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surielstea · 28 days

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Schools Out!

Based on this request.

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel and reader are in charge of picking Nyx up from school, but Az doesn’t like the way the teacher looks at his mate.

Warnings: innuendo of having kids

1.5k words

The final bell rang and children flooded from the brightly painted doors with wide grins on their faces as they lugged on their backpacks.

I stood beside a looming Azriel with a bright smile on my face as I waited for Nyx to exit the classroom. Feyre and Rhys had an emergency shipment at the art studio they needed to tend to and I was quick to jump at the opportunity to pick the young boy up from class.

Azriel— who has slowly become my personal shadow, goes wherever I go, so I wasn't surprised when he grabbed my wrist and led me to the front door without so much as a word.

A head of blue-black hair comes bounding out of the classroom. His sky-blue backpack hangs halfway off his shoulders as he talks to his teacher, looking up at the male as he clung to his hand.

Kids quickly found their parents but Nyx seemed too intrigued with his teacher to notice Azriel or I waiting.

People stared, perhaps it was Azriel's shadows swishing around us protectively or his large black wings, not many knew of the Illyrians and only about their reputations, I didn't blame them for staring, I wouldn't want the Illyrians near my kid's school either— but none of their eyes were on him, but rather on me.

Azriel's scarred hand snaked around my waist protectively and I smiled at the sentiment, my hand coming to his in an act to soothe him.

Nyx's eyes snag on us and his expression brightens. "Auntie! Uncle Az!" He rushes towards us, practically flying into my arms with a flap of his growing wings. "What are you doing here?" The boy asks excitedly. "Your parents are busy so we're here to pick you up," Azriel says, while I adjust him in my arms. "And, we might stop at the ice cream shop on our way home," I add, eyes flicking to Azriel with a mischievous grin, pinching my bottom lip between my teeth as Nyx's pupils practically morph into hearts.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," An unfamiliar voice sounds and my head whips up to see a tall male with a polite smile and finger-paint stains on his grey button-up. "Mr. Lockwood!" Nyx exclaims as if he hadn't just been with the teacher. "Hi Nyx," The male smiles at the boy, then looks back to me. "Nyx talks highly of you," A smirk curves his lips as his eyes linger all over me. Azriel's arm tightens protectively around me. "The both of you." The blonde corrects and I scoff a laugh, waving him off. "He does the same for you." I smile at him, setting Nyx down on his feet, his hand going into mine. "Always going on about Mr. Lockwood, you seem to make his day." I muse and Azriel's hand leaves my waist in order to pick a wanting Nyx up. "Please, call me Ezra." He presses a hand to his chest humbly and my brows raise a fraction.

I can practically feel Azriel tense beside me at the rushed familiarity. I bring my hand up to his bicep reassuringly as I continue my conversation with Nyx's favorite teacher.

"Right, Ezra," I smile politely at him, dragging my hand down Azriel's arm until reaching his hand where I intertwine our fingers. The teacher looks at our hands, at Azriel's scars I realize, watching as he swallows a lump in his throat. I bristle at the act, wondering what's so wrong with my mate's hands.

"Oh—" He catches the glare I'm subconsciously giving him and pulls a clipboard that was tucked beneath his arm.

"I just need you to sign here before you leave since you're not one of Nyx's biological parents." He holds the paper towards me. I skim through the fine details, the form essentially saying that Nyx's parents had consented to Az and me taking their child home.

I spotted the blank section at the bottom that I had to sign. "I'm sorry, I don't have a pen." I pad my pockets but find them empty.

Mr. Lockwood reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a red pen, but before I can take it, shadows appear before me, holding a blue pen. I looked to Mr. Lockwood who was staring down at the shadows anxiously, like the dark tendrils might eat him alive— and if my hand wasn't in Azriel's the spymaster might've let them.

