Tumgik
#acotar rhys
Datura Pt 8
Tumblr media
Author’s Note: Ya girl finally got a new laptop and can get this fic back up and running! It’s a little short, but more updates to come! 😁 For a quick reminder of what happened here’s Pt 7 and the rest of the series can be found here.
Summary: Trapped Under the Mountain, you make a bargain with a certain High Lord to try and gain your freedom.
————————————————————————
“I want you to help me kill Amarantha.”
.
.
.
“Bargains don’t come for free, Darling,” Rhys rasps, voice so ragged it has you leaning in to try and get the ruined collar off him. There are open blisters, bleeding across his throat, skin an angry shade of red from how hard he’d been pulling on it. “And you don’t have anything left to bargain with.”
You huff a laugh as you inspect the rusted metal. 
He winces as it comes in contact with his skin, bleeding hands coming up to grab yours. “Don’t bother with it.” It looks like it takes all his effort to move off his knees into a more comfortable sitting position, battered body held up only because he’s now leaning against the wall. Amarantha and her guards had taken the light with her, it is hard to see just how injured he is in the dark, but that doesn’t stop you from leaning in, hands resting on his sides like you might be able to find them with your hands. His skin is flushed, dirt and sweat and what you can only assume is blood mingling into a fine film across his exposed body. He’s got to be freezing, wearing nothing but last night’s dress pants.
“I have everything I need to make a bargain,” you say carefully.
Rhys braces his head against the wall, shutting his eyes, breath rasping out of him. 
There are sure to be things listening and reporting to the evil queen this deep in the dungeons, you have to be careful with your choice of words; if Rhys wasn’t looking like he would pass out at any given moment you would have asked for him to slip into your mind, but you know, somehow, as if you can feel it, that it would be the last of his power. That close to the edge a simple slip into your head could kill him.
“She didn’t take everything,” you start.
“Not yet,” he warns.
You shake your head even though he can’t see it with his eyes closed; you’ll have to find another way to explain it.  A quick glance at the door confirms the two of you are still alone--though the shifting of things with claws outside the door is slightly concerning--and you focus your mental energy into dipping into the power well in your chest. This is not the place for a free fall, you focus your breathing, steadying yourself, willing the drop to come slower, less rushed. Darkness rises up to meet you and you reach out for it. For so long, it had been you against the thing that slept in your chest, but these last few weeks, learning to embrace it, to get to know it, perhaps it is not as intimidating as you had always made it out to be. Perhaps it was meant to help you; it deserved a chance, right? If you could give the High Lord of the Night Court a chance after all the stories you’d heard about him, you could give the thing in your chest one too.
“Just a little,” you whisper to it.
It threatens to overtake you like before, but you grab a mental hold of it, still focusing on breathing evenly, on learning to hold on instead of submit. It is yours to wield, not just to overtake you.
It manifests in your eyes, you feel them shift and change until you can see into the dark corners of the cell. There’s old hay scattered across the scarred stone floor, covering centuries of stains and filth.
Rhys cracks an eye open like it takes all his strength, but just can’t help but look. When he sees the shift, he pushes himself up off the wall to grab your face. “But you took the vial?” 
“And I gave what I had taken from her first,” you whisper as his thumbs stroke over your cheeks. Your fangs threaten to poke out, jaw aching under the strain of holding it all at bay. It’s a skill you haven’t yet mastered, you’ll need him for that too you suppose.
“You can siphon?”
Was that what it was called? “I think. It was an accident, I couldn’t really control it. One minute she was on top of me-”
Rhys stills, the kind of stillness you’d often seen on fae males before they became very, very aggressive, whole body tense like a predator ready to pounce. 
“She’d summoned some fire and got a hand around my throat and it was so hot..” There hadn’t been time to stop and think about it before, but recalling it now makes you shutter as the reality of what could have happened if your powers had not intervened settles in. “I thought it would kill me, and I don’t know what happened. I blinked and suddenly I had her fire in my hands and I’d thrown her into a wall.”
It’s only as you finish the sentence does Rhys release a shaky breath, hands once again stroking against your cheeks, as if he’s assuring himself that you’re ok. You find yourself leaning into his touch; it’s grounding, makes you feel more centered than you have in days.
“I thought it would disappear when I smothered the flames, but I still felt it until I took that vial.”
One of his hands slides lower, stroking over your throat to check for damage. The way he insists the wounds at his own throat are nothing while simultaneously checking on yours is not lost on you. 
“Blisters healed right up as soon as I held the flame, like they couldn’t hurt me anymore.”
“If you took enough of them it wouldn’t,” he confirms.
A useful skill you think you might need later, but figuring out how to do it again, how to wield it to your advantage is a problem for later. First, you need to get back to the matter at hand while you still have the time to do so. 
“So, with what I do have, I want to bargain. I’ll give you half of my powers-”
“No.”
“You didn’t even let me finish!”
“I won’t take them from you.”
“Are they so terrible that you’d refuse to be responsible for them? Or is it me that’s the problem?” The words are out before you can bite them back, because despite all he’s done for you, that last conversation in his room still rings in your head. 
He growls, actually growls, the sound low in his ruined throat as he grips your face a little more firmly. “No, because I would be just like her if I took them from you,” he snarls.
The anger that had been bubbling up in your throat sours in the pit of your stomach as you put yourself in his place. Amarantha has chained and abused him for fifty years, shackled to her by the very powers that were supposed to protect him from her and even though you knew he wouldn’t use yours on you like that, the wounds she’d made would be too deep. Would only remind him every day of her and how sick it had made him feel.
“Then what do you want, Rhys?”
His hands shake as he grips your face a little tighter. With your eyes shifted like this, you can see the way his own rove over you, the way he bites his lower lip in thought. It is the same longing you had seen in the cave on Calanmai, when he’d kissed you all those weeks ago.
“I want…” You can practically hear the thundering of his heartbeat. Was he… nervous?
“I don’t care what it is,” you say softly, and you mean it. 
“Come back to the Night Court with me,” he says. “When this is over, when we’re free, come home with me.”
Back to the Court that had inspired Amarantha’s Mountain palace and the lovely court within. The stories of the Night Court had not been pretty, but could they really be worse than this place, if Rhys was their High Lord? Certainly the male sitting here on the floor with you couldn’t run such a horrific place as the stories said. Besides, when it was all said and done, could you bear to go back to the farmhouse and face your uncle? After all his lies could you bear to live with him? Could he bear to live with you either?
“You’ll help me train my powers then?”
“As best I can.”
“I want to see her head roll off her shoulders,” you saw lowly.
“I’d give it to you on a platter if I could, Darling.”
You huff a laugh, “Deal.”
A tingling sensation shoots its way through your body, clustering square in the center of your chest. The sensation swirls across your skin as it settles, angling its way over your heart. You peel what’s left of your dress back to assess your stinging skin, and half hidden by the dried blood crusted to your own skin are now whorls of what look like ink across chest and ribs. Above your heart sits a swirl of ink, of vines surrounding the blooming petals of a flower you know you’ve seen before, a cluster of three stars in its center.
“Bargains are made in ink in the Night Court,” Rhys says a little too smugly for your liking.
“Always on the chest, Rhysand?” 
He shrugs. “I thought you’d appreciate the discretion.”
“I don’t think that’s the word I was looking for.”
“I liked the irony.”
“Of what exactly?”
He traces a finger over the edges of the flower and you can’t help but shiver. “It’s datura, a night flower, it grows best in the dark.”
A flower that would grow in his court; a flower that would bloom against all odds, in secret, while the rest of the world slept. A secret, lovely thing. You did, unfortunately, like the irony. You were not going to tell him that. “This isn’t the only flower you’ve been leaving me.”
He went still again. “No. No it’s not.”
“Why?”
“Thought maybe, I could get you out.”
“Careful, you sound like you care about me, Rhysand.”
He swallows, throat bobbing with the effort. “Would it be so bad?”
Your own words. Not quite the apology you should have gotten, but you supposed, here in this place, some cruel words were the last of your worries. With the bargain in place, you were not enemies. You could put it behind you. 
“No, I don’t think it would be.” 
“I’m sorry,” he says. “For all of it.”
You pull away to sit down against the wall, exhausted. “Tell me again when we’re free.”
He grunts as he sits down next to you. When he leans his head down against your shoulder, you don’t stop him. In fact, it’s you that slowly, dragging your hand inch by inch in the dark, takes his hand. This is a deal you can live with, a deal that doesn’t make you feel like you’ve sold your soul, but there is still an uneasiness here. You hope you both survive long enough to see it through.
——————————————————————-
Taglist: @mariahoedt , @lovelydove , @twsssmlmaa , @sleepylunarwolf , @judig92 , @willowpains , @daughterofthemoons-stuff , @annnaaaaaa88 , @myheartfollower , @uniquecolorwizard , @eternallyelvish , @waytoomanyteenagefeels , @lovemesomevesey , @localfangirl09 , @isa1b2h3 , @starswholistenanddreamsanswered , @slytherintaco , @iluvyewman-blog
As always, if you wanted to be added to the list leave a comment below or shoot me a message :) Thank you everybody who commented and stuck around for the lengthy process of getting this next chapter up and running, ya’ll are awesome ❤️
86 notes · View notes
monebula-art · 10 months
Text
✨King of Nightmares, King of Dreams✨
Tumblr media
66 notes · View notes
saphirered · 1 year
Note
hi, a request about a winter ball with Rhysand x f!reader, where she has a amazin dress with de details os stars and Rhys admiring her from far as she talks to people, and they dance in the ball, have some kisses as well and finish in their room with some spicy moment, thanks
Love this concept! Spicy went a lil' smutty in the end but if you're not comfortable with that, you can skip the bit below the dotted line. Happy reading! 😘
Ever the lover of grand displays of lavish dramatics Rhysand feels perfectly at home among the dancers and chattering courtiers. He may love a lack of decorum equally but it’s no secret he’ll take expensive silks and marble floors opposed to being knee deep in the mud and freezing. A winter’s ball is the perfect place for a break from the chaos of his brothers, or so he’d claim because at the end of the night he’ll likely be negotiating peace for the conflict Cassian undoubtedly will have caused, and be given a full report of all ongoings from Azriel, if he manages to shake the Shadowsinger in the first place. One day he’ll learn to tell them to stay home. At least Morrigan and Amren know how to behave, Mor taking a particular interest in some of the guests and they in her, and Amren getting a little closer for comfort to the prince of Adriata but for his sake, Rhys will ignore what he saw and picked up on. Instead when he turns his attention away from his family, he feels chills running down his spine, suddenly eerily aware of the cold season, as if he were standing among the Illyrian mountains this very moment. When he sees an ice queen personified not in heart but certainly in appearance he is certainly caught off guard. 
You wear a gown more of crystals and beads than fabric, sheer where these precious and precise designs do not weave together. It must be worth its weight in gold for it certainly looks heavy even if you do not show it in your posture. Never once do you wane. You remain ever impeccable and move with a grace and relentlessness that suits the element you’ve chosen to represent. You put the entirety of the winter court to shame with your beauty. You hold your head high, the crown of crystals like icicles on the verge of melting woven into your hair befitting of your entire visage. Anyone assuming you to be a queen would be entirely in their right. You’d taken the seasonal theme quite serious and Rhysand suddenly feels a little underdressed in comparison. Of course he donned his usual black but opted for some silver work, beading and the appearance of a frosted texture to his jacket. He should have opted for that platinum crown, the one with the brightest diamonds because suddenly if he imagines standing even remotely within your radius, he’d feel like a shadow as opposed to your radiance. Never had he felt discontent with being a shadow others thought twice to approach. 
