*** = smut
A COURT OF THORNS AND ROSES (ACOTAR)
mad woman (nessian): part 2 part 3***
Hate You/Break You***
Fireworks: Outside // Inside***
A French Breakfast***
In His Calvins***
In Her Louboutins***
Closer: All Hallows Eve (Vampire!Shawn)***
Taking Me Back
Quarantine Day 26***
SMUT BLURBS (tagged smallerinfinitiessmut)
Seeing Double (Twin!Shawn AU): Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Meet the Teacher (Music!Teacher!Shawn AU): Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5*** Part 6 Part 7*** Part 8
O, Brawling Love (Fairy!Prince!Shawn AU): Part 1
Gin and Juice (College!Football!Shawn AU) Masterlist
Eleanor (blurb series): Eight Months Three Years Nine Years
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Feyre and Rhys stood together on the small balcony just after Under the Mountain. What if the mating bond had snapped into place for Feyre as well?
Author’s Note: Please let me know what you think! I love getting comments and constructive criticism! Enjoy! ~Rachel
“Be glad of your human heart, Feyre. Pity those who don’t feel anything at all.”
I couldn’t explain about the hole that had already formed in my soul—didn’t want to, so I just nodded.
“Well, good-bye for now,” he said, rolling his neck as if we hadn’t been talking about anything important at all. He bowed at the waist, those wings vanishing entirely, and had begun to fade into the nearest shadow when he went rigid.
His eyes locked on mine, wide and wild, and his nostrils flared. Shock—pure shock flashed across his features at whatever he saw on my face, and he stumbled back a step. Actually stumbled.
“What is—” I began.” My knees buckled as a torrent of emotions coursed through me- disbelief, joy, and longing. Such profound longing. My heart ached at the intensity of the emotions, even as I struggled to make sense of them. The thread I had felt tugging deep within me earlier went taut, beckoning to me in a way I didn’t quite understand. Realization tore through me, insistent and overwhelming, like a physical blow to the head.
I tore my gaze away from his, taking in the tattoo that stood out in dark contrast to my now pale skin. Rhysand. It was his thoughts- no not his thoughts, but rather his emotions I was experiencing. How was that even possible? Was it because of the reckless bargain I had struck with him? Or rather, was it due to whatever power he possessed that allowed him access to others innermost thoughts? As he had done to me that day all those months ago? A shiver ran down my spine at the memory, at how utterly at his mercy I had been.
Rhysand let loose a growl, low and frustrated. My eyes snapped up to meet his. His pupils flared as I gave him a long, considering look. Tendrils of shadow kissed night writhed and thrashed around his body. And, as though he was no longer able to keep them hidden, great membranous wings erupted from his back. Curved, wicked looking talons were visible over his shoulders. My eyes trailed over the beautiful, brutal wings as they rustled in agitation. A small part of me marveled at the beauty and strength of them. What it must have cost him to keep them hidden all those years- my stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought.
The air suddenly became rife with magic. Rhysand began to fade, folding and twisting into little more than smoke and mist. I stumbled forward, nearly tripping over my newly elongated fae limbs. My fingers wrapped around his wrist, though I wasn’t wholly sure what had possessed me to reach out to him in the first place. He gazed at me, a look of wicked delight flashing across his features, as his fingers entwined with mine. That thing in my chest, the bargain tethering me to him, throbbed painfully as his thumb caressed my palm in a slow, sensuous circle.
Ignoring the little sparks of heat that had erupted all over my skin in the wake of his touch, I staggered back a step, wrenching my hand out of his grasp.
“What the hell did you do to me?” I hissed, wrapping my arms over my chest. I could have sworn hurt flashed across his features, but was gone so quickly that I thought I had imagined it.
“I did nothing, Feyre darling,” he purred, though his eyes were still wide as he took me in.
“Then how do you explain this,” I paused, my hands dropping to my stomach, gently rubbing at the spot where I could feel the inexplicable pull of the tether that binded me to him. My lips pulled back into a snarl as I continued, “This feeling, this pull I feel towards you. Make it stop.”
“Feyre,” he rasped, running a hand through his hair.
“Break the bargain,” I demanded, thrusting my tattooed arm out towards him.
“And why ever would I do that?” he asked, sliding his hands into his pockets. There was a gleam in his eyes, cold and calculating.
I took a step towards him, my voice heavy with desperation as I said, “I think that we can both agree that I owe you nothing, and you owe me nothing. Prythian is finally free. What else could you want of me? Break this bond between us.” He flinched. Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, flinched.
I arched a brow as I peered at him, utterly perplexed at his reaction to my plea. He must know how I felt about the bond…
I went utterly still as the word clanged through me, rattling me to my very core. No. No. No. No, it couldn’t be! I was in love with Tamlin- I had wrecked myself for that love, had died for that love. Surely, he was to be my mate. The mating bond simply hadn’t snapped into place yet. But it would, I was sure of it. Only… Rhysand. He was scrutinizing me, his expression shrewd and discerning, and yet, his eyes seemed to be burning with something akin to hope. No, this wasn’t right. I needed to get out of here, and back to Tamlin.
“Fine. I should have known that a little act of decency was beyond your capabilities,” I snarled, giving him a vulgar gesture as I twisted around, moving towards the doorway.
“Feyre, wait,” he called after me, his voice betraying none of the emotions I felt roiling in my gut- emotions that I was certain belonged to the High Lord behind me. I paid him no heed as I stalked towards the entrance. Gentle fingers grasped my arm, pulling me to a stop. I wrenched my arm out of his grasp, the desire to slap him across the face surged through me.
“Don’t touch me,” I snarled, whirling around to face him. He recoiled at my words, as though I had indeed struck him.
“I would never force myself on you, Feyre,” he said in a quiet voice, his words laced with rage. Instinctively, I took a step back. Rhysand was breathing heavily, his chest raising and falling rapidly. He turned to lean against the railing, peering out at the vast expanse before us. He ran a hand over his face roughly. I understood in that instant that it wasn’t anger at me, for what I had said, that clouded his features. I didn’t want to think too much about the cause, the reason that arrogant façade he so loved to wear had all but been washed away. If I could just get him to understand, to release me of this Cauldron damned bargain…
I took in a deep breath, squaring my shoulders as though I were about to face the Middengard Worm once again. If I were being honest with myself, I would have preferred the worm. I leaned against the railing next to him, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body seep deep into my bones.
“Rhysand, could we please just…”
“Just what, Feyre?” he rasped, pinching the bridge of his nose. Never before had I seen him looking so unhinged. He slowly lifted his gaze to meet mine. As his near violet eyes met mine, that thread that tethered us together grew taut, pulling and stretching almost painfully. I flinched imperceptibly as a loud crack sounded, reverberating through my very being. I gaped at him, as though I had never seen him properly until now. It was as though my very world had been tipped upside down. A single word roared through me, calling out to me- beckoning me to claim the male before me.
Mate. Mate. Mate.
I shook my head, as though in denial of what was in front of me. Rhysand eyed me warily, his nostrils flaring, no doubt sensing the shift in my demeanor.
“Feyre,” he began, his voice skittered across my skin, down my spine. I threw out a hand to stop him, not wanting to give him a chance to continue. Without a backwards glance towards my mate, I fled.
I tore down the corridor, wanting to put as much space between myself and him as I could. I didn’t want to think about what we were to each other, what that meant for Tamlin and I.
“He’s nothing to me,” I snarled, low and vicious. As I neared the room Tamlin and I had shared last night, I slowed my pace. I took in a shuddering breath, willing my wildly beating heart to slow. My fingers trembled slightly as I twisted the handle, hoping that Tam was still asleep. I couldn't tell him about… there was nothing to tell him. Nothing that mattered, anyway. All that mattered was that we were free. We could return to the Spring Court now. Together. I entered the room, feeling more sure of myself than I had just moments before.
“Feyre! Where the hell have you been?” Tamlin roared, enveloping me in a bone crushing hug. Every fiber of my being recoiled at his touch, cried out at the wrongness of it all. I bit down on my lower lip, fighting the urge to pull out of his grasp. I could do this. I loved Tamlin. For him, I could do this. I stepped out of the embrace and gave him a small smile.
“I was taking a walk. I wanted to stretch my legs,” I said, gesturing vaguely at the new fae body I now possessed.
His eyes narrowed as he ground out, “Please don’t wander off again. I was worried about you.” Though a small part of me balked at what he was saying, I nodded in agreement.
“I love you, Tamlin.” I said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He entwined his fingers with mine, his eyes bright with happiness.
“Let’s go home,” he said, a smile spreading across his face.
“Home,” I repeated, my voice sounding hollow even to me. I forced some semblance of a smile on my face, hoping he wouldn’t see it for the lie it was.
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74 + Feysand?
74: kisses where one person is sitting in the other’s lap
“Come here,” Rhys purred, gesturing to the chair where he now sat.
“Not a chance,” Feyre replied, “I have work to do.”
It was true. As High Lady, as well as a business owner, she was plenty busy these days. Between managing expenses for her and Ressina’s art studio and signing off on paperwork, she was a busy female.
And she had no time for Rhys’s antics. Not today.
She wanted to, though. Wished she had the time. With her schedule, and Rhys’s utterly chaotic life, too, it was hard for them to spend any moments together aside from sleeping. Hell, every night before bed, they only managed to get out a few words about their day before passing out from sheer exhaustion.
So Rhys should’ve known she was busy, as she at at her desk signing paperwork and making lists of paints and brushes she needed to buy for her studio.
“But you’re always so good at multitasking,” Rhys crooned, “and I want to be with my mate.”
Feyre scowled. “You’re with your mate right now, and she has work to do. See?” She pointed to the list. And then to the stack of paperwork.
“We haven’t had any time together in weeks, Feyre Darling, I miss you. Please?”
“You miss me? You see me every day! We sleep together every night,” She joked, spinning around in her chair to look at him.
“We cuddle every night. We don’t sleep together,” Rhys said, wriggling his eyebrows.
“You’re insufferable, you know that?”
Rhys sent an image down the bond, just for her. I miss…this, amongst other things.
Feyre rolled her eyes. But she missed it, too. Missed the times when exhaustion didn’t plague them every day and night…when time together didn’t just mean sleeping.
And Mother above, this paperwork was boring.
“Come here,” Rhys repeated.
“Are you trying to distract me?”
“Amongst other things,” he said.
Feyre raised her eyebrows.
Rhys raised his right back. Come here.
She shot to her feet, walking the few steps it took to get to her mate.
“Scoot,” Feyre said.
Oh, I have a better idea.
What– Feyre started, but Rhys’s hands were already on her hips, pulling her down onto his lap.
“See? Better,” he said, giving her a wicked smile.
“You won’t see me complaining,” she replied with giggle.
His violet eyes gleamed with delight at Feyre’s laugh, her smile, her scent.
“I love you,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to hers.
And then his lips were on hers, and he was kissing her.
He was gentle, his lips lightly brushing each corner of her mouth. But before Feyre could register what was happening, he pulled away, eyes dancing.
Rhys smiled, but then his eyes shot open, wide, as Feyre grabbed him by the collar, pulled him close, and crushed her lips against his, her tongue pressing at the space between his lips. His mouth opened for her, and her tongue grazed the roof of his mouth, tasting him.
Cauldron, she missed this. Missed him.
“Better than paperwork?” he asked, pulling away, his voice heavy.
“Much better,” she replied, and kissed him again, until her lips were red and swollen and she knew exactly where this was going to end.
Bed? Rhys nodded his head toward the door.
No, Feyre shot back, her eyes alight with mischief, I think here will do just fine.
Then allow me, Feyre Darling.
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Mornings - azriel
azriel x gn reader
warnings: a bit steamy, mentions of sex, cursing
azriel has been gone for a while and wants some alone time but cassian ruins it
The sun had only just begun to warm the morning air; the Sidra River far below us watching the city of Velaris come to life around it.
Stretching out in the bed big enough to fit at more than a few Illyrians, I let out a quiet sigh. There were no sounds from the other side of the bed. Hopefully Az was still asleep. He needed the rest—
“So, you’re finally awake.” Drowsy hazel eyes appeared at the edge of my vision.
I guess not.
He moved across the bed until his body covered mine, muscular arms braced against the soft mattress below me. Warm, calloused hands traced slow lines along my skin, heat blooming where they wandered, quickly replacing the morning chill.
But before things could get any further, a loud yawn slipped from my mouth – catching the both of us by surprise. Azriel’s head shot up, his quiet chuckle slipping through the moment. I let out a huff of air, squirming against his now motionless hands.
“Are you too tired?” He asked, eyes creasing with laughter even as his smirk tilted dangerously.
“Tired?” I question, his mouth ghosting along the curve of my neck making it difficult to connect words. “I seem to remember being the only one up for another round a few hours ago.” My fingers brush innocently against inside the arch of one of his wings and his mouth halts – a hot exhale igniting my senses. His whole body shivers at my touch, the gleam in those dark eyes as he looked up at me shooting my body temperature through the ceiling.
“I have some time to make up for it seems,” He murmured lowly, pressing a kiss to my jaw, the space underneath my ear, the hollow of my neck. Lowering himself slowly, his eyes drank in my features until his lips were only a few inches from mine.
Azriel’s head snapped away – his snarl crashing through the room like a cold wave of water to the face.
“Get your asses out of bed!” Cassian called in a sing-song voice, “No morning sex for you, Azriel, I want to see Y/N in the training ring.” The door handle moved like he was about to open it, and Azriel’s wings snapped open to hide our exposed bodies. Before the bedroom door could open more than a few centimeters, blue magic snaked across the room to slam it shut.
“For fucks sake,” Cassian laughed, “you didn’t even manage to lock the door last night?”
I began to snicker. Azriel looked away from the door long enough to toss a glare at me. It lacked any threat whatsoever, and I leaned up to press a kiss against his cheek before slipping out from under his arms – the sensual mood from earlier completely shattered.
His arms reached out to tug me back and no doubt finish what we started, but I danced out of his reach. Ignoring his growl of annoyance, I began searching through the strewn clothes for something to wear.
Cassian pounded on the door again. “Hurry up!”