I choose to take the blue pen, pulling it from the dark tendrils with a grateful smile and they happily whisk away, down towards the ground where they pooled at my heels. Mr. Lockwood puts his pen back in his breast pocket with a slight drag in his movements, as if in defeat. I sign the space with a big looping signature then hand the pen back to my mate. "Thanks, Az," I hum, he simply nods and takes it from my hold. I turned back to the teacher who was staring at the both of us like he was beyond confused as to why we were together.

It was no secret Azriel and I were pure opposites. One could tell just by looking at my pink gowns and white skirts compared to his black leathers— but it went deeper than just our clothes. I was typically the center of attention when it came to social events while Azriel preferred to observe me. I was always talking his ear off while he just nodded and chimed in every now and again. So when we met strangers it was always a shock to them when they found out we were mates.

"All done here?" I tilt my head, knocking the blonde from his stupor. "Uh— yes." He tucks the clipboard back under his arm. "Perfect," I take Nyx's backpack and sling it over my shoulder. "We'll be seeing you." I smile while Azriel pulls me away. "Bye, Mr. Lockwood!" Nyx waves with a bright smile from over Azriel's shoulder.

——

The walk to the Ice Cream parlor was brief, since Nyx's school was located in the Rainbow everything was only a short distance away, still, the entire way there Nyx raved on about his teacher. Much to Azriel's dismay.

"—And Mr. Lockwood gives us a cool sticker every time we get something right!" Nyx exclaims, skipping slightly as he tugs on my hand. "Would you rather have a sticker or ice cream?" Azriel says and I toss the jealous male a knowing glare. "Oh ice cream for sure," Nyx licks his lips excitedly. "That's what I thought." Azriel mumbles and I playfully smack his shoulder with my freehand.

"Can I please get a chocolate cone, Auntie?" Nyx asks, ignoring his snarky uncle. A smile pulls at my lips. "I don't see why not?" I hum and a grin showing all his teeth blessed his expression. "Maybe I'll get one too." I wink at the boy as we reach the shop, Azriel opening the door for the both of us. The worker behind the counter smiles at us in a greeting and I return it.

"What flavor are you gonna get?" I ask the kindergartner. "I can't see," He says, standing on his tiptoes and attempting to peer over the edge of the glass. Without a word, Azriel swoops him up and props the boy on his hip.

"Ooh, that one," Nyx exclaims, pointing to a brightly colored tub. "I remember I had that kind with Uncle Cass before and it was so good," Nyx licked his lips as if he could still taste it. I shake my head with a growing grin and approach the counter, the silver-haired fae smiling softly at the three of us.

I order for all of us, making sure to get a chocolate cone for Nyx, per his request. The woman repeats my order back and I nod. "Your total is nine gold marks," She hums, but before I can shuffle through my coin purse Azriel puts down the money due and I look up at him. I slip my hand into his in gratitude as the cashier scoops the ice cream into the cones.

When she hands Nyx the chocolate cone he nearly runs laps around the shop, but in fear of his cold treat melting he instead licks up the side, the scoop seeming as big as his head. "You three are such a lovely family," The female smiles as she hands me my cone. "Oh, he's not—" I begin. "Thank you." Azriel interrupts before tugging my hand towards the door. "Have a nice day!" I wave to the worker. "You too!" She mirrors my expression. "Bye!" Nyx waves carefully, cautious of his ice cream toppling over. She waves back before the door to the parlor opens and we exit, the bell chiming behind us as Azriel guides me down the sidewalk, Nyx still in his arms.

I wrapped my arms around his free one, suddenly overwhelmed by some type of baby-fever. Watching the feared shadow singer be so innocent with Nyx made me want a child of our own. How I'd kill for a kid that looks just like him, hoping our child has his eyes— or better yet, his smile. I push the thoughts away as a pink tinge comes to my cheeks, I lean against his bicep as we walk side by side, enjoying our ice cream on the hot day.

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separatist-apologist · 2 months

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Traitors Never Win

Summary: When Feyre Archeron's father promises she'll marry notorious crime boss Rhysand Moreno, Feyre will do anything to get out of the arrangement…including framing him for murder.