Of course the courtiers swarm to you, vying for your attention. You smile through, you make pleasant conversation with them and you clearly know what you’re doing and he won’t deny the smile it’s brought to his face when he may or may not have picked up on some parts of conversation where some rather desperate flirtations are ever so skilfully dismissed. While you are certainly the centre of attention, Rhysand is stuck conversing with those of his own court, and putting up the usual facade of the cocky and cruel high lord. He has a reputation to keep and never has he felt the desire to just be himself more. He’d resigned himself to admiring the ice queen of the ball from a distance but then he realised, he’s the High Lord of the Night Court. People get out of his way. All it takes is invoking that dreadful presence to scare away these desperate idiots, if only just to speak to you before he returns to his usual life, his usual thoughts. He just wants to know, has to know and so he strides over. 
The male draped in dark fineries, his eyes have wandered to you several times now, or at least that’s how often you’ve caught him staring. You’d expected him to approach you at some point, like so many others have. You’d have humoured him, out of curiosity. Would he come offer you the moon on a string? Or would he resort to simple flattery? But then you noticed, those violet eyes. You know this male. You’ve let him before, long ago. You doubt he remembers you, but that look makes you suspicious, maybe he does. From what you hear, he’s not just any simple male, he’s the High Lord of the Night Court. Leave it to you to have… history with one of the most powerful beings in all of Prythian. He’s grown more handsome but what softness he held, or what you remember, has been replaced by a shield of darkness. Still he carries that cocky smirk that promises no good. You wonder, will he approach? Does he remember you? Will he save you from all these fools trying to charm you into their good graces at best, their beds at worst? He always did have a bit of a hero complex but the more stories of him you hear, the more you begin doubt he is the knight in shiny armour, and the more you see he might have turned the evil overlord, just like his father. You hope it’s but gossip, but lies. 
Then he begins to approach, people know better than to stand in his way, some might make a show of attempted bravery, by allowing the darkness to overcast just a second before they rush aside, choosing life over the ire of the terrifying high lord of night. He smirks, puts on a display of arrogant confidence, and that’s when you see it; he puts on a display. The attention keeping you busy this night, scatters and leaves only the genuine conversationalists, until you excuse yourself, turn your attention to him. You decide to play the part you were dressed for, become a face of neutrality covered by a shield of freezing cold indifference. you clasp your hands together and tilt your head to the side just ever so lightly, awaiting an introduction, or anything really because you don’t know what to expect. He bows his head in greeting, never once does that cocky smirk drop, and never once do his eyes leave yours. They stare right through your soul. He does not speak but offers you his hand. And then you feel a brush against your mind, gently and never intrusively, akin to a knock on a door. You decide to open it. 
“It has been far too long.” Those are the first words he chose to speak, or rather think to you? Perhaps not his smoothes moment but at least you humour him with mental laughter, and the faint up turning off the corner of your lips. He can’t believe it took him this long to figure it out, to realise who you are, or rather who you are to him. It must have been centuries at this point and you’ve changed much, but so has he. He’d found himself wondering sometimes over the years, wondering what became of you, where you might be. He expected you to live the quiet life you’d talked about, a life of freedom. Perhaps you have gotten it. You certainly know how to make an entrance and certainly gained attention of plenty of important and powerful people, but that hardly ever is a quiet life. 
“So it has been. It’s good to see you, Rhys.” Despite your appearance, you radiate a warm embrace on a cold night, one he’s longed for far too often be that in the Illyrian camps or in simple loneliness when it came to haunt him. 
You take a step forward, towards his outstretched hand, still offered. Without much of a doubt in your mind, but simply one for show, you place it in his, watch the courtier watching this whole interaction for their responses are quite pleasing; varied from confusion to bewilderment, jealousy and envy. In his eyes you can see he enjoys this just as much. It’s a mutual understanding when he Brings your knuckles to his lips, placing a tender kiss atop and holds on, guides you along to the dance floor where another song comes to an end and couples leave or step in for the next dance about to start. When you step through, with the High Lord of Night on your side, it makes pairs think twice about joining, and instead they opt for staying clear. 
“Looks like we’ll have an audience.” Words spoken out loud. The first ones you truly heard from him all night. You repress the urge to snort. Of course that’s what he’d say.
“Every the drama queen.” You retort under your breath and that grin of his grows as he faces you at the centre of the floor, one hand on your waist, the other behind his back. You place one hand on his shoulder and use the other to lift your heavily embellished skirts so they drape beautifully. 
“I’m not the one wearing the crown.” He dips to whisper in your ear and you feel goosebumps scatter across your skin, much to Rhysand’s satisfaction because he doesn’t need to be a mindreader to see your response. Your eyes narrow after you recover and the dance starts. 
“I assume you forgot yours at home, high lord?” Against the proper movements you rise your fingers to rest under his chin, brush along his jaw until they stroke along his cheek, to what some might describe as seductively. The look you give him certainly does not help. 
“I couldn’t decide which one to wear. Perhaps your keen eye could help me choose my attire sometime? You seem to be quite the expert.” He lets his eyes wander suggestively. Such a shame the dance requires to your turn, though feeling your back pressed against him, as his arm rests around your waist, makes up for it and the way you tilt your head up to look at him as you sway together almost makes him forget you’re not the only ones in this room. You might look like ice but Cauldron be damned you certainly spark a fire within him. 
“Since you seem so desperately in need of my touch, I will gladly offer my assistance.” You breathe, smile turning somewhat wicked. He threw a ball, and you simply hit it out of the park. No need to be shy about it. Not that you have any intentions of being so. It became clear that your previous interactions, some dalliances in younger years have not gone forgotten, and the attraction still remains. Wether it will be longterm or just another fling, who knows? For now you’ll indulge in the time you have. You’ll live in the moment and this moment is a good one. 
“Are we still talking about apparel?” Rhys knows very well the intent behind your words, just as well as he knows the meaning behind his own. You made him feel like he belonged somewhere all those years ago. You make him feel so now too. That hasn’t changed. You look gorgeous but equally beautiful is your mind. Attraction is only partially physical and right now he’d desire nothing more than to bask in your comforts, the ones you offer aplenty. Though, with the way you look at him now, he’d love to take that heavy dress off you should you desire it so. 
“Do you truly care about appearances?” You spin, the beads and crystals at the hem hitting the floor, and swaying across it as you continue the dance. Every step is precise, within rhythm, and perfectly executed. You’d expect nothing less from a noble raised, and you’d certainly learned too, if these are the events you’re attending. They come with certain rules, certain expectations and you’d always been one to defy expectations. That’s exactly why many of the males look at Rhysand wishing to be in his place now, staring daggers at him, or simply crestfallen they are not holding you in their arms but they could never satisfy you, not truly. You’d want more. You’d want truth without decorum but the ability to act. You need change and adventure, you need chaos and not just some prim and proper lapdog seeing to your every whim, or worse someone who would try to shape you into the perfect little trophy. Rhysand offers you adventure and freedom and maybe that’s why you agreed to him, indulged him and are quite satisfied with where this evening is going. 
Centuries ago you met a young male with a bright mind, strong opinions and a dream for a better life, a better future, and the willingness to sacrifice what he had to to make that come true, yet never at the cost of what he holds dear. Now you see a high lord with many secrets, and far more on his plate than he should carry but someone with a love for what he does, even if he hates the bad parts, even if he hates being who he is here in the public eye, but you know what he holds close to his heart, what he protects and preserves. He would not exchange this for the world. You share his dreams, his ideals and his hopes and that lets you know, this is right. These choices are right. 
“Only when I have to. Which right now, I suppose I don’t care about appearances.” The music comes to an end and you are face to face. You take a step back, step out of his arms and suddenly feel yourself cold without him there. You curtsey. He bows. You take a sep back, and another and another, staring into those violet eyes daring him to follow until you reach the edge of the crowd and then you turn on your heels, cast one final look over your shoulder and leave the ballroom. Rhysand, slowly follows behind, grins and watches you move through the people. Couples start filling the dance floor once more as he leaves, and plenty of eyes are on him, just as plenty are on yours. Rhysand scans the crowd for his companions, and finds he better should have stayed ignorant so he pushes those thoughts aside, sends a warning and informs them he’ll be elsewhere and they better behave themselves. He knows it’s useless but he couldn’t care less right now, not when he follows you, not when he connects with you as you tap your temple when you look over your shoulder once more to see him still following. 
“Come on then. Don’t leave a girl waiting.” You humour and he laughs. 
Weaving through the people and leaving the grounds of the event you lead the high lord of the night court up the stairs, the path to your chambers feeling far too long. Once you’ve reached the fourth floor you wait at the top of the stairs. Rhysand tentatively covers the distance, standing but two steps below you when you drop your hands on his shoulders, brushing along the silver work of his jacket. He dares bring his hands to your hips as he steps up one more step, as you stand on the edge of the top of the stairs; hair’s breath apart. 
“May I?” He asks, eyes cast down towards your lips, slightly parted before they return to your eyes. You don’t reply in words but instead press your lips to his. You kiss him like there’s no tomorrow and Rhysand shares your sentiment, his hands wandering over your hips, along your waist, around your back pulling you closer to him, against him before one wanders to the underside of your breast, where between the beads and crystals that cover what’s expected to be covered but leave just enough skin exposed for you to moan into his mouth at that touch and given you weave your fingers into his hair, pull lightly at the roots and press closer into him, he repeats the motion. 
“Sixth door on the right. Now” You instruct between kisses and you feel his lips curl upwards against yours. Rhysand sweeps you off your legs and lifts you in his arms, not once breaking contact with you and follows the hall without as much as a stumble. You drape one of your arms around his shoulders for support but let the other come to play with the closures of his jacket, undoing the ones you can read already. 
“So eager.” He chuckles, allowing you to open the door. 
“Not like you mind it but keep being cocky and you can stay out here.” You retort as he steps past the threshold. At your silent request he puts you back down, onto your feet. with a snap of your fingers lights spark to life in the interior, not too bright, but enough to reflect off your dress and basking you in a silver blue glow, one that reminds Rhys of real ice but also the stars he so admires. Leave it to you to charm him wholly. A dangerous thing, but he likes a little risk every so often. He certainly won’t back down from this one, especially not when that risk looks ravishing. 
“Once upon a time you called it one of my more redeemable qualities.” He jokes and comes up behind you and discarding his jacket on the way. He brushes his fingers along your neck, sending shivers down your spine. You cross your arms and snort. 
“How ignorant I must have been.” You roll your eyes but then your attitude dies down when Rhys’ lips trail along the column of your neck and you feel his fingers trail down the buttons down the back of your dress. Slowly he undoes the first and when you make no protests, instead moan when you feel his teeth graze along the dip of your shoulder, he moves on to the next, and the next and the next. With it he kisses lower and lower, with each button undone until he reaches the last one, right above your tailbone. You hold the dress to your chest, and turns as the high lord of the night court sits kneeled before you, looking up to you.
“You look like a queen.” He comments. 
“So I’ve been told.” You let one of the straps drop from your shoulders. 
“You’ll look equally regal without it.” You urge him to rise, and when he does, ever so gently removes your hands from where they hold the dress in place, he pushes the final strap off your shoulder and so the fitted garment slides from your body. Rhysand admires your form, even curve, every dip, every mark, freckle, scar and spot. He admires every inch of your body. 
