#acotarxreader

[azsazz]

Winter Winds

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon req: ik you probably won’t get to this in a while but i just read “in ribbons” and absolutely loved it!! got me so hot and bothered. anyway, thinking abt az, reader, and the kids got me thinking…what if the entire ic and their kids are all at wind haven for some trip or something. the oldest kids are pre teens, a bit older maybe. while at the camps, someone attacks the reader and she’s like seriously hurt. like seriously seriously hurt. az goes ballistic, and all the kids get so worried. but especially the older ones, maybe wren baz and zuzu, they get super angry and want to help az get revenge for their mother? 

Warnings: Injury, mentions of blood and gore. Traumatized children but they are otherwise unharmed.

Word Count: 4,921

Notes: You didn’t think I forgot about posting today, did you? Silly. I didn’t make them pre-teens, they’re I guess a bit younger than that but close, but I think I’ve got most of the idea in here, except the revenge part. Sorry about that and sorry in advance this one’s kinda sad.

_________________________________________

“Daddy?!”

His son’s frantic voice slices up his spine like an icy blade, plunging deep and cleaving him in half.

At the sound, Azriel’s body flashes hot with adrenaline and everything else slows to a crawling pace.

He spins on his heel instantly, ignoring the grumbling of the camp warlord who’d been reporting to him, now muttering under his breath about letting his savage brood run wild in the camps, that he doesn’t know how to raise them.

His family means more to him than anything, and that terrified shout from his son to grab his attention isn’t one he’s heard in years.

Something is very very wrong.

Azriel’s heart stammers in his chest like the frantic beat of wings in war when he locks eyes with his second oldest son, Baz.

He shouldn’t be out here alone, even if he has been in the training camps for nearly two years now and knows his way around. If any of the warriors had grabbed him and thought to teach the Azriel a lesson through his child…the spymaster shivers at the thought.

The more pressing concern, the one that makes his brows twitch into confusion and fuels his feet forward and nearly halts his heart in his chest, is that young Baz isn’t dressed for the cold. The Illyrian mountains in the peak of Winter could give even the most attuned warrior frostbite in mere minutes, and Baz isn’t even wearing a coat.

Worse yet, there’s tears streaming down his ruddy cheeks, cherry red from his journey.

He must’ve run the entire way to meet him in boots that are untied and tripping him in his haste to find his father. If someone’s stolen his jacket Azriel will be the last thing they see as he–

Azriel’s slipping out of his own coat, uncaring that the snaps rip open by the base of his wings. He needs to get his son bundled up, and quickly, before he comes down with something worse than the cold Azriel already knows is in his future. He scoops Baz into his arms, wrapping him carefully and hugging him close to his chest. His shadows swirl around both of them, already preparing to winnow them away.

“What’s wrong buddy?” he’s whispering, wiping the tears from his son's bruning face. Sometimes he and his older brother will get into arguments that have one of the boys running to Azriel in a fit full of tears but never something quite like this. Baz knows how to put his coat and tie up his boots and not to run across the camp alone–

The little boy in his arms releases a sob that nearly shatters the snowy peaks of the mountains surrounding them, “Mommy–”

He doesn’t need to continue. Azriel winnows them back to the house without a second thought, hugging Baz tightly to his chest, lips pressed to the crown of his sweaty black hair. He hopes that his son can’t feel him trembling, fisting his hands in his coat to stop the shaking. If something has happened to you he doesn’t know what he will do. How he will survive.

But he would’ve felt it, if there was something wrong, through the bond you share. He lets his shields slide down, reaching out for that golden thread, the one that feels like warm summer winds in the night sky, your hand caressing his soul.

There’s nothing.

Azriel gives a sharp tug but receives no response as he and his son arrive in a mass of black shadows on the front porch. The bond grows more taut with worry the more he tries, desperate pleas for you to respond that go unanswered as he shoves the door open with a heavy boot. 

The house is in complete chaos.

His shadows scatter immediately, searching and returning with whispers of bloody fingerprints on the counter top, streaking across the wall in his bedroom, on the doorknob to the bathroom, while he frantically searches the room for the rest of his children.

Horror coils his gut at the scent of his mate’s blood, thick in the air. It makes him choke, hot and heavy in the back of his throat.

Azriel sets Baz down, nearly tearing the door off of its hinges when he shuts it and turns the lock. He allows himself a single drawn out breath while his mind reels for a plan of action.

Wren looks more worried than his little brother, though Azriel knows that his eldest is trying his best to keep his emotions together for his siblings.

He had a screaming Jax in his arms, the younger boy clearly distraught about the heightened feelings of anxiety and concern smothering him. He reaches up for Azriel as Wren carries the struggling babe closer, trying his best to keep hold of his brother.

“Dad,” Wren breathes a sob of relief, but Az notes the twins in their playpen, Malos’ cries are loud enough for the silent wailing babe beside her, four sets of tiny hands curled around the brim of the pen with white knuckled fingers.

“Wren, I need you to watch your siblings for a little bit longer, okay?” Azriel’s voice is strained with tension as he calls out to Rhysand in his head, his golden eyes a hair wider as he searches the room for Zuzu. He rubs a reassuring thumb across Wren’s cheek and over Jax’s hair, trying to calm the little boy down. “Uncle Rhys and Uncle Cass will be here any minute, alright bub? They’re going to take us all to the River House.”

Wren’s lip quivers but he’s squaring his shoulders as he looks up at his father, “Mommy’s hurt.”

“I know,” it pains him to say it, but by now he knows, “I’m going to get her, will you and Baz help the little ones put on their shoes please?”

Wren nods and sets to work helping his father while Azriel rushes towards the bathroom where his shadows have located both Zuzu and you.

He finds Zuzu is sitting in front of the bathroom door, banging on it as she wails for you. Her throat must be raw from the screaming because she sounds horse, tears dripping down her face and snot bubbling from her nose.

Azriel hears Rhys and Cassian appear in the living room, and he lifts Zuzu up from under her arms as Cassian appears, his first thought to help his brother.

“Az–” Cassian sounds nervous for his brother. When he’d gotten the call a short time ago telling him that he and Rhys needed to pick up the children because something had happened to you his heart dropped, terrified for his best friend.

“Just take her, please,” Azriel pleads, letting the worry he feels coat his words. His throat is tight with emotion and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to keep himself from going berserk because he can see the red painted handprint on the brass knob and the smell of your blood is overpowering.

“I’ve got her,” Cassian nods, and the look in his hazel eyes gives Azriel brings forth that last shred of hope as his brother turns away and he twists the knob.

His knees nearly give out at the sight of you, unconscious and lying in a pool of your own blood. You look paler under the luminescent faelights, the hand holding together the gaping wound in your side now slack in the puddle of crimson.

Your name is a cry of helplessness on his lips as he dives forward, knees cracking against the tiles as he slides closer, pressing his fingers to the pulse point in your neck and caressing your face with the other, a shaky hand brushing the hair back from your face.

His shadows have alerted him that you’re breathing, but barely so, and he releases a shaky breath because he wasn’t able to feel the barely there beat of your pulse beneath his fingers with how badly they’re desensitized from his own burns and the pounding of his own heart.

But Gods–the gash in your side is something a warrior would receive in battle, like you have taken a long sword to the side, your flesh tearing open, muscles and blood and–

No, he doesn’t want to think about whether he sees an organ or not. No, he needs to focus on stopping the bleeding. Azriel can’t help but think, his beautiful mate…who has done this to you?

Rhys and Cass both appear within seconds, having called for the best healers in Velaris to the River House, where his children now are, under the care of the High Lady and Inner Circle themselves.

“Az,” Rhysand murmurs, hardly louder than a simple breath as he takes in the state of the room. His spymaster, on his knees in a pool of your blood as he tries his best to stop the bleeding. The towel you had grabbed is already sopping wet with blood and there’s no signs of it slowing.

His wings are drooped low behind him, the slippery warmth of the floor against the thin velvety skin is a reminder of exactly how much blood you have lost.  Had he been any later, had you not sent Baz–

“Help me.”

It makes both brothers freeze, the utter helplessness, the devastation in Azriel’s voice, so small, so soft, unlike anything they’ve ever heard.

They jump into action.

“Az,” Cassian approaches him like he’s approaching a wild beast, unsure of how to approach this side of him, soft footing and hands raised in surrender. The spymaster lets his brother place a hand on his shoulder, turn him from his spot so that they’re looking at each other.

Cassian has never seen Azriel so panicked, not in the 500 years they’ve been best friends. Not through the wars, the nightmares, the births…not even through the mild complications you’d gone through when the twins were born. No, he was a solid wall, not an ounce of emotion had cracked through the barriers he had built, but this…

His chest heaves with every breath he takes, short and quick and filled with anxiety. Azriel’s hands are vibrating when Cassian takes them in his own. He doesn’t care that he’s kneeling in your blood, that Az’s hands are slippery with it, all he cares about are his friends.

“Az,” he tries again, and the usual honeyed gaze of the shadowsingers meets his own. He’d startled him. Can see the swirling emotions racing behind his eyes; the hatred, the scared, the utter fear, his mind unable to grasp onto one feeling long enough to put thought into it. “We’re going to take you to the River House, okay?”

He’d carry him if he had to, but Rhys can get the job done. There’s worry that Azriel might explode, break completely in his hands and let the beast within him finally take over. And if that happens, he’s glad the children are far away, because no one, not even Cassian nor Rhysand, will stop him from turning the Illyrian camps into nothing more than a tornado of black mist.

Azriel isn’t seeming to comprehend what he’s saying, head tilting down to look at where his hands rest in Cassian’s grip, thumb sliding through the cooling blood on his hands like it’s not the ichor of his mate, painting his hands the color of Cassian’s siphons.

Rhys comes around the both of them, crouching to place a hand on each of their shoulders. The wisps of darkness that carry them through the planes of the continent must strike something within Azriel because he’s tensing under his touch and wrenching away.

“Az,” Rhys commands softly, hands raised to show no sign of wanting to corral his brother’s anger, “The babes are right in there.”

The reaction from his statement is near instant, locking down his emotions little by little like the scales of his armor retracting into his leathers, until there is almost nothing left.

Azriel spins on his heel, already heading towards the shut door between him and the muffled cries of his children on the other side.

Cassian steps into his path, stopping him. 

He watches the spymaster assess him with a trained eye but Cassian’s already weighed his brother's reactions in his head, being a true warlord himself. There is no way he will let the children see their father like this, worked up with their mother’s blood all over them.

Rhys draws the attention of the shadowsinger again, both Illyrians goading him like a tiger waiting to strike, “(Y/N) is this way. She’s with Madja and her best healers.”

The sound of your name strikes him low, chest caving and reaching down the bond for you again, knowing there will be no response, a wall of icy metal stopping him from entering.

Azriel glances at the door again, but makes his way towards the room you’ve been hauled off to, worried for your wellbeing.