Rhysand isn't about to let her go so easily.

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Now I get to write nessian

Rhys knew he was on borrowed time.

Never more so than when Cassian and Azriel crossed into Wisconsin to track down the newly reunited Nesta and Elain. The sisters were officially out of custody and it was only a matter of time before someone went to check on Feyre. Rhys was no closer to making her his wife that morning than he had been when he met her.

It occurred to him that he could force her. Drag her home, tie her up, gag her, and call someone willing to overlook her distress. He wanted a more auspicious start for them rather than repeat his own mothers marriage. She’d never been happy with his father despite his fathers obsession with her.

Rhys rolled to his side where Feyre lay, her back facing him. Gently, he ran his finger over the soft ridges over her spine and considered his next move. He needed her—and refused to give her back. He was out of options, though.

For the two of them, it was now or it was never. If he told her, though, Feyre would dig her heels in. Stubborn to a fault, Rhys believed she’d refuse to marry him on principle, even if she wanted him. It had to be a conclusion she came to on her own, even if he manipulated her into thinking she wanted it.

Staring at his phone, Rhys reread the message Cassian sent that morning.

Get home if you can. Koschei is on our trail and if he’s found us, he’ll find you.

Oh, no doubt he was sending one of his little soldiers out to Rhys. It was fucked up and he knew it…but maybe a little danger was what Feyre needed. Just enough adrenaline to see him clearly, make a decision she wouldn’t normally, and see it finalized before she could change her mind. Rhys could keep her distracted with his body if she agreed, trapped in a rose colored haze for the next few weeks.

And then it would be too late. There was no divorce for them.

Besides, if that didn’t work he could always just get her pregnant, assuming she wasn’t already. He’d been too nervous to ask if she was using birth control, unwilling to admit any part of his fucked up plans. He’d been poking around her cabinet looking for them—but maybe she used an insert.

Maybe he ought to stop obsessing over her body, he reminded himself. Everything was fine—case and point, Feyre was naked in his bed and he hadn’t had to force her to do it. And while she had kicked him in the stomach once, she’d also flipped herself onto her stomach and raised her ass in the air when she felt his cock pressed against her tailbone.

And he’d take it.

“Hey, pretty baby,” he whispered, brushing his lips against the back of her neck. It was fun to see goosebumps rise on her shoulders, to feel her stir against the morning light pouring through the windows. “Are you hungry?”

Feyre was always hungry—if Rhys didn’t know what she wanted, he could always start with food.

“Do you ever sleep in?” she mumbled.

“Would you like to?” he questioned. Rhys loved to be up early, with a cup of coffee in one hand while he sat outside and watched the sun rise. It reminded him that he was alive and Rhys knew too well how much a gift that was. Especially for someone like him, forever hunted. Even then, Rhys could feel Koschei getting closer and closer.

Not the man himself, of course. He’d let people like Hybern do the work for him, venturing out only if everyone around him failed. If he hadn’t been so focused on Feyre, Rhys would have been working on drawing them out and setting his little traps.

Maybe he still could.

“Yes,” Feyre interrupted, unaware of the slant of his thoughts. “Until at least noon, but maybe all day.

“A whole day in bed?” Rhys practically purred, trying to imagine it. In his daydreams, they were somewhere tropical and isolated, surrounded by warm water and open skies.

Feyre rolled onto her back, making him painfully aware of her perky breasts staring up at him. “Yeah, Rhys. You never spend a day just rotting in bed?”

“No,” he admitted. He got up, he went to the gym, and he went to work—always in that order. Even when he was sick, Rhys thought it was better to get up and power through than to stay in bed doing nothing.

Still, if Feyre was in his bed, the thought of nothing suddenly seemed exceptionally appealing.

“Never?” she questioned, blue eyes focused on his face.