“And you are entirely overdressed.” You take a step towards him, letting your fingers trace along the waistband of his fine trousers, pull free the shirt he wore underneath that jacket, and begin to lift it over his head. Rhysand watches as you trail along the markings on  his torso, from the tattoos to the scars he’s collected over the years. You don’t shy away, you let your hands roam, and behind them follow your lips. He can’t do anything but watch you, as you trail down, slowly but surely make your way to the closures of the fabric he wants to get rid of but he’ll let you play the game now. Plenty of games he’ll have the opportunity to play later. 
————
You run your fingers over his length, still covered and feel him tense, feel him twitch and you tut. You’ve pushed your luck because next you feel his hand brush along your breast, ever so lightly along your nipple, enough to tease but never enough to give you the true satisfaction. Rhysand laughs at your frustration. You suppose it’s payback and you get the message. You pull him free, make quick work of his final garments, and guide him along to your bed. When you push him to sit, he moves back on the bed, lets you crawl over him, lets your hands wander as you are face to face, crown still atop your head and he’s never seen anything more arousing than the image of you above him, looking like a true queen, in nothing but that crown. His hands fall to your hips, stroking around the roundness of your behind, as you kiss him deeply, tongue clashing with his and you ground your hips downward, along his aching length. He just raises his hips to meet yours, before he lets his fingers sink between your lower lips. He moans when he feels your own arousal. Perhaps he might have made a comment about how so little has gotten you so wet but now does not seem the right time and instead he moans your name when he feels your fingers wrap around him and give a tentative stroke up and down in retort. 
“Enough games?” Rhys mutters against your lips as he presses his forehead against yours. 
“Yeah. Enough games.” You moan as you feel him line himself up and you simply let yourself sink down. You drape your arms across his shoulders and rock your hips as his paced thrusts meet your movement. He relishes in the way your breath catches, in the little sounds you make, when you whisper his name, ask for more and he is happy to give it to you. The ice queen melts in his embrace and neither of you would have it any other way, not when you find sweet release time and time again. You’ll deal with the aftermath of your not so inconspicuous escapade some other time. For now you’ll enjoy each other’s intimate company. 
171 notes · View notes
broodybatboy · 2 years
Text
*Bat Boys Sleepover*
Cassian: Are you guys afraid of anything?
Azriel: Being unworthy of love
Cassian: Losing everyone I love
Rhys: Some of Feyre paintings
Rhys: Oh uh. That was uh… not uh- yeah I’ll change my answer
251 notes · View notes
nikethestatue · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
Rhysand
95 notes · View notes
ladbug · 8 months
Text
Tumblr media
12 notes · View notes
valkyrieassassin · 1 year
Text
Please reblog so we can get a bigger picture. I just want to know for fun.
16 notes · View notes
inklett · 2 years
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media
There’s a line in the second book where Feyre describes an instance between her and Rhys as “if we were allowed to court each other across our two worlds” and it sticks with me everytime I reread the series.
This time, my brain went “Bridgerton AU? Courting??” So this is a masquerade ball where her and Rhys first meet by accident. 
12 notes · View notes
vanesdarling · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
4 notes · View notes
shadowdaddies · 5 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
obsessed with this batboys band au
from elenana.art on Instagram
4K notes · View notes
bluetimeombre · 1 month
Text
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ And I wouldn't marry me, either.
You were Azriel's mate, but it took losing you three times for him to realise.
[this is long. i'm talking 5k words long so i've split it into two parts. anyway, azriel is the best bat boy and no i won't hear anyone out. i'm so excited to write for him and hope you enjoy. it's very angsty but that's what i love. i hope i can write more for him and maybe other characters if you like. it's been a while since i've actually read the series so if any information is wrong, do let me know. also it was my first time using the term y/n and yes, i cringed NOT PROOF READ... enjoy]
warnings: references to sexual assault and references to suicide. nothing explicit but please don't read if this is sensitive to you.
Part 2 soon…
Tumblr media
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
The first, was the worst...
You were Rhys's half sister, the bastard daughter of his father. But when your mother had died giving birth to you, Rhysand's mother took you in and raised you with your brother and sister. You were so little and adorable that your sister loved you at once. Rhys did to, at some point of your life, you were sure he actually cared about you.
But when his mother and sister had died, his eyes shifted, he started to look at you with contempt. After all, you were only his half-sister. The worst half. He only kept you around because it's what his mother would have wanted.
And because there was no way Cassian and Azriel would ever let anything happen to you.
Besides, Rhysand knew when to use you.
Although Azriel was his spymaster, you were pretty good at staying swift-footed too. And you were frankly, very terrifying when you wanted to be.
You tread with power through the war camps, all of them looking at you as you went. All of their gazes wrecked with a predatory gaze. They either wanted to have their way with you, or kill you. Or both.
Rhys had said you could handle it, it was only supposed to be a check in. Cassian hadn't liked it, neither had Mor but it was Azriel who had almost- and for the first time- disobeyed his high lord to accompany you. But no, your brother wanted you to do this alone, so alone you would.
Just to show him you could.
'I can come with you,' Azriel had said, standing in your room as you tied your boots up. 'I won't even have to be seen.' At that, his shadows wrapped up your calf.
You smiled at them, as if they were his own pet. 'I'll manage just fine. Besides, i'm sure that's what Rhys wants, me needing a man.'
It had done nothing to calm your friend. The worry was still stuck between his brows, marring his handsome features. You'd held his cheeks, your wings hiding the two of you. His large ones (enough to swallow the both of you) over-lapped yours.
It was the last time you'd feel your wings.
The war camp wasn't as easy as you'd hoped. It was terror and horror in a place. You'd been to the court of nightmares, you'd gone to the slaughter of the spring court after they killed your family. But this, this was hell of another kind.
You had no idea how many days you'd been locked up, wrists bound in chains and hanging from the cell roof above you. Blood rolled down your arms from the force you'd tried to use to get them out. Your eye was swollen shut and your body trembled in pain.
All because they wanted to know your brothers secrets, and you wouldn't budge.
Your check was only supposed to be a day, but you were sure it had been longer. Days of endless pain and torture. Your uniform hung in rags of stripped material, your hair matted with blood and hiding your face.
You'd used the last of your energy to keep your walls up. You weren't anyone's mate, you didn't have anyone on the other end trying to feel what you felt. But should Rhys come looking (though you doubted it) you didn't want him to feel it. You didn't want anyone in your mind.
The gates opened with a sickening clash.
One of the Illyrian's knelt in front of you, his wings hiding those coming in behind you. 'Listen sweetheart. I don't want to make this any harder than it's about to get. All you have to do is tell us your brother's hide outs.'
You grit your teeth, staring down at the ground.
'So loyal, to a man who doesn't care if you live or die.'
Suddenly, your wings twitched as hands grasped them. Brute hands, the sort you wouldn't want touching any part of you.
Fear spiked in you, horror twisting your gut. 'What are you doing?'
'I told you I didn't want to get things messier, darling.'
You whipped your head from side to side, trying and failing to get a look at the assailants behind you. Your wings were being held apart, no matter how hard you tried to bat them away. You knew the sort of people they were, and what they did to girls like you.
That's when the begging started. 'No, no please. Anything. I'll do anything! Beat me, kill me, rape me, not my wings, please!'
'Anything?' the bastard asked, tongue poking out from his lips. 'Then tell me where your lord's hideouts are?'
You should betray him, you thought. He would never lose his wings for you. Perhaps it was stubbornness that kept you from, or maybe you were clinging to the last bit of love you want from him.
The bastard scoffed, 'anything, she says. Your brother has his own bitch wrapped around his finger.'
That's when they started hacking at your wings.
Your screams tore through your throat, blood spitting and dripping down your chin. Tears soon joined when they hacked away at the bone, the membrane, the flesh of it all. The three of them worked through your screams and your tears and your pain, tearing and cutting at it like it was nothing more than paper.
Not your whole life.
Let them hear you. You hoped your brother heard you, you hoped all and every court heard the pain.
Eventually, even you couldn't keep screaming. The only sound was the hacking away at your wings and the drops of blood.
'Now look at these beauties. I've got a perfect spot on my wall for these.'
They left you after that. There wasn't much more damage they could do. It already felt like they'd destroyed your life. You had never really thought about your wings, they were just part of you, as much as your wit or hair was. But they'd took it and now, you felt empty. Never would you fly with Azriel again, or use your wings to smack Cassian over the head.
Rhys, your dear brother, had took that from you.
The days blended in together after that. You were pooled in your own tears and blood, vomiting up anything they forced down your throat. No, they'd made it very clear they didn't want you dead. They just took pride in making it feel like you were.
At some point, you'd stopped reacting to the gate opening. You let them do whatever they wanted with you. Your wrists were still chained, arms still hanging up, your clothes hanging on your thin body in strips of dirt.
'No...' you heard a mumble. 'What have they done to you?'
Suddenly, the chains gave way and you lurched forward, with no strength to catch you. Luckily, you didn't have to, as strong and warm arms pulled you into his chest.
'Hey, wake up, look at me, dammit.'
Azriel.
You'd know the voice in the darkest days, in the pit of your worst nightmare you'd know.
You try to speak but your head's heavy, your lips are stone and your arms can't lift to hold onto him. You're exhausted, you're dying. The only thing you could do use all your strength to try to open your eyes.
'Please, please, look at me. You have to look at me,'
You were trying, you wanted to tell hm, snap at him, but you couldn't.
You felt Azriel shake, or maybe you were. Then, there was wet drops landing on your cheeks- you flinched.
'I'm sorry, i'm sorry. Rhys! Rhys! hurry up, please!' he was screaming. You'd never heard him scream before.
You heard the rush of feet at the cell doors, you knew it was your brother. You knew it from the presence of him, from the shuffling of feet and chocked sob. Your brother didn't cry, least of all for you.
'Her wings, oh mother, her wings,' said Azriel, his voice barley above that of a whisper.
Your wings. You didn't need reminding. They were gone, long and far gone. You were without a part of you, the very part of your soul that loved to be free. Never would you watch the stars up close or fly over everyone. Never race Cassian or make jokes with Az.
No, this would destroy you.
'y/n,' your half-brother called. 'No, y/n. Can you hear me?'
Your lips parted, mumbling. 'Hurts.'
Azriel's grip on you tightened. 'I know, we're gonna get you out of here, just hold on for me.'
You wanted to tell him you would hold on, you'd always need to hold on to him. That, no matter what he asks, you'd do it. To kill, to live, to breathe, to die.
And that's when it clicked. Amongst all the pain and the doubt. In your blood soaked clothes. In the fear you wouldn't make it, there was a tug. Weak and one-sided, but there. You knew you'd be safe with Azriel, knew you would always be with him.
Mate.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
The pain subsided to a dull ache, there and beating but not excruciating. You were warm and covered in a soft material. Nothing like the cell you'd been kept in. Your fingertips sunk into something soft- a bed. Your bed. It was familiar in its lavender scent to you and the silk wrapped around you gave you some semblance of warmth.
Your wings.
Even coming to consciousness was difficult. You were exhausted but light, without the weight of wings holding you down. You'd never realised how much you needed to feel that weight, to feel pulled down in order to be free.
Gone, all gone.
Your hand twitches around something cold, a shadow holding your hand, creeping up your side.
'You're awake, thank the couldron.'