The saliva is thick in his mouth as he ascends the stairs, his brothers tight on his flanks. His hands are curled into tight fists and he can feel the cracking of your blood on his hands in a way that would normally be calming if it were anyone else's blood, but not yours.

Never yours.

He pushes into the room and doesn’t look at the wound or the few nursemaids that are crouching over you. He doesn’t look at the bowls of water stained crimson, the towels dripping or the clothes they’d cut you out of, he keeps his focus on your closed eyes.

He’s quick to find his place at your side, perching out of the way as he reaches for your hand but freezes when he catches sight of his own.

“Here,” Cassian’s soft voice has him looking up, the warlord holding a freshly damp rag for him to take, not even a touch of red on it.

His throat works against a swallow as Azriel takes it, scrubbing his hands like he’s the one who’d rubbed his skin down to the bone and left these scars.

He does the best that he can without spiraling. He’s had blood on his hands before, many times, but the fact that it’s your blood has him reeling, immediately stopping the work on cleaning his own hands in favor of helping you clean yours.

When he’s done he hands it back to Cassian who gives him a soft nod and a sad smile. Neither are the things he wants to see right now. All he wants to see is you opening your eyes and looking at him, smiling, laughing, unharmed.

There’s nothing else to do but wait, which he does so quietly, stroking his thumb across your forehead while his other keeps your limp hand firmly tucked in his grasp. 

He doesn’t look at the wound they’re stitching up, but he can’t help himself from reaching down the bond every few minutes, silently praying to the Mother that you will respond.

His brothers wait by the door. Rhys lets Cassian get cleaned up and check on the children while he watches Azriel from across the room, his own heart aching for his brother in this situation, to be near his own mate at a time like this.

But he stays put because that’s what any of them would do for each other, even when Cassian comes back, hands clean and clothes new, no traces of your blood on him.

They know that there will be no moving Azriel from your side to clean up, so they don’t even try. When Feyre dips her head into the room, catching a glance at you and your mate on the lone bed, a handful of healers working frantically around, they share a look.

It’s Rhys who approaches him this time, making sure his footsteps are heard by the shadowsinger as he nears.

He watches Azriel’s shoulders pull up taut, his spine stiffening and shadows curling his rounded ear that the High Lord is approaching.

His golden gaze is a harsh glare, a warning to stay away, and although Rhys understands the look, it still hurts.

“Az, maybe you should get cleaned up,” he suggests softly, keeping a healthy distance away from the bed. The healers have started sewing up your wound, having been able to stop the blood and stabilize you, and their work will be done soon.

The shadowsinger’s face doesn’t change as he looks back down at you, dismissing Rhys with that single action.

“The kids,” he tries, “They’re worried. They want to see you.” 

Azriel nearly startles at the mention of his children. They’d been half scared to death when he’d last seen them, frantic and worried about their mother just as much as he was. He can see them all clearly, Wren trying to be strong, Baz’s red face wet with tears, Zuzu and Jax and the twins all crying out for help, understanding that something was horribly wrong.

“The kids,” he murmurs, as if he’s not even there. Azriel pets your hair again, smoothing his fingers down your cheek, across your lips, finding their way to the juncture of your jaw and throat, where your pulse is.

Rhysand waits with a baited breath as Azriel counts, comes to whatever conclusion in his mind that he can, grasping for some sort of sign that you might be okay.

The beating of your heart is constant, evened out even though one of the nurses has already told him as much. He won’t leave you if he doesn’t think you’ll be okay.

But he knows you would want him to make sure the children are okay, so he places a kiss on your hand, ignoring how the warmth hasn’t quite returned to it completely, before settling it comfortably at your side and standing from the bed.

He follows his brothers from the room and as soon as the door snicks shut behind him and the wail of Zuzu is carried to him on the whisper of a shadow, he breaks.

He makes a break for his children, his flight sense kicking in but he’s hauled backwards into the arms of Cassian, holding him tightly across the chest as he struggles. 

If he were in his right mind he’d be able to figure a way out of his hold.

“Az, you have blood all over you,” Cassian grits, his breath puffing with the struggle of keeping Azriel in his hold. He’s writhing like an animal, trying to tear his way through whomever he needs to to get to his family. “You can’t go in there like this. You’ll scare them.”

That makes him stop struggling, worming his way out of Cassian’s touch.

“But Baz didn’t have a jacket on–”

“He’s already been looked at by a healer,” Rhys supplies, trying to calm the skittish shadowsinger.

“And Zuzu’s been screaming her head off,” he retorts just as easily, mind reeling at how his children must be feeling.

“She’s been given a soothing tea for her throat,” Cassian adds, fiercely protective of them as he is his own children.

“And Jax–”

“Jax is an empath,” Rhys agrees, ushering Azriel towards the other end of the hallway, “And it’s normal for him to react like that with all of the emotions running rampant in the room at the time. You need to calm yourself down if you are to hold him, your reactions will harm him more than Wren’s. For now he’s fine. They’re all okay, Azriel. Here and in one piece, waiting for you.”

Azriel’s wide eyes are glossy as he looks between his brothers, back and forth as if he’s searching for anything other than the truth there.

He won’t.

“They’re okay?” he asks again, not quite sure he believes it.

Both of his brothers nod, “They’re okay Az. Promise.”

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

You feel like utter shit.

Like you’ve been carved down to the bone with a blade. There’s a pounding in your head and when you open your eyes the room spins, bright with light. Your head goes with it, the whispers of words striking like a bell tower to your brain.

“(Y/N)?”

That voice silences everything.

You squeeze his hand, blinking against the faelights until the three Azriel’s you see finally become one, perfect, mate.

“Az,” you breathe.

He bites his lip, hardly able to contain the relief he feels in this moment. He knows you’ve just opened your eyes but he’s squeezing his shut tight and resting his forehead gently against your own.

And the bond floods with warmth, his breath catching in his throat.

“I’m here,” your free hand finds his hair, smoothing through it the best that you can in your weakened state, “I’m here, Love.”

He nearly whimpers, would have if his mind hadn’t gone immediately into spymaster mode, seeing you awake.

He pulls away from you all too quickly, sitting straight in his spot beside you, the golden glow of his iris’ swimming with dark shadows.

“Who.” he asks, and it’s not a question. It’s the only word he can get out, voice dipped in steel and as sharp as the blade he’s been filing for the days you’ve been under rest.

“Some old relative,” you cough, throat dry, and you hiss at the pull in your stitches. Azriel is quick to help you drink some water down, soothing the roughness in your voice and the pounding in your head. “Claimed to be so, at least.”

“Fucking bastards,” he spits, the shadows in his eyes sweeping into hot, angry flames, “I’ll kill every single fucking one of them.”

“Az,” you sigh. You love your mate dearly and this is about as normal a reaction as you would expect from him, but you’re so achingly tired. “Are the kids okay?”

He shudders at the thought of something happening to your children and kisses across your knuckles, your hand in his shaking ones. 

“Yes, the babes are fine.”

You settle a bit more, knowing that truth. The fact that Azriel has referred to them as babes shows you just how terrified he truly is.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers, propping his chin where your hand is holding his.

“Tired,” you offer, because you’re afraid that a joke might push him over the edge. “Can I see my babies?”

Azriel looks like he might protest. You’ve been changed and brought to a different room once the painkillers and healing drinks the nurses had forced down your throat had begun to work, but he thinks of his rowdy children and your fresh injury, he worries for you.

But you’re pleading, “Please, Love. I need to see them.” And he gets it.

Because he finds himself needing to see them as well.

“Drink some more water, tell me what happened, and I’ll get Rhys to bring them in.”

You hold his gaze, nodding finally. 

Azriel helps you drink some more water, nearly a whole glass before you begin.

“I was on my way back from the mercantile,” you start, swallowing harshly as you wrack your brain for what had happened. “Just a quick trip to get some treats for the little ones,” you laugh dryly, tears welling up in your eyes. Azriel’s quick to thumb them away, caressing your cheek with his warm hand.

“I didn’t see him coming until it had already happened,” you admit shamefully. Your mate had taught you better than that and you had failed him.

Your mate sends nothing but warmth down the bond because while you may have been taken by surprise, he knows you didn’t go down without a fight.

“I didn’t understand how bad it was until after he was laying in the snow next to me and I looked at my torn coat and saw all the blood.”

You remember crying out as his blade slashed across your body and took you to your knees. You’d been able to act through the pain, kicking a foot out behind you and sweeping your attackers feet from under him. 

It was easier to pry the longsword from his hands when he was gasping for air and even easier to make sure he never took another breath again.

“I don’t remember getting home,” you exhale a shaky breath, “I was just holding my side and there was so much blood Az, so much blood.”

He shushes you softly, upset with himself that he’s asked you to share this story. If he had known your attacker was dead he wouldn’t have asked and before he can try and stop you you’re already continuing.

“I was afraid to go home,” you admit, and his hand clutches yours tighter, “I didn’t want the babes to see me like this.”

Your admission hangs over the both of you, loud in the otherwise silent room.

“I’m glad you did,” Azriel’s voice is thick with emotion, “If you hadn’t and I had lost you…”

“You didn’t,” you reassure, maybe for the both of you, “Let’s not think about that.”

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever be able to think about anything else but he nods, agreeing.

“I hid it the best I could, but you know Wren,” the thought of your oldest brings a smile to your face, “He’s so smart, that one. I told him to watch the babes for me while I went to clean up and he tried to talk to me, tried to ask me what was wrong but I just kept going, telling him that I was fine and would be out in a minute…” you trail off because you weren’t out in a minute. On the floor unconscious in a minute more like.

Azriel kisses your knuckles, lingering on your fourth finger before he answers, “He told Baz to come get me. I was talking to a commander and he came running up screaming and crying out for me. Scared me shitless I tell ya. Didn’t even have a coat on.”

Your eyes bulge and you try to sit up, distressed over your son out in the mountains without a coat, “Is he–'' your question is cut off by a hiss and Azriel’s on his feet guiding you back down onto the bed, gentle hands on your shoulders. 

“He’s alright, Love. They all are. Got them all checked on while they were helping you. Not even a sniffle,” Azriel soothes. He relaxes when your shoulders droop and you settle back into the pillows.

“Thank you,” you whisper, thumb brushing across his knuckles, “I love you.”

“I love you too, (Y/N). So fucking much,” he breathes, shuddering when you caress his cheek.

You tug on him weakly, puckering your lips for a kiss that he easily ducks down for, the tension melting away from his body now that you’re awake in his arms.

“Can I see them now?” you ask as soon as you pull away. Your mate huffs playfully, already calling out to Rhys in his mind.

The door slams open, Wren and Baz racing into the room with the Inner Circle hot on their heels. Rhys is holding Zuzu, Feyre’s hugging Jax close to his chest while Cassian and Nesta each hold a babe, their own boys trailing in behind them.

Azriel shoots to his feet, catching his two oldest sons around their waists before they can launch themselves at you.

“Mommy,” Wren cries from his father’s grasp and Baz bursts out into tears at the sight, reaching over Azriel’s shoulder for you.