Azriel groaned in irritation, sitting up to lean against the headboard. He watched me dress with a soft pout, shadows flickering around his shoulders.
I began tugging on my shoes, “Hold on, I’m changing.”
A pause. Then, “It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.”
Azriel’s gaze snapped away from me, his growl low enough that I heard the door rattle.
“Shh,” I scolded, leaning over the blankets for a kiss.
He obliged eagerly, murmuring against my lips, “Kick his ass, my love.”
“Yeah, hurry up, my love,” Cassian mocked, scuffing his boots on the ground in impatience.
The look Azriel cut towards the door could have melted every snowcapped mountain on the continent.
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me @ myself: feysand + sending accidental nudes
part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7 // ao3
Feyre felt stupid.
She had spent half her paycheck on the lacy silk set of underwear that she and Mor had seen at Victoria’s secret last week and now she was standing in front of her mirror with her phone in her hands and trying to find the best angle.
The vibrant shade of cobalt brought out the blue of her own eyes and with her hair gathered up in a high ponytail, she had to admit she looked rather good.
But of course, she had barely gotten home, when Mor had called her, demanding to see it.
“Just send me a pic.” She had told her, hanging up without waiting for Feyre’s answer.
So, here she was.
Feyre took a picture, frowned at the mess of clothing and rumpled sheets visible in the background and took another.
One after another, Feyre found something to dislike in each of the images and after a while, she just damned it all to hell and decided to have fun with it.
She placed one hand on her hip, pushing her chest up and pouting. It was a clear imitation of Mor’s favoured pose when trying to show off her clothes or curves.
Feyre liked that image.
She chuckled and tried again.
After what felt like an eternity, Feyre had selected three pictures that she liked. They weren’t nearly as great as Mor’s, but Feyre had to admit she looked good in them.
The first one was the first picture she had liked.
In the second, she had somehow managed to push her breasts together so tightly that they looked impossibly squishy. Her bottom lip had been caught between her teeth. Her eyes weren’t visible, but her golden-brown hair tumbled over one shoulder and along the curve of one breast.
The third one looked different. Her head was angled, showing off her sharp cheek bone and her lips were parted, her eyes wide and sparkling mysteriously.
She selected the three of them and scrolled through her contacts to send them off to Mor. She followed them up with a message.
Feyre: enjoy. i expect to get some back! 😘
She was so consumed by the newfound ability to enjoy the sight of herself, that she tossed the phone aside and pulled the tie from her hair and shook it free.
Not a minute passed before her phone buzzed and she reached for with a small smirk on her lips. She knew that Mor hadn’t really expected her to send pictures and -
The name on her screen stopped her heart cold.
It read: Mor’s dumb cousin.
Feyre forgot how to breathe. Her fingers shaking, she had to try four times before managing to unlock her phone. The phone buzzed again and another message popped up on the screen. It indicated that Mor’s dumb cousin had indeed sent an image back.
Her throat dry, she opened up the chat and read.
Mor’s dumb cousin: wow
Mor’s dumb cousin: hold on one sec
And then there was an image of him bare chested and glistening with sweat. It captured him from the neck down, the line of his jaw barely visible. It ended at the waistband of a pair of gym shorts.
She was still gaping at the image - at the golden brown expanse of sharp lines and the curves and dips of muscles, covered in a thin sheet of sweat - when another message popped up.
Mor’s dumb cousin: sorry, I don’t have underwear like that to show off 😉
Mor’s dumb cousin: also i’m at the gym right now.. so sorry for the sweaty pic
Feyre wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole. She wanted to faint and die. She wanted to zoom in on the picture and study each and every pixel.
She knew that he had seen the tick marks turning blue and knew that she had read his responses. But her mind had stopped working, there was a siren blaring in her ears and all she could think was shit, fuck, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck.
She was calling Mor before she had even decided to do so. Her friend picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, babe. I’m still waiting for those pics.” Her bubbly voice said by way of greeting. She could hear the faint sound of pop music playing in the background.
“Mor, I made a mistake.” Feyre choked out, she could feel her face flush a deep shade of red and avoided looking at herself in the mirror.
She listened to the clink of metal on metal and the crinkling sounds of the phone being shifted from one ear to the other.
“I took the pictures.” Feyre said as if that would explain everything. But somehow she couldn’t bring herself to tell the rest.
“And?” Mor inquired. “Oh, c’mon, I’m not going to post them on the internet. It’s just for fun.”
“No, I know that. I did send them to you.” Feyre said, stumbling over the words. “I just somehow managed to select the wrong contact.”
There was a beat of silence from the other line. Then, “Who?”
Feyre gritted her teeth, insides squirming. “Your dumb fucking cousin.”
The traitor burst out laughing.
It was an ugly laugh, full of wheezing breaths and snorts.
Mor laughed so hard that Feyre let out a scowl and groaned her name.
It took her two whole minutes to control her laughter. But, Mor was still chuckling, when she finally said, “So that’s why he looked so flushed just now.”
“What?” Feyre gasped. “You’re at the gym, too?”
Mor laughed again. “How do you know where he is? Oh no, don’t tell me. He sent an image back? Was that what he was doing? Oh my god, I’m going to smack him.”
But she was still giggling and then a deep voice cut through the sound.
“Why are you laughing?”
Just hearing his voice was enough for her heart to race and she wanted to bury her flushed face in her pillows and die.
“Give me your phone, Rhys.” Mor said, still giggling obnoxiously.
“No.” He replied immediately, defensively.
Mor let out a cackling laugh and if Feyre had been over there, she would attempt to strangle her friend.
“Those images were meant for me, so.. give me the damn phone, Rhysand.”
The sound was faint and tinged with something like disappointment and Feyre bit her lip.
“Damn, girl.” Mor whistled after a while. “Do you want me to delete them?”
Feyre scowled. “Yes. But, I still hate you.”
Her voice still tinged with amusement but low enough to be meant for her ears only. “At least you got one in return.”
Feyre hung up without saying goodbye. Then, flung herself onto her bed, cursing Mor and her dumb family soundly as she buried her face in the pillows.
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Going Home: Part 2
Feyre and Rhys stood together on the small balcony just after Under the Mountain. What if the mating bond had snapped into place for Feyre as well?
Author’s Note: Thank you so much for all of the amazing support and feedback! I was truly blown away by the response to the first part! Please let me know what you think! I love getting comments and constructive criticism! Enjoy! ~Rachel
Every single one of my male instincts were roaring at me, demanding I touch her, taste her. The urge to follow Feyre as she fled through the doorway was so strong, nearly bringing me to my knees in its intensity. Mate. My mate. The words echoed through me, in sync with the wild beating of my heart. As she vanished from sight, my body trembled with restraint. The mating bond thrashed and writhed inside my chest, the distance between us already unbearable. If I took one step towards the door, just a single step, I would damn the consequences and take her with me to the Night Court. And she’d hate me for it. Well, more so than she already did.
I took in a shuddering breath, desperate to gain some semblance of control over the torrent of emotions coursing through me. An image of Feyre flashed through my mind, surprise and disbelief written so clearly across her delicate, newly made fae features. She had flinched, recoiled as though I had struck her. Her lilac and pear scent, which still teased my nostrils, had been laced with fear. Mother above, she had felt the mating bond snap into place and had been terrified. Whether is was fear of me or of the bond, I wasn’t sure. Nor did it really matter. Not anymore.
I leaned against the railing, the enormity of what I had just lost pressing down upon me, the weight of it causing my shoulders to sag. I gazed down at the mountain, its seemingly endless, barren expanse was bleak and uninviting. Nothing but an overwhelming sense of fury flooded my senses. Fighting the urge to bring the entire cursed mountain down around me, I ran a hand roughly through my hair.
Her reaction, the way she had run from me- It was clear she hadn’t wanted the mating bond, hadn't wanted me. Feyre had made her decision. She chose to go back to the Spring Court. Back to him. My lips pulled back as I loosed a snarl, low and vicious.
Mate. My mate. She was my mate.
Not your anything. I was the dark lord of Night. I was nothing to her, nothing but a horrifying reminder of what she’d had to endure these past few months. A nightmare made manifest. It was foolish of me to ever have hoped that she would accept the bond. She would never choose me, not when she had her golden prince whom she loved.
With all that had occurred Under the Mountain, everything that she had gone through, Feyre deserved to be loved. She deserved happiness. No matter what it cost me, I would respect her choice. Even if that choice was him. I fought down the bile that threatening to rise. My mate was in love with my worst enemy. A mirthless chuckle escaped me as I stood from the railing. What a Cauldron damned mess my life had become. I squared my shoulders, vanishing my wings again with half a thought. It was time for me to finally go home, back to Velaris.
I inhaled deeply, breathing in her scent one final time, before I let the darkness and shadow and envelope me, taking me back to the City of Starlight.
As eager as I was to see my family again, I opted to winnow directly into the townhouse as opposed to the House of Wind. They would become aware of my presence the moment I entered the city, especially Azriel. I had no doubt that the shadowsinger had already learned about the most recent turn of events. The details of Amarantha’s demise were most likely spreading throughout all of Prythian like a wildfire, High Fae and Lesser Faeries alike rejoicing at the news of their newfound freedom. With all the spies Az had stationed throughout the other courts, it probably hadn't taken long for the information to reach the Night Court. Knowing Az as I did, I assumed he had let the rest of the inner circle know I would be returning home soon. But I needed a moment to myself before they bombarded me with a string of endless questions, none of which I felt any desire to answer. I needed to reel myself back in somehow, to find a way to hide how truly and utterly broken I had become.
Gazing around the familiar room, my stomach lurched painfully. Someone, most likely at Mor’s behest, had kept the place in good repair in my absence. Every candlestick, picture frame, and piece of furniture was exactly as it had been the day I had left. Everything, down to the slightest detail, had remained untouched… unchanged. I, however, had not been so lucky. After all that had been done to me, all that I had been forced to do... I would never be the same again. My chest constricted painfully, that broken, ripped shard my soul had become... it fractured further. I ran a hand over my face, feeling the tears begin to pool in my eyes.
I squeezed my eyes shut, taking in a deep breath. Mor. I turned around slowly, sliding my hands deep into my pockets.
After a feeble attempt at a smile, I said, “Hello cousin.” Honey brown eyes met mine. For a time, we just stood there, taking in the sight of the other. Her hand trembled slightly as it wrapped around her throat, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Rhys,” she repeated, as though she didn’t quite believe her eyes, her voice was heavy with emotion.
“It’s me, Mor. I’m home,” I said, my voice wobbling with each and every word.
A tiny, broken sound escaped from her lips, and then she was closing the distance between us, enveloping me in a bone crushing hug.
She buried her face into my chest, clinging to me as though afraid to let me go- as though I’d disappear again as soon as she released me. My shirt soon became soaked with her tears. I hesitantly wrapped my arms around her. These gentle touches of affection were so foreign to me after so many years of servicing Amarantha. Nothing about Under the Mountain had been kind or caring. I rested my chin on the top of her head, her golden tresses tickled my chin as I pulled her closer to me.
“I’m home,” I said, more to myself than to her. Long ago, I had given up any and all hope of being reunited with my family. I suddenly had the feeling that this was all just a dream, that I would soon wake up, and find myself in bed next to Amarantha.
“I missed you. Every single day… I missed you,” she sniffed, wiping the tears from her cheeks, effectively stopping my thoughts from traveling down a dark, treacherous path.
“I missed you too, Mor,” I said, breathing in her familiar citrusy scent. But Mor’s was not the scent I longed for. Her’s was not the embrace I ached for. I wasn’t able to hold back the tears that began streaming down my face, nor the tremors that wracked my body.
“You’re free, Rhys. You’re home,” Mor croaked, making soothing strokes down my back.
I loved and appreciated Mor for wanting to help, to comfort me. But in that moment, she wasn’t the one whom I wanted with me, the one I wanted to be with. I wanted Feyre. My mate. My mate, who wanted nothing to do with me. She was probably already safely ensconced back in the Spring Court, her limbs entangled with Tamlin’s. I felt bile rising in my throat. I wrenched out of Mor’s embrace, staggering back a few steps.
“She’s my mate,” I roared, grasping fistfuls of my hair, nearly ripping them out in my rage. Mor’s eyes became owlish as she gaped at me, cleary taken aback by my outburst.
“A mate?” she gasped, her features clouded with confusion. Her eyes flickered around the room, only to confirm what she already knew. I had indeed returned to the Night Court alone.
“Yes, I have a mate,” I growled, my hands forming into fists at my side.
“Who is she, Rhys? Why isn’t she here?”
“Because she’s with him,” I bellowed, the tenuous hold I had on my temper a thing of the past. The glass vase shattered as it hit the floor, the table it had sat upon splintering apart under the force of my blow.
“Rhys!” Mor shrieked, grasping my arm and pulling my away from the wreckage. I knew she was only trying to help, but I was far too gone to care.
“She’s my mate. My mate! And she’s with him,” I cried, collapsing to the ground. My knees struck the floor with a resounding thud. Mor was instantly at my side, pulling my into a close embrace. She held onto me tightly, not releasing me until the tremors had subsided. Though she had a million questions burning in her eyes, she remained silent, waiting until I was ready. That was one of Mor’s specialties- she knew exactly when to pester someone until they finally gave in, and when to give them space.
“Her name is Feyre,” I began, the corners of my mouth twitching up at the thought of my fierce, brave huntress. Mor gave me a watery smile, encouraging me to continue. I took in a shuddering breath and began telling Mor the story of a human girl who had gone Under the Mountain.
The woman who had stood her ground against Amarantha, who had the nerve to throw a bone javelin at her, despite her injuries.
Who had freed Prythian, had saved us all, and had died in the process.
I spoke in hushed tones about how Feyre, whom I was hopelessly in love with, had been brought back from death, had been remade as a high fae by the power of the High Lords. I told Mor about the beautiful, wonderful thing that had come into my life.
Feyre. My mate… who had learned about the bond.
And had walked away.
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Nesta and Cassian have to stay somewhere and it's the classic fandom last-room-one-bed-cold-night thing❤️
sorry this took so long!
“Nesta, we don’t really have a choice here.”