It wasn't Azriel, master of the shadows. It wasn't your mate. Mate. The word replayed like a terrible song in your mind.
How dare the mother do this to Az. How dare he- nothing but loyal and kind- get stuck with a person made in darkness, who bled shadows, who's heart was so full of hate there wasn't room for love. They'd cursed Az, with you.
But luckily it wasn't him, it was Rhysand.
'It really happened,' you whispered, voice hurting from the screams.
He sighed. 'I'm sorry, i'm so sorry. We-we thought you weren't going to make it, you'd lost so much blood.'
In spite of the pain in your shoulders, you made a shift, turning from him as he ranted on about your condition.
'y/n... sister, please,' he said. He'd never called you sister before. He'd always been content to treat you just like you worked for him.
'Leave me alone.' you couldn't bare to look at him, couldn't bare to face him. The shadows at your hand grew heavier, as if more were piling on. You stretched your fingers away from them, trying to get them off you.
'Are you in any pain?' asked Rhys.
'Get out,' you mumbled.
The end of your bed dipped where Rhys settled, hand splayed on the covers, begging for your hand. 'y/n.'
'Get out!' you snapped, body tense and straining. You felt your wounds open up, blood wetting the bandage around you. But you didn't care. You'd happily bleed if you couldn't fly. A part of you, sick part of you wanted to be left there. It would be better than false sympathy.
Be better than your mate being disgusted.
'Get out!' you yelled again, voice tearing through an aching throat.
'I just want to help you! please, let me help you!' said Rhys, standing from your bed and walking around, trying to face you.
'I don't want your help!' you screamed. You reached for the closest thing you could, a jug of water and chucked it toward him. You aim was terrible, marred with pain and exhaustion. 'Get out!'
Though hesitant, Rhysand slowly started walking back to your door. He did it all looking at you, his hands out to show he wasn't gonna hurt you, but you didn't care. You went for the glasses next and chucked them but they landed against the door which he disappeared through.
Before it slid close you caught sight of Cassian , Mor and Azriel. All crowded, all waiting to see you.
You'd be happy if you never let them see you again.
'Can we see her?' you hear Mor ask.
'Give her time,' said Rhys.
The shadows at your hand grew heavier, darker, tighter.
'Go away!' you yelled at them. To anyone else, you probably looked crazy, screaming to darkness. But the shadows understood. They departed, slithering away and under the crack of your door where you could see the shadows of feet.
Tumbling from bed, you stumbled over and locked the door, leaning on it to and catching your breath. Your nightgown was starting to get sticky with blood all over again. When you closed your eyes, you pictured the cell, the rough hands holding you down, the chain keeping you up.
And the pain, it all washed over you. The hacking at your back, the sting of a slap. It hit you like a tone of bricks as you slid to the floor.
There was a knock, rattling the door.
'y/n,' Cassian. 'Please let us in.'
Us. You felt him on the other side. Your mate, his presence lingering. His shadows under the door, wanting to come in but keeping their distance.
He didn't know. It hadn't snapped for him, you could tell. It was one tug on your end, a chord in your heart. At least he couldn't feel what you did. At least you could shoulder it alone.
'Please.' his voice was almost your un-doing. He sounded so sad, so desperate. It hurt you just to think you were hurting him.
Tears streamed down your face as your curled your fingers into a tight fist. You assumed Mor had left with Rhys, leaving you there with the males.
Cass was always like a brother to you. Granted- a brother you had slept with once or twice- but he was your best friend. You'd always been close to him. But you'd always been good, a happy person.
You couldn't be that for them now, perhaps ever again.
It lasted like that for hours. Cassian and Az begging to come in, you curling into a ball with tears down your cheeks and blood down your back.
Eventually, they gave up. You couldn't hear them anymore and the shadows of their boots had disappeared.
Except Azriel's shadows that still lingered under your door. Maybe he'd ordered them to be there while they left you.
Eventually, you managed to find your footing on shaking legs. Your room was large, one of the largest. It was just as much a mess as it was when you'd left for you mission, clothes thrown over the place, books propped open on the pages you'd left them on. Everything was the same but could never be again.
It took you longer than you'd care to admit to get to your windows and throw the curtains close. Candles light at your request, the house looking after you as it had since you were a child.
You caught sight of yourself in the full length mirror. It seemed smaller, everything in the room felt too large and you too small, as if you were being swallowed by the expanse of it.
Your frame was small in the mirror, your hair disarrayed. Your eyes were red and shutting of their own accord from the tears that had drained you. The starving in the cells had made you look weak, made you feel weak.
And your back. There was no more looming black figures there, no more fluttering. There was just nothing. In spite of the ache as you lifted your arm, you felt around your back, feeling the hitch there, the lump from where they'd been torn from you.
You cry. You sob. You scream.
The scars were long and the nightdress was sticking to you by the blood you'd shed. All you could do, was hold yourself up as your body wracked with tears.
A breeze came from your windows, shadows tugging at the curtains.
You felt him before you saw him. You wanted to tell him to leave you but you couldn't talk without chocking. Without feeling like you couldn't breath.
Azriel had you in your arms before your knees could hit the ground. He fell with you, softening your body on the floor. His arms held you into his chest, his legs caging you into his body. His head rested on yours as he held you. He didn't try to talk, he didn't try to help. It was just him, you and his shadows.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Azriel remembered dozing off with you, his head on yours. His arms holding you into him, as if it was up to him to keep the sadness away and take it for you.
Afterall, you were his best friend. He should have been there for you, and he'd failed terribly by letting you get hurt and your wings stolen from you. He could hate himself every day for it, for letting you down. But it would never amount to what you felt for yourself and that killed him.
He could see it in the way you cried, in the way you were already keeping everyone out. He'd rather die than let you go through all the pain alone.
When his hands had been scarred by his brothers, you'd help heal him, tell him about everything he still was and all the power he still held in his hands. In the worst days, when he didn't let anyone touch him, he let you.
It was always you.
Azriel wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, or how deep. He was sure he was still with you, still in your bed.
His shadows crept up on him, engulfing him slowly and whispering to him. Your name, just your name on repeat. It was enough to lull him back into sleep, to keep him calm.
Gone. Missing. y'n. Roof.
He shot up and ran fastest than he ever had in his life. It was as if he'd never been asleep but had been fighting a battle with the way he raced over.
He burst through the doors, the cold hight air hitting him.
You stood facing the stars, your bloody back to him. It wasn't as much blood as when he'd found you, but it was still enough to put a lump in his throat.
Immediately his shadows fell to you, cascading down your body and wrapping around your waist. There was a breeze in the air, pushing your hair back and exposing more signs of the pain and torture you must have gone through.
'I'm not gonna jump, if that's what you're thinking,' you said. You didn't even have to turn to him. The shadows probably told you enough.
'Why are you up here?' he asked, walking to you slowly and with careful steps. As if every step closer could you push you away from him.
'I'll never feel the win properly again,' you answered.
Azriel gulped down his own pain. You’d never sounded so small. ‘Can you get away from the ledge?’
'I'm not on the ledge.'
'You're too close for my liking.'
'Leave if you don't like it.'
'Don't do this,' he said.
'Do what?' you asked, folding your arms over your chest. You were cold, out in the hight but you wanted to see the stars. Needed to see them.
'Make me leave. Make everyone leave you. I know that's what you're doing. It's what you do every time,' you could feel him dawning closer. His shadows were all around you, almost drowning you.
‘Every time,’ you scoff, stepping down and turning on him. ‘It’s not every day you lose your wings Azriel! But don’t let me stop you from leaving, flap them and go!’ You yelled, unable to stop yourself, no matter how hard you tried. You didn’t want to hurt him, you just wanted to be alone.
Mate. Mate. Mate.
'You jump and I’ll catch you,' he said. He was a step away, he could just reach out and touch, just a gentle caress. 'I swear it, whatever you do, I’ll follow. I’m not letting you get away.’
He watched your back shudder as he reached out, brushing knuckles against your shoulder blade. He heard your sharp inhale follow.
'Don’t think I won’t follow, y/n.'
Finally, you turned around in his shadows. You couldn’t meet his eyes but at least you could face his chest.
His hands were gentle on your shoulder as he rubbed it gently. 'Can I get Madja to clean you up?' He asked.
You nodded as he led you away. You truly did not deserve your mate.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Fifty-two years later...
When Amarantha had trapped the high lords of Prythian under the mountain, it hadn't be a conscious choice to follow your half-brother down. How Amarantha had allowed it, you weren't sure, but perhaps she wanted to use you just like her brother, or she thought it would bring more pain for him to see you suffer under there too.
You and Rhysand had barley spoke the last two years.
It had took you almost two months to heal fully enough to leave your room, another few months to face your family again. But even then, everyone knew something had changed in you. You didn't laugh as loud or smile as wide.
Rhysand was careful to ever let you out on a mission. Mor tried to take you out every night. Cassian spent all day every day with you and Azriel- he'd healed you better than any nurse.
Still, you had not told him he was your mate.
Still, you thought he wouldn't want it.
Still, you cared for your brother enough to not want him to go alone.
But being under the mountain, you could avoid your mate. At a painful price.
Until her. Rhys's mate. He hadn't shut up about her since he first met her, much to your dismay as you had to sit around and listen- having absolutely nothing better to do. And it only got worse when she turned up under the mountain. She was declaring her love for Tamlin- again, annoying your brother, and throwing Lucien into danger- which rather angered you. You had nothing against the ginger.
Rhysand had once sent you to find the girl to summon her as part of a bargain he'd made. He didn't want to go, he didn't want to look too forceful. You'd been lucky enough to find the two tangled up in each other against a cold wall, clothes ripped and hips moving together.
'Well, well well,' you'd intterupted.
Tamlin all but growled at you, but feyre was looking over you- evidently confused. She had no idea who you were. You, in your skimpy outfit that Amarantha kept you in (they all dipped low at your back, showing off your scars) and your eyes that were like a night sky.
'Amarantha's looking for her pet and Rhysand is looking for his. Honestly, i'd be a bit more worried if I were you. You know, considering Lucien still has an eye to lose.'
The two parted with your words as you sent Tamlin back to his master, the high lord glaring at you as you went. While Feyre tried to fix herself.
'Rhysand is over there, better not keep him waiting.' That was the first time you met her, having no idea how much trouble she'd be worth. The family that she'd become.
But Rhysand made sure you knew it all. From when the bond snapped in him and he'd stumbled. He ranted and ranted as they climbed out.
If only you were so talkative about Azriel. If only you could talk about him with your brother. But you'd tried not to painfully think about him. Climbing out of the mountain. It was all you could think of.
Maybe he'd have forgotten you? it had been fifty years. He'd probably realised how happy he could be without having to take care of you.
Rhys was allowed out of the mountain, he'd felt the breeze in his hair but you hadn't in fifty long years. You stood there a moment, bathing in the warmth as everyone left, as everyone ran off for their families and courts and the war that was inevitable. Eventually, Rhys offered you his arm. 'Shall we go home?'
He winnowed you there, on the balcony of your home. In a cloud of black smoke, the two of you appeared.
He went first, slipping through the doors slowly- like it could all be taken from them any minute.
You were hesitant, taking a moment to glance at the landscape behind you. It hadn't changed, not at all. The mountains were still there, everyone was still alive. Your home. In the last years it hadn't felt like home, but how could anywhere ever feel so close in your heart.