“Az, let them go,” you scold lightly, but caress the bond, thankful for stopping them before another injury could happen.

“Boys, you need to be gentle with mommy, okay?” Az holds each of their arms, making sure that his order has been received by each son before slowly letting them go.

They’re both on your uninjured side, Baz tumbling into your arms. He climbs up onto the bed and you hold him close, letting him cry into the crook of your shoulder, reaching out for Wren with tears in your own eyes.

“Hi baby,” you whisper, voice thick.

“Mom,” he breaks, tears spilling as he climbs up next to Baz, letting you run your fingers through his hair.

You bite your lip, holding your boys as close as you can, before looking around the room at the rest of your children, your family. 

Each one is looking at you with smiles, some pained, some relieved, some teary, and you know that if something had gone wrong, that your children would be in the best of hands.

Your teary gaze slides back to your mate. He hadn’t looked away from you while you were taking everyone in, seeming to know exactly where your mind had just been. But he doesn’t want to think about that right now, all he wants is to hold you and his children as close as he can, forever and always.

Cassian hands Knox off to Azriel as he rounds the bed to your injured side, taking the spot next to you to block your injury as he gestures to his brothers and their mates to bring forward the rest of your children.

Let us know if you need any help, Rhys speaks to Azriel and the shadowsinger nods, looking at you with the babes all curled in close, hugging each other tight.

He knows they won’t leave you now, but he doesn’t care because everyone is here together, in one piece.

One big family.

#Azriel #azriel x reader #dad!azriel #daddy!azriel #azriel/reader #azriel x you #azriel/you #azsazz #azsazz next gen #acotar #acowar #acomaf #acotarxreader #acosf #acofas

[lavenderdreamsandwritings]

mornings with rhysand

As the morning lights filters in through the window, you begin to stir. When you open your eyes you notice the wings that are wrapped around you, as well as the dark haired man in front of you. A blush spreads across your cheeks as you think about the night you shared. Rhys notices your movements, and pulls you closer to him. You tilt your head up and place a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose, smiling to yourself. Rhysand mumbles something that sounds like, "g'morning darling." "Good morning my love," you say while giggling.

Rhysand's eyes fully open as he looks down at you, a warm smile taking over his face. "Shall we head down for breakfast?" With a flirty look on your face, you respond, "How about a bath and then breakfast?" He nods his head in agreement and then rises out of the bed. You take a moment to look at him, his wings stretching out before they come to rest against his back. He turns and reaches out to grab your hand, walking towards the bathroom with you.

Entering the bathroom, you lean down to turn on the faucet and jump as he gives you a playful smack on the rear. "Bubbles?" you say while looking back at him. "Of course," he smirks and reaches down under the sink. "We have lavender, vanilla, and a citrus blend. Which would you prefer?" You sigh and say, "Hmmm. You choose." "Lavender it is." He pours the bubble mixture into the faucet and you both watch as the tub fills with bubbles.

You are the first to step into the tub, pulling him in behind you. He sits down and spread his legs so that you can sit between them. You plop down and hand him the shampoo. "Can you wash my hair for me?" He grins, "Lazy woman." You playfully smack his arm. "It's your fault for taking such good care of me." He squeezes the bottle and rubs his hands together to lather up the shampoo before running it through your strands. His nails gently scrape along your scalp before he cups water in his hands and rinses out the shampoo. You two switch places and you wash his hair.

He opens the drain and you both step out to get dressed for the day. You wear your favorite dress, deep blue in color and silky to the touch. He selects a pair of black pants and a form-fitting shirt that accentuates his wings which are currently tucked behind him. You place a gentle kiss on his lips and you both head downstairs to spend the rest of the morning together.

authors note: this is my first time writing anything, so i'm sorry if it's too slow or if i didnt add enough dialogue. i was scared to write smut but might be open to it in the future. constructive criticism is definitely appreciated :) <3 send in requests!

#acotar #rhysand #rhysand x reader #a court of thorns and roses #night court #rhys acotar #acotarxreader #acotarimagine #acotarfanfiction #rhysimagine #Rhysand x reader

[clonethire]

Slightly alone

warnings: mention of self harm

chapter 2

It was a mild warm spring day when I woke up. The sun was beaming through my window and groggily I snatched my blanket over my eyes.

I didn´t want to wake up. The last days were hard on me. A constant tiredness ached in my bones and my mental health got worse. But I couldn´t go to my sisters or the Inner Circle. They wouldn´t be interested anyways.

So with the tiredness in my bones I got out of bed. Slowly, so very slowly, I made my way to the bath, washed myself and got into a fuzzy hoodie. The main thing was that my arms were covered.

I stumbled into the dining room and sat quietly. And alone.

My appetite was washed away when I saw the food, but I forced myself to eat at least a toast and some bacon. 

After breakfast I made my way to the training area. Maybe Cass was there and could teach me again. He was the only one who saw my scars. By accident, but he saw them but didn´t forced me to say anything, to explain anything. Since then I trained without my hoodie.

Halfway arcross the house I stumbled over Azriel. He was coming out of his room and stopped completely when he saw me. My cheeks grew a little red and a shy smile formed on my face.

“Hi, Azriel.” My voice was quiet but I couldn´t get myself to speak louder. It was as if my voice was stolen away from me.

He nodded and flashed me a quick smile. I scraped all of my courage together and looked up into his magnificent hazel eyes and asked: “Would you like to go on a walk this afternoon?”

As if he wasn´t aware that I was standing there, his head snapped to me and his eyes widened slightly. He cleared his throat akwardly and shook his head.

“Sorry. I´m busy today.”

And that´s when my whole confidence crumbled and my heart shattered a little more. Without words I nodded and he said no words and walked away.

Sadness and remorse settled in my veins and I quietly walked to the training room.

                                               XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The same afternoon I walked into the town house and grabbed an apple. My mood was down but when I thought it couldn´t get any worse I looked to the gardens. 

And there he sat.

With my sister. Elain.

My heart broke for good.

Of course it was her. It was always her. Always.

And even my mate was on her side. Looking at her as if she was his whole world.

After this afternoon Cassian noted that Kora had her hoodie back on. Even when it was only him.

#fanfiction #acotar #azriel #azrielxreader #pain #acotarxreader #youngestarcheron #archeron #mates

[azsazz]

Lips of an Angel (Part 2)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Part 2 to Lips of an Angel per the request of many. The OG request came from @eddiesbixch696 : This randomly came to me because the song came on the radio but an absolute angst fest of an Azriel fic based on the song Lips of Angel by Hinder. The whole “my girl is in the next room but sometimes I wish she was you” lyric as he watches Elain. Ugh I love breaking my own heart sometimes 😭

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3,512

[Part 1]

_________________________________________

This winter is one of the most bitter he’s experienced in Velaris. Or maybe it’s just him, his feelings as of late, the cold and empty cavern that is his heart without you, his thoughts wandering towards the female he’d left behind for the one who he’d thought would be his end all be all.

He turned out to be so fucking wrong about Elain.

She’s at dinner with the rest of the Inner Circle but Azriel had chosen not to go. She’d begged him, tugged on his arm and gave him that doe-eyed look that normally would have him giving in to any of her demands. Now it just makes him grimace. 

He could hardly think about eating with the guilty thoughts swirling through his mind, consuming him completely.

What is wrong with him? He wanted Elain, and he had got it, at the price of hurting you. Azriel hadn’t seen a glimpse of you or heard a whisper about you in years. He couldn’t help but wonder if you were even still in town, how you’re doing now. 

He’s been distancing himself as of late, and if the middle Archeron sister has any worries about it, she didn’t voice them to him. It’s hard to be around her when all he does is compare everything she does to you. They way she hugs him with her arms around his neck, staring up into his eyes when you would wrap your arms around his middle and burrow your head into the crook of his neck. The way that she goes on and on, needing to fill any and all silence with stories and anecdotes, whereas with you, the two of you could just enjoy each other’s company, no words needed.

He’d hardly been coming to bed, unable to sleep because of the constant running thoughts of his ex. The drink he usually had was more like a bottle, but did nothing to aid his insomnia. Flying didn’t seem to help either, nor sparring. It’s like all his favorite things had been tainted with the thought of you, in his arms gliding over the city or the smile on your face when you’d landed your first strike on him with the practice sword after six months of giving it your all.

Azriel doubted you’d kept up on your training after he’d ended things.

When he was able to get a few minutes of shut eye it was when he was away and could hold the necklace you’d left behind in his hand. His only reminder that you were ever really his to begin with.

It was the only thing he’d had left of you. You must’ve dropped it behind the dresser some time before you’d cleared the home of your things and he’d found it when Elain had wanted to move the furniture around in his room. Something about a more peaceful mind, if the bed was slid to the wall that didn’t face the door. He’d caught sight of the gleaming metal and tucked it away before she noticed.

He’d tried to regift it. First to Gwyn, because he still wanted to see it, gleaming, wrapped around another pretty neck. He’d gone so far as to give it to Clotho before promptly asking for it back thirty minutes later with crimson cheeks and a heavy heart.

He’d even thought about giving it to Elain for a special occasion. Surely she wouldn’t even know that it used to be yours. He’d imagined mouthing at the pendant hanging between your breasts every time you wore it. He hadn’t had the gall to give it to Elain.

So Azriel had hid it in a secret drawer of his desk after that, promptly forgetting about it because he’d been so enthralled with the breath of fresh air that was Elain.

He doesn't know what he’s doing in the city. Usually he opts for a long flight or time off in a different court, hoping that the warm sun of Summer would burn his feelings away or the fresh breezes of Autumn would clear his head.

But he’s here, shrunk down into his coat because he hadn’t thought to put a hat on, the bitter winds kissing his cheeks and neck annoyingly, and it reminds him of you. Of course it does, because he can’t seem to stop thinking about you, the way you’d always press your freezing fingers up under his shirt for warmth on a cold day.

Azriel’s hair keeps getting blown into his eyes and as much as he tries to shove it back it only slaps right back. He needs to get it cut but doesn’t even have the energy to do that, with everything going on in his mind lately.

He blinks harshly at the tendrils poking his eyes. He stumbles slightly, a strand stuck, and he’s trying to claw at it while grumbling, not quite watching where he’s going because he assumes that everyone will give him a wide berth like they always do–

He runs straight into someone, stumbling back as he frees the piece of hair from his eye. He blinks, an apology already rolling off the tip of his tongue when he realizes exactly who stands before him–

He’d forgotten how perfect you were.

An angel in the flesh.

“Azriel,” you breathe, stunned, and it makes his heart fracture in his chest.

You’re not alone like he wished you would be when he’d thought about all of the times this could happen, should he be so lucky. There’s a child with you, immediately tucking behind your leg at his appearance.

“(Y/N)...It’s really good to hear your voice,” he forces around the thickness in his throat. Saying my name goes unsaid.

Azriel can’t stop looking down at the little boy, hiding behind his mother’s leg. You’ve got a protective hand curled around his thick knit hat, the other clasping a to-go mug of what he scents as hot cocoa from the best bakery in Velaris. The one they used to frequent together, though he always remembered that you were more of a warm cider kind of female. Oh how you’ve changed.