“No,” Nesta repeated, louder, harsher this time, “I’m not doing it.”
Cassian huffed, falling into the nearby chair and putting his head in his hands. “It’s the only option they have unless we want to sleep in the forest.”
“I’d gladly take the forest over one bed,” she spat at him.
When Cassian agreed to bring Nesta out on a mission to one of the Illyrian camps, he hadn’t expected the journey there to be so…difficult.
For starters, they had to make the journey on foot, given Nesta’s refusal to fly. Cassian tried to argue, but it was no use. What should’ve taken three days, now took almost a week.
And then there was Nesta, who barely spoke to him as they journeyed on, aside from a few curses and the occasional “insufferable bat.” He’d gladly embraced the nickname, telling her that he’d be less insufferable if she’d just let them fly to the destination.
She simply said no, and that was that.
But Nesta deserved credit. She didn’t stop moving, didn’t slow down, as they trekked through the forests, only stopping for meal breaks and rests. Despite her grumbling, she was a good traveler.
One who Cassian was–surprisingly–glad to have with him.
Most nights, they managed to find a town with an inn and multiple bedrooms ready for them. They were cheap enough, and he was glad for the bed. And the shower. He was positive Nesta was, too. For as swiftly as they moved, the dirt and mud of the forest eventually managed to cake onto their clothes and their skin, right on top of a layer of sweat. And even with the grime, Nesta didn’t say a word. Didn’t complain about the dirt, instead choosing only to complain about the male beside her and his stench.
She didn’t seem to realize that for as bad as he may have smelled, she was right there, smelling alongside him.
Every night they slept in an inn, cleaning themselves off and heading towards their respective rooms.
Until tonight, when the owner told Cassian that there was only one room available. And one bed.
She refused to speak, other than a simple no, repeated over and over as Cassian tried to convince her.
“Nesta it’s freezing, don’t be this stubborn. You’re not sleeping in the forest.”
“Well I’m certainly not sleeping in a bed. With you,” she said, refusing to look at him.
“I’ll take the floor.”
Nesta’s head lifted as she looked at him, opened her mouth, and then closed it again.
“You can have the bed,” he said, “all I’ll need is a pillow. C’mon, Nes, just…I’m not letting you freeze. And we need sleep, we can’t keep going like this.”
She took a deep breath, and said, “fine. But you’re on the floor.”
“Deal,” he said with a hesitant smile, before walking back to the owner of the inn and handing him a few silver pieces.
Cassian came back with a key. “Let’s go.”
Nesta only followed, saying nothing as they walked up the stairs and to the room.
The room wasn’t large, by any means. The queen-sized bed took up a majority of the space, set in the middle of the bedroom, followed by a small dresser along one of the walls. There was no chair, no desk…just the bed and the floor, it seemed, for sleeping.
“There,” Nesta said, tossing him a pillow and blanket from the bed before hopping into it herself, sighing at the comfort of the mattress. Cassian laughed at the sound, before excusing himself to find the bath, and subtly suggesting Nesta do the same once he returned.
But by the time he came back, she was fast asleep, snoring lightly under the covers. It was no use arguing to share the bed, not when it would require waking her up–and he was in no mood to deal with a rudely awakened Nesta today.
So he took up his spot on the floor and tried to get comfortable.
Nesta awoke to the sound of chattering teeth.
“Cassian,” she hissed, turning on her side to face the warrior on the ground.
He was asleep, but…the blanket didn’t seem to do much for warmth, for Cassian wasn’t only chattering his teeth, but his entire body seemed to be shaking–shivering–from the cold.
“Cassian?” she asked, trying to get his attention. The warrior didn’t stir, didn’t awake.
Raising her voice, she repeated his name.
He shot up, the blanket falling off of his body, before looking at Nesta, her face illuminated by the candlelight. “Nesta?”
Cassian shrugged. “It’s cold.”
He could see Nesta mulling something over in her head, but…
“Get into bed. With me.”
He hadn’t expected that. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t want you to die of hypothermia.”
He chuckled. “It’s not that cold, Nes. If you don’t want me to, I’m happy to–”
“Just get into the bed. Please,” she said, before laying back down.
The mattress groaned under his weight, and then he was beside Nesta, right under the covers with her. His wings, though…
“You can wrap them around me. If you want. If you need to stretch them out.”
“I’ll have to scoot closer to you for that.”
“Okay. It’s warmer that way, anyway,” was all Nesta said.
So he wrapped his wings around her before pulling the covers back over them, the warmth a comforting presence.
Nesta moved closer to him. “Put your arm around me.”
Cassian’s eyes widened. “What?”
“It’s cold. I thought…maybe I could give you some of my warmth. And vice versa.”
He obliged, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer to him.
“Good night, Cassian.”
“Night, Nes,” he replied, and he could’ve sworn he felt Nesta smile at his reply.
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I Missed You (Azriel x Reader)
Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses
Word Count: 934
Prompt(s): “Everything alright?” & “I just missed you.”
Azriel had been gone for a month on an assignment for Rhysand. At first it was fine. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to go away. It wasn’t even the longest he’d ever been gone. But after the second week, you were miserable. You weren’t sleeping. Sleeping alone had never been an issue for you. You always preferred it. Apparently the Illyrian had gotten further under your skin than you realized.
Your mood continued to deteriorate. Instead of laughing at Cassian and Mor’s antics, you found yourself snapping at them. You apologized after, but it clued everyone in on your mood which you quickly brushed off as lack of sleep.
They weren’t stupid and neither were you. Figuring out what was really wrong wasn’t hard. You missed Azriel. Really missed him. It had been awhile since he’d been away. Your relationship had progressed a lot more than it had been back then. It wasn’t easy anymore. You didn’t want to be away from him. That realization didn’t help your mood. If anything, it made it worse.
You were quiet throughout dinner with everyone. Internally, you were grumbling about the new predicament you found yourself in. If you were honest with yourself, you were aware that it wasn’t new. You’d felt this way for a long time, but there was always something to distract you. But things had been peaceful since the war. There weren’t any more distractions so now you had to actually deal with these feelings. You weren’t looking forward to what that meant.
As soon as you were able, you excused yourself from dinner. You avoided anyone who might stop you, making your way through the streets as quickly as possible. All you wanted to do was get home, curl in bed, and try to at least get a few hours of sleep.
You let yourself into the house you shared with Azriel and chucked your shoes off as you stomped past the living room. There was light coming out of the living room as you passed and you caught a glimpse of something in the corner of your eye, but ignored it. You were nearly to the bedroom when your brain caught with you and you came to a quick stop. After standing in the middle of the halfway for a moment, you slowly turned and walked back towards the living room. You walked through the doorway to see Azriel reclined on the couch, a small smile gracing his lips.
A whine tore itself from your mouth as you launched yourself at the male. He chuckled as you wrapped your arms and legs around him. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you ever closer.
“I just missed you,” you mumbled, burying your face in the crook of his neck. You’re sure you looked ridiculous with the way you were wrapped around him, but It didn’t matter. You needed to be close to him.
The fact that he was back early lingered at the back of your mind. You were going to ask why but got distracted by tingling in your eyes. You wanted to roll your eyes and tell yourself to stop acting like a child, but couldn’t think past the flurry of emotions that were curing through you. So you just tightened your arms around him and focused on not letting the tears pooling in your eyes fall. Of course he had to wrap his wings around you, blocking out anything that wasn’t the two of you.
Tears streamed down your face as you sniffled, trying to get them to stop. You felt a small shaking under you and pulled back to glare at Azriel.
“Stop laughing at me.”
He stopped laughing, but the smile didn’t leave his face. He gently wiped the tears from your cheeks and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You sighed at the feeling, a smile breaking out across your face despite the tears that still occasionally slipped down your face.
“I missed you too.”
He pulled you back to his chest tightening his grips around you. You closed your eyes and laid there listening to the sound of his heart beating. One of his hands stroked up and down your back and you let out a soft sigh. The sleepiness was weighing down on you but now you fought to stay awake. Minutes ago all you had wanted was to rest but now that he was here that was the last thing you wanted.
“You’re home early,” you said hoping talking might help you stay awake.
“Things weren’t as bad as we thought.”
You let out a hum. You started to lean more heavily into him before you jerked, remembering you were trying to stay awake. He turned his head to look down at you and you gave him a small smile. You sat up slightly to connect your lips to his. He pulled away too soon for your liking which he could tell from the small glare you sent him.
“Go to sleep Y/n.” He lifted you into his arms and made his way to your bedroom. The drowsiness was already creeping back over you before you even reached the hallway.
“I’ll be here when you wake up.”
He laid you on the bed, and you were quick to curl into his side when he joined you. You said a jumbled I love you and wondered if he could even decipher what you had said. He laughed and pulled you closer.
“I love you too. Now sleep.”
That was the last thing you heard before sleep finally overtook you.
A/n: I love him so much.
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Going Home: Part 3
Feyre and Rhys stood together on the small balcony just after Under the Mountain. What if the mating bond had snapped into place for Feyre as well?
Author’s Note: Thank you so much for all of the amazing support and feedback! I was truly blown away by the response to the first two parts! Please let me know what you think! I love getting comments and constructive criticism! Enjoy! ~Rachel
A huge thank you to @nomattertheoceans for beta reading this for me!
“Nooo!” the High Fae youth sobbed, his eyes were wide and filled with terror as they held my gaze. I took a single step forward, my heart constricted painfully.
“I’m growing impatient, Feyre,” Amarantha tutted, her fingernails tapping impatiently along the side of her throne. I bristled at the sound, at what she was demanding of me. I risked a glance in Tamlin’s direction, immediately regretting the decision. Even now, after all that I had done, all that I was about to do, he refused to send even the smallest of smiles in my direction. The torn, shredded pieces of my heart crumbled as I turned back around, facing the quivering form of the High Fae before me.
“Please,” he pleaded, struggling in vain against the binds that held him down. I broke, fracturing bit by bit, with each step that closed the distance between us.
“I’m sorry,” I wailed, the hand in which I clutched the ashwood dagger trembled violently. He cowered from me, from the promise of death I held. Tears streamed down my face as I took ahold of his shoulder and thrust the dagger into his chest. His eyes widened in surprise, a strangled gasp escaped his lips. I watched silently, unable to move, as he slumped to the ground, the light in his eyes dimming until it was wholly extinguished.
Blood. There was so much blood. I coated my hands, pooled on the ground at my feet.
The dagger clattered to the ground, the sound reverberating through my bones, down my spine.
“Good,” Amarantha purred from her throne. “Again.”
A sob ripped through my chest as I reached for the second dagger. My hands, still wet and sticky with blood, shook uncontrollably as my fingers wrapped around its hilt.
Another dagger. Another innocent High Fae. This time female. I knew her, the words she’d say, the prayer she’d recite. For Tamlin, I would do this. For him, I would damn the tattered remnants of my soul straight to hell. To free his Court, to free all of Prythian, I would do this.
I turned and faced the kneeling female. Her expression was fierce, her dark eyes flashed with a deep resolve as they met mine. I knew I would never dare paint her, paint this moment. I would never be able to capture the fire that burned in her eyes, the way she held her head high as she met her death. Her death at my hands.
I gripped her slender shoulder, and plunged the dagger into her awaiting heart.
Murderer. Butcher. Monster. Liar. Deceiver.
“Excellent, my dear,” Amarantha said, gigging delightedly at the sight before her. This was just some sick, perverse sort of entertainment for the fae, and I was nothing more than the unwilling star in her show.
One last dagger. One last High Fae kneeling before me.
Murderer. Butcher. Monster. Liar. Deceiver.
One last innocent soul for me to slaughter. And then this nightmare would finally be over. One more death, and then I could finally turn the blade on myself… and end it all. I could feel myself falling apart, shattering into a million pieces. Tamlin. For Tamlin, I must do this. I took in a shuddering breath, and stepped in front of the awaiting figure. The cold hilt of the dagger bit into my hand, still warm with the blood of the High Fae female.
Another male. His broad shoulders were relaxed, without fear. I knew who was waiting beneath that hood. I knew what to expect- I had relieved this moment in my dreams often enough. I watched silently as the hood was ripped from his head. The fae surrounding me gasped, their confusion a tangible thing. I felt the world spinning, reality slipping away from me as I sank to the ground. It was not emerald green eyes that met mine. No, it was not Tamlin’s eyes that held my gaze, but rather, violet eyes kissed with starlight. Rhys’s eyes. Rhys. Mate. My mate.
My eyes flew open, the last remnants of a scream falling from my lips. I bolted upright in bed, my body still quaking in terror, aftershocks of the nightmare that had plagued me ever since my return to the Spring Court. The frilly pink nightgown I had slipped on after Tamlin and I had made love earlier that evening clung to my sweat slicked skin. My gaze flashed across the room, convinced that Amarantha or one of her henchmen would be lurking in the shadows, ready to drag me back to Under the Mountain.
I took in a shuddering breath, attempting to ease the ache that had been growing in my chest. A dream . It was just a dream , I assured myself, trying to reel myself back in. I tucked a damp strand of hair behind an ear, my fingers grazing the delicate edge of its newly pointed tip which marked me as High Fae. I ran my hands along the sheets, wiping off the sweat which clung to them, so similar to how the blood of the High Fae I had slaughtered had covered my hands, my body.
I clamped a hand over my mouth, fighting down the bile that threatened to rise, though I knew it would do little good. I bolted out of the bed, fumbling in the dark as I staggered towards the bathing room. I dropped to the ground, my knees jarring with the force of the impact. I knelt before the toilet on the cold, hard ground and emptied the contents of my stomach. This was the price that the Cauldron demanded I pay. There was no way to undo what I had done, no way to atone for the murders I had committed.
I spent my days pretending that I was fine, happy even, that I hadn't been utterly broken by what Amarantha had done to me, done to us. Night after night, I relived the worst of what I had endured Under the Mountain. Night after night, I was chased from my dreams by piercing, violet eyes. Night after night, I heaved up the contents of my dinner. And night after night, I suffered alone. Whether or not Tamlin was aware of the nightmares that plagued me, I didn’t know. I didn’t blame him though. Not really. He had his own demons to battle. When nightmares tore him from sleep, Tamlin was an explosion of fangs and fur. He would stand guard for the remainder of the night, pacing back and forth in front of the door and windows. The first few times this had happened, I had tried to comfort him, to be there for him. I had tried to pull him from the darkness that haunted us both. But every time I did, his eyes glinted dangerously, and he resumed guarding the door with a renewed vigor.