“I could be tempted,” he told her, trying—and failing—not to look at her naked breasts.

“Today?”

This was what he needed—Feyre, inviting him to stay in bed with her where the activities were fairly limited and he was positive she’d have sex with him at least once.

“Why not,” Rhys agreed, sliding his phone onto the table next to the bed.

Feyre settled among the pillows once she’d reached over the edge of the bed for his shirt—he was letting her wear them despite losing access to her body, if only because he liked the sight of her in his too big shirt.

She wore it like a dress, drenched in his scent. There was something primal about it, he decided. Rhys liked the way she looked in his clothes, his bed, his everything.

“What now?” Rhys questioned, hoping she was going to let him slip beneath the blanket and have his wicked way with her.

Feyre considered his question. “Now we just…lay here. We could watch something, or—” “Or we could talk,” he suggested. Feyre raised her brows.

“Is that a euphemism?”

“No. I like the sound of your voice,” Rhys admitted. “Tell me about your life.”

“What part?” she questioned.

“All of it,” Rhys said, greedy as ever. “Tell me all of it.”

Feyre balked a little—did he want to know about being a baby, she wondered? Yes, he’d declared. Start from the beginning, tell him everything. And Feyre, for her part, did. It wasn’t linear, but she told him stories about her life while Rhys listened, absorbing it all. He did get up to make breakfast, throwing on a pair of sweatpants and nothing else while Feyre trailed after him.

She was less prickly that morning, answering his questions when he asked. And Rhys had a thousand questions—a million, really—that he wanted answered. He brought the food into the bedroom, tempted to feed her fruit from his fingers though he abstained. No need to ruin what was turning into a perfect day.

“Why did you kill him?” Rhys heard himself asking later in the day. She’d danced around her father, omitting him from most of her stories.

Feyre drew her knees to her chest, back resting against the wooden headboard. “I was angry,” she admitted. “I’d been angry for a long time.”

“Why?”

She grew silent for a moment, contemplating her feelings. “I guess…after our mom died, he just became something of a shell. He was spending money recklessly, he was making decisions without telling anyone…”

That explained her anger about their engagement, he supposed.

“All he wanted to do was hole up in his office. He left everything else to me and my sisters and we just…we weren’t accustomed to taking care of his household. Elain was taking care of him and Nesta was just so mad all the time which caused us to fight…I was just tired. And when he came home and he informed me he’d decided to marry me off, I guess I just snapped.”

“You know, I was at home when I heard the news he was dead,” Rhys told her, wondering if she cared about him at all. Feyre looked over, eyes bright again.

“Were you angry when they told you what I said?”

Rhys smiled. “No. I had a good laugh about it, though. If I was going to kill your father, I would have done a far neater job.”

“Were you? Going to kill him, I mean?”

“No. His debts would have killed him eventually without any help from me. I was merely a bandaid for his bigger problems. If you wanted him dead, you should have come to me.”

“And what? You would have done it? Just like that?” she asked skeptically, snapping her fingers to illustrate her point.

“Just like that,” Rhys agreed easily.

“Why me? Why not Nesta or Elain?”

Rhys couldn’t even remember what they looked like. He just shrugged. “Would you hate me if I told you that you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen?”

“No,” she replied with the pinkest cheeks he’d ever seen. “I’m starting to think its not possible to hate you.”

“I’m growing on you,” he said with a grin.

“Like a fungus,” she agreed. “You should hate me, you know.”

He shrugged. “I don’t see why. If I were in your position, I might have done the same.”

“I don’t think I’d be so forgiving,” she informed him, looking over to drink him in. “I don’t know if your face is that tempting.”

“What about the rest of me?” Rhys questioned, running a hand down his bare torso. “Maybe I should have sent you a picture of my cock—”

“That would not have helped!”

“You don’t know that,” he replied good naturedly. “It’s a nice cock.”