It’s clear the babe is nervous, by the way he keeps tugging on the bottom of your coat. You don’t hesitate, hauling the little boy into your arms even with a hand full.

Azriel’s breath catches and his heart hammers in his chest because there’s tiny wings poking out of the child's fluffy coat.

“This is Wren,” you introduce awkwardly, shifting on your feet anxiously.

He looks closer now, noting how he’s around three or four, from what he can tell, and his heart aches because surely there is only one explanation for this. There's a burning in his chest, even though he knows he shouldn’t feel this way, that he’d moved on even quicker.

Those eyes…

Azriel’s brows furrow, his mouth parting but no words come out. His mind is whirling because Wren’s eyes are a mirror of his own and the longer he looks the more he can see himself in the child. The natural downturn of his mouth, almost apathetic in appearance, his wide eyes, lids lowered a touch over his perfectly round irises - the most stoic child he’s ever seen.

His eyes are glued to the small boy. He has your nose, your ruddy cheeks that nearly give every emotion you’re feeling away. Your cheeks are red right now, in fact. He’s sure that if he tugged the hat off of the child’s head all he’d see is inky black hair.

“Is he–” 

There’s no way he’s not.

You’re quick to intervene, pressing your wrist over the boy's ear and leaning his head into your shoulder, blocking out your response from his tiny ears. “Yes, he is.”

Everything freezes. The snow fluttering down pauses its tracks, the wind is no longer a nuisance brushing the back of his neck with cold fingers, all of the sounds of the bustling city are drowned out by the ringing in his ears.

His hand twitches, lifting as if to touch the child, make sure he’s real, maybe pull that hat off after all. He knows that you’re telling the truth, you were never one to lie about anything, would rather suffer the consequences than talk your way out of it.

But this…

You turn, shifting away from the hand that’s reaching out.

Azriel flinches, arm falling back to his side. He physically cannot look anywhere else besides his son, who seems perfectly content in your arms, head shoved where your neck meets your shoulder. His gloved fingers clutch tightly to your jacket but his wide hazel eyes stay locked on male in front of him.

A punch in the gut is all he feels as he nearly collapses under the child’s gaze. He can feel his heart beating in his chest, the pulse that has his neck throbbing. There’s a dull ache inside of him, a numb feeling humming around his hollow chest where he wishes your mating bond would lie. Countless nights he’d prayed to the Mother to tether the two of you together - each night had without answer. 

He never prays for Elain.

“He doesn’t know,” you admit, and it burns your throat like acid. You hadn’t had the guts to tell Wren that his father had broken your heart into a million pieces a few nights before you found out that you were pregnant. 

You hadn’t had the heart to tell Azriel either.

Hadn’t thought it necessary, as he was perfectly happy with Elain while you were slowly putting yourself back together for the babe growing inside of you. You were determined not to let Azriel affect your life from then on, and it had been hard, but you’d finally gotten that feeling shoved so deep down inside of you you could pretend that you were okay, for Wren.

You hadn’t been expecting to run into Azriel ever again, and now that he’s standing in front of you, that part of your chest has been blown wide open.

He nearly looks the same as he did that night years ago. Hair disheveled from the winds, never thinking to bring a hat with him when his mind was awry, like he didn’t deserve to be warm. His eyes had dark rings around them much like they do now, the hazel color shroud by shadows, like the ones wrapped around his legs, the same way Wren had cuddled into yours before you’d picked him up.

His lips are chapped from the cold and even from beneath his thick coat you can tell that he hasn’t been eating well, sleeping either. Something awful must be going on. 

He’d seemed so much happier with Elain that day he left. 

You don’t have the heart to wonder what must have happened. 

But as much as you want to ask, it’s no longer your place. You shouldn’t care about the male before you, eyes looking so painfully similar to your sons, it was hard not to think about Azriel every time you looked at Wren, even with the wings to match.

He nods once, finally breaking contact with the mini version of himself. He swallows and it hurts, there’s a lump of emotion caught in his throat because he hadn’t been prepared to run into you out and about in the city after years of not seeing you, but now he has a child. A child that doesn’t know him from the next male walking down the street.

He’s not sure what to say, what he can say. I’m sorry doesn’t seem good enough. I still love you won’t have an effect on the female who surely doesn’t believe that could be true.

He startles when a figure draws closer. He had been so caught up in what was going on before him that he hadn’t noticed the approaching male or heard his shadows repeating the information to him.

The male stops next to you, catching your attention with a hand on your lower back. He immediately senses something wrong when you look up at him with a forced smile. His mouth turns into a frown, emerald gaze taking in the shadowsinger standing across from you, immediately recognizing him.

“Azriel,” and there’s your fucking perfect mouth speaking his name. His heart still leaps in his chest when you do, and he wonders how he ever could’ve been so stupid as to choose Elain over you. “This is Malik.”

The man nods at him, eyes sparking with an emotion that’s gone before even Azriel can pick it up, so he responds the same, tilting his head but offering no words to the male who’s stepped up beside you.

He watches the male beside you with his spymaster’s eye. The one that’s kissed your cheek and has a hand caressing your back, when it should be him who’s doing that. It should be him who Wren is reaching out to.

“Daddy,” Wren smiles, and Azriel’s heart twists in his chest, splits down the center at the utter confidence in his son’s voice, claiming this male to be his father.

Malik is…handsome, Azriel supposes, in his own way.

Azriel studies him and finds that the male his son is calling his father looks quite similar to him. Dark hair shoved under a matching knit cap, thick lashes dusted with snow, fluttering over his piercing green eyes. Instead of lines around his mouth from centuries of frowning he has them by his eyes, like he’s the happiest male on the planet.

If he’s truly with (Y/N), he is.

“Would you mind giving us a minute, Malik?” you request gently, passing the babe over. The male gives you a soft smile that makes the fire in Azriel’s stomach grow. He watches Malik lean down to press a chaste kiss on your cheek, and Azriel doesn’t miss the way that you lean into it before flinching back, turning your guilty gaze on him like he’d just caught you cheating.

No, it had been the other way around, hadn’t it?

“Mommy?” Wren questions with a glance towards Azriel. He stretches his wings out behind him and Azriel’s eyes prick with emotion, seeing wings so little. 

Wren is already so much like his father, with his dark hair and pouty frown, gleaming eyes and controlled temper. But those tiny wings hurt you that much more.

A not so subtle reminder to Azriel of all of the flaws he passed down to his son. Never a babe with Elain, though. The children he used to imagine all had your eyes and smile, your calming aura and beautiful laugh. He’d never thought his son would be a spitting image of him, with his hair, his eyes, his nose, his wings.

“I’ll be right there baby,” you reassure, passing your cup of cocoa to Malik. Azriel watches the brush of your fingers against his and his throat clogs with emotion. The skin of his hand is flawless, smooth and stretching across muscle and bone, nothing like his, marred with callouses and scars.

“It was nice to meet you, Azriel,” Malik says in that low voice, one that Azriel would feel like is completely genuine if he weren’t kissing his (Y/N) and holding his son.

“Likewise,” he answers stiffly because he doesn’t want to upset you. He’d done enough of that.

Wren doesn’t say anything as they depart, keeping his big hazel eyes on Azriels. They widen slightly when his gaze brushes over his wings but he’s not as impressed as Azriel would’ve thought, and he doesn’t know why the response doesn’t sit well with him.

“I know you must have a lot of questions,” you begin when they’re out of earshot.

“I do.”

“And I know that,” you murmur, squeezing your eyes shut for a breath while you twist your fingers together. You’re nervous. Hadn’t planned on telling him ever, and now that he’s seen Wren up close there’s no denying it now.

Of course you’d thought this day might come, but now, every scenario you’d thought thorough in your head disappears.

“He doesn’t know,” Azriel states again because all of this seems like a dream gone rogue. He wonders if he’s somehow slipped into an unconscious state, a lucid dream perhaps, which didn’t seem unlikely because he hasn’t been sleeping lately.

“No,” you agree, “And I don’t want him to.”

His head snaps up, mouth parted in disbelief. He’s ready to argue, slipping so easily back into the way he was right before he’d ended things, emotional and utterly a wreck.

You speak before any words can escape, “Whatever it is you’re going to say, don’t. You have no say in my son's life. You gave that up when you gave me up.”

“I didn’t even know you were pregnant.”

“Would it have made a difference?”

Azriel stays silent.

Your voice is thick when you respond and he hates that he’s made you feel like this again. 

“Exactly.”

He doesn’t even know what to say. There are so many questions racing through his mind he doesn’t even know where to start so he just blurts out the first thought his tongue grabs onto.

“Who’s going to teach him to fly?”

“Rhys said that he would,” you answer, and the flicker of anger that cuts across his eyes tells you that he hadn’t been aware his brother knew he had a child. The muscle in his jaw ticks and his shadows sweep around his feet now, just like they always do when he’s upset. “He’s taking care of us.”

Azriel needs to calm down, he knows he does, but he feels completely blindsided by his own brother right now that he doesn’t know what to do. He’s torn between winnowing right up to the River House to give Rhys a piece of his mind or jumping up into the air to release all of the rage and sadness that’s consumed him tenfold.

He’s taking care of us.

Azriel should be the one taking care of you.

“He knows?” His voice is deathly calm and it sends shivers up your spine. 

It’s why Wren didn’t look impressed by his wings. Because he has seen Rhys’ before.

His shadows are whipping around erratically and Malik takes notice, questioning your safety with a single look.

You reassure you’re okay with a nod and he relaxes slightly, letting Wren to the ground when the little boy squirms in his grasp.

Azriel watches how the male places his hands on his son’s shoulders, holding him in place.

“I asked him not to tell you,” you admit wetly, “Begged him, really.”

He’s brewing.

“Don’t,” your voice is stern, not liking how he’s stewing. “Don’t you blame him. It was my choice.”

“And what about my choice?”

Your mouth goes slack, “Your choice in what?”

“This,” he roars because he can’t take it anymore. His shadows flare around him, a wall of darkness sweeping up from the ground to his shoulders.

Wren screams, pushing away from Malik and rushing over to where you’re facing off with Azriel. 

“Mommy!”

The utter terror in the little boys voice makes Azriel’s spine straighten and his stomach churn. 

Wren’s on him in an instant, little fists shoving and hitting his thighs. It shouldn’t have the slightest effect on him but it does. He’s defending his mother because some strange male has raised his voice at her.

Each point of contact is a stake to his heart. Azriel stands helplessly, watching the little boy go at him until you’re crouching down and pulling him away, Malik pressing behind you with his hands on your arms and a glare in Azriel’s direction.

You look up from where you’re hugging Wren tightly to your chest that’s throbbing painfully, heart racing from something akin to fear, something you’d never felt for Azriel before. There’s tears brimming in your eyes from the sight, from the conversation. He’d never raised his voice at you like this.