When I was sure the heaving had finally subsided, I flushed the toilet with a trembling hand. Leaning my head back against the tub, I squeezed my eyes shut. I got out. I’m free. It was just a dream , I murmured, trying to gain some semblance of control over my tumultuous emotions. The porcelain was cool against my hot, clammy skin. Breathe. Just breathe . A cry of surprise escaped my lips as pain tore through my palms. My eyes narrowed as I opened my hands, unclenched the fists I hadn’t even known had formed. Small, crescent shaped indentations ran along the length of both palms where my nails had dug deeply into my flesh.
My breath hitched. I could have sworn... no. It must have been a shadow, my eyes playing tricks on me. Magical or no, tattoos didn’t blink. I gazed warily at the catlike eye tattooed inked upon the palm of my hand. It seemed to be assessing me, considering me, and coming up short. My lips pulled back in a snarl, and I looked away in disgust. He had yet to call in the bargain I had so foolishly made, desperate to heal the wound that the Middengard wyrm had inflicted.
A cool breeze coming in from an open window caressed my cheek. Why hadn’t he called in the bargain? I gazed out of the window, into the endless night sky. While Tam tried not to show it, at least not in front of me, I knew that it made him uneasy, the uncertainty of it all… not knowing Rhysand’s game. Tam and Lucien were searching for ways to break the bargain, but hadn’t had any success. But in the months since Under the Mountain, we had yet to hear anything from the High Lord of the Night Court. Was it because he was my...
Not my anything!
I stood clumsily, still not wholly used to my new, elongated limbs. I walked to the window, the cool night air a balm on my otherwise jagged nerves. I rested my forearms along the window sill, content to stare out into the inky depths of the night.
He hadn’t wanted it any more than I had, that much was obvious. He hadn’t wanted this... bond between us. He hadn’t wanted me. For Cauldron’s sake, he would have winnowed away from me, had I not stopped him. No wonder he hadn’t called in the bargain. To him, I was a tool to be wielded against Tamlin, to piss him off. Nothing more, nothing less. Whatever his reasons, I was grateful he hadn’t called in the bargain, forced me to go to the Night Court against my will.
I slammed the window shut, the glass reverberated dangerously. Casting aside thoughts of a dresser drawer painted long ago, I walked back into my bedroom. I climbed back into the bed next to Tamlin, who was sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of the soul crushing guilt that was slowly consuming me day by day.
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70. On the college prompt list
feysand + “I told my roommate I would be gone tonight so you crash in my bed but I end up coming home and crawling in, so we both start screaming”
note: no screaming, bc I’ve wanting to write something like this for ages!
Feyre stumbled into her apartment at 3 am, wiping at her eyes. Her phone was still buzzing every few seconds with calls and texts from Lucien and Elain, and even Tamlin.
Once the door fell shut behind her, Feyre quietly dropped her keys and bag on the dresser in the hall and wrote a text to Elain.
I’m home. I’m fine. Going to bed. She wrote and then promptly shut off her phone.
Feyre had been invited to Lucien’s birthday party and since Elain and him had been going steady for the last six months, her sister had wanted Feyre to stay the night. However, as soon as Tamlin had gotten drunk enough to approach her, Feyre had quickly realized that there was no way that she could stay any second longer.
He had cornered her on her way to the bathroom. Trying to talk or make up. His words had been slurred and hadn’t made much sense. At least at first.
As far as Feyre was concerned there was no way in hell that she would ever get with Tamlin again. That part of her life was over and she’d never regretted breaking up with him almost three months ago.
Tamlin seemed to still be under the impression that Feyre was being stubborn, playing hard to get or punishing him for how he had treated her.
As soon as Tamlin had started trying to kiss her, they had gotten into a terrible fight that had ended with Lucien and Elain needing to step in. That hadn’t stopped Tamlin from turning nasty, somehow less drunk and spewing insults at her.
And despite her best intentions, Feyre had had a few too many drinks and his vile words had gotten under her skin. She had left the place before he could see the effect his words had on her and only when she had gotten into her uber, did she let herself cry.
Out of embarrassment or frustration or because, no matter how much time had passed, Tamlin’s insults still managed to hurt her.
Only when Feyre stumbled over a few pairs of shoes in the entryway, did she remember that her roommate, Mor, had planned to have some people over tonight. For a brief moment, panic flared but then Feyre noticed the lack of sounds coming from the living room.
Whatever Mor and the others had been up to, they must have fallen asleep by now, because it was dark and silent in the apartment. Feyre sniffled quietly, tip-toeing across the living room and towards her bedroom.
She noticed two hulking figures that were passed out on the couch in what looked to be the most uncomfortable positions possible. And when Feyre noticed that Cassian’s lips were painted a bright sparkly purple, her mood lightened a bit.
Feyre opened her bedroom door slowly, wondering whether Rhys hadn’t come at all or if he had, why he had left early. She slipped into her room, closing the door slowly because she had learned the hard way that Azriel was an extremely light sleeper and that the faintest of sounds would wake him.
She was halfway across the room, her dress unzipped and hanging around her waist, when she noticed that she wasn’t alone in the room.
Someone was in her bed. Laying on top of her covers, with only a light blanket covering his midsection, was Rhysand.
Feyre’s breath caught in her throat, she hastily pulled her dress up to cover her chest. But the body on her bed remained still and unmoving. Asleep.
Now, she wondered why Rhys was in her bed.
Then she remembered that she wasn’t supposed to come home tonight and it would have been stupid for Rhys to sleep on the floor if there was a perfectly empty bed right there.
She debated for just a second, before sighing softly and turning away.
Feyre slipped on her pyjama bottoms, then with a final look over her shoulder, she pulled her dress over her head, replacing it with an old t-shirt. She slipped her bra out from under it and threw it on the pile of discarded clothes.
Then she let her hair down and walked to the foot of the bed, trying to get under the covers without waking Rhys.
As soon as she was kneeling on the bed, gently prying apart the covers, he rolled over. Blinking dazedly down at her, it took him a moment to come to his sense.
“Shhh.” Feyre hissed, pulling harder at the covers now that he was awake. “Move over.”
He stilled, looking confused. After a few moments of them just looking at each other, he rolled far enough away for her to yank away the comforter and slip underneath it.
“Feyre?” Rhys asked, his voice husky from sleep. “Mor said you weren’t coming.”
Feyre let out a deep sigh as soon as her head hit the pillow and tried to turn away.
A warm hand stopped her, pulling her back. She reluctantly looked up into Rhys’ eyes and found him looking down at her, awake now and full of concern.
She had hoped he would be too tired to notice, but Rhys had always been more attentive than she had given him credit for.
“What happened?” He whispered softly.
Again, tears pricked at her eyes and she exhaled a shaky breath. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”
Feyre tried to turn away once more, but Rhys just leaned forward, slinging an arm over her waist and pulling her closer.
“It’s not nothing.” He muttered and Feyre felt his breath on her neck.
She relaxed, leaning further into his warmth. As soon as she did so, another sob escaped her throat. Rhys’ arms wrapped around her, pulling her so close that she could feel his heart beating against her cheek.
And then a broad hand started gently rubbing up and down her back.
Feyre couldn’t hold it in anymore. She buried her face more deeply into his warm chest and let herself cry.
Rhys made comforting noises and the vibrations of his chest lulled Feyre into a sleepy calm far sooner than she had thought possible.
When she finally stopped crying like the world was ending, Rhys just said, “He’s an asshole. He never deserved you.”
She let out a shaky breath, something between a laugh and another sob.
“I’m serious, Feyre. He never treated you right. Not when you were together, not now.”
Feyre pressed herself closer to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and squeezing in thanks. She wasn’t sure she had the words to tell him how grateful she was.
Rhys pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Do you want me to go?”
“No.” Feyre grumbled out, holding onto him harder.
This time, when his chest vibrated, it wasn’t because he was trying to soothe her. No, the prick was chuckling.
Feyre lifted her head from where it had been buried against his chest and glared at him. “Why are you laughing?”
“Because, if I had known getting into your bed would have been this easy, I would have done it months ago.”
Even in the darkness, Feyre could see the playful spark in his violet eyes. And somehow, despite the hollowness she had felt, she returned the smile he gave her.
“If you’re going to be a prick about it, I can always kick you out.”
“You won’t.” He teased, and as if to prove it, he moved away only for Feyre to tighten her hold on him again. “See? You can’t get enough of me.”
“Shut up.” She grumbled again and then buried her face back into his chest. Closing her eyes, even while she was still smiling.
“Good night, Feyre darling.” Rhys whispered, settling deeper into the covers.
“Good night, you insufferable prick.”
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Headcanon: While Rhys was trapped Under the Mountain and the IC in Velaris, Cassian and Azriel would go to a park every Solstice for their snowball war. They always built a third fort for Rhysand, and didn’t start until it was fully stocked with snowballs. For 49 years, they would return at night and inform Mor that he’d won again.
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Okay I would kill for number 2 of your college prompts- Feysand please. I love your writing! 💕
feysand + “I’m so stressed out during finals that I show up to the exam in my onesie with zero shame and you tell me I look cute”
She was going to kill someone.
Maybe her roommate. Maybe the next person, who stepped into her path.
Or maybe even the professor, who had decided to schedule the exam for 8am on Friday, when the class had always taken place at noon.
No. She most definitely wanted to kill her roommate.
For whatever reason, Ianthe had thought it was a good idea to unplug Feyre’s phone after she had gone to sleep to use her own curling iron and then had forgotten to replug the charger.
As such, Feyre’s phone had died some time during the night and Feyre hadn’t been woken up in time to get ready for her final exam properly.
No, she woke up when Ianthe had stormed into the room, surprised to find Feyre still asleep and told her that her final exam was about to start. In fifteen minutes.
Never in her life had Feyre gotten out of bed so quickly. She hadn’t even bothered to pee. No, she’d just grabbed her bag and ran out of the dorm and all the way across campus.
Only after the fifth or sixth laugh that followed her passing by, did she realize that she had never changed out of her pyjamas. And those happened to be her oversized, bright yellow, fuzzy Pikachu onesie.
But, she was too anxious about the exam and making it on time, that she simply did not have the mental capacity to care.
Sure, the urge to strangle Ianthe intensified, but that wasn’t exactly a new feeling.
Feyre ran up the three flights of stairs and basically storming into the classroom. She looked around for an empty seat, while trying to slow down her hectic breathing.
Since it was two minutes until the start of the exam, most students were already in their seats, placing snacks and bottles of water or cups of coffee on their tables.
She ignored the few sniggers at her appearance, spotting an empty seat in the first row and almost sprinted towards it.
Nothing in her bag would be of use. She found a few stray pieces of charcoal, a half eaten pack of gummy bears and her sketch book in there.
Feyre looked around, slightly panicked and was surprised to find Rhysand sitting right next to her. In her hurry, she hadn’t even noticed him.
And as she looked at him, she couldn’t help but notice how put together he seemed. He was wearing a soft looking navy sweater and dark jeans, his hair immaculately styled as always. And, worst of all, he had a cup of coffee as well as a small paper bag that seemed to contain something edible right there on his desk. And next to that, a case filled with an assortment of pens.
She cleared her throat, suddenly painfully aware that her hair must be a mess and that she was wearing a onesie and probably looked like she had literally just rolled out of bed (which, to be fair, she had).
“Um, hi.” She said, leaning towards him.
Rhysand looked up, his eves trailing from her face down to her clothes and back up, a small smile forming on his lips. “Good morning.” He said, a teasing undertone in his voice.
Feyre made a face, but choose to ignore the grin. “Could lend me a pen?”
His smile widened, eyes crinkling and the blue standing out even more thanks to the matching sweater he was wearing. “Rough night?” He asked, almost as if he was trying to deduce what had caused her to be like this on the day of their final exam.
“Yeah, sure.” She said plainly, not really in the mood to tell him more. Especially, since their Professor began handing out the exam. “Will you lend me a pen or not?”
He carefully picked one out and held it out to her. Then, he also grabbed his cup of coffee and placed it in front of her desk. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you need this more than I do.” He said, winking at her.
Feyre scowled, but nothing in the world would stop her from accepting a cup of coffee. And she had to admit, it was a rather nice gesture. “Thanks.” She muttered, taking the pen from his hand and a sip from the coffee.
It had just a splash of milk in it. Still hot and exactly what she needed to get her brain start working properly. “Honestly, you’re a life saver.”
She hadn’t meant to say it, but he seemed just as surprised by it. Just then, their professor picked up a stack of papers and approached their table.
The exam was laid face down on the table right in front of Feyre and the professor gave her a wary glance before moving on.
“So, are you going to tell me what’s up with the outfit?” Rhysand asked, watching her as she kept on sipping from the cup.
She made a face - again - but spoke anyway, “My roommate, Ianthe Priest, unplugged my phone last night. And I’m not exactly a morning person.”
He nodded, looking thoughtful. “Well, I think it could have been worse. And I think you make a very cute Pikachu.”
Feyre felt her face grow hot, not just because of his words but the intense gaze that accompanied them.
“Oh, shut it.” She muttered, trying to feel less awkward.
“I’m serious.” He said, chuckling. “I’d definitely catch you.”
“Alright, 3. 2. 1. Begin.” Their professor said and Feyre was equal parts disappointed and relieved that she didn’t have to answer the last statement.
She flipped over the paper and forced herself to push all other thoughts away.
Once Feyre handed in her exam and stepped out of the classroom, she was surprised to find Rhysand leaning against a wall right across from the door.
“Hey.” He said, hands in his pocket and bag slung over one shoulder. “How did it go?”
“Better than I thought it would.” Feyre said, honestly. “Though, I think your coffee helped a lot.”