She didn’t argue, and Rhys didn’t push her. He knew the truth and besides, there was no point in ruining what was shaping into being a perfect day. She was in his bed, telling him about her life and for once they weren’t arguing or snapping. It was a little peek into the life he wanted—domesticated Feyre purring in his lap like a house cat.

“I didn’t plan it,” she finally said, eyes glazed with memory. “It just happened.”

“I don’t judge you for it,” Rhys told her, unwilling to admit that he couldn’t remember everyone he’d killed.

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t. I wasn’t thinking about you at the time. I planned to turn myself in—”

“Foolish,” Rhys hissed, immediately frustrated by the thought. Even with all his money and influence, Rhys didn’t think he could have kept her from prison.

Feyre offered him a small smile. “You sound like my sister.”

“You did the right thing,” he praised, not wanting her to feel an ounce of guilt on his behalf. “They’ll never tie me to it.”

“I said you did it,” Feyre reminded him.

Rhys tapped her nose with the tip of his finger. “You didn’t see me, little love. And just as soon as Azriel gets back, there will be no evidence tying you or me to that death.”

“Why do you say that?” Feyre asked, her face paling.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said quietly. “The less you know, the better.”

“I thought we were equals—”

“We would be if you were my wife,” Rhys shot back before he could stop himself. Feyre crossed her arms over her chest, eyes narrowing.

“Why? So I can’t testify against you—”

“So I don’t have to testify against you,” he snarled, suddenly furious. “You committed the crime, Feyre—not me. And one of these days some overzealous agent looking for a promotion is going to reexamine the scene, the evidence, and who was standing in that house that day and they’re going to realize what you’ve done.”

She took a breath. “They won’t.”

“They will,” Rhys replied. “Trust me—putting away a mobster is the dream of every cop. They write your names in books for that kind of take down. They’ll be looking for me…but they’ll find you. And then they’ll send some nervous, sweaty asshole to my door offering to look the other way if I tell them what happened when I tracked you down. That’s a tempting offer, Feyre.”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

Rhys didn’t think about it. “If I have to. Though, I’d prefer you willing.”

Feyre stood abruptly, her face unreadable. “I need a minute.”

“Take your time,” he replied, climbing out of bed himself. He let her walk toward the back of the cabin, assuming she was going to his office to think. Let her think about the day she’d sat on his cock while he worked, he thought sullenly. Rhys went to the living room so he could stare moodily out the window.

Nothing ever went the way he imagined. It was hard to celebrate fucking her when she didn’t like him or trust him. Would he blackmail her into being his wife? Rhys wanted to be the kind of man who would say not…but he knew he would. He knew if he couldn’t get her to agree in the next two days, he’d be tying her up again and threatening to turn her in.

“Rhys?” Feyre’s voice asked from behind him. He twisted to look at her, stepping to the left to keep balance.

“Ye—”

The glass behind him shattered and something threw him forcefully to the ground as Feyre screamed, arms up over her head.

“Get down!” he roared, terrified another bullet would silence her. He’d been shot, he realized—though rather than hitting him dead center, he’d been shot through the shoulder. It wasn’t ideal, but it was workable.

Someone was coming—Rhys could hear boots crunching against snow. Twisting, he turned to make his way to Feyre only to find she was gone. Fuck. Now he had two problems—a killer at his front door and a runaway wife out the back. He didn’t have time to grab a gun before the door kicked open.

He knew the bitch standing in front of him. He’d recognize that bottled red hair from space—Amarantha.

“Rhys,” she said, flashing him a vicious smile. “You’re getting sloppy.”

He forced himself to his feet, refusing to die on his knees. “Your aim is as good as it's always been.”

Amarantha shrugged, gloved hands holding her rifle firmly. “You know, I usually love our banter but today I just don’t have time. You’ll forgive my—”

A shot fired, sending Amarantha flying to the ground like a doll who’s strings had just been cut. Rhys looked up to find Feyre, barefoot and pantless, standing in the doorway holding a gun. He expected to see fear—or maybe shock—but all he found on that beautiful face of hers was grim determination.