This male…you don’t even know who he is anymore.

Your voice shakes when you speak, “You don’t get a choice, Azriel. You lost that a long time ago and you know that.” Your eyes wash over him, up and down. He nearly melts, when venom laces your voice, despite the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “You made that choice.”

“(Y/N),” he reaches out to try and stop as you stand, lifting Wren into your arms again. You shrink away from him.

“I have to go,” you mutter, allowing Malik to usher you and your son away from the stewing Illyrian. You’d always been able to fight for yourself, even without the training. Malik surely knows that, but it still disgusts Azriel how he’s done nothing to defend you.

Azriel turns to look at the babe one last time. He’s stood frozen, head hung and snow falling into the back of his jacket like a fool, watching the love of his life walk away from him again, but this time, he’s the one who’s heartbroken.

#Azriel #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #azriel x you #azriel/you #part 2 #azsazz #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acotarxreader #dad!azriel #wren alternate timeline #dad!azriel au #daddyaz #azriel angst

[azsazz]

Dioxazine (Part 2)

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: After Rhys invites you to his party, you find yourself attending...for research.

Warnings: Drinking, smoking, smut.

Word Count: 4,993

(Part 1)

Notes: thank you, as always, to @writingsbychlo for the help 💙

And Happy Friday my loves!!

_________________________________________

You make a noise of frustration, leaning back into your chair and tossing your brush into the palette beside your canvas. It bounces once before the tip sticks in the thick oily violet color you’d been trying to perfect, while the wooden handle of the paintbrush rolls into the other various shades of violet you’d been trying to blend from memory.

None of them are right.

You’ll never admit it – least of all to Rhysand should you ever see him again – but he has the most intriguing eyes you’ve ever seen. Sure, you’ve seen pretty greens and blues and caramel browns, vast arrays of colorful iris’ throughout your life, but never that striking violet that Rhys has.

You cross your arms over your chest as you stare at the painting of his eyes you’ve been attempting since you’ve gotten home from your trip to the supply store where you’d met the cheeky man. You haven’t been able to get them off of your mind, so you did the only thing that would normally help you move on from something so interesting; paint it.

But the purple you mixed doesn’t look like lightning streaking across the night sky. What you’ve painted looks more like a bushel of grapes ready to be crushed and made into wine. It’s all off. You’ve used nearly the entire tube of the dioxazine color you’d bought trying to blend the perfect shade, but to no avail.

You bite your cheek, looking down at your arm. You’d scrubbed tirelessly at the thick black numbers Rhysand had scribbled on your skin in haste, but even if you hadn’t immediately plugged his number into your phone as soon as you set your bag of art supplies down, you have it memorized anyway. It had been the only way to get him away from you, although there was something about his incessant flirting and cheeky attitude that had you intrigued. And the fact that he’s drop dead gorgeous.

You can’t help but wonder what he and his friends were spray painting and where. Was it on the side of the commons building with their address and time for the party? Or maybe some random run down building off campus somewhere? Did he paint an admission of his fondness towards the girl he’d known for only a few minutes? He did say that he would paint something pretty for you.

Groaning, you throw your head in your hands. You should stop thinking about him. You don’t want to be, but there’s something about Rhys that you just can’t get out of your head. And it’s not only the color of his eyes.

Your arm has barely stopped tingling and your stomach has had butterflies running rampant since he’d grabbed your arm to write his number down. His hand was large and warm wrapped around your wrist, and it was calloused in all of the right places. His smirk had made your heart stutter in your chest and after seeing that silly tattoo you found yourself wanting to rid him of his shirt to admire the other ink you saw sprawling up his tan arms.

Rhys seems like the kind of guy who even has tattoos framing his–

“Fuck,” you breathe, reaching for your phone that’s playing music softly by your side. Your cheeks are hot with a blush and you’re thankful that no one’s around to see it. Paint smears on the screen as you try to unlock it, a vibrant purple that makes you want to cringe. It’s nowhere near the color you’re looking for, and you swipe your phone against your pants, quickly removing the paint and pulling open a new text thread before you lose your nerve.

It’s (Y/N). Where’s that party you were talking about earlier?

Simple. Straight to the point. You hit send.

There’s a fleeting thought that maybe you should delete it, but your phone is already buzzing with response.

Changed your mind already, (Y/N) Darling? That didn’t take long.

You huff, even though you’d been expecting something as much from Rhysand.

Changed my mind. Have a nice night. Try not to get the police called on you.

Awe, you’re worried about me?

Address? So I can be the one to call the police on you.

You can picture that smile curling his lips in a feline smirk. Maybe he’s even laughing. A good look for him, one that has you biting your lip and on the edge of your stool as you wait for a response. The three dots appear quickly as he shoots off his reply.

2054 Velaris Circle. I can assure you that no uninvited police will be there.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“I was beginning to think that you weren’t coming,” Rhys smirks, and gods, does he look amazing in that black t-shirt and jeans to match, leaning up against the doorframe like that. His arms are crossed over his chest, the pose accentuating his muscles.

You swallow, holding his gaze. His violet eyes are intense and the air around you is charged as he dares you to check him out.

You don’t give into the urge to drag your eyes down his body, instead taking in his handsome face. The wicked curve of his mouth and his sleek black hair is mused in the perfect way. You notice the stars in his eyes the longer you stare, and all of sudden you know that you’re no longer here just to memorize that color for your painting. 

You need to memorize all of him.

“I was deciding whether or not I wanted to actually show up,” you respond with a lie, shrugging as if you haven’t just come to this jarring realization.

Rhys doesn’t look like he believes you, so he says, “Well, I’m glad you could find the time to join me.”

Not join the party, not join us, but him.

“I have artists’ block and nothing better to do anyway, so here I am,” you offer lamely but he smiles nonetheless. 

He hums in a noncommittal way and shifts to the side, gesturing you into the house with a wave.

You duck inside and Rhys’ hand falls lightly to your back to usher you deeper into his home. You can feel his fingertips burning through the thin fabric of your shirt, heating your bones. The touch of him against you helps as you maneuver through the mass of drunken strangers, the music loud in your ears.

If you thought the outside was tremendous, the inside is even more so. It’s a large house, bigger than you would assume a struggling art student to be able to afford, even with multiple roommates. He must come from some sort of money or in fact be a very successful artist to call this extravagant, modern space his home.

The crowd parts around you as Rhys guides you through the foyer. Girls take you in with their hazy glares, assessing, while the boys clap Rhys on the shoulder with passing greetings, cheers, and dibs to be his partner in the next round of beer pong.

“Wow…you’re quite the social butterfly,” you comment as you pass by two boys who are handing out shots of amber liquid to passersby. Both of their copper hair stands out even under the low lighting, and you gasp, jumping backward as the younger one shoves a glass into your hand as the older one flicks his lighter, setting the liquid on fire with a brazen grin.

Rhysands warm hands find your hips as you startle, settling you as he continues forward to press up into your backside in protection. He sends a glare that you miss over your head towards the pyromaniacs that have somehow squirreled their way into another one of his parties.

“What the fuck?” you squeak, careful not to let any of the drink slosh over the sides of the glass.

“It’s alright, Darling,” Rhys’ deep tone sends shivers rumbling up your spine, drawing your attention away from the flaming drink in your hand. Your cheeks heat as your focus is pulled to the hard lines of his body pressed tightly against yours, his fingers pressing into your waist with confidence. You feel as though you’ve already taken the shot of alcohol.

Rhys reaches over your shoulder to take the drink from your hands. He keeps it held in front of you, as far away from your body as he can reach. Your hands fall to grasp the sides of his legs as he places a palm over the entirety of the glass, your breath hitching in your throat as he stifles its flame.

Your nails dig into the meat of his thighs through the thick denim and his breathing falters as he thinks about those nails all over his body, dragging across his tanned skin while you writhe and whimper beneath him. 

You feel his breathing deepen and his cock press into your hind. You bite your lip to stifle the noise of pleasure creeping up your throat.

You want this.

You want him.

Your entire façade you had walking into his party is gone, singed away from the sure way he’s holding you tightly to his body. You can feel every muscle as he moves, every breath he takes, his broad chest pushing you forward and the arm around your waist pulling you back, lulling you into him further. You’re a fucking goner.

Once the flame is smothered, he uses that hand to grab your chin, tilting your head back all the way until you meet his violet gaze.

His eyes are burning the color of the hottest flames, licking you up as he forces your jaw open, his thumb and middle fingers pinching your cheeks. It isn’t painful but his touch isn’t light and the feeling goes straight to your core, molten for him.

“Good girl,” he murmurs softly, focusing fully on you as he brings the shot to your mouth and dumps the liquid in. 

You choke a little as you force the cinnamon liquor down and the sound makes him bite his lip and his cock jump with need. You can’t help but arch against him a little, grinding into him as he thinks about what kinds of sounds you’d make if his cock was being shoved down your throat instead of just the fiery alcohol.

“Yo! Get a room,” a high pitched voice startles you. Rhys’ grip around your neck tightens in reflex but falls to your side when your attention is ripped apart to the girl passing by with a wicked grin on her cadmium red lips.

She’s gorgeous, clad in a skimpy dress and killer heels, her blonde hair bouncing around her in perfect waves as she approaches. You swallow your nervousness, beginning to shift away from Rhys because surely he’ll want her attention.

But Rhysand only scowls at the girl, his hand on your hip sliding across your waist to keep you pinned to his front. “You’re one to talk, Morrigan. I think Emerie is waiting in the guest room already.”

Her laugh is a song of its own and she doesn’t take the time to stop like you thought that she would, she only continues deeper into the party where the music gets louder and the air gets hotter. 

You raise your eyebrow at Rhys and he grins sheepishly. “That was my nosey cousin, Mor.”

You nod in understanding as he begins leading you through the room again with a final scowl over his shoulders at the two brothers with matching shit-eating grins covering their freckled lined faces. 

When the crowd parts and you finally catch sight of where Rhys is taking you and you halt in your tracks.

There’s a table of sorts set up, a few ring lights brightening up the space in the corner of the room. You recognize the two boys. There’s a gloriously tanned man laying on the table, shirtless with the waistband of his pants tugged down to expose his hips. He’s grinning down at something that the artist mutters. His toned body is littered with tattoos like Rhys’, though you can’t make them out from where you’re standing. He huffs a laugh when the dark haired boy with the tattoo gun in his hand pauses and glares up at him, settling flat on his back from where he’d been curled up, trying to get a look at the progress of his new tattoo.

The artist looks similar as he hunches over the other man’s waist once more. Broad shoulders beneath a starkly onyx shirt. The fringe of his hair hangs between the two men, looking silky soft in the harsh lights. He’s concentrating hard, attentive golden eyes and steady hands covered with sterile gloves. More permanent art across his body, you notice a tattoo of a falling angel on his bicep. Whatever it’s reaching up towards disappears beneath the sleeve of his shirt.

Your stomach rolls with nervousness. Surely Rhys hadn’t been serious when he’d mentioned you getting a tattoo of his phone number outside of the art shop.