He grinned, like she had stepped right in his trap. “Speaking of which,” He said, pushing off the wall and coming closer. He was so tall, that Feyre had to tilt her head back to keep looking into his eyes. “Do you want to grab some coffee with me some time?”
She stared at him, dumbfounded. Here she was, in a Pikachu onesie, still looking like a mess and needing to pee like crazy and this guy was asking her out. Really?
“I- what?” Feyre stuttered, “Are you serious?”
“Yes.” And he looked it, too. Slipping one hand out of his pocket, he raised it but stopped short of touching her. “I didn’t lie when I said you look cute.”
She was blushing again. But at least, this time, Rhysand looked a little flustered, too. Or maybe he was worried about what she was going to say.
“Ok, I’ll get coffee with you.” Feyre said.
Rhysand was grinning, it was making him look younger and more handsome at the same time. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She replied.
“Do you want to go right now?” Both hands had come out of his pockets now and it seemed like he was trying not to bounce on the balls of his feet in excitement.
“NO!” Feyre shouted, then looked around in alarm. “I mean, no.”
“Oh.” His face fell, but Feyre added, quickly, “You might think I look cute, but at least 30 people have laughed at my outfit today, I’m going nowhere but straight to my dorm right now.”
That seemed to cheer him up. “Tomorrow, then?”
“Yes. Tomorrow.” Feyre couldn’t help but smile at the expression on his face.
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The Truth of Dating
Please let me know what you think! I love getting comments and constructive criticism! Enjoy! ~Rachel
Rhys sighed heavily, the calluses on his fingers scraped along his skin as he ran a hand over his face roughly. He glanced down at his watch, one of the more ostentatious gifts that his cousin Mor had gotten him over the years. Damn. Feyre had left just forty-five minutes ago, and he was already going out of his mind. While the rational part of him knew that he had no reason to worry, he couldn't help but to fuss like an overprotective aunt at Sunday dinner. Feyre had been taking self-defense classes with Cassian for the better part of a year, and was more than capable of taking care of herself in that regard. That wasn’t what was causing the ache he felt growing deep within his chest.
No, his greatest fear was of Feyre losing herself again. Over the past few weeks, Rhys had watched that flame inside of her, that sparkle in her eyes, growing brighter and brighter. Every time she smiled, it was a magnificent thing to behold. He wouldn't let her fall back into the same unhappiness and despair that had consumed her for months and months. If anything happened to her... if she got hurt in any way… no. He would make sure that nothing happened to his Feyre.
Any hurt that was inflicted upon her, he would repay in kind. He would rip the asshole apart, piece by piece. And he would take a damn long time in doing so.
Rhys’s lips pulled back in a snarl as he recalled the scared, ghost of a girl whom Mor had introduced him to all those months ago. After escaping an abusive relationship, Feyre had found herself in need of a place to stay and had been sleeping on Mor’s couch for a few nights. Rhys had immediately felt drawn to her, had wanted to help her take back control of her life. Since her only other option had been Mor’s uncomfortable couch, Feyre had reluctantly agreed to move into the empty guest room at his place. That day, Rhys had let her know that the room was hers for as long as she wanted it. Since then, Feyre hadn’t once mentioned moving out, and he hoped that she never would.
A muscle in his jaw twitched as Cassian’s taunting voice echoed through his mind. Jealous. He snorted, brusquely crossing his arms over his chest. Jealous? Him? Ridiculous. Even if he couldn’t get the image of her, and how spectacular she looked in that dress, out of his mind. The way it hugged each and every one of her delicious curves, the tantalizing sway of her hips as she sauntered out of the door. He was well and truly fucked. He let his head fall back against the couch and closed his eyes, willing himself to forget about her. An impossible task, to be sure. Even in the inky blackness, there was only Feyre. He couldn’t get her out of his mind, no matter how hard her tried. She was simply everywhere. It was as though her image had been tattooed upon the very backs of his eyelids. So clear was his mental picture, it was as though she were standing right in front of him.
It made sense that he was able to conjure an image of her so perfectly. After all, they had been roommates for nearly a year now. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he was completely and utterly enchanted by her. The way her nose crinkled when she smiled, the way she tucked her hair behind and ear when she was nervous. She was his best friend. He knew her better than anyone else did. Not even Mor knew her as well as he did, a fact that made him feel rather smug if he were being honest. So, why was it that she couldn’t see him as clearly as he could see her?
What he needed was a distraction, something to take his mind off of the inappropriate crush he had on his roommate. Groaning in frustration, Rhys ran a hand though his hair. He should be happy for Feyre. That she felt ready to begin dating again, to put herself out there after everything that her ex had put her through, showed how incredibly resilient and strong she was. It was one of the many, many things that he admired about her. While he knew that she didn’t see him as anything other than a friend, a small part of him had been hoping that when she was ready to begin dating again, she might start to see him differently.
Cassian, the pain in the ass that he was, had been right. He was jealous. So, so incredibly jealous.
Rhys began flipping through Netflix, his grip on the remote tighter than was strictly necessary. He was desperate for some mindless entertainment, something that could make him laugh. Something to forget about his feelings for her… at least for a little while. The corners of his lips twitched up when he spotted his favorite show, a guilty pleasure that none of his friends knew about, not even Feyre. Not that he was ashamed of liking it per se, it was just that he didn’t want to give Mor or Cassian any more ammunition that they could use against him. Cauldron knew they loved teasing him.... about everything... anytime they could. Insufferable busy bodies.
As the boisterous melody of the familiar theme song began to reverberate throughout the apartment, a smile began slowly creeping across his face. He rose from his perch on the couch, stretching his long, weary limbs as he shuffled towards the kitchen. After procuring a beer from the fridge, he returned to the living room, his mood decidedly better than before.
The sound of clattering keys had Rhys scrambling for the remote. Shit. His family had a bad habit of dropping by whenever it suited them. It was moments like this, when he regretted giving them a key to his apartment. His fingers fumbled, searching for the pause button. But it wasn't Mor, Azriel, Cassian, or even Amren that stalked through the door. It was Feyre.
A relief so profound that it left him momentarily stunned swept through his body. Feyre was home. She was safe. And the date had obviously not gone well. He couldn’t help the wicked, cruel smirk that spread across his face. He really was a bastard, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.
“Feyre darling, you’re back awfully early. I take it then that the date went well?” he drawled, as he tried and failed not to stare at her backside as she removed her precariously high heels. She unceremoniously tossed the shoes into the closet before slamming the door shut. The anger burning in her eye pinned him to the spot. Feyre looked as though she were ready to tear him apart, and gods help him, he would let her. Even while she was shooting daggers at him, she was breathtaking.
“Oh, fuck off Rhys,” she hissed, sending a vulgar gesture in his direction.
“Hmmm... well, if that’s the way you treat your best friend, I can only imagine how well you treated your date this evening. It’s no wonder that it ended so soon,” he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
“Prick,” she huffed, smacking his arm lightly before collapsing onto the couch next to him. A small thrill coursed through his body as Feyre leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. Rhys wrapped his arm around her body, tugging her even closer to him.
“So, care to tell me what really happened?” he asked, pressing a kiss to her brow.
“Gods Rhys, he was such an ass,” she spat, her anger near palpable in its intensity.
“I can call Az and Cassian. I’m pretty sure we can make it look like an accident,” he grumbled, tightening his hold on her.
She barked out a laugh and said, “While I appreciate the offer, that won’t be necessary.”
“So... what happened?” he asked, twisting one of her golden curls around his finger. She sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Everything started out fine. We met at that new restaurant downtown and ordered drinks,” she said, her nostrils flaring as she huffed out a breath.
“And then?” he asked, urging her to continue.
“And then the asshole had the nerve to ask me if I had brought any condoms along, or if he would need to go to the store to get some,” she hissed, roughly crossing her arms over her chest. Rhys’s body went rigid. His vision went red, clouded from anger, primal and vicious.
“Hand me my phone. I’m calling Cassian,” he said quietly, a dangerous edge to his voice that promised retribution.
“You’re an idiot, Rhys,” she huffed, entwining her fingers with his. But, thank you.”
“For what?” he asked, his anger slowly ebbing away. He relished the feeling of her hand in his and began making small, soothing strokes on her palm.
“For being your snarky self and making my laugh. For being there for me, no matter what,” Feyre said, biting down on her bottom lip gently.
“Always, darling. You’re stuck with me,” Rhys said, squeezing her hand gently. So quickly he almost missed it, her eyes flickered down to his lips before darting back to meet his gaze once again. Was it not for the flush creeping up her neck and cheeks, Rhys would have thought that he was seeing things. Did she… surely not… should he…
His heart began beating so wildly, he was sure she could hear it from where she sat. Feyre turned her head quickly, tearing her gaze from his. Her eyes darted around the room, as though searching for something, anything else to focus on other than him.
“Rhys, are you watching Grey’s Anatomy?” she asked, the look in her eyes matching the impish grin that was now spread across her face.
“No, I was just flipping around before you came barging in,” he stammered, scrambling for the remote control.
“Oh my gods, you were totally watching it!” Feyre cackled, covering her mouth with a hand.
“I was not,” he said, his brows narrowing drastically.
“I can’t wait to tell Mor and Cassain!” she crowed, her expression the very picture of devious delight.
“Feyre darling, I beg you, please don’t tell them! They’ll never let me live it down!” he pleaded as he ran a hand through his hair roughly.
“Well, what would be the fun in that? I mean, what’s in it for me?” she said, her body shaking with the effort of controlling her laughter. She was enjoying this way too much.
“Anything. Say the word, and it’s yours,” he said, willing to get on his knees and beg if it came to that. She smoothed out the skirt of her dress, drawing the moment out, making him sweat that much longer. She bit her bottom lip roughly, giving him a considering look.
“Ok, Rhys. I’ll play your game. I won’t tell anyone, but I want something in return.” He couldn’t make heads or tails of the look that flashed across her face.
“What do you want?” he asked, suddenly feeling as though he was about to get much more than he bargained for.
“I get to ask you three questions and you have to answer them. Honestly,” she said, tossing her golden curls behind a shoulder. Heaving a sigh of relief, he nodded his head in agreement.
“And you’ll answer honestly?”
“Yes, I promise,” he said, his voice lined with exasperation.
“Okay, good. First question… Are you keeping any other secrets from me?” Feyre asked, her gaze fixated on her nails. His eyes widened imperceptibly. Shit. He was finding it extremely difficult to breath all of the sudden. He couldn’t tell her, not like this. But he had promised.
He swallowed audibly and croaked, “Yes.”
“What are you keeping from me?” she asked, lifting her gaze to meet his.
She cut him off with a wave of her hand as she said, “Fine, if you don’t want to answer that one, I’ll ask another.” She cocked her head to the side as she continued, “Have you ever thought about kissing me?” Rhys stared at her, mouth agape, struggling to process her question. Once he was over the shock of her question, he gave her a lazy smile.
“Is that a challenge, darling,” he purred, brazenly looking her up and down.
“And if it is?” she asked, running a hand though his hair. Gently cupping her face in his hands, he leaned in closer to her. They were so close, he could feel her breath caressing his face.
“Feyre, tell me to stop,” he said, needing to make sure this is what she wanted. That he was what she wanted.
“Shut up and kiss me,” she smirked, bringing her lips down upon his. He was all too happy to oblige her.
Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list. If I left you off by accident, please send me a message! I try to be organized but I do make mistakes!
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Bloom (Elain x Azriel)
Azriel catches Elain pleasuring herself over him – just shameless smut
She was everything and much more – and Azriel was head over heals in love...
It was dark by the time Azriel returned from the Steppes, his body aching from the long hours of training.
Cracking his knuckles, he entered the kitchen, eager to fill his growling stomach with a well deserved meal.
The townhouse was quiet with the rest of the inner circle gone. While Feyre and Rhys visited the Court of Nightmares, Nesta and Cassian stayed back at the Illyrian camps. Morrigan was off to the Summer Court with Amren, who wanted to visit Varian. With Tarquin still dubious of the Night Court’s Second in Command, he had requested Mor’s company to Adriata.
That left only him and Elain alone in the Velaris.
Oh Elain. Sweet, innocent Elain. She was the definition of beauty with her long golden locks, rich brown eyes and soft freckled skin. She was everything and much more… and Azriel was head over heals in love.
Azriel wondered her whereabouts as he finished his stew.
“Elain?” he called out, only to be greeted with silence, filled with tuning of the wind chimes from Elain’s garden.
Wisps of shadows coiled around him as he stood from his seat.
Find her, he ordered as his shadows divided before spreading throughout the expanse of the townhouse.
“Elain?” He called again. Nothing. A tinge of fear ran through his veins.
Where was she, what if she was in danger?
With the Truth-Teller strapped to his thigh, Azriel climbed up the stairs, his feet taking him to her chamber.
He was about to knock when he found her door ajar. Confused he pushed it open before walking in, silent as the night chilled mist as shadows cloaked his frame.
That was when he heard her, smelt her. Her usual innocent scent was barely recognisable over the heavy musk of arousal that made Azriel’s mouth water with a different kind of hunger.
There she was, lying over the silk sheets in all her naked glory, two fingers dipped in her glistening core like a honey pot.
Quiet moans escaped her heart shaped lips as she pumped her fingers in and out of her slicked heat, her thumb drawing circles over her swollen pearl.
A soft gasp fell from her lips as she pinched her left nipple, the rosy beads on her chest hardening at her ministrations.
Oh how badly he wanted to run his tongue over her flushed skin. Azriel was mesmerised by the sight in front of him, his leathers felt tight on his crotch as his member quivered for attention.
Elain was illuminated under the moonlight, basking in its eternal glory as she continued to pleasure herself, unaware of the spymaster’s presence. A tinge of scarlet bloomed over her glowing skin, tinting her cheeks, neck and breasts.
Her legs shook slightly as she neared her release, her moans turning to desperate whimpers.
“Oh Az…” she begged, the delicate mounds on her chest bouncing as she pumped her fingers faster.
Azriel stilled, his stomach fluttering with butterflies.
She was thinking about him.
“A-Az please… please I- ah” she whimpered as her release dripped down her milky thighs, wetting her sheets.