“A friend of yours?” Feyre questioned, dancing back into the house in an attempt to avoid the snow.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Rhys replied. Feyre came to him, stepping over Amarantha’s body like it didn’t exist.

“You’re hurt,” she said, reaching out to touch the blood before pulling back.

“I’ll survive,” he replied, grateful adrenaline was keeping the pain at bay. This was what he’d wanted, right? A little danger to soften her? Maybe not like this—Rhys had assumed they’d have more of a warning and less bullets coming at them.

Still.

“We need to go,” Rhys told her, steering Feyre toward the bedroom. He’d kept her clothes from that first night specifically for this reason. He couldn’t drag her naked across the country, afterall. Rhys pulled out the jeans, t-shirt, and jacket before tossing it to the bed.

“What about your arm?” Feyre asked, gun still in hand. “Shouldn’t we dig it out?”

“You’re a doctor now?” Rhys asked, hating that he needed her to do this for him. Feyre shrugged.

“I’ve done it before. For my dad, I mean.”

“You’re a good girl, Feyre,” he murmured, wishing he had the time to bend her over the bed. Rhys could still fuck her, injured or not. In fact, he thought the sight of his blood smeared over her tits would send him into a frenzy. “My good girl.”

“I thought she killed you,” Feyre whispered as Rhys sat on the edge of the tub. “I thought…”

“I’m fine,” he told her, heart thudding in his throat. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Yeah,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Rhys couldn’t take his eyes off her while she worked, swallowing his pain so he didn’t upset her. Maybe, in another life, Feyre would have been a doctor—she certainly had a soft touch. She managed to get the bullet out in one go while he was lucky it hadn’t shattered into a million little pieces.

His arm burned by the time Feyre got to suturing, and all he wanted to do was lay down. Dried blood coated his upper half and stained his shorts, the towel beneath his feet, and likely the white tile, too.

“Can you stand?” Feyre whispered, brushing her fingers against his jaw.

“Of course,” he lied. “Go get dressed.” But he couldn’t. Rhys wobbled the moment he tried, flinging out his hand to hold the wall so he didn’t fall backward. His whole body trembled from the dull, throbbing pain from his wound that seemed to echo in his skull.

He didn’t know how long he stood there. Only that Feyre returned, more blur than woman, and led him out.

“You can go,” Rhys whispered as he collapsed to the bed, too heavy to move. His eye lids were iron, unwilling to open once they’d shut. “You should go.”

The blackness ate away at him before he heard what she said in response.

And then he was lost.

FEYRE:

Rhys was a big man.

She’d never really thought about it before he’d collapsed onto the bed, shirtless and bloody. A dull roaring filled Feyre’s ears as panic threatened to consume her. They couldn’t stay—someone else might be coming. So Feyre forced herself to swallow her fear so she could dress him in a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. She packed him a few things, unsure what he’d want to wear when he woke, and then began the arduous task of dragging his muscular body out to the car.

She did it, though. She put him in the back, her guns in the front, and then herself in the car. “We did it,” she said with a grin, turning toward the road with unrestrained glee. His car had a navigation system and after she thought she was far enough from the cabin, Feyre quickly typed in her destination.

And then she drove. It was strange to be in a car again—for the last five years, Feyre had biked everywhere she went. Tamlin had kept her isolated, perhaps to her benefit at the time. Now, though, Feyre finally felt uncaged. Free, somehow.

Feyre drove through the night without stopping, terrified that she was being tracked at first. After she was certain she wasn’t, Feyre worried about leaving Rhys’s unconscious body in the back of her car. The last thing she needed were the cops pulling them over and realizing who they were.

Sheer will alone would keep Rhys from dying.

He was a predictable man. Rhys woke with a start just before the sun began to rise, peering first out the window before looking between the seats at her.

“You’re still here,” he rasped. Feyre smothered her smile.