You rub your hand over the mark he’d left subconsciously. 

“Isn’t that illegal?” you blurt, grimacing as you stare at the man as he pauses to wipe stray ink away from the other man’s cut hips.

“Having fun? No.”

You tear your gaze away from the sight to glare up at him.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Rhys’ laughter rings above the heavy bass of the music and his hand presses more firmly against your back, urging you forward. Your spine tightens pleasurably at the pressure. 

“Loosen up. What does it matter, if it’s consensual?”

You suppose he has a point. The area looks clean enough and the boy giving the tattoos looks as professional as any, but you will not be hopping up on that table tonight.

Not that you can’t be convinced.

“They’re my roommates,” Rhys explains as he ushers you by. The one lying on the table gives Rhys a shit eating grin. He looks like he’s about to say something but the other boy mutters a threat that you can’t hear over the loud bass of the music, but the way the other scoffs and deflates tells you enough.

You nod in response, and he continues, leaning down so you can hear him better. His breath is hot against your skin and it causes shivers to prickle up your spine, your fingers twisting together with nervousness as he leads you towards the hall. “The one on the table is Cassian, and the one giving him that awful tattoo I told him not to get is Azriel.”

That catches your interest. “Awful tattoo?” you ask, following Rhys as he shoves his way into a room you can only assume is his own. “What is he getting?”

The lights cut on, dim so that you can see but it doesn’t ruin the mood. Rhys slips the door shut and there’s a click of the lock that's drowned out by the party outside. You find yourself not caring what tattoo Cassian is getting as you take in the sight of his large room. It’s something out of a dream, sleek and pristine and attuned to Rhysand very aesthetically. There’s stacks of art history books littering his large desk on one side, his sleek laptop shut on top, and the other side is filled with a mess of charcoals, pencils, and paper from the art shop.

You wonder what he’s drawing over there.

Rhys tuts disapprovingly, “You do not want to know, Darling.”

You can’t help but grin at him as he comes up behind where you’re standing to wrap himself around you. It’s nice, more than, and while you swore you were only coming here to peek at his eyes again to reference in your painting, you find yourself wanting to get him out of his clothes, see all of him, so your work of just his eyes can turn into a full body picture.

“Oh, but now I really do want to know,” you giggle, latching onto his forearm where it’s splayed across your shoulders. You turn in his arms and Rhys lets you lead him backwards towards the bed as you guess. “Is it leaves or wings? Or, don’t tell me! It’s totally someone's name, right? He seems like the type.”

Rhysand dips his head down to press against yours. Your breath hitches at his close proximity and your cheeky thoughts wander into something more serious, your grip tightening on him as the backs of his legs hit the bed.

“Oh, Darling,” he breathes, nipping at your lip. It’s quick and playful and you find yourself wanting to chase him for more. “It’s so much worse than that. I told him not to get it.”

Rhys’ grip tightens around your waist as he falls backwards and you land on top of his rock hard chest with a squeal. Your hips are tucked tightly to his and when you move to settle more properly, he grunts at you.

You can’t help yourself, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from his forehead as you respond, “Yeah? Worse than a drugged-out Mickey Mouse?”

He grins and your heart stutters. That is something you’ll have no trouble painting later because it is forever etched into your mind now.

Rhys pokes your sides and you squirm against him in retaliation. He chokes on his laugh and those violet eyes darken with lust at your movements. You can feel just how much you’re affecting him.

“He’s getting ‘in case I forget later: thank you’ tattooed across his hips, Darling.”

Your mouth falls open in shock before you’re bursting out into uncontrollable laughter. You can’t help yourself and Mother help the poor girls who see it, but that is a heinous crime and Rhysand doesn’t even look like he’s joking.

“Please tell me that’s not true,” you ask when you calm down a little, cheeks burning from your smile. You quite like the way that Rhysand’s dioxazine eyes shine at you.

He shrugs under you, “Said he wanted to match with me.”

“Stop.”

He lifts a brow, daring. “Why don’t you take a look for yourself?”

And with those words the silliness eddies from your body. Instead, it’s replaced with a charged sort of silence, his breathing deepening as your pupils dilate for him. His hands around your hips move slowly, warm palms curving over the round of your ass before pulling your hips tighter into him. You gasp, circling them a little, reveling in the hardness pressed up against you and his guttural groan.

When you move to slide down his body he licks his lips, carefully watching your fingers fumble with the button of his pants. You keep your eyes off of his cock where it’s straining against the fabric, but your mouth waters a little knowing that he’s as ready for this as you are. You wonder if he’s spent all day thinking about you like you have him, and you fight the urge to go flip through those drawings on his desk to see if he’s been sketching you too. 

You’re eager, shoving his shirt up his chest to reveal the deep cut of his hip bones, tanned and not an ounce of ink in sight.

You purse your lips, glaring up at him playfully. 

“You lied to me.”

His stare is hungry, the sight of you before his cock makes him ache more, and that pout…he hopes he lasts.

“Maybe someday, Darling,” his voice is raspy with desire that makes your cunt clench. Until that day, you’ll leave your own marks on his hips.

You act on the urge, leaning closer to lick and nip at the smooth skin. Your eyes don’t leave his and you swear he shudders as you suck as many marks into the area as you can. When you shift to lap at the other side you let your breasts drag across the bulge in his pants, nipples tightening at the feeling. 

Rhys’ head falls back on his shoulders as he releases a shaky exhale, “Darling.”

You ignore him in favor of tugging at the waistband of his briefs, aching to see that picturesque cock and add it to the painting you’re building in your mind. 

He gets the hint quickly, grabbing your arms and pulling you up his body for a burning kiss.

Before you even have a chance to sink into it he’s rolling you off of him. A protest pushes at your lips but he’s lifting himself to pull at the jeans you’ve already started getting off, and you’re frozen at the sight as his bottoms hit the floor and his cock springs up, thick and hard and perfect in every way. You swallow at the sight of it.

Your heart races in your chest as he climbs back onto the bed, wasting no time in helping you with your own clothes, attaching himself to your lips as his hands begin to wander everywhere. Yours slip into his silky hair and you moan into the kiss, shuddering as the cool air of his room coats your naked body until his warm one is pressing harshly against yours, his filled cock sliding through the folds of your slick cunt.

There is no foreplay. You don’t need it with how wet you are, how eager for him you are. The both of you touch and tug at each other desperately, like you haven’t thought of anything else all day except for this moment, and neither of you are willing to waste it. With the way that he’s kissing you, fingers sliding across your body to shift you into the positions he wants, you know that there will be more time for you to explore later.

You are the perfect canvas for his kisses, reacting beautifully to his every move.

The party is still in its height, music thrumming so loudly that the walls shake with it. You don’t care though, all caught up in Rhysand.

The pounding of the base fizzles out as his cock slides in, in, into your hot cunt, swallowing the length like the good girl he knows you are. You whimper with pleasure. It’s almost too much, how big he is, how warm he is, it feels like you can feel him in your throat.

“Fuck, Darling. Just like I’d imagined it’d be.”

You arch at his words. You’re pressed so tightly together you think his tattoos might rub off on you. The thought makes you shiver. You’d love to be marked by him in a way that will last longer than the bruises his fingertips and lips are leaving.

You feel like sliding out from under him and onto that leather table set up in the other room, requesting a tattoo from the quiet man giving them. Or just have him come in here and do it while you’re sitting on Rhysands cock.

“Hey, where’d you go?” Rhys whispers against your lips, drawing you away from your wandering thoughts. A soft kiss, a tease, and then another.

You surge up from the pillow and kiss him when he pulls away. Your fingers twist into his hair to hold him against you and in return his hips cant downwards into your own. He moans into your mouth. He tastes amazing and the heat of his lips against yours goes straight to your core. The swirl of his tongue is one you hope he’ll recreate against your clit later.

“If you could give me a tattoo, what would you give me?” you ask breathlessly, desperately as he impales you with his cock, nails scraping down his back as he pushes into you even further. His large hands hold your waist and when you arch your spine in pleasure his eyes glow.

He stares down at you for a moment, violet gaze drinking in the swell of your lips, the mess your hair has become as he ruts into you. Your beauty is everlasting, and your words drive him deeper into you with a feral groan. His words slip from his mouth in pleasure, “My name.”

You can’t help the loud, erotic moan that escapes at his admission.

“Fuck. Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Rhys growls, pressing his body flush against yours to pin you to the bed. He likes the feel of you under him, writhing against his chest with his cock shoved deep into your soaking wet cunt. He sucks a lewd kiss to the underside of your jaw, making his way towards your ear.

The pendant of his necklace is like ice against your hot skin and you whimper in pleasure at the feeling, praying that the medallion will be indented into your skin from how tightly the two of you are molded together.

His voice is low, breath hot as he hums, “Want to have my name on you, yeah? Right where everyone can see, pretty girl?” His calloused fingers trail up your sides, stopping at your breasts to play with them. He circles your nipple with his finger, cock twitching at the thought of you branded with his name across your skin. “Or would you want it somewhere else? A secret for just you and me?”

You can’t help it, chest heaving against his. His words are incredibly erotic, and they drive you towards your edge, eyes rolling back into your skull at the thought. Rhys hisses with satisfaction when your cunt clenches around him in response.

He has such a sinful way with his lips, nipping and biting and kissing in all of the right spots. You feel like a Goddess being worshiped by her loyal acolyte. The wetness of his mouth leaves a trail of pleasure down your skin, the cold air of his room licking at it in the best way.

Rhysand teases your breasts as he fucks into you, massaging one with a warm hand and the other with his mouth, rolling your nipple between his teeth and brushing his tongue over it. You pull at his hair and a hiss escapes your lips at the sting.

Your touch scalds him in the best way and he can’t help but to buck into you as your nails scape down his tanned skin again, pleading for everything he can give you.

He will give you it all.

Rhys takes extra care of you, reveling in the sounds you’re making for him. He doesn’t care that he’s hosting a party outside of this door, doesn’t care if someone comes near enough to hear your desperate pleas for him to go faster, to continue rubbing his fingers against your clit, to let you ride him. He almost wants someone to hear how he’s making you feel, making you scream.

Finally, his hand trails down to where his hips are jackknifing into your cunt at a steady pace. He leans back, staring down at where your bodies meet, your glistening cunt in the light washing into the room from the dimmed lights. He licks his lips, vowing to taste you after this.

His light touch makes you gasp and buck up, fingers treading softly over your clit, drawing you closer and closer to the edge of your orgasm, that hot feeling coiling in your gut.

Rhysand’s thumb presses hot against your clit as his cock buries into you so deeply you see stars for a moment. You clench your legs together instinctively but he’s already there, keeping them spread wide with his own thick thighs as he quickens his pace.

“Rhys,” you cry, hands fisting into the sheets as he works you towards your pleasure, “Please. Please!”

“Please what?” he grunts. He can’t look away from your perfect cunt, the way it swallows his cock up, taking him so greedily. “C’mon, Darling, gotta use your words.”