Unable to contain himself, Azriel winnowed out of Elain’s chamber, stumbling into the bath of his own room. He needed a cold shower.
His calloused fingers shook slightly as he peeled the tight Illyrian leathers off his skin. Unlike the clear moonlit sky, his heart thundered against his ribs.
Quiet pants left his chest as his nether regions blossomed with heat. Discarding his boots, Azriel stepped in the shower, moaning at the feeling of cool water against his feverish skin.
He let out a quiet groan to ease off the carnal hunger that thrummed deep within his bones but he just couldn’t get her off his mind.
Azriel was a man of great control and restraint yet he had never felt this restless his whole life.
He wondered if one could die from wanting someone too much, and if he was dying for wanting her this bad. His body felt tight, aching for a release.
Unable to control his desires he lowered his hand to grip his weeping member, hissing at the feel of calloused fingers against his sensitive shaft.
Slowly, he began to palm myself.
Azriel’s breath quickened, a purr escaping his lips as his mind filled with images of Elain exploring herself.
His head tipped back as he imagined her hand replacing his. He could almost feel her soft fingers wrapping around his cock.
His shadows slithered down his body, calling him to go to her room and bury himself deep within her.
Azriel groaned in pleasure.
He imagined her soft pink lips cloaking him, bobbing her head up and down. He imagined the way her mouth would feel on him, how she would lick him, kiss him, suck him.
He couldn't breathe.
Pants turned to low growls as he stroked himself harder, wondering what it would feel like to be inside her, to feel her soft flesh against his, to make her sing with pleasure as he spilled his seed within her. He grit his teeth, his body coming to its wake under his sensual touch.
Azriel stifled his roar as he came, spurting into the cold marble wall. The cool water sizzled against his skin, as he stood there with his head hanging low, ashamed of his actions.
His body may have been at ease, but his heart still longed for her.
But Elain was a mated fae, she wasn’t his. Elain was… Elain and Azriel was nothing more that a bastard born nobody.
So he sighed as he cleaned himself up, he would never force himself upon her. And he would always be there for her, even if she didn't love him the way he wanted her to.
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feysand friends with benefits!!!
thanks @nomattertheoceans for helping me with the fluffy bits
this is like kinda smutty but also not really bc its not explicitly explicit. but you know they are fwbs.
Feyre usually thinks the term “friends with benefits” is stupid. Stupid because it implies that a regular friendship does not have benefits.
But, in her current situation, she really doesn’t care.
Feyre likes being in Rhys’ bed. Not because it’s luxurious and plush and soft (and smells like him). But because usually when she is in that bed, Rhys is in it, too. Ands his hands and lips are all over her, coaxing pleasure from her in a way that is designed to slowly drive her mad.
Like right now.
Her legs are thrown over his shoulders, with Rhys’ head between her thighs as he eats her out like his life depends on it. She can’t complain, because Feyre thinks that if he were to stop right now, she might legitimately die.
And Feyre isn’t ashamed of the sounds that come from her. Small and needy, accentuated by her bucking her hips up in an attempt to get him even closer. Rhys doesn’t seem to mind, at least going by the moan he lets out whenever Feyre’s legs tighten around him and she lifts off the bed.
And the hands that hold onto her hips aren’t pushing her back down. In fact, it seems like he quite enjoys her attempts to choke him. He encourages her with thumbs that run slow circles into her skin, mirroring the movements of his tongue.
Feyre thinks that this.. this is clearly a benefit normal friendships don’t have.
She comes - for the third time - as a slew of words fall from her lips. Her brain has long since stopped keeping up with her mind and she doesn’t care. Not when Rhys is still not stopping. It feels like he’s been down there for hours, for days, forever.
And Feyre really, really can’t complain.
At least until she starts to get sensitive and delirious and she’s gripping the sheets and moaning his name, both seeking that orgasm that she can taste on the tip of her tongue but also burning with each stroke of his tongue.
Sometimes, she wonders if Rhys knows her body better than she does. Because when she comes again, it’s.. actually, she doesn’t have words for how it feels.
Every nerve ending is on fire, her head thrown back, hips lifting up the bed as far as it can go and the feeling of relief so earth shattering that even words fail her.
The first thing she notices once she comes back to herself is Rhys’ lips on her thigh, the second is the soft sound of him chuckling.
Usually she would roll her eyes at the self-satisfied little prick as he slides up her body, but she’s so blissfully relaxed in that moment that she simply gives him a dazed smile.
Rhys’ lips are soft as they brush against her lips. She can taste herself on them and moans a little. Her hand slides between their bodies, surprised to find Rhys still wearing his pants.
As she moves to unbuckle his belt, Rhys lets out another chuckle and Feyre just says, “Shut up.”
But before she can really get going and alarm goes off. Rhys presses his forehead against her shoulder groaning as he pushes up into her fingers and groans again.
“Fuck.” He says, then presses a kiss to her shoulder before grabbing his phone. “I need to go.”
Feyre doesn’t let go of him, simply raises a brow and asks, “How long do you have?”
Rhys looks at the screen, then looks at her and it seems as though he’s doing a quick calculation before he groans again and says, “I need to go now. I have a meeting with Mor.”
She can’t help but feel bad. This arrangement they have is about mutually satisfactory meetings, not about her brains being blown away and Rhys being left hard and wanting.
Not that he doesn’t blow her brain away each and every time. It feels as though Rhys revels in the sounds he can coax from her. And when she returns the favour, Feyre is always surprised by the words that fall from Rhys’ lips. How his hands slide into her hair, nails gently scraping against her scalp, phrases like “yes, darling, just like that” or “Feyre, please” sound.
It’s nothing like the cocky asshole she first got to know. Or the less cocky, but still kind of an asshole friend she made. Rhys in bed is something entirely different.
And right now, she wants him like that. Even as she’s still breathless from her last orgasm. But he needs to go and Feyre feels bad.
“When can I return the favour then, prick?” Feyre asks, still unwilling to let of him. She slowly strokes him, making him groan again. This time deeper and in a way that dances down her spine and makes Feyre shiver.
The reply comes too fast, too eager and Feyre can’t help but smirk. “Alright.”
And then Rhys is getting off the bed, taking hold of her hand and placing it gently by her side and Feyre realizes a beat too late that this is his bed in his apartment and that she’s still naked.
Rhys must realize it, too, because he leans down, pressing a kiss to her forehead and whispering, “Just don’t forget to shut the door when you go.”
There’s a smile in the words, but Feyre doesn’t see it. Because her eyes fall shut at the soft brush of his lips on her skin. But she nods.
“I’ll see you tonight?” Rhys asks, as if he needs to make sure.
Feyre nods again. Eyes still closed, she smiles and says, “Yes. Have fun with Mor.”
Rhys doesn’t move away, his lips simply press another kiss to her temple, her cheek, the tip of her nose. Something warm sparks in Feyre’s chest but she can’t name the feeling. She simply enjoys the tingling that his lips leave in their wake. “Goodbye, darling.”
When he finally kisses her lips, Feyre mutters, “Bye, Rhys. Love you.”
His breath fans over her face, harsh and rattling and only when he doesn’t kiss her again or move away, does Feyre realize what she’s just said. Her eyes fly open and she finds him staring down at her, his own eyes wide and filled with surprise. “What did you just say?”
That feeling in her chest turns into an ache. Still warm, still tingling, but almost overpowering in its intensity.
“I-” Feyre starts, and that warm, molten feeling starts to feel more like panic. “I said love you?”
Rhys’ face is unreadable. Which is confusing because in the last few years, Feyre has made it a priority to know what he’s thinking at all times. “You love me?” His tone is soft, filled with wonder and Feyre’s panic ebbs away.
“I- I think so?”
“Feyre-” Rhys starts, but then his phone rings again. This time it’s not the sound of his alarm. “Shit. It’s Mor. Feyre, I-”
But Feyre’s already chuckling. “Go, or Mor’s going to kick your ass.”
“Can we talk about this tonight?” Rhys asks, leaning down and pressing another kiss to her lips. “And, I love you, too.”
Feyre smiles against his lips. Even as his phone rings again and Rhys curses under his breath. “I’m sorry-”
“Go.” Feyre says again and laughs as Rhys gives her one last, longing look and leaves her naked and spent and laughing on his bed.
– TAGLIST –
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A Change in The Game - Masterlist
Feyre and Lucien are colleagues who share an office and who can't stand each other - right?
Inspired by the novel “The Hating Game” by Sally Thorne
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29 | Part 30 | Part 31 | Part 32 | Part 33 | Part 34 | Part 35
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Going Home Masterlist
Feyre and Rhys stood together on the small balcony just after Under the Mountain. What if the mating bond had snapped into place for Feyre as well?
Part 4- Coming soon!
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I know you probably won't answer this for a while because of your personal life but I think you doing a feysand hunger games au would be neat x
omg omg omg, i know you probably wanted this as like a full-fledged fic but ever since I saw this I couldn’t stop thinking about it and hear me out (also i’m too busy to actually write this but maybe you’ll enjoy this headcanon format):
rhys and feyre are from the same district, rhys won the hunger games like four or five years ago and he’s the capitols darling bc he’s handsome and strong and clever and knows how to play their game
the year nesta turns eighteen, elain’s name gets drawn. feyre volunteers without thinking twice about it.
feyre has to be what? sixteen - seventeen at most - and she’s terrified but glad that at least elain gets to live. next year, she will be eighteen and both her sister will be safe - at least from the reaping.
so when feyre is on the train and rhys asks her about her skills, she reveals that she’s good with a bow and arrow. she’s reluctant to share much with him because she’s sure that she will die. there’s no way she could survive
as for the boy who gets reaped, he’s just another kid from the district. poor, hungry and scared to death.
rhys - who has seen too many kids die and isn’t willing to give up on either of them - tries to encourage them, but without giving them false hope
they arrive in the capitol, the training goes as well as it could, feyre gets a mid-range score that is both surprising since she’s from one of the poorest districts but also not that worrying because everyone is speculating over which career might win
the night before the games begin, feyre seeks rhys out to ask him how it feels. rhys asks her what she means and she clarifies: “how does it feel to kill someone?” he goes quiet for a moment, face blank and then replies as honestly as he can. that their death stays with you and that you will never be able to forget and that he wouldn’t wish the feeling on anyone else.
then, he does something he has never done before. he grips her chin and says, “but it’s better than dying yourself.”
the arena is a forrest. but its winter. everything is covered in snow and ice. its the best feyre could have hoped for. she doesn’t get any weapons or a pack, just runs before anyone can catch her.
she’s not good at it but she climbs a tree and stays there, hidden behind the leaves and waits out the bloodbath
once she’s no longer shaking but thirsty, she has to come down.
but feyre has spend so much time in cold woods, she knows how to remain hidden.
she has no choice but to warm up the snow in her palms and then drink it. from then on its all about staying hidden, warm and hydrated.
she manages to outlive half of the tributes by simply staying out of everyones way.
when the boy from her district dies, feyre cries. that night she gets sent a container full of hot broth, bread and a note from rhys. “find a weapon. better them than you.” is all it says
she does. feyre has been tracking a small group of careers and when their alliance breaks apart after an argument, she snipes two blades and a backpack with food and a blanket.
she really was hoping to get a bow and arrow but can’t risk staying for too long. she goes back to her strategy of hiding.
on the third day, the unavoidable happens. she gets spotted by two people, a boy and a girl, both from the same district. somehow, and feyre doesn’t know how, muscle memory kicks in and she manages to kill them like she has killed so many rabbits before.
its fast and brutal and once the panic is over, she’s kneeling in the red-stained snow and her hands are warm for the first time since she entered the arena.
she doesn’t cry.
that night feyre finds out there there are only five tributes left. she has made it so far and finally, she thinks she might outlive the others. her hands are clean the next morning as she climbs a tree to hide in but thats when her luck runs out.
an arrow hits her right in the arm, making her loose her grip and fall down. its only the adrenaline that enables her get a hold of a blade before the person is on top of her and a pair of big hands are wrapping around her throat.
its andras, a career tribute from district two and he’s grinning at her. her vision is blurry by the time she manages to bury her dagger in his side. he lets go of her, reaching for the blade, when feyre uses the second to drive it straight through his eye.
he falls on top of her, his heavy body landing on her injured arm and she has to bite her lip to keep from screaming.
eventually she manages to get out from under him and then she sees it. the bow and arrow.
even while her arm is bleeding, feyre laughs. half-hysterical, she bandages her arm, collects all the weapons she can and realizes there’s no way she can climb a tree with her injury.
so, her decision is made. she can’t hide anymore. but at least, she has her bow and arrows now.
that last night in the arena, there’s only three people left. feyre’s arm is burning, she’s anxious and thinks every rustle is caused by an incoming attacker but somehow she’s left undisturbed. still, she doesn’t sleep.
the gamemakers must be getting impatient because right at dawn, a wild fire breaks out. feyre runs for her life and right into a clearing where the two other tributes are already sizing up each other.
one is weilding a heavy sword that is capable of cutting a person in half, the other is holding onto a hammer. both of them are covered in dried blood and dirt and feyre thinks she must be looking the same.
with her bow and arrow ready, feyre realizes that she has the advantage. while the others either need to get closer or let go of the weapon to do damage, feyre can just shoot them
the realisation almost makes her miss how the hammer gets lifted higher. its not aimed towards her but feyre knows that between her and the career, she’s much easier to take on without a weapon. still, the movement is enough for feyre to shoot.
the arrow hits its mark and the hammers falls into the snow. the other tribute charges for her, sword raised and for a moment feyre thinks she won’t be fast enough.
but she is. somehow, surprisingly, miraculously, she is.
her last arrow hits and when the career falls, the tip of the sword lands mere inches from feyre’s feet
she realizes she’s won as she looks at the two dead bodies in the clearing and can hear the fain sounds of two canons going off.
after that, everything goes dark.
she wakes up groggy and in a off-puttingly white room.
rhys is sitting at her bedside, looking haggard and grim-faced
when she tries to sit up, her head spins, not because she’s physically weak but because she’s remembering everyone who entered that area with her
they don’t talk for hours
until feyre is prepped and primed and surrounded by people who are smiling brightly and congratulating her on slaughtering other children.