“Did you think I’d leave you to die?”

“Expected it, actually,” Rhys replied with a grimace. “Where are we?”

“Nevada,” Feyre replied with a grin.

Rhys blinked. “Why?”

“Oh, are you coy now?” Feyre half teased. “Why else would I be here?”

“Feyre—”

“I realized something,” she interrupted, uninterested in his attempts at nobility. It was too late now. “When you were down and I thought you were dead, it occurred to me that I didn’t want you dead. I want to keep talking to you, Rhys. And I know this whole situation is a mess, but I think I might be falling in love with you.”

“Oh, thank God,” he panted, resting his chin on the seat of her chair.

“Plus, I figured this was the only way you’d agree to take me home.”

“You know me so well, darling.”

“Now it's your turn,” Feyre murmured, needing a distraction from the decision she was about to make. “Tell me about your life.”

Rhys settled back against the seat with a soft groan and began to talk. Feyre half listened, mind occasionally wandering to her sisters. She could bring them all back together…though what would they say when they realized the last five years had been for nothing? She trusted them not to betray her, but didn’t trust they wouldn’t shun her.

Nesta, at least.

“What happened after your sister died?” Feyre questioned, wincing at the story of how she’d been shot in the back after his mother had been executed by a rival family.

“Dad went berserk,” Rhys murmured, eyes dark. “He wanted revenge which made him reckless. He died to a bullet, to…and I took over.”

“That must have been hard.”

Rhys shrugged. “Not as hard as you’re imagining. I miss my family, but I was groomed for this. Work is easy.”

“The last five years have been easy?” she questioned.

Rhys smiled. “Frustrating, I suppose…but I found you, didn’t I? Was it all worth it, Feyre?”

“Yeah,” she replied, unsure if that was true or not. There was no reason to give him the satisfaction of being right. “I’d do it all over again.”

Rhys liked that answer, murmuring something about foreplay. It was the perfect time to stop, get a marriage license, and then have a quick, quiet courthouse wedding. Rhys swore up and down he didn’t want anything flashy or big which suited Feyre more than fine. She hated to be the center of attention.

“I want to fly home,” Feyre whispered to him later that night when they were alone, pretending like neither one of them wanted to peel the other out of their clothes. “And I want you to tell your friends to let my sisters come home.”

“What else do you want?” Rhys asked her, fingers laced with hers as he kissed her fingertips.

“If you ever step out of this marriage, I’ll have your balls.”

Rhys chuckled. “I think that’s reasonable.”

There was no question if he needed to issue the same threat. Feyre wondered if Rhys was merely willing to tolerate her indiscretions or if he merely assumed she never would. Feyre knew Rhys well enough to assume if he ever caught her, he’d execute the unlucky man without sparing a second thought.

It should have bothered her and yet it didn’t. Maybe, she thought, she was just as messed up as he was. Maybe worse, because Feyre found herself rolling over to look at him.

“How is your shoulder?” she questioned.

“Fine,” he lied, eyes sharp with hunger.

“Oh? I guess you don’t need me to take care of you, then?” she asked, sliding her leg over his waist. Rhys swallowed.

“You ah…could check,” he said. Feyre straddled him, pushing the hem of his shirt upward over his chest before gently pulling it over his head. She was careful with his injured shoulder, removing that sleeve last so he didn’t have to raise it over his head.

Rhys merely watched, eyes wide while he waited to see what was about to happen. Perhaps this was the moment Feyre would pull out her knife and kill him. Feyre didn’t have a knife on her and the guns she’d stolen were hidden in the hotel room they were staying in, far out of reach.

She merely kissed the wound.

“You can be sweet when you want to be,” Rhys breathed, his good hand resting on her hip.

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Why not?” he replied, arching her neck as she pressed a kiss against the hollow of his throat.

“I want to see you live to old age, which means keeping you sharp.”