You press your head back into the pillow, mouth slack in ecstasy. The sight makes his cock twitch, makes him want to shove it right between your perfectly ‘o’ shaped lips, feel the tightness of your throat wrapped around him as he cums.

“Please, don’t stop,” you choke, letting yourself fall into utter bliss.

Rhys doesn’t stop. He keeps working you through your orgasm until he’s cumming right there with you, hot and pulsing into your throbbing cunt.

He collapses next to you, pulling you in tightly to his chest as if you’re already too far apart from him. Rhys presses his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed tightly shut. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, panting across your cheeks with every exhale he takes.

“Rhys?” you ask when you’ve settled into your afterglow, his fingers playing with your hair mindlessly.

He hasn’t let you go since, hardly long enough for him to clean you up and let you use the restroom, and then you were climbing right back into his soft bed, nestling into his warm embrace.

He hums languidly, utterly at peace with you here, even though the party is still in full effect outside. There’s muffled cheering about a keg stand and wolfish laughter rattles the house but even then, it feels like it’s just you and him alone in your own little world. “What?”

“What did you tag on the building earlier?” Your eyes slip shut and the question comes out shy.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, cheeks, and finally a slow kiss to your mouth, his tongue coaxing you deeper into his arms.

“I tagged it with a violet rose.”

“A violet rose? Why’s that?”

He’s silent for so long that you think maybe he’s fallen asleep, cracking one eye open to see, but he’s staring down at you with soft eyes and red cheeks. He swallows harshly and for a moment you’re afraid that he’s not going to explain, that you’ll have to look it up after he falls asleep.

“Darling, a violet rose represents love at first sight.”

#rhysand #rhysand x reader #rhysand/reader #rhys/reader #rhys x reader #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acotarxreader #modern!rhys #modern!rhysand #azsazz #art school au

[azsazz]

Round and Round

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Surprise! I literally busted this out so fast because I was obsessed with the idea of Feyre asking the drunk Inner Circle about who's slept with who.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1,605

Notes: Yes, this idea came from Friends, I'm not ashamed to admit it.

_________________________________________

Cassian dumps the last of the wine into your cup, setting the empty bottle amongst the others on the low table between the two couches you and the rest of the Inner Circle are lounging on.

“We’re going to need more wine,” he sighs, slumping back into the couch with his own glass clutched tightly to his chest.

It’s a relaxing night in with all of your friends, a fancy dinner in which you didn’t talk about battles or what was going on in the other courts, just easy chatter and poking fun at one another as the drinks flowed until one of you made way for the large cozy sofas in the other room.

Now you and your friends were five bottles of Rhys’ best wine deep and feeling pretty good.

Each glass you had had you melting even further into your mates side. Even Azriel was letting loose tonight, eyes slightly glassy as he nipped at the shell of your ear suggestively.

Relaxing, until Feyre speaks, head lulling onto Rhys’ chest.

“So, I want to know who in this Inner Circle has slept with who.”

She puffs a laugh as everyone averts their gazes immediately, the lot of you looking guilty as fuck.

“What do you mean?” Azriel’s the most sober so he tries to deflect, “I can speak for everyone when I say that no one has slept with each other.”

“You know, Azriel, I would believe you, but with the way Cassian’s cheeks are redder than his siphons right now, I think we all know that’s not true.”

Indeed, Cassian is failing to hide his shit eating grin behind his glass, trying his best to choke back his laughter but fails miserably when he sees the warning look Rhys sends his way.

“So, who is it?” Feyre asks, leaning forward out of Rhys’ arms, completely intrigued with the dynamics between her friends. “I know about Cassian and Mor, obviously.” 

“Obviously,” the warlord winks at Rhys’ cousin, who was nearly half asleep in her spot next to the High Lord and Lady. She seems to have perked up now that the conversation has turned to something more interesting.

“Come on,” Feyre whines, “I know somethings gone on here and I won’t let anyone rest until I find out! Amren? Have you done anything with anyone here?”

“No.”

You want to snort at your High Lady questioning Amren of all people. You’re about to say so but Mor’s mouth drops open in shock when she catches the way Azriel’s hazel eyes dart to Amrens, then back to his cup, swirling the liquid casually around.

“You and Azriel?” she shouts, sitting stock straight in her seat. The grin on her red painted lips is wolfish as she turns to the culprit who is glaring at her through her sharp bob, “Spill, now!”

It seems that everyone is just as surprised and just as interested as she is, waiting eagerly for one of them to confess.

Rhys’ second in command shrugs a little, staring you all in the eyes before she answers, warning each of you not to ask further questions. She relents, “It was only a kiss.”

“What?” Rhy’s is clearly offended, brows furrowed as he stares at Amren, “You rejected me but you kissed him?!”

Her answering grin sends shivers up your spine. 

“I wanted to taste his blood.”

Your mouth drops open in complete shock at the admission, turning towards your mate to whisper, “Did you let her?” Are you into that?

Azriel’s cheeks tinge the pink and he presses his forehead and nose against the side of your head in a nuzzle, trying to hide himself from the curious eyes of his friends, “Please don’t make me answer that.”

“You totally did,” Mor exclaims, failing to bite back her smile.

You could imagine Azriel doing something like that, but you fail to imagine the way it had come about, the events that had led up to that. By the stare Amren gives to anyone that looks at her, she won’t be answering any questions about it.

“Wait,” Cassian cuts in, pointing between the two females on the couch across from him. His forest green eyes are filled with a lethal amount of amusement. “Didn’t Mor and Amren have sex?”

You nearly spit out your wine, choking on it at his accusation. Azriel takes your glass from you, patting your back gently like the loving male he is.

It won’t stop you from prying for more information about his kiss with the tiny creature later.

“No.”

“There was no time in which that happened, Cassian,” the two females answer simultaneously.

He lets out a hearty laugh, sipping on his drink as he leans back, arms crossed comfortably over his chest as he kicks his feet up on the table.

“Well, let’s say there was. How might that go?”

You slap him playfully on the arm, grinning along with your friend’s antics.

“You want to laugh (Y/N)?” Mor asks and the smile slides from your face. You shoot her a glare but she ignores it, continuing on with an evil smirk. “What about you and Rhys, huh? Who’s laughing now?”

“Oh my Gods,” you breathe, shrinking down in your seat.

Azriel stiffens in his, even though he had known about the time you and Rhysand had slept together. It was a long time before you and Azriel had even thought about each other as more than friends and something you’d beat yourself up over for years afterwards. Feyre can’t stop looking between you and her mate, mouth parted with a shocked smile.

You really hate this game.

Thankfully, Cassian comes to your rescue before Feyre can ask any more burning questions. He nudges your shoulder and winks down at you when you meet his gaze, “Want to make that three out of three, (Y/N)? I can show you a good time, I promise.”

You don’t even have to reply because the low growl Azriel emits is answer enough. His wings twitch behind him in warning, the urge to protect what’s his, even from his cheeky brother. Nostrils flaring with irritation the shadowsinger nearly chokes on the sweet smell wafting off of you as you picture it for a fleeting moment. He knows that scent all too well, eyes darkening.

“Thank you for that, Mor,” you reply flatly.

She licks her bright white teeth, “Oh come on (Y/N), you know we have fun together.”

Azriel’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head as the entire Inner Circle falls silent.

You can feel his questioning stare burning into the side of your head but you can’t stop glaring at the blonde on the couch opposite from you.

“That was supposed to be a secret,” you grit, but you can’t be too terribly angry because you know Mor, and this particular story was never going to stay a secret.

“What, what,” Cassian whines, bouncing his feet up and down on the floor like an eager child. He’s positively giddy to hear of this. “What was supposed to stay a secret?!”

Mor raises an eyebrow at you and you wave at her dismissively. You know she’ll add all of the pazazz to the tale.

“We might’ve…” she trails off, slowly looking you up and down as she reminisces about that night. You shift in your spot as she pins you with her rich brown eyes. “Fooled around a bit. With Helion.”

Azriel curses so softly you don’t even hear him, but the caress to the back of your neck from a lingering shadow tells you all you need to know.

“Care to reenact?” Cassian asks, not so subtly pulling a pillow into his lap. He licks his parted lips, glossy eyes staring between you and Rhys’ cousin.

You groan, head falling backwards onto Azriel’s shoulder. You take his full wine glass and gulp down the hearty liquid.

“Getting a little bothered there, Cass?” Mor grins, “Going to have to take a trip down to the brothel after this?”

Her joke breaks the tension a little, everyone laughing at Cassian’s expense now. He pouts and you feel bad for the warlord as something akin to loneliness flashes in his bright eyes.

Unless we invite him to bed, you mind supplies.

You cock your head a little, admiring the male’s stature. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it before, inviting him into your and Azriel’s bed.

Speaking of, Azriel notes the way your fingers tighten slightly on his and the two of you exchange a heated look.

“At least then I’d be getting some,” Cassian bites back at Mor, sneering a little.

She only laughs, “Who says I’m not getting any?”

You know that she definitely is.

“Whatever,” Cassian mutters, toeing at the carpet.

“Yeah, you’re not calling again on Azriel tonight?” her blood red lips curve up into an absolutely devious smile as you sit stock straight, staring open-mouthed at your mate.

Az is quick to intervene, nearly jumping out of his seat to defend himself.

“It was one kiss, no tongue, and we were drunk!”

“So that means you didn’t enjoy it, then?” Cassian scoffs, utterly shocked. Azriel’s fingers clench into a fist, shaking his hand in the air and biting his lip as he releases a practiced breath, unable to find the words to respond.

Well that settles that, then.

Feyre is the definition of amused, grinning wildly at the chaos she’s created. Her gray eyes are glowing and her cheeks ache from smiling so hard.

“I want to know what actually goes on in that birchin every year.”

#azrielxreader #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #azriel/you #inner circle #Shenanigans #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acotarxreader #azsazz #friends x acotar #azriel

[azsazz]

Nightlight

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon Requests: "So I’ve had this idea stuck in my head for like a month now but an Az fic where the reader is the youngest of the autumn court high family and like Lucien, Hellion is her father, but unlike Lucien she bears obvious resemblance (she has red hair like her mother but has these golden markings or something that shows off the day court in her). So Beron had her locked in the dungeons since she was a child for centuries like no one even know the Vanserras have a sister. After years of isolation she becomes a shadowsinger as well. I’ve tried to write this like 4 times now but I’m just not a writer the best I can do is summaries like this 😭😭" and "Daughter of Beron escapes to night court fic?"

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,772

Notes: Lucky for you my dear anon, I do dabble with writing 😂😅

Posting this today because I want to post the next part of Cupid's Chokehold on Thursday 💙

_________________________________________

On the day you were born, the sun was not shining.

Thunder rumbles throughout the Autumn Court, shaking even the sturdiest of trees that have been growing across the lands since even before Beron ruled. The Woodland House shakes in the aftermath, lightning crackling across the sky, brightening the halls he paces, the deep velvety greens of the walls more menacing than they normally are. The High Lord swears he can see the glow of a forest fire in the distance.