when she’s finally back on the train, all she can think is that rhys was right, she wouldn’t wish this feeling on anyone else
her sisters hug her when they arrive home. they are crying but smiling through their tears and feyre is surprised that she is feeling nothing
hours pass, then days, then months.
somehow, she goes on her victory tour. her team makes sure to cover the dark circles under her eyes and make her look less lifeless
the only person who doesn’t smile is rhys
but he’s there. he’s there when she wakes up at night, when she is sick and shaking and crying. he doesn’t say anything but feyre knows that she didn’t wake him up. no, she knows by the circles under his eyes, that he too hasn’t been sleeping
she now knows why
but once they arrive at the capitol, he’s all smirks and winks and lewd remarks. the people love him and while they fawn over feyre and her “impressive show of skill”, they don’t want to talk to her. they love to talk to him
hours before the last party thrown in her honor, she finally breaks and asks: “how can you stomach it? playing nice with them?”
he doesn’t answer, just flips the page of the book he’s reading and says that she’s supposed to get ready for the party
they return home.
feyre’s new house is big and richly decorated and there’s always food. there’s nothing to do- well, there is but there’s nothing feyre wants to do.
elain has arranged a painting studio in the house, filled with canvases and all sorts of paints, but feyre doesn’t think she’d be able to paint anything but blood on snow. and she doesn’t think she’d be able to stomach the sight of that.
not when its all she sees in her dreams.
feyre’s is alive. but she isn’t living.
she isn’t sure how it happens but she blinks and months have passed.
one day, she overhears elain and nesta talking about the reaping and thats when she realizes it has almost been a year since she left the arena
which also means that its time for the next games
and event though her sisters are both too old to be in the games, feyre isn’t free of the terror
she’s supposed to be a mentor now
she won’t be able to ignore the games like she has been ignoring anything else
and when the two kids - a 14 year old boy and a 17 year old girl - get reaped, Feyre shakes herself out of the numbness and looks at the terrified children and thinks that she can’t let them die.
when she looks at rhys next, she sees the same sort of determination in his eyes
he smiles at her
the first smile he has given her since before she went into the arena
its small and sad and knowing
so, when the 17 year old girl asks feyre how it feels to kill someone, she tells her what rhys has told her not a year before
the day of the games, many eyes are on her. as the latest victor, she’s still under close watch, and when the canon goes off and feyre takes rhys’ hand, she feels a rush go through the crowd around them
rhys just squeezes her hand and together they watch as the child that they were supposed to mentor gets thrown into blood bath
when the boy dies, rhys fingers tighten on hers. his grip is so tight that it hurts. his lips barely move but he whispers, “don’t cry.”
her eyes burn with the effort but she manages and she knows why. all eyes are on them.
and once the action is over and the dust is settled, a reporter finds them and asks, “how do you feel?”
rhys answers, his words clipped but smooth and feyre wonders if she’s the only person who can hear the loathing in them
during the games, they chat up the wealthy, talk up their tributes and feyre watches from afar as rhys manages to sweet talk a group of women to sponsor their girl
she understands then why he’s playing their game
its all for nothing, because their girl dies the next day and suddenly they aren’t watched anymore.
rhys pulls her away and into their rooms and feyre’s hands are shaking, her whole body is shaking but then, arms are wrapped around her and rhys holds her tightly
she realizes only when she’s stopped crying, that he is shaking too. that she isn’t the only one who’s crying
and the rest of that night, they don’t let go of each other
taglist, bc its technically writing and feysand lmao
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Apple Pies and Rolling Pins
This is my first time writing a smutty fanfic!
I did this for my smol Sinnamon @verifiefangirl because she is right when she says that there are not enough Elriel fanfics and she deserves to read more about her babies.
I wanted to thank her and @court-0f-dreamers for encouraging me to try writing, both of them are the most supportive people I know and you should definitely check their blogs out, because they WRITE FANFICTION!!
And a special THANK YOU to @court-0f-dreamers for editing my writing, even though I didn’t ask her to. She just did it and I only asked her to read it before I post it, because I wanted it to be perfect for my Sinnamon. I will NEVER forget this. Both of them are such kind, good and pure human beings that I’m honored to call us the Spicy Trio <3 May god bless your soups (yeah i’m looking at you sinns)
Word count: ~5000
Warnings: My dream was to put a P. without Plot into the warnings, but there is a bit plot so I guess it will only be called like this in my dreams.. It’s SMUT so if you’re not comfortable with reading this kind of fanfics then this is not for you my friend, if you love SMUT: make yourself comfortable and enjoy!
Feedback is welcome!!
Today is the day Azriel and Elain bake together. After mentioning a couple of times that he wanted to have the recipe for her apple pie, Elain suggested that he could have it, if he helped her bake one the next time she craved some.
What he didn’t know was, that this is not the only thing she yearns for.
Both of them had spent so much time together in the last couple of weeks and months that the line, this thin line, between friendship and relationship started to blur more and more.
Every time both of them were together the air around them was thick with tension, almost touchable, if they dared.
But none of them made a move, none of them had the courage to take a step and break those barriers to finally cross that line.
Elain always felt comfortable with Azriel, and that’s the reason she decided to wear her black leggings with a plain and simple oversized T-shirt - stolen from her best friend a while ago.
Azriel didn’t mention it once, when he saw her in his tee, so she took that as a “You may keep it”.
Hearing a knock on her door, Elain went to open it.
The first thing she notices, like always, are his beautiful eyes.
They lure her deep into his soul make her lose herself.
Azriel mesmerises her every single day, every single hour, minute and second she spends with him. Today is no different.
She wants to stay patient, but she can’t anymore. She is sick of waiting.
Elain wants him to take a step and make her his, just as she wants him to be hers.
Yet he always seems to keep a distance between them. She knows he wants her to be happy, that he thinks she deserves better than him.
But he doesn’t understand that they both deserve each other.
So today she wants to try something, she wants to see how long it will take for him to break.
The second thing her eyes fall on are the flowers in his hands - his beautiful hands. She can recall every moment they touched her.
Every memory of him, laying them on her shoulders when she needed to focus, around her waist when he held her while she cried, on top of her hands when she needed somebody to hold onto.
Azriel always brings flowers with him when he comes to her house. This time he brought pink-coloured tulips.
She takes them from his hands and hugs him.
He is wearing low hanging grey sweatpants with a simple black tee-shirt, which hugs his body at the right places and shows exactly how toned he is.
She can feel his muscles shifting while their arms are wrapped around each other and it takes all of her willpower to keep her hands from running up and down his muscled torso.
So she focuses on his scent.
Taking a deep breath through her nose she inhales the odour she’s familiar with. He smells like the darkest nights, fresh and soothing.
Without him something is always missing, but smelling him makes her feel calm and complete.
Every moment he spends in the house, she dares calling it ‘home’.
“Are you sure you have all the ingredients we need?” asks the male now standing in the kitchen with her.
“I told you that we have everything we need at home and that you only need to bring yourself. And now that you’re here we can start.”
Elain had already prepared the dough for the pie. She wanted it to rest before he came.
His eyes are on her the whole time, while she takes the dough out of the fridge and puts it on the kitchen counter.
She starts putting some flour underneath it before putting the crust on it and flattening it carefully with her hand.
Opening the drawer she takes the rolling pin out.
But today it isn’t only for rolling out the dough, it is also her secret weapon.
Before she can start using it, lucky her, the drawer is stuck and doesn’t close.
“Do you need help?”
She looks at him from underneath her lashes and answers coyly, “Yes, please…”
He tries to get it in, to push it back, but it is harder than he thought. He tries a couple of times and with one last rough thrust it slips back in smoothly.
Elain, watching him and trying to keep her breathing even, murmurs a “Thanks,” before turning back to the task ahead.
Using the pin she starts rolling out the dough, which of course gets stuck on it, so she has to take the rolling pin into her hand and starts removing the sticking crust pieces, moving her hand up and down slowly along its length.
She senses Azriel watching her. Good she thinks, Let him look
Sighing she rubs the places, where the pie crust sticks a little bit firmly, more vigorously.
Daring one glance at Az makes her catch him watching her movements with wide eyes.
Smiling to herself, she stops the motion with one last twist of her wrist, clears her throat and starts sprinkling some flour onto the dough, only to roll it out again.
She holds the pin with both her hands letting herself rock back and forth with it, her movements torturously slow, while also focusing on arching her back.
Coughing slightly, Azriel takes a deep breath.
“What would you like me to do?” His voice is low and hoarse.
It only makes the desire in her lower abdomen grow bigger.
“Could you please give me a glass of water? I’m really thirsty, but my hands are covered in flour and I don’t want the kitchen to get too messy.”
Nodding once, Az opens the cupboard and his tshirt rides up above his hips. Elain tries with everything not to stare at the V-muscles of his pelvis, which now is in the centre of her view.
She also tries not to stare at his muscles, how they move and strain against his shirt, while he tries to grab a glass from the top.
She tries and fails.
It is pure torture.
Looking at him is killing her with desire and she wants him to satisfy her thirst.
Filling the glass, he holds it out to her mouth for her to drink. She is aware of him trying to avoid looking at her lips while she tries to swallow every drop.
But he’s unsuccessful.
His to and fro going eyes stop at her lips and don’t move.
He seems to be lost and doesn’t even notice her trying to pull away, because she can’t get down more.
Even though she backtracks, the glass is kept being pushed against her lips. Finally she decides to pull back in one go, only for him to spill the remaining water on her.
In a matter of seconds she is now also dripping wet on her chest. Her shirt is clinging to her breasts and stomach, showing every curve of her upper body.
“I’m so s-“
“Shh, it’s okay, Az! It’s only water, it will dry!” she says playing coy.
Cleaning the floor he attentively stands up and looks into her eyes.
He tries not to look down, to keep focus on her face.
But again he fails.
His own are wide, his pupils dilated. He wants to devour her. Gods how much he wants to take her then and there. But he doesn’t move.
She knows he is holding himself back, but she also sees the wall breaking, it won’t take long. She feels it.
He studies her with black eyes, their colour gone, and his mouth slightly agape. They move up and down her body.
Slowly, he brings his gaze up again for their eyes to meet.
“I can’t wait to eat that cake, when we are finished,” he whispers, his voice low, dangerous.
“Pie,” she manages to say quietly, understanding his innuendo.
Tension starts to build rapidly, the air grows thicker and it is hard to breathe - the dough forgotten.
One moment she thinks he will break, the other he pulls himself together and turns away. He gulps audibly, and tries to focus on something else, but she can see that something has changed.
It is a start.
While he tries to act natural, and cool down, she beholds the bulge in his pants. It is impressive, nothing he can hide, even if he wanted.
Satisfied that she is the one causing his member to strain against the fabric of his underwear and sweats, she turns away.
“Do you know how to handle the apples?”
A croaked “Yeah,” escapes his lips, while he moves to get them out of the fruit basket.
He wants to cut them, but he can’t move, can’t concentrate.
Azriel is lost, the only thing he can think of are her pink lips and the shirt clinging to her body like a second skin.
The big apples in his hands don’t help either; they make him think of her breasts, he imagines if they would fit into his palms like those big round fruits he’s holding.
For a moment, what he needs to peel is forgotten.
Her voice “Stop fooling around and cut some, Az,” yanks him from his thoughts and brings him back to reality. He doesn’t think he can hold himself back any longer.
She is torturing him. Watching, smelling, hearing Elain Archeron is pure torture. And it is messing him up.
Taking a deep breath, he moves to prepare the apples.
For a couple of minutes both of them manage to concentrate on the pie and get it ready for the preheated oven.
Opening it, Elain puts the apple pie in. She is deep in thought, because now that they are almost finished, she doesn’t know what to think and what will happen next.
Suddenly she yelps and cradles her hand to her chest. She was not being careful and had rubbed her forefinger slightly on the hot wire.
“You should blow on it, to ease the burning, I heard it helps,” says a low voice.
Dangerous. This male is dangerous.
And she loves it.
She watches him with wide eyes as he takes her hand in his, examines the small hurt, but what he does next makes Elains breath hitch.
Holding her gaze he slowly pulls her finger to his mouth, licks once over the red wound and sucks her finger into his mouth.
His wet and hot tongue swirls around it and with a ‘pop’ he pulls it out and releases her hand.
“Mhmmm… Sweet, Elain.”
Rough, his voice sounds like stones grinding against each other and it makes her clench her thighs together. This male will be the death of her.
She releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding, both of them watching each other with the same ferocity.
Slowly she reaches up and takes his head into her hands and starts stroking it. His hair is so soft, she wants to bury her hands into the gentle strands of his mane and savour the feeling of them against her palms forever.
Without noticing, they had moved closer, their chests almost brushing. Shivering she looks into his eyes, searching for something to stop her, for anything telling her, that this is too much for him, but she doesn’t find a sign to halt. Tenderly, smoothing his hair from his forehead, she makes her way down to cup his cheeks.
She is anxious, afraid of scaring him away, afraid of him pulling back, and losing him.
But she doesn’t stop. Not this time. Carefully, giving him time to pull back, she leans forward.
“Step by step,” she tells herself to stay calm and kisses the left corner of his mouth.
Slightly pulling back, she again searches his eyes for any kind of hint that he doesn’t want this.
But what she doesn’t expect to find is a fire, an inferno, burning in his gaze, threatening to break out, to burn them both, and to swallow them into its darkest depths.
Kissing the right corner of his mouth, she lingers there slightly longer. She is addicted to the sensation of his skin under her lips.
The warmth of his skin makes her lips tingle and her heart clench.
She loves him.
Every part of him.
His voice, his scent.
For her he smells like the darkest nights in winter.
He is the shadow you can find when the sun is shining.
The darkness to her light.
When she is happy, when she is sad.
She is a part of him; he is a part of her.
She loves him. Even his flaws.
Her love grows the more time passes, the more her love grows… how can that be, how can one love that much, how is that even possible?
She feels him exhale shakily, his breath hot against her cheek.
Tilting her head up she stares into his eyes. A mirror to her own. The same thoughts swirling in his mind, the same love, the same fire, the same intensity, but one thing was always different.