When you could find your feat again, you managed to slip through the doors. You were suddenly aware of how little clothing you were wearing, just enough to cover your chest and run down your legs. A chill settled down your back, your scars would be on show. What a way to great them all after fifty years.
Mor had her arms around Rhys's shoulders, crying into his shoulder.
Behind them you caught Amren, with something like tears in her eyes. You were just about to tease her before a body barrelled into yours in a blur of red syphons and your feet were lifted from the ground.
'Cassian.'
His arms tightened around you. You shoulder started to dampen with tears, his tears. The last time you'd seen him cry around you was when he'd seen a dog with only three legs. 'I'm keeping you on a leash from now on, stupid idiot.'
Your arms wrap around his shoulders, a smile gracing your lips. 'Is that a promise?'
He held you longer, tighter, not daring to let you go but at least settling you on the ground. He sighed against your head, controlling himself. 'He's missed you, you know,' he said. He was the only one you'd told, about your mate. 'Now that you're back, tell him. He deserves to know.'
Cassian slowly pulled away, holding you at arms length and smiling at you. He kissed your cheeks and then your forehead before parting to Rhysand.
Mor approached you next, slapping you in the arm.
'Ow!'
'Why would you follow him?' she snapped.
You blinked at her before she took you by the arm she'd slapped and embraced you, like a sister would. You dared not looking over her shoulder to find the one who hadn't come to you. Maybe Cass had got it wrong...
Mor pulled away, wiping at her eyes.
Azriel was as beautiful as the day you left him. His hair was the same length, he was the same height. He was just as you left him. It was hard to tell fifty years had passed on him.
And inside of you, tugging in your soul and heart you felt the familiar string of gold throbbing. But you still didn't feel that tug. You'd hoped it would have faded from you after half a year separated. Or at least have snapped for him. But no such relief.
He approached you, slowly. As if he was scared of scaring you away. But you just stood there.
His arms were delicate and soft around you as he brought you into his chest. He still smelled the same, cedar wood and shadows. Shadows that wrapped around you, shielding you from the rest of the room. They caressed you, head to two.
You held onto each other for what could have been another fifty years, but this time, it wasn't so painful.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Although nobody wanted to part after yours and Rhysand's return, you were exhausted. A trip to Rita's could wait another night or two. The only thing you wanted to do was hide in your room.
Strangely, your room looked lived in. As if somebody had moved in since you'd left. A moment of anger replaced grief. Had they brought someone else and given them your room? but then you smelt it, Az.
Lying in bed that night, exhausted, you couldn't find sleep. You closed your eyes and pictured Amarantha. You'd never been afraid of her, you weren't afraid of anything. But you re-played the horrors. Watching servants beat Feyre, watching Amarantha use your brother and on the occasion, even you. How she flaunted. How the most powerful lords were weak.
Under your door, shadows seeped in, rushing across the room to you. You smiled, watching your hand disappear in their darkness.
'Azriel?' you called.
There was shifting on the other side of the door before he slipped in, clicking it shut behind him.
You sat up in bed, shadows moving with you. 'Couldn't sleep?'
He wondered in, looking around your room. 'Sleeping's been... hard.'
You rolled over, opening the blanket and nodding your head. You couldn't think about the bond, not yet. Not while he looked so.... ruined. Beautiful- the most beautiful person in the world, but sad. As he climbed in next to you, you could see the dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders slumped and his wings too.
His eyes scanned over you. You were in a thin and silk night dress that only brushed your knees, but the way he looked at you, mother you could've been naked. 'Fifty years,' his voice sounded barley controlled. 'Fifty years. You followed your brother down for fifty years? Why would you do that?'
You gulp. 'I would've done it for any of you. Except maybe Amren, she'd probably enjoy the peace for fifty years.'
You go to brush your hair back but Azriel seizes your wrist. He was angry. That's why his voice was rough and his chest rising and falling with barley controlled emotions. Could he feel it? your nerves, your lying?
'You left. You should've stayed, y/n, you know Rhysand didn't want you under there with him,' he said. 'For fifty years I haven't been able to sleep through a night thinking about the pain you must have been going through. After I swore to keep you safe, after I promised to catch you every time!'
'You couldn't have stopped me. You didn't promise, Az.'
His grip grew tighter. 'It went without saying.'
You looked around his eyes, seeing the pain and grief there also. Slowly, you brought your other hand up. He flinched as you took his cheek but eventually settled as your thumb ran over his cheekbone. 'I won't leave again, ok? I promise.'
He gulped, letting go of your wrist and looking down. 'I slept here,' he mumbled, but just loud enough to hear you. 'I couldn't sleep in my room. This was the only place I could rest.'
Your heart stuttered. Your hand dropped from his cheek. This man was your mate. Your mate. Your only love, whether or not the cauldron deemed it.
Azriel took your hesitation. 'I-i'm sorry, you probably didn't want to hear that. I've probably ruined your one place of peace-'
'Stay,' you said, before you could think of what you were asking. 'Sleeping wasn't exactly easy under the mountain either. I just trust I won't have to put a wall of cushions between us.' as if you wanted that. As if you haven't thought about his calloused hands all over you.
Azriel smiled and stayed the night.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
The third time he almost lost you, broke him...
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
2K notes · View notes
thehighladywrites · 1 month
Text
ACOTAR MEN X READER, BANNING THEM FROM INTIMACY
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
☀︎ — summary: you let them know they’re not allowed to touch you in any way, shape or form. How do they react!
☀︎ — warnings: 18+, nsfw, az being a slut as per usual, cassian being yummy, touchy needy fae males, slight dumbification in lucien’s
☀︎ — amara’s note: lucien was my fav one to write omgggg, also i hope u sluts enjoy😈😈😈😈 also enjoy while i work with tutor az👀👀
Tumblr media
RHYSAND
“You’re putting me on a ban? You can’t be serious.”
“Nuh-uh Rhys, you flirted with that girl so have fun by yourself for the unforseeable future.”
Rhysand didn’t actually flirt with anyone, he was being his usual self and the way the girl was leaning towards him made you angry so you just blamed him instead
He gets through the first few days calmly although he is mildy irritated. Especially when Cassian and Azriel tease him about it.
“So no sexy time for you Rhysie, that must suck,” Cassian says as he ties his hair back.
“Well, not really much sucking these days, right?” Azriel snickers, getting ready for the inevitable fight
Rhysand takes out his frustration on them for their smart little comments.
Rhysand has quite a high libido so that man usually fucks you good atleast once a day even when you’re both busy.
“Darling, please forgive me. I will never do it again. Tell me what I can do to earn your forgiveness.”
He begs and begs because he’s going a bit crazy
In the end, it takes him only three days for you to forgive him and lift the ban. The man is charming and seduces you into dropping the ban
The second you drop the ban, he grabs your waist, throws you over his shoulder and winnows to the cabin where he fucks you for a week straight.
“That oughta put that nasty idea out of your head forever” he says, patting your head while smiling at your ruined self. Mascara running, laboured breathing, and a pounding heart is your only answer
Yeah this man wrecks you and you never pull this stunt again…
YUMMM MHE IS SO DELICIOUS 👹👹👹👹
ERIS
“You may not touch me or have sex with me in any way until I say you can.”
He narrows his eyes as he slightly smiles when you announce a ban on all intimate activities for the unforseeable future.
“Is that so?”
You cross your arm on your chest, lifting your chin in defiance.
“Yes, that’s right. Since you want to entertain Nesta Archeron, you may not be in my vicinity.”
You are being waaaaaay too dramatic. He didn’t even spare her a single glance until you pointed to her. Nothing at all happened, I mean the male didn’t even know she was at the ball until you told him.
Nesta walked up and was a bit too close to him and even though Eris moved to your side, giving her an unamused look, you were still irritated
And since you couldn’t take it out on her, you take it out on Eris.
But Eris knows what you’re doing, he knows how extremely dramatic you are being, so he just lets you cool off, let’s you huff and puff around the house
You are a mess. An absolute mess
You find yourself longing for Eris's touch, even just a simple headpat from him would send you into cardiac arrest.
The fact that you lasted an entire week is insane bc you’re both touching each other in some way all the time
When you’re lounging; his head rests on your chest, and you lovingly massage his scalp, running your fingers through his hair. Alternatively, he pulls you closer to his body under a warm blanket, nestled in his neck, while he warms his hands for you, acting as your personal heater.
When you’re in public; he always has a hand on your lower back, waist or you walk hand in hand. You also wrap your hands around his biceps, caressing the arm when you feel tired
When you’re in a meeting; your hands naturally seek each other under the table. Whenever one of you gets heated or irritated, the other soothes them by rubbing their thumb on the back of their hand, offering quiet support.
After a week of torture you finally breakdown in his office, storming in and placing your palms on his wooden desk. He looks up at your curiously, an eyebrow raised.
“Okay, I can’t do this anymore, please touch me, I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Eris is just as desperate as you are but he wants to drag this out just a tiny bit more before giving in
“Interesting. You initiated this ban, yet you’re the one who can’t follow through? You were fine without me for a whole week, I think you’ll manage another one.”
Your jaw drops in disbelief. Another week? No, you’d rather die.
“I think not. I will beg if I have to. Touch me, please. I will probably die if I go another week without you.”
He leans back in his chair, puts his arms behind his head as his arms bulge. One of your biggest weaknesses
“Normally, I’d make you beg but I missed you aswell. Come here.”
You damn near cry in relief when you sit in his lap and nestle in his arms. His warm hands rub your back and thighs, making you impossibly more relaxed
“This was one of the dumbest things I have ever done. Never again.” You whine against his neck, kissing it over and over again.
“I’ll hold you to that,” he says, emotional as he press a kiss to your head
AZRIEL
“Okay.”
That is all he says when you tell him your banning him from touching you. Honestly, you thought he’d have a bigger reaction so you start getting second thoughts.
But you thug it out bc you still want to prove a point even though he looks super unbothered
In reality, Azriel is panicking on the inside
Although he knows he can physically withstand sex, it’s the love and intimacy he misses the most
So he does the one thing he knows you won’t resist
He sluts around the house
Okay, he walks around shirtless or with super tight black shirts thst highlight years and years of working out
Azriel knows you’re weak for his muscles and body so flaunting it around is step one of his plan.
Step two of his plan draws him extremely close to you, mere inches away. He leans in as you speak, exploiting yet another weakness.
He wears delicious colognes that make your eyes flutter. He wears chains around his neck and leans over you.
Azriel’s final and ultimate slut move is waking up in the morning, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine as he speaks. It's all it takes for you to cave in to his charms.
You find yourself the one begging for his touch, unable to resist the longing for his embrace. You babble about never wanting to go so long without feeling his presence again.
CASSIAN
Cassian’s love language is most definitely touch so when you tell him that he is banned from here on out, he freezes.
Like it doesn’t make any sense, he actually can’t grasp the concept.
“What does that even mean? What do you mean I can’t touch you?”
Tha man is flabbergasted
He will follow you around, apologizing for his behavior over and over. You’ve already forgiven him since it was a minor thing but he doesn’t know that
Cassian starts carrying a pillow with him, imagining it is you. He craves touch, and if it's from a damn pillow, he'll gladly take it
He pouts as you try to surpress a smile at his expression. He’ll give you puppy eyes in hopes of you dropping the annoying ban
Eventually, Cassian levels up and becomes extra touchy with the inner circle instead, seeking any physical touch
A confused Azriel gets extra pats on the shoulder, but Cassian's hand lingers, staying put longer than usual, leaving Azriel puzzled by the sudden change in his behavior.