Rhys sucked in a shuddering breath, relaxing as she crawled down his body. It felt good not to pretend anymore—to just give in to the life that had always been waiting for her. Maybe she’d regret this in another five years.

But maybe not.

She didn’t right then, as she licked a path down his stomach toward the erection she knew was waiting for her. Rhys seemed to be perpetually aroused and today was no exception.

“Feyre,” he breathed as she pulled his cock from his shorts. “Come back here—”

“Stop talking,” she ordered, just before licking a stripe up his shaft. Rhys moaned, lifting his hips in the air. It was tempting to stop and ask him how often he’d fantasized about this. She didn’t. He’d tell her when they finished, if only because Rhys loved to talk more than he loved anything else. He told her his every thought, sometimes as he was thinking them.

Feyre liked that about him.

“Is this what you want?” she whispered, teasing the blunt head with her tongue.

“Yes,” he all but pleaded.

Feyre took him in her mouth like she’d done the first time, though she wasn’t hanging upside down. Stretching her jaw to accommodate him, Feyre watched through half lidded eyes to gauge his pleasure. In turn, Rhys watched her. He gathered her hair up in his hands, wincing from his wound. It clearly wasn’t painful enough to stop him and Feyre wasn’t going to demand it of him, either.

She wanted to make him feel good, easing her own mind after the day she’d had. She hadn’t told him how she’d had to drag him out to the car, assuming he understood how he’d gotten there. It didn’t make the experience any less harrowing.

Feyre worked on taking him deeper, until his cock was lodged in her throat as she softly gagged around him. Rhys swept his thumb over her jaw before moving his hand to her throat as she took him again, feeling himself through her skin.

“Fuck,” he whispered, keeping his hand loosely wrapped around her. He should have let her continue given how much he was obviously enjoying himself, but he didn't. Rhys tugged her, pulling her mouth off his cock so abruptly that strings of saliva came with her.

“Rhys,” she protested as he lifted his hips, trying to line himself up with her own body.

“Please,” he said in response, finding his target. Rhys slid into her with a fluid motion, both hands on her hips to guide her. “Take off your shirt.”

It was all she was wearing. Feyre had become used to wearing Rhys’s shirts and rather liked it, though she’d never admit it. In that moment, Feyre was happy to comply. She tossed her shirt to the floor as Rhys’s hands slid up her body to cup her breasts.

“You’re so fucking pretty, baby. Do you know that?”

Feyre only moaned, rocking her hips against him. While Rhys tried to touch her everywhere all at once, Feyre merely dug her nails into his broad chest and continued moving against him. Every time Feyre and Rhys met, her clit brushed against his skin causing her to tighten around him.

“You feel so good,” Rhys whined, arching his back. “This is my pussy now.”

It was an absurd thing to say and only a man like Rhys could pull it off. Rising up so Feyre was fully in his lap, Rhys pressed them chest to chest.

“You’re my wife,” he whispered against her neck. “Tell me you love me.”

“Rhys—”

His teeth grazed her throat. “Say it.”

“I love you,” she gasped after a particularly brutal thrust that left her brainless. Rhys kissed her, hands bracing her ass so he was doing most of the work. Somewhere in the very back of her mind, Feyre knew his arm must have been killing him.

Gripping the back of his hair, Feyre pulled Rhys back just enough to force him to look at her. “Now you.” He moaned, “I love you.”

That was enough to send them both careening over the edge, gasping and kissing long after her orgasm had faded. If they had neighbors on either side, they had surely heard everything…and would hear more as they night went on. Who needed sleep, anyway?

Who needed anything at all, beyond the man in front of her.

“Rhys?” she murmured, chin resting on his uninjured shoulder. “Will you do something for me?”

“Anything. Just name it.”

“Take me home.”

Rhys smiled, face pressed to her hair. “You got it, baby.”

#feysand #i literally finished this so i could start working on nessian seriously #also warning for egregious use of the word baby #and for rhys saying something i had to look away from as i typed #it embarrassed me hahaha

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