While she was ready for a while now, he had a barrier, a wall, holding him back. But now while staring at him, she sees the last brick falling.
“Azriel,” exhaling his name slowly she doesn’t look away.
The falling brick crumbles to dust and he is on her, devouring her with his lips.
It’s nothing sweet and innocent. The kiss is all sizzling and hot.
He is clinging to her like she is the sun after years of darkness, his light, hope and salvation.
His hands are roaming over her body, memorizing and exploring, the curve of her hips, her thighs, and her back, pulling her closer to himself as if he’s trying to make their bodies merge to one.
One of her hands is in his hair, the other on his neck, pulling him impossibly closer, pressing his face against hers.
Bringing one of his hands to her neck, Azriel tilts her head slightly and asks for entry with his tongue. He licks the seam of her lips once and that’s all it takes for Elain to open up and welcome him in for a dance between two lovers, two souls, who were apart for too long.
The first brush against her tongue makes him groan deeply into her mouth. He is engulfed in the scent and taste of her.
She smells like apples and sweet violet, tastes like honey and spring.
Sucking on her bottom lip he slightly pulls away, leaving a trail of small kisses and bites down her jaw, until he finds his purpose, the sweet spot where her shoulder meets her neck.
He kisses and sucks on it until he makes Elain moan and writhe in his arms.
Licking a path up to her ear, he lustfully whispers, “I can’t wait to find out how your lips taste,” before taking her earlobe between his teeth and lightly nibbling it.
“But you already a-“ Silencing her with another feverish clash of teeth and tongues, he palms her sex clumsily through the fabric of her leggings, groaning loudly at the wetness he’s finding there.
Azriel is rewarded with another noise from deep within her throat he didn’t know she could make, but he swears to himself that he will make those sounds leave her mouth again and again and again for the rest of his life.
He pulls back breathlessly, a glint in his eyes, “I didn’t mean those lips,” and is on her again.
She forgot her name; she can’t remember anything.
There is only he and she.
Azriel and Elain.
Two bodies, one soul.
Two bodies, one heart.
Their tongues glide over each other in a battle for domination with no winner or loser.
Promising with every stroke what is yet to come.
The promise of the release awaiting them at the end of this journey.
The journey, both are keen to finish.
Like climbing a mountain, moving until you’re on the top, eager to feel the liberation.
“Bedroom?” He says voice low and muffled while his lips are pressed against hers.
He lets his hands drift to her legs, positions them under her thighs and hoists her up in one swift motion, making her wrap her legs automatically around his torso like it’s the most natural thing to do.
Her body knows how to respond, how to react.
She trusts him.
Crossing her ankles she starts grinding into the hard length of him, feeling what she inspected with the eye only minutes ago. He is straining proudly behind the fabric between his legs, the sensation of him even more solid and longer than she thought. A moan leaves his lips, making her shiver with anticipation.
She needs him. Now.
Requiring the friction she continues grinding against him while he carries her. She’s pulling back from his lips only to continue her journey of kisses and bites down from his neck to his shoulder, making him heave another groan, like the rumbling of thunder from deep within his chest.
It’s hard for Azriel to focus he’s holding her up by her legs and bum, trying to concentrate, clawing with both hands and his fingers, holding on like it’s a cord that keeps him conscious, while she is making him fall senseless.
Finally making it to the bedroom, Azriel lays Elain gently on the bed. He wants to take his time with her and make her come at least two times before he get’s his own release.
He looks at her lying underneath his body, small and tender, but also strong, cheeks flushed in a beautiful shade of pink, like the colour of the tulips now standing on the table.
He has never seen someone as beautiful and as breath-taking as Elain.
He kisses her slowly savouring the moment, feeling the softness of her lips against his own, and the comforting warmth of her mouth when he explores it with his tongue.
The way her hands move up and down his body, seeming to make an exploration on their own, the way her tongue glides over his, flicks the roof of his mouth every time before she either sucks or bites on his bottom lip. He wants to memorise all of her, her habits, until his body can recall every detail.
He loves the softness of her body underneath the hardness of his. How her legs wrap around him, the movement of her hips, and moans, how her ankles cross to keep him in place, as if she were afraid that he would leave.
But he will never leave.
Because he loves her.
Everything about her and the more he inspects her body the more he falls in love with her.
The longer he looks into her eyes the more he gets lost in them.
Those sweet sounds she makes, her laughs, the way her nose crinkles when she tries to look annoyed while holding back a giggle.
He loves her.
He thought he didn’t deserve her and a small part of him still does, but he can’t stay away.
She is his light.
When he sees her, something pulls him towards her. He just can’t stay away. He tried, but she makes him happy and he will try every day of his life to make her the happiest person alive. Starting with today.
Pulling away and staring into her eyes, he knows that she can see the question in them.
She nods and he pulls her leggings down, leaving her in the t-shirt.
Another question, another nod.
He gently grabs the hem of her shirt, his shirt, which looks so much better on her, and slowly, lifts it up, throwing it into some corner. He couldn’t care less.
She is almost bare before him wearing simple cotton underwear.
To him she looks mesmerizing. He barely holds himself together.
She is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, perfect in every way, and she cares about him too.
He wants to cry, he feels like bursting from happiness.
Instead he pulls his own shirt over his head and takes of his sweats, standing before her in nothing but his boxers.
He kneels between her legs, which are wide open, welcoming him in.
Kissing his way up her stomach and chest, he gives her a slow kiss, pouring all those emotions in it, hoping she’ll understand. And she does, he knows that she knows.
He settles in the crook of her legs, trying to keep a little bit of his weight off her upper body, but she wants none of that and instead pulls him closer.
They take their time, enjoy the feeling of skin on skin and breathe each other in.
Azriel pulls away to look into her eyes. They show all the love she has for him and before a single tear can escape her eye, he wipes it away with his thumb.
“Beautiful,” he breathes, kissing the corner of her mouth.
Bringing her hands up she cups his face, looking deep into his eyes, while caressing his cheekbones with her thumbs.
He closes his eyes, leans in slightly, and enjoys the feeling that flows through his veins because of her touch.
Safety and utter bliss.
She pulls his face slowly down to hers, tilts her chin up and kisses him on his forehead with heart breaking gentleness.
“I trust you,” she manages to say after swallowing audibly.
Leaning in, brushing her lips with his, he murmurs softly, “I trust you too, my love.”
And that’s all it takes for the kiss to get rougher and more passionate. Both open up in an instant, deepening the kiss.
He moans into it when she’s moving against him again and this time he’s pushing back into her too.
Their hips meet at the same time causing both of them to pant heavily and lose themselves in the sensation of it.
He knows she’s going to find her release if they continue their grinding with their underwear still on and it’s thrilling him to know, that she can come undone from this feeling alone, without him entering her.
He palms her breast with one hand while the other is caressing her cheeks and hair.
Moving his hand to her back, he unclasps her bra and pulls it over her shoulders baring her peaked nipples to him. He immediately begins licking and sucking at her breasts, eliciting moans and soft whimpers from her.
Biting on one nipple slowly he swirls his tongue over the small hurt, mixing pain with pleasure.
She arches into him as if trying to push them deeper into his mouth; he obliges and tries to pleasure her as much as possible by sucking and kissing harder.
She’s breathing heavily and it takes all of his willpower and concentration to not finish with her.
While his lips continue their ministrations so do his hips continue their hard thrusting. His free hand moves down to the apex of her thighs looking for the right spot to make her find her release.
When his thumb finds the small knot, he starts circling it rapidly.
The touch seems to take her by surprise and with one loud cry sounding like his name she finds her release.
He keeps rubbing and thrusting until she comes down from her high and then slowly kisses her on her lips once more.
She’s breathing heavily, one arm thrown over her eyes to calm herself. Removing it she blinks a couple of times focusing on his eyes and a huge grin starts forming on her face. He stares right back at her with the same smile and the same happiness, and both of them begin to laugh softly.
She leans up connecting once more, smiling into it.
Elain starts dragging one finger slowly down his abdomen, only to stop at the hem of his boxer shorts. Flattening her hand she rubs her palm slowly against his still hard member.
Without meaning to, he jerks into her hand and she continues her movement, rubbing up and down harder over the fabric, while he rocks slightly against it.
Feeling confident enough, Elain pushes his underwear down and grips his cock. Azriel closes his eyes for a moment, as the sensation of her touch almost makes him cum then and there, but when he opens his eyes again, he catches her licking her lips and watching his huge length with a hungry look.
She begins pumping him with her hand once, twice and he pushes into her hand involuntarily.
“Fuck,” groaning he keeps moving while she moves her hand up and down gripping him tightly and twisting her wrist experimentally, like she did with the rolling pin.
She does it once, but the motion and the feeling of her delicate fingers around his hard dick is almost enough to make him combust.
Suddenly Elain stops and says, “Azriel, please, please… I need you now,”
Not wanting to wait anymore, she tries again. “Please, I need you inside me… Az,” his name a whisper, a plea.
He can’t hold himself back any longer.
“I need you to fuck me,”
His sweet innocent Elain begging is enough for him to quickly rip away all the fabric standing between them.
Settling in the space between her legs makes him realize, that he can take his time with her another day, but for now they have waited long enough.
He smiles softly at her only to be rewarded with a huge grin making her even more beautiful and knocking the breath out of him once more.
He positions himself at her entrance, but begins teasing her with the head of his cock. He rubs it up and down her slit, spreading the moisture, which gathered there from her first orgasm.
He feels her wriggling underneath, trying to push him exactly where she wants and needs him.
She starts rocking her hips in a more fluid motion against the tip of his length, impatient and ready.
He can already feel how wet she is and wants nothing more than to fuck her senseless.
“Elain, look at me, my love,” he wants to look into her eyes when he first enters her. Their eyes meet and he slowly slips himself into her waiting vagina. Gasping her eyes flutter shut but she quickly opens them up again and he sees the love and bliss shining in her eyes.
When he’s completely seated inside of her, the tightness of her hugging him and keeping him close, he stops, letting her adjust to his proud manhood. They fit perfectly.
Two people made for each other like parts of a puzzle, complete together.
She was the piece missing, his whole life there was this hole in his chest but now it’s closed, he feels happy and alive.
He peppers her face with small kisses on her forehead, temple, cheekbones, nose, the corners of her mouth and then her lips.
Those kisses are to slow things down a fraction, just to soothe the aching tension.
Elain throws her arms around his shoulder and digs the heels of her feet into his rear, indicating that she’s ready and wants him to move.
A laugh escapes him, his impatient flower, his love, his friend, his family.
Azriel pulls out almost entirely and thrusts back in, causing her to arch her back. Taking a nipple between his teeth Az keeps biting and licking while pulling out again and thrusting back in with more force.
He feels her walls already tightening around him.
Soothing her waist with his one hand, the other goes down to her lower back, only to urge her body closer against his. Her legs tighten their hold on his back, while Azriel continues driving into her.
He pushes into her, slowly but deep, with firm and steady strokes.
Her hips start to meet his with each thick thrust, making him tighten his hold on her hips and then hoisting one of her legs over his shoulder, deepening his penetration.
As she’s moaning even louder from the pleasure the new angle causes, he starts kissing her ankle and leg, watching her ball her hands into fists into her sheets, anchoring herself to reality.
Leaning forward, her leg still on his shoulder, he captures her lips in a hot feverish kiss, making her whimper and sob, swallowing the noises escaping her, while hitting just the right spot with his cock and grinding into the pearl between her legs.
His thrusts become more erratic and both tremble uncontrollably while their bodies begin to build up the release.
Panting and breathing their names, clinging to each other, like they might disappear if they let go.
Her legs are shaking; she is close so he starts kissing along her neck, down to her chest and up to her mouth.
She takes his head into her hands, holds him close and looks into his eyes. He knows what she wants from that glance alone.
What she wants is to look into his eyes when she shatters, and he feels her walls starting to clench around him, so he leans his forehead on hers, brings one of his hands down to her clit and pushes even harder into her.
“Elain,” he whispers her name like a prayer, “I love you,” chanting those three words over and over onto her lips while holding her gaze. Her eyes sparkle with emotion and with one loud cry; she reaches the end of the journey, the peak of the mountain and shatters in his arms.
Her walls are clamping down on his throbbing cock, making him groan and twitch inside of her with every thrust, one deeper as the other.
He’s cumming inside of her; spilling himself into her body rope after rope spurting and bursting, while her pussy keeps squeezing and milking every drop out of his cock.
Azriel slows his movements, collapsing on top of her. Both their breaths ragged and she keeps combing his hair with her fingers, while he buries his head into the crook of her neck, breathing her in.
Slowly he pulls away, bringing his face close to hers.
She looks into his eyes, while soothing his hair out of his face and pecks his lips once, twice. And a third time, before pulling back and whispering a “I love you,” onto them.
Another kiss, “I love you, Az,” this time lingering slightly longer, “I love you so so much,” and pulls his head on her shoulder again, hugging him close.
He is still inside of her, doesn’t want to move and would stay there forever if he could.
It’s their moment, two bodies, finally connected; shadow and light, living because of the other.
Both of them are whispering sweet nothings and soothing words of love to each other, caressing one another with their hands and fingers.
Everything else is forgotten.
Nothing could ruin this time they share savouring in each other’s arms.
Except for Elain’s sharp inhaling breaking the silence and the smell of burning pie coming from the kitchen.
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Taking Feyre up to the cabin so they can have a romantic evening alone. A dinner, he promised.
As soon as she walks in, though, instead of a romantic dinner, she finds paint waiting for her. But no brushes.
Feyre looks at Rhys, confused. He raises his brows and smirks.
“Remember the last time we were here?”
Of course she does. She couldn’t rid herself of paint for weeks.
Rhys moves towards the paint, dipping his finger in and then delicately tracing a pattern of color on her cheek, moving to whisper in her ear, his voice barely audible.
“I thought we could repeat that night, if that’s alright with you, Feyre darling,” he rasps.
Moving to stare into his violet eyes, Feyre dips her finger in the paint and gently traces their latest bargain in shades of blue.
“I’d like that very much,” she breathes.
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