An amused Rhysand receives more hugs, but Cassian's hugs linger, holding him close as if imagining you there for a moment.
Obviously, nothing compares to you, and the whole situation only makes Cassian more irritated.
No sex is just unbearable. Jerking off isn’t fun at all and he can count on one hand how many times he had to use his hands since you got together
After only one and a half day you start to miss his touches and get jealous that your friends is getting his warm touches instead.
You’re also very horny and since you and cassian have a VERY active sex life, it makes a lotta sense. This male usually fucks you 1-2 times everyday, and I mean EVERY day
Seriously not a day goes by without some action, whether it be fingering, bjs, handjobs, nipple play, him eating you out, 69 just anything really
When you finally, after 1,5 excruciating days let him touch you, he smiles and thank the Mother then drags you to your bedroom
Y’all don’t come out for a solid 2-3 business days
Ever since the ban, he is stuck to you like glue fr
LUCIEN
Lucien is very calm for someone who isn’t allowed to touch his mate
“You’re banning me from touching you? That’s really cute,” Lucien remarks casually, a hint of amusement in his tone as he takes a sip of his peppermint tea.
You furrow your brows, pouting. “I'm not joking, Lucien. If you touch me, I'll scream,” you assert firmly, crossing your arms over your chest. With lifted chin and proud gaze, you stand your ground, making your new and temporary boundaries clear.
Lucien chuckles softly. “Yeah? You’ll scream? Love, you scream real nice for me when I touch you anyway, so what's really new?” he teases, getting closer to you.
“I mean, do you really want me to not touch you?” Lucien asks, his voice low as he inches closer and closer until your faces are mere inches apart.
He gets so close, his warmth leaving you breathless. His soft, plump lips barely brush against yours, the touch so light it's almost not there.
“Tell me, my sweet, perfect girl,” he murmurs, his breath mingling with yours, “who put this idea in your head?”
You are barely functioning, your words stuck in your throat as you struggle to come up with a response.
“I know you're too out of it to properly respond to me right now, and it's okay,” Lucien says gently, his tone teasing. “I guess using your brain is a tough task, hm?”
You nodded absentmindedly, distracted by his charming smile
“M'sorry, Lucien,” you mumble, your words breathless and slightly slurred. “It was just a joke. I really want you to touch me,” you admit, your voice trailing off as you become increasingly dumbfounded in his intoxicated presence.
He tsked with mock sympathy. “It's okay, sweetheart,” he said gently, gripping your chin. “Let’s not say things we don’t mean the next time, okay?”
“Okay, I won’t.” you say blushing at the proximity before giving him a sweet sweet kiss on the lips. Lucien pulls you in closer and y’all fuck right there on the kitchen table but damn it was good
Yeah, banning Lucien from intimacy will never work
Tumblr media
🏷️: @thelov3lybookworm @redbleedingrose @acourtofladydeath @acourtofwhatthefuck @clairebear08 @rowaelinsdaughter @artists-ally @berryzxx @aroseinvelaris @cupidojenphrodite @jeannineee @daycourtofficial
1K notes · View notes
monebula-art · 10 months
Text
Tumblr media
Man he is fun to draw
63 notes · View notes
yearning-for-autumn · 2 months
Note
So, here is my humble request 👀:
Reader is afab Illyrian, got her wings clipped (because we hate this tradition that’s why and because I am too much into enemies to lovers) and the Bat Boys consider her something close to a little sister.
When Eris was making a deal with the NC to get their help to kill Beron and that shit, his bond snapped with reader.
Obviously problematic for him because he has been insulting Illyrians since his mom popped him out about 500+ years ago.
So…bonus points for: smut obvs.- go as filthy as you like, Lucien absolutely mocking Eris for FUMBLING desperately to get his charm going, reader being oblivious.
I hope this sparks some ideas and creativity 🥰🤞🏻
Would That I -- Part 1
Tumblr media
A/n: This was too good not to make into a multi-part fic, so expect more soon. Smut will be coming!
Pairing: Eris X Illyrian!Reader
Warnings: Allusions to smut, pining, mentions of mental health
Word Count: 3,638
Summary: You hate him. You hate the very thought of him. And yet he's your mate. The Mother has a cruel sense of humour.
Part 2 Part 3
Fury rippled through your body like a forest fire. You were livid. And Cassian had the nerve to laugh at you. Well, stifle a laugh. Rhysand was watching him with a worried look as he tried to give him a silent warning to stop. This progressed to warning him mind to mind when you got up from the sofa, flinging a pillow so far it almost landed into the fireplace. Azriel flinched.
“Him!?” You seethed, finally breaking the silence you had kept since your return from that damned High Lord meeting. Cassian snorted softly and you rounded on him with a deathly calm. Rhys made a small noise in the back of his throat.
“Is this funny to you, brother? I’m shackled to that evil, pompous, ginger-haired freak and you’re laughing?” His smile had dropped and a look of fear was quickly overcoming his rugged features. You stepped closer to him, your finger in his face. “Don’t sleep too deeply tonight.”
Rhysand cleared his throat.
“Look, this doesn’t have to be the end of the world. You don’t have to accept the bond. We can make sure you never see him again.” The bond snarled through you at that and you growled.
“Sure Rhys, because you were so calm when you found out Feyre was your mate.”
His brow furrowed.
“So you want to be with Eris?” The name seemed to physically disgust him. Azriel scoffed, abruptly rising from the sofa and marching out of the room. Cassian eyed the doorway in his wake. You turned to Rhys.
“No!” You groaned in frustration, pacing up and down on the carpet like a caged animal. Cassian’s eyes darted between Rhys and you. Finally deciding to break things up he manhandled you into a hug. You fought it for a few moments, before giving up and collapsing into your brothers embrace, hot angry sobs wrenching through you. Rhys took this as his cue to leave, and winnowed—probably to his office—out of the room. Cassian rubbed soothing circles on your back, careful to avoid your wings that were ever more sensitive after the clipping.
You were clipped at thirteen, which is how you had come to live with the three brothers. In Windhaven, they clipped your wings the day you started your cycle. Once grounded there was no escaping your duties, nor any chance to leave the camp. Unless, of course, you had grown close with the High Lord’s son, who had a mother with a habit of collecting strays.
You were there through all of it, the highs, the lows, and Morrigan’s tumultuous relationship with one Eris Vanserra. The male you were now mated to.
---
In the Forest House, Eris was pacing. His throat was still sore from the memory of Azriel’s scarred hand, and his cheek burned from the slap that had earned him from his father. But all of that had been overshadowed. He knew as soon as he saw you. His heart had lurched in his chest so hard he had thought he might throw up. You were the most beautiful female he had ever laid his eyes on. And of course, you were from the Night Court. The Mother truly did have a cruel sense of humour.
You had walked in, looking as arrogant as the rest of them, sharing a secret smile with the shadowsinger before sitting down next to the High Lord. Eris, next to his mother, couldn’t rip his eyes from you. Your doe eyes, sharp and intelligent captured his attention first. He wanted nothing more than to get lost in them, to find out everything about you: What you liked to read, your favourite food, how best to pleasure you and have you screaming his name. He was pulled from his fantasies by your wings. Cauldron, your magnificent wings. Their beauty stole breath from his lungs as they unfurled, getting comfortable on the chair. You had smiled at Feyre, warm and supportive, and Eris knew he was utterly lost.
He finally stopped his pacing, locked inside his room, and sat down on the edge of his bed. He sat there, holding his head in his hands until he heard the scratch of claws at the door. Getting up with a weary sigh, he opened it only to be knocked to the ground by his oldest and most loyal smokehound.
“Cheddar.” He chided as she licked his face excitedly. “Cheddar Biscuit.” He said, sternly, and she leapt off of him, waiting by the door expectantly.
“Yes alright, I suppose it’s time for a walk.” Cheddars tail thumped faster against the door frame and Eris couldn’t help the smile that grew. “Go and fetch your brothers and sisters then.” He said, grabbing the leashes off the wall. A walk was one way to clear his mind.
---
As you had predicted, Rhys was holed up in his office when you went looking for him. He barely looked up at you as you entered.
Rhysand’s office was always meticulously organised, but as you came up behind his chair you noticed how messy his desk had become. Letters and notes were piled on every inch of space, his childhood stuffed bat sitting atop one pile as a makeshift paperweight.
He loosed a breath.
“We are going to war, Y/n.” He said quietly, and any thoughts of Eris Vanserra eddied from your mind. Rhys looked up at you with bloodshot eyes. Guilt coursed through you for ever caring about something as trivial as a mating bond when you and your brothers were set for battle. You had only just got Rhys back from under the mountain, only to potentially lose him again.
“Is it certain?” You asked, leaning down to rest your head on his shoulder.
“Yes.”
“Is Cass--?”
“Leaving for Windhaven by first light.” He answered.
“Ok.”
Rhys turned, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He knew what you were thinking, though you wished you weren’t.
“Eris is an awful male, Y/n. You know I could never support the bond between you. Azriel is...well, I’m sure you already know.”
You did. The moment he had stormed out of the room you had known this was the beginning of a negative spiral for Az. Not to mention the upcoming war. You stood up straight.
“That being said.” Rhys continued. “Eris is ensuring Autumn allies with us against Hybern. There is a certain political advantage to the match.”
You scoff.
“Like there was with Mor?” Rhys turned green. “What did Eris bargain for in return for Autumn’s support? What did you trade away, Rhys?”
Rhysand looked every bit five centuries old when he turned to you.
“Our support in his bid for the throne. Whenever that may be.”
Hatred for the male burst anew in your gut, fiercer still now that you were mated to him.
“That power hungry bastard.” You spat.
Rhysand sighed.
“He could never deserve you, starlight. I will make sure that he never sees you again. I will not lose another sister.”
---
It wasn’t until midnight that you saw Azriel. The last of your brothers to approach you. He let himself into your room, waking you, tattered blanket draped around his shoulders. Rhys’ mother had sewn it for him years ago, before you had come to live with them. It had helped him through many hard nights. So much so that it was threadbare and faded. Rhys had enchanted it not to break further as a solstice gift one year.
You sat up worried.
“Az? Are you ok? You didn’t—”
“No,” He assured, and you relaxed against the pillows, “I’m ok.”
You shuffled over in your bed to make space for him, and he laid next to you, blanket over the both of you.
“I hate him.” He said into the darkness. “I hate what he did to Mor. I hate everything he stands for. I will not let him have you.” He declared.
You snuggled up to your eldest brother.
“I don’t know why you all seem convinced I’m going to somehow fall for this prick.” You said, and he snorted. “I hate him as much as you do.”
Azriel tucked you under his arm.
“I know.” You smiled tiredly, somehow understanding the words Azriel left unsaid. The words Rhys had been able to express. Azriel’s shadows settled over your heart, confirming, and the two of you fell asleep.
---
Months later, Eris sat in a tent, head between his legs to stop from throwing up. Thousands were dead. Thousands more were surely destined to die. Two of his brothers, and his mate, fought on the battlefield.
He only had a moments warning before he was violently sick into a bucket.
Asher, his youngest brother before Lucien, chose this moment to enter his tent unannounced, scowling at the sight of Eris hunched over and retching.
“Can’t handle the bloodshed, brother?” He teased, though he sat next to Eris and put a warm hand on his shoulder. The gaping wound on his neck was healing quickly, as it should with the High Lords power coursing through his veins, but the sight of it set Eris off again. He heaved into the bucket, choosing to ignore the gagging sound Asher made.
