeshowsource]

PERSON OF INTEREST 2.16

[clunaes]

my taste in fictional men is so different from real life men fictional men can get away with murder while real life men can't even get away with breathing

[thepittsource]

Had a guy come in. Hit by a drunk driver at a crosswalk. 39 year old vet. Survived three tours without a scratch. I spent the last two hours coding him. That's always a rough way to end the night. I must have had a reason at one time to keep coming back, but I can't think of it right now. Because...this is the job that keeps on giving. Nightmares. Ulcers. Suicidal tendencies.

THE PITT 1.10