“Eris you need to pull yourself together. Father is only a tent over.”
Eris rolled his eyes.
“Just show me your plans, Ash.”
“I don’t know, maybe I’m better off keeping them to myself, seeing as you’re battlesick.” Asher grimaced when Eris finally sat up and pushed the bucket away from him.
“Asher.” Eris’ voice held all the command of General, and eldest brother. Asher groaned petulantly as he handed over the plans.
In Eris’ opinion, not that Beron took any heed, Asher should never have taken on as much responsibility in this war. After Ceres had died, Ash had taken over as Eris’ right hand. Ceres had been more naturally suited to the role, Beron’s bloodlust had run as deep as his bones, and he had a sharp mind for strategy. Eris still mourned the boy he had raised—a quick witted, chess loving, boisterous child—but he had to accept, he had lost Ceres long before he had died. And Eris wasn’t keen on losing anyone else. Asher wasn’t comfortable with a sword, the gash in his neck clear evidence, and he had a wife and child that weakened his resolve. This is what Eris had to work with. And he had a job to do.
He let Asher discuss his plans, though he was unable to rip his mind from providing a hundred different ways that he could die, that Ash or Lucien could die, that you could die.
It took every ounce of training ingrained in him not to falter in his attack the moment he had caught sight of you, fighting your way through the onslaught, Mor by your side. Cauldron, you were ethereal. Your silken wings were spread as if they could carry you into the air, though he had long since guessed that they could not. You cut through your enemies with a frightening ease. Catching his eye, you hesitated just a second, then your face had turned to rage and the next Hybern soldier to cross your path had been beheaded so brutally that even he had to avert his gaze.
When he had looked back up, you were gone, lost in the chaos.
Asher sighed,
“You’re not listening.” He said, and Eris had the decency to feel bad. He looked at Ash wearily.
“Come back in the morning. I’ll be more attentive.” Ash just peered at him over his notes.
“It’s her isn’t it. It’s Y/n.”
“Yes.” Eris said, lacking the energy to lie.
“She’s Night Court. She’s not one of us. One day you’ll find a nice Autumn girl to marry and when you’re High Lord she can pop out a few Autumn court babies.”
“She is my mate.” Eris growled.
“Mate’s aren’t always meant to be Eris. It’s only a biological match, not a political one. When you find an Autumn Court lady you’ll wonder why you ever spent time worrying over some Night Court harlot.” Eris snarled, despite himself. His brothers words were wrenched straight from Beron’s throat and he wouldn’t stand for it. Not from Asher. Not from his kind, loving Ash.
“Get out.” He said. Asher looked surprised, and—Eris was pleased to see—ashamed. He made no moves to leave, so Eris repeated himself, sharper this time.
“Get out.” He snapped, “Come back in the morning with more sense.”
Asher, chastised, fled from the tent, and Eris buried his head in his hands. What use was there protecting you from his brothers when it was certain your own said the same about him. There was no denying the cruel twist of fate the Mother had pulled on the both of you, destined to crash and burn. He imagined you in your own tent, laughing at the thought of him speared on another males sword. Mor sat next to you whispering all the terrible things he had done that day, terrible things to twist your mind and poison the very notion of him. He was too late, he was nothing but soot in the deep pit of your heart, choking the both of you.
He felt blindly for the bond, and found it, rotten.
---
The war was over, but the scars it had left were red raw and bleeding. Rhys had died. Your brother. The one who had sheltered you, loved you, given you a home and a family for a few agonising minutes had been gone. Gone. And yet that Cauldron damned bond had been chafing in the back of your mind. You sat in your bedroom riddled with guilt as it plagued your mind. Eris. Eris. Eris. He infested your mind, your senses, you were consumed by the very thought of him.
Walking through the streets of Velaris had started to feel claustrophobic, being around anyone beginning to suffocate you. You felt safer on your own. Recently you had taken to sheltering in your room, only emerging to eat. Your brothers eyed you with poorly concealed worry every time you walked, ghostlike, through the house, shuffling to the kitchen to fix a plate of leftovers then retreat hastily to your safe space.
Nesta was struggling too, after the war. It had left its scars in all of you. You could feel Cassian’s heart breaking the day Rhys sent her away with him, but all you could think about was whether your brother would do that to you. You thought you knew the looks he gave you.
Disgust.
What use was a flightless Illyrian female, who couldn’t train, couldn’t talk, couldn’t think. He was dead. Rhys was dead. And then he wasn’t. Why were Seren and your mother not afforded the same luxury. You grieved, and cried, and screamed. It truly was a sick thing, to use to the miracle of Rhys’ living to guilt yourself into believing there was hope for them. But then, everything in your mind had twisted of late.
Nesta began training. Nesta began healing. And you were stuck in your room.
Every morning without fail, Azriel came to check on you. He stroked your hair until you woke up, then retreated when you once again rejected his invitations to join them. The Valkyries, they were calling themselves. You would have been proud of Nesta if you could feel anything anymore.
Occasionally, you could feel a light tug on the bond, on the shackles that kept you bound to Eris. The first few times you had thrown up. Now it was little more than an annoyance. You were his dog, disobediently pulling your leash as you fell further and further into nothingness. His face in your mind was as cold as it had been on the battlefield as he yanked you back, choking you. You spluttered. Standing weakly, you made your way down to the kitchen, setting water on the stove to boil.
“Sister.” Cassian’s voice rang out behind you and you flinched, dropping your teaspoon. He bent to pick it up and set it down on the counter. “Azriel says you’ve been ignoring him. You’ve been ignoring all of us.”
You shrugged, the familiar pang of guilt squeezing your chest, making it difficult to breath. You braced both hands on the counter top, taking a ragged breath. Cassian was beside you in a heartbeat, holding you in his arms.
“Y/n, I’m worried about you. We all are.” He squeezed you closer to him, closer than you had allowed anyone in months. “Come and stay with Nes and I. Az is a terrible chaperone, and I need to see you. You could be wasting away down here and I wouldn’t know until it was too late.”
You shook your head, though you no longer knew why you resisted him. Your body melted against him, muscle memory taking over as he enveloped you in his wings. You swore you heard him sniffling as you hugged him back.
“Please, y/n.” He said, voice shaking. It didn’t take much more convincing.
A few days later, Rhys was helping you unpack your bags in your new room in the House of Wind. You took the room next to Azriel, who—Cassian had explained—was falling into bad habits again: Not eating, not sleeping, waking up in a cold sweat when he did finally drop off. Cassian wasn’t doing as well as he wanted you to believe, either. Twice in the following week you woke up to find him taking things from your room. And once, when you had floated downstairs in a miserable haze, you found him throwing up in the kitchen sink, an empty plate that had once held a batch of Elain’s cookies sitting on the table.
Nesta had dragged you to Valkyrie training a few times, and whilst you were beyond their current skill level, it had taken your mind off of things. Cassian’s eyes gleamed with pride everytime Nesta mastered an attack or a block. He touched her affectionately, he teased her, he lingered as she passed to breath in her scent. Watching them together was as painful as it was sweet. How simple love could be.
Would that you could be half as lucky.
Slowly you were emerging from your shell. You could smile again. Nesta invited you to read with her and the Valkyries, and in the silence you found firm friendship. Emerie was a gift from the Mother herself. You bonded instantly, both of you clipped, grounded, but neither broken. Many late nights were spent talking, about books, your brothers, or about Eris. Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn knew little of the Autumn prince, but you appreciated their outside perspective on the bond. It was still a bitter taste in your mouth, but it was becoming more bearable with each passing week.
---
There was a ball approaching in the Hewn City and Rhys had asked Nesta to attend. Not long after, she asked you to join her.
“I can’t do this alone, Y/n, please.” She said one night, sitting at the end of your bed. You bit your lip, unsure.
“Eris will be there.” You said.
“I’ll be the one dancing with him. Rhys wants him falling madly in love with me. He won’t look your way, I promise.” Nesta said. You knew she meant well by that. You had never wanted him anywhere near you before. But something about her oath left a sting. You frowned, which she took to mean you were still unconvinced.
“Please, Y/n. My sisters will be there, Rhys will be there. I’m not ready to face them all on my own, not yet.”
And so you found yourself stood atop the stairs the following week, draped in a black dress with a slit so high up one side your whole leg was practically exposed. The back scooped so low the dimples at the bottom of your spine peeked over top. You were devastating. Death in midnight silk. Rhys’ smile was that of pure brotherly pride as you walked down the steps, your hair pinned in braids and curls.
Nesta stole your breath away as she appeared in the hallway, but it wasn’t your gaze she sought out. You looked towards Cassian and could have sworn he was drooling. Eris would be blind-sided by her, of that you had no doubt.
In the Hewn City, they danced like lovers. Nesta as dangerous in the ballroom as she had become on the training grounds. Every move was calculated, every parting of her lips a dance of the mind, designed to ensnare Eris in her dastardly web. Eris was caught. And you burned.
Standing next to Azriel, heat rolled off you in waves. He took a step towards you, perhaps to offer you a drink, but found something in your eyes to make him change his mind. You hadn’t taken your eyes off of Eris all night. He was sinful. A courtier and a Prince. His hair pooled over his shoulders, one strand to the front neatly braided. You reminded yourself that this was the male that left your cousin for dead at his Court border. Biting your lip, your mind wandered to see yourself lying prone beneath him as he stood, smile widening, cock hardening in his—
“Get me a drink.” You ordered Az. He raised an eyebrow.
“What’s the magic word.”
“Azriel.” You growled, and he turned on his heel. Your eyes stayed pinned on Eris as he led Nesta across the dancefloor in a tantalizing waltz. His gaze finally met yours, and you saw a fraction of surprise before his emerald eyes darkened. He licked his lips, eyes locked with yours as he leaned down, and pressed a kiss to Nesta’s neck.
A/N: I have to thank @fandomsmultiverse for talking to me and giving me about 100 ideas to flesh this story out, I really hope you like it! There will be a part 2 coming soon! I wouldn't just leave you on a cliffhanger like that. We will see more of Eris and Reader interacting, and maybe.....some smut...
1K notes · View notes
broodybatboy · 2 years
Text
Therapist: Imagine you had a box filled with the thing you've lost somewhere in your life. What is the first thing you see?
-
Rhys: Humility, you do exist!
Azriel: Self-compassion, haven't seen you in centuries.
Cassian: There's my self-control, pesky bastard.
Nesta: My will to live. I thought I lost you.
Feyre: Oh wow, my childhood innocence.
Elain: I knew I lost that potential somewhere!
Therapist: Okay, I'm starting to see what the problem might be...
114 notes · View notes
solbaby7 · 3 months
Text
Tripping Over You
pairing: azriel x reader
Tumblr media
warnings: swearing, some typos, sexual tension, clumsy reader, just fluff
summary: Your lack of situational awareness has a certain Shadowsinger stumbling to maintain his patience.
If Azriel was being perfectly truthful, he didn’t like you much.
It wasn’t personal but in the time he’d known you, he found you to have an annoyingly bad habit of being completely unaware of your surroundings; always just barely dodging being flayed by some disaster.
Call it bad luck or just plain carelessness but Azriel fucking hated it.
His fingers twitched when he’d caught you in a pile of your own limbs on the kitchen floor, a knife held loosely in your hand and a sheepish smile on your face as if you hadn’t almost just shoved the sharp blade in your neck because you’d been too preoccupied to clean up the little puddles of water you left around. “Give me that,” He grumbles with a scoff, carefully snatching the blade from your hands.
Unintelligible words drip from his tongue and you watch wide-eyed, slowly rising back to your feet as the shadowsinger quickly finished the sandwich you were attempting to make, slicing it four ways with a huff and sliding it in your direction. “Thanks.”
“You need to be more careful.”
More of that went on for weeks.
Short, snappy comments on your inability to step out of bed without the possibility of breaking a bone, soothed over by Azriel just completing whatever task for you. His behavior should’ve deterred you; the deep scowls and gruff voice, the tension in his shoulders that formed when he noticed you in a room—but at least he always noticed.
Always had a hand curling around your arm when you tripped and was the first one to pull you out of the water after wandering off a little too deep. Water soaks your hair, dripping into your eyes and you’re weightless when he tugs you over to the more shallow area, seaweed sinking in your toes. “Why are you even in the water if you can’t swim?”
“I can swim,” It comes out choppy, cheeks red from all the coughing but Azriel can’t help the feeling that burns in his belly when you peer up at him, eyes glittering and full lips quirking at the corners. “Just didn’t realize how far out I’d gotten.”
He looks positively exasperated by your passiveness, chest rising and falling quickly with each breath and you’re no better than any of the other women who dared stare at the spymaster long enough to take in the true expanse of muscle that lies beneath those leathers. Rippling pectorals, biceps that flexed deliciously as he spoke; he’s more animated than you’d ever anticipated, usually offering nothing but perfect silence—or the occasional sarcastic comment towards his brothers. You’re not really paying attention to what he’s saying, eyes wandering down his form and he abruptly stops talking when he sees the way your eyes catch down his abdomen, mouth pouty and hair dripping down your shoulders. “Are you even fucking listening?”
“Not really.”
“Unbelievable,” The view when he turns is almost as amazing as the front, perfect dips and ridges of his back and broad shoulders enough to have you forcing your eyes away before you drooled enough to fill the lake three times over. Inky hair shines under the sun, hazel eyes snapping to you over his shoulder and shadows slink out to you in seconds. They push at you, urging you forward until your toes sink in dry sand.
Azriel lets you go ahead first, partially because he wasn’t a hundred percent confident you wouldn’t try going back—but mostly he just wants a better look at the bathing suit you’d slipped into. It’s nothing overtly scandalous but attention drawing all the same, skinny ties and bottoms that show enough to have his fingers twitching with want at his sides. “You’re staring,” Rhys informed, a bare elbow nudging into Azriel’s ribs.
“Because, I just don’t get it,” He’s referring to you, tripping twice over nothing on your return to the girls under the shade, your knees scraped from a tumble and a scarred hand reaches to cup the back of his head when Amren swiftly stabilized you. “How come when Amren finally decides to make friends it’s with fucking Bambi of all people?”
“She’s sweet,” Rhys shrugs, violet eyes regarding you no more than a sister but your beauty was undeniable. “So, she’s a little clumsy—big deal.”
“A little clumsy,” Az repeats, sounding genuinely annoyed and the High Lord can’t push back the growing smirk that tugs on the corners of his mouth. “She’s a liability, she’s going to get herself ki—“ The words die on his tongue, a low sound pulling from his chest when Azriel is forced to send a shadow out to stop you from slicing your fingers clean off with the dagger Mor had handed over to pry open the wine bottle. “Mother above.”
The air was fresh, a cool breeze sifting through quickly drying clothes under the sweltering sun and Rhysand could admit he’d seen his brother through many emotions. Anger, grief, disappointment, happiness—but never such mother hen like attentiveness; hazel eyes tracking your every move like a hawk. “Are you interested in her?”
“Are you insane?”
Rhys shrugged, bare shoulders going golden under the suns rays. “That answer varies depending on who you ask but that doesn’t really answer my question.”
“She’s—“ The words get caught in his throat, muscles tensing under the discomfort that grows under his skin because Azriel hadn’t even thought about that. Sure, he’d been slightly more involved than he’d originally planned but you just kept getting yourself into such trouble; he had no choice but to stay close behind to make sure you stayed safe. “There’s no way—“ Heat begins to warm the top of his ears and the shove he gives is less than gentle. “Oh, fuck you.”
Rhysand doesn’t seem phased, a teasing smile on sharp features and Azriel doesn’t miss the way the High Lord keeps trailing his eyes back to Feyre, her fingers raking through your hair until most of it was braided out of your face and decorated in an assortment of little flowers. You’re soft—a little too sweet and that obliviousness Az always grumbled about was a little noticeable in the way you allowed things to just happen around you. Fey deciding to do your hair, Mor topping off your wine before you’d even gotten halfway through, Nesta snatching at the book you’d had tucked in your bag and her eyes widen when she flips to a random page, a red tinge flushing her cheeks.
But the book shuts too quickly for even Az’s shadows to sneak a peek.
“You’re allowed to be happy you know,” Rhysand doesn’t look; doesn’t even let his voice get too loud in fear that his friend would shut down or disappear and never bring up a single personal thing again. “If you like her then just act on it. Mother knows we all could benefit from a little more happiness.”
There’s a pause and Rhys can’t get a good read on what Azriel’s thinking. “I appreciate that but that’s not what this is. She’s just a danger to herself and others—it’s better I keep an eye on her myself.”
A knowing smile on the Lord of Darkness’ face. “Right, of course.”
It only gets worse from there and while Azriel doesn’t catch onto it right away—Rhysand was definitely behind it. Conjuring up wisps of darkness to curl around your ankles and trip you up, forcing the shadowsinger to rush to your aid and somewhere along the way he ditches his sneer for just a soft frown. “Sorry,” You sheepishly allow yourself to be steadied, acutely aware of the large hands splayed at your hips. “I think I’m still a little tired.”
“I bet,” Azriel’s quick to retort, hands slipping away entirely too soon and the ghost of where his touch once was yearned for more. “Heard Amren and Mor have been introducing you to Rhys’ liquor collection.”
At the reminder your hand raises to press to your temple, a low grunt sounding under your breath and he finds your crankiness kind of adorable. “Yeah, they’ve been breaking me in.”
He swallows audibly at the word choice, hazel eyes stealing a glance at you from the very corner of his vision but you make no indication that you were intending being flirtatious—it still doesn’t stop the blood from rushing to his cock. Giant wings bristle behind him and Azriel can’t stop staring at your night clothes; a tiny pair of shorts and an oversized shirt that hung off one shoulder. Your legs look soft; bare toes padding against the floor until you’re perched on the stool, eyes still a little hazy with sleep but you don’t make a move to cook anything—not with Azriel around.
He would’ve stopped you if you tried anyway and then he’d start complaining about you not being able to touch the appliances after forgetting to turn the burner off one time—or four.
But, who was really counting?
It’s instinctual the way he grabs for some fruit and a bowl, washing and carefully cutting them; peeling bitter citrus off and leaving the sweet parts before sliding the blow over. “Eat.”
You don’t hesitate though you do sigh softly, feet swinging. “Did Amren hire you to like take care of me or something?”
His brows furrow, confusion growing at the question, at your tone, at the embarrassed expression sinking into such pretty features it makes Azriel’s stomach twist. “No.”
But you only nod, frown still present while you spear at fresh fruit. “Are you sure? I know you’re the High Lords spymaster and Ren told me how you like to keep an eye on things.”
Ren?
Since when did Amren allow nicknames?
“—mentioned how she’s had you look after a few prized possessions for her before.” You seem different to him somehow, more guarded and stern than he’d ever once seen you and it sends a shiver up his spine. Intrigue grows, the picture of you he’d been painting of some scampering baby animal was beginning to seem furthest from the truth with such contained fire behind your tone and suddenly he wonders exactly where Amren even found you.
“I have before, yes.” The kitchen remains silent; probably not for much longer with the steadily rising sun and the smell of hot food beginning to waft in the air as Azriel sauntered about the kitchen—chopping here and adding spices there, cracking an egg or two before cranking the heat up a little higher to cook the potatoes faster. “And no, she didn’t ask me to watch you.”
“Then, why are you here?” You clear your throat, seemingly aware of how it comes off and he can’t resist a smile when you look genuinely confused. “Why are you always here?”
“I’m still not a hundred percent sure about that yet but,” He doesn’t face you when he answers, shoulders stretching out a plain black tee with carefully cut out lines on the back nearly six inches in diameter to make room for the base of his wings. They hover high behind him, flexing and shifting with his arms as he moves and you find yourself a little transfixed—a trained killer preparing you breakfast in his pajamas. “—you looked like you’d been stumbling your way through life for a while,” You’re pleasantly surprised by the amount of care in his voice; hair mussed and pillow lines fading in the left side of his cheek and your eyes catch on the low hang of his sweatpants. “Getting passed off from one hand to the next, just allowing life to happen to you however it came at you and I guess—“ He lets out a deep breath, the words seeming to be a struggle to muster up, to say out loud and you stay quiet in fear of scaring him off. “I suppose I could relate to what that felt like once upon a time and I figured you could benefit from a little support.”
You’re quiet longer than he’d have liked and Az can’t tell if the uptick in your heartbeat is a good thing or not but his shadows urge him to turn—to look. You seem skeptical at first, eyes boring into him so intensely he felt like you were stripping him bare, pulling back his ribs and holding his heart in your hands; judging his character and his choices and the soul that resided somewhere in between.
It’s a struggle to remain calm, the cool disposition that Azriel had thought he’d mastered crumbled to nothing before his very eyes. Scarred hands take their time fixing your plate, piling on the protein and making sure to add the fruit he’d caught you wiggling over the last time.
“No one’s ever said anything like that to me before.” Someone’s awake, you can hear their footsteps against the glossy floors and a steaming piece of bacon is pinched between two fingers when you lean over and press a kiss to Azriel’s cheek; just a gentle pressure an inch or two away from his mouth but you might as well have just punched him right in the gut with the way it takes his breath away. “Thank you.” He’s still reeling when you continue, humming in appreciation over your food and his fate is sealing when you smile brightly at him. “You know, you’re not so bad when you aren’t being a prick.”
“Tolerable enough to let me take you out sometime?”
“I’m surprised you know that’s a thing,” You tease over your food, wisps of cool darkness careening through your hair and resting at your thighs like a napping feline. “—considering you’ve taken to just following me everywhere.” There’s a blush burning on the curve of his ears, shadows ghosting past your ear as a distraction and distantly you wonder if Azriel could feel you the way they could. “Tripping me up with these things just to have an excuse to put your hands on me.”
“Wait, I haven’t—“ There’s a smug cough sounding in his brain and the spymaster’s gaze cuts to the corner of the room. A smirking Rhys still shirtless from the night before just lingering in silence, silently urging, mentally pleading with Az to just take this slice of happiness. He sucks in a soft breath, heart thudding against his chest and his voice is barely above a whisper. “If you knew why didn’t you stop me?”
He can smell your conditioner when you turn to face him, palms braced on the stool beneath you and you lean forward, eyes staring up at him and your toes graze at his knees. “Because, I like your attention.” More rustling and the unmistakable sound of Cassian’s booming laugh and you’re jumping off the stool, food finished and plate dropped off in the sink and Azriel can’t help but think that’s the most balanced he’d ever seen you as your hips swish a little on your way out, words thrown over your shoulder before you disappear. “And yes, I would like to go out with you sometime.”
2K notes · View notes