It had been the driest summer in Autumn Court history, and Beron could feel a magic rivaling his own throughout the arid season. The sun shone brighter by the day, hotter than it had ever been, sucking the life from the normally colorful leaves, crisp and drained, browns and dull reds instead of the vivacious crimsons and creamy oranges he was used to.

Not even the winds of Autumn were the same, usually a breathy kiss of cool air, whispers of the forest breezing throughout the towns, had been tampered with. No longer did Beron feel the familiar ruffle of the fresh winds through his flaming hair, no, it seemed as if his court had stopped feeling the supple breeze at all, the air becoming stuffy with the lack of movement, like all of a sudden his lands wanted to feel the burning heat of the day.

It was as if the sun and moon were fighting, her beautiful shining face longing to meet her partner in the sky, staying out longer each day that passed as if they might meet high above the Autumn Court and kiss.

The moon did not make an appearance.

He’d be lying if he said that he wasn't put off by it. Never in his centuries of life had he experienced anything like this, and he’d holed himself up in his private library for weeks scouring the books for any sign of what was happening.

Beron hadn’t uttered a word to his trusted advisors, whom he urged to keep from asking questions with a red-hot stare. They shrank from his gaze and did as their Lord instructed, trying to do what they could to save the crops, keep the lush trees from drying out, and help the citizens who’d been harmed from the heat.

The Lord did not even tell his wife of what was going on. His relationship with Amaretto had been strained for decades, ever since the birth of Lucien, the child that looked nothing like him.

Such a disgrace, to him, to his court, this child was. The hatred had consumed him, fury burning hot beneath his skin. Even his brothers had questioned why their youngest brother did not look right. He didn’t don the pale, creamy skin he and his wife shared, and the orange of his hair was not that of a flame, but of the sun.

It had taken time for him to even think of having another child that Amaretto begged him for. Beron was incredibly hurt by the actions of his wife that he’d barely been able to sleep in the same room as her, often finding himself drifting off at his desk or one of the many other rooms within the palace, a bottle clutched in his grasp. He had not been the best husband, but he was better than that filth from the Day Court. If he hadn’t been so trained in burying his feelings he’d have burned out by now, but still he ruled. 

Although Amaretto had borne a child that was not his he would raise it, keep both his wife and the child as close as he could. But every time he looked at the boy all he could see was the gleaming golden eyes of the cocksure male of Day, the one who paraded around without a care in the world. Beron knew that the Lord didn’t know, and he’d be saving that information for when it was dire, when he needed to bargain with the stupid Lord he deemed below him in every way.

Eventually he’d given in to her pleas, as her beauty was far too persuasive to keep himself at bay. Amaretto had thought that the introduction of another child would mend the rift between them. Beron didn’t deign to tell her that it could never be fixed.

He paces outside of the birthing room, up and down the long corridor, bright with burning faelights lighting his way as the storm rages outside of the palace.

He can see it from where he stands, the usually airy and open hallways of the High Lord’s palace now black with rolling clouds, lightning striking mere meters from his home, hot and white across the sky. The rain pelters the shields protecting the Woodland House, normally never in use as the heavens hadn’t shed a singular drop all summer.

His first daughter. Beron could hardly believe he was so lucky to finally be having a girl. Seven sons over centuries of years, each one more ungrateful than the last. You were an omen. The first female of the Vanserra lineage and you were bringing the rains the lands so desperately cried for after the cruel summer they’d experienced.

You are going to be the Autumn Court’s salvation.

The High Lord has been muttering the same prayer for the past twenty hours, and each time he finishes he starts anew, glancing outside to see if the storm had let up. As if his breathy pleas to the Mother would force the dreary weather away from his doorstep.

He’d gone through this seven times and still his heart raced, ached for his wife. He had no idea how she did it, but he worshiped the ground she stood for doing so, for giving him a brood of potential sons that he could pass his crown to.

Beron releases a breath that sounds awfully like a sob as he hears your wail from behind the thick oak door. He braces himself against the wall as his body slackens with relief at the sound. For a heartbeat it doesn’t matter that there’s a storm raging outside, only that you’ve entered this glorious world.

The door creaks open and he stands tall, a midwife scurrying straight for him.

“My apologies, High Lord,” she curtsies. The nursemaid is a mousy little thing, wringing a towelette between her nimble fingers. Her skin is ashen and sweat lines her upper lip, rich chocolate eyes darting frantically around the hall, her nerves getting the best of her. Her voice trembles and Beron thinks something has gone wrong with his daughter's birth.

“What is it? Is my wife alright? My daughter?” he asks frantically, stomach dropping to the chestnut wood below. He doesn’t know what he’d do without his wife by his side, how he could possibly take care of a daughter all on his own. His heart slams in his chest, eyes darting to the open door.

“They are both alright,” she assures him, cheeks glowing red from having set him worrying for no good reason, “Both alive and well.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, releasing a breath he was unaware he was holding. “Thank the Mother.”

“Very good news, Sir,” the nursemaid agrees, and he’s not sure why but she has a spooked look on her face, wringing her towel between her hands anxiously.

The baby cries out again and she jumps, worried eyes flitting to the door.

“May I see them?” He asks, although he doesn’t need the permission, it’s his turn for nerves. The thought of seeing his beautiful Amaretto and daughter, half-his, his heart flutters at the thought.

There’s something about how the nursemaid is acting that’s off-putting, but no more so than the storm raging outside of the palace walls. Usually, when royal babes are born in the Autumn Court it is a joyous occasion, everyone involved, basking in the lifted spirits of the Higher Lords and Ladies.

She gives a slight nod, bowing her head. Her hands are shaking as she pushes open the door and he stops at the sight of his wife, a tiny little thing bundled up in her arms. She’s as beautiful as the day he met her, even if her hair is drenched with sweat, exhaustion pulling at her bright eyes. She startles slightly, sending a look to the nursemaid that has her spinning on her heel, fluffing the blankets in the bassinet built for the babe.

“Come closer, my love,” Amaretto urges, a smile so small that it has that male hesitating. “It’s time to meet your daughter.”

Beron makes his way closer, steps slow and calculated, sensing that something is not quite right. Each inch towards them he’s preparing himself, clearing his mind, breathing even until–

Beron freezes in his spot as he stares down at you, heart screeching to a halt in his chest. The babe looks everything like her mother, nose, pink lips, but then she yawns and her beautiful eyes flutter open–

They’re not like hers. Or his. 

His mate clutches the babe closer to her chest at the sight. Tears burn his eyes as he stares down at his child and it all begins to make sense, the dry summer, the burning sun, the brightness of your gaze, gold gleaming in your eyes.

You are not his daughter, but a child of Day.

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

Ever since you could remember your father had not been a nice man.

You had chalked it up to being a female. You weren’t different from your brothers in any aspect other than that. You had the same pale skin as them, the same ruddy red eyes as Eris, a smattering of freckles like Pyrolas, and the same shining auburn hair like Lucien’s.

Yet you were treated like you did not matter. You hardly saw your father for things other than awkward family dinners and the occasional times he’d stop by your training, assessing how you were developing in weaponry and hand-to-hand.

He cared little of your studies, reading to your heart's content long after the faelights had been turned out, huddled up under the thick blankets, a soft glow you emitted from your chest the only light.

It was unlike Oak’s powers over flame, how he could conjure a lick of fire with a single snap of his fingers, or how Conleth could grow the raging infernos in the hearths when his temper struck. You could do both of those things, or would be able to with a little more training, but you could do other things, things that you’d never seen them do.

Along with flame, you could omit a glow, only faint enough for menial tasks like reading late at night or lighting your path to the restroom in the early hours of the morning when not even the sun had awakened. Useless perhaps, but it always puts a smile on your face. It was your little secret.

Beron stands at the entrance to the training ring, hands clasped behind his back, watching you closely as you work with the instructor, your first time using a steel blade in your training. You were good, he could admit that as he watched you block and parry from the blow your teacher had sent your way. You’d be able to compete with your brothers soon enough.

You’d been studying, not only by practicing when you were unable to sleep, but from the books in the library that Lucien had told you about. You drank in the knowledge the pages had to offer, learning everything that you could and implementing it in your strategy. Even your instructor was thoroughly impressed.

And you catch that gleam in his eyes, so distracted by it that you miss the next block, the cold metal of the trainer's blade slicing cleanly across the skin of your arm.

You gasp, nearly dropping your own weapon in favor of clutching the wound to your chest.

Your heart jumps as you stare down at the wound and Beron’s eyes go cold at the sight.

He stalks from his spot, snatching your arm to get a better look. You yelp as his harsh grasp tugs at the slowly closing wound, glinting in the daylight.

You’re just as confused as he is. There should be red blood dripping from the wound, but instead it’s golden, catching the rays of the sun and cuddling them close. You can feel the warmth as it leaks across your skin, looking like molten gold itself.

It’s then that Beron realizes that the omen wasn’t that you’d save his court, but that you’d burn it to the ground.

“Dad?” you whimper as his hold flexes and his eyes darken, and though he’s been convincing himself of his hatred for you for fifteen years his heart still burns in his chest. The auburn eyes of his own that he’s glamoured on you since he saw you for the first time are wide, scared, your pale skin marred with injury. It wouldn’t be the last time either.

But his gaze is harsh, unrelenting as he stares at the wound. The honeyed blood only proves what he’d known since he first laid eyes on you. 

You are far more dangerous to his court than he could’ve imagined.

Beron meets the eyes of the trainer, a friend for many years, the one to train all of his sons and now you, staring between you and the hurt, brows pulled taut in confusion.

The High Lord grimaces, taking the sword from you gently, and in a swift move he shoves it up into the trainer's head from the swell of his throat, steel sticking out the crown, his eyes rolling back as he falls limp at the both of your feet.

Your blood curdling scream scares the ravens away, Beron’s grip tightening on your arm as you try to prize his fingers off of you.

It is the second fae of his court he has slain because of you. The first, the nursemaid that had birthed you, slaughtering her before she could gossip to the other healers about the Day born female in his court. He’d snapped her neck in a sudden movement, and Amaretto had clutched you tighter to her chest as the sound of cracking bone woke you, her rich brown eyes terrified of her husband as he neared.

But he simply waved a hand and your teary golden eyes had changed to a replica of his own. If he had to deal with his wife bearing another of Helion’s miscreant children in his court, she would deal with the fact that every time she looked at you, she was staring at him.

The High Lord of Autumn had left the both of you with a last sad look.

Tears stream down your face, you couldn’t stop staring at your instructor, laying limp at your feet with a sword embedded into his skull. Why would your father do such a terrible thing? 

Beron swipes the gleaming blood from your arm. The wound has healed but left in its wake is a sliver of a golden scar.

If anyone saw it they would know immediately, and he couldn’t have that.

He personally dragged you to the chambers beneath the house himself, hardly struggling as you put up a fight, thrashing and screaming until he’d lit a fire inside of your throat, the burning so intense you could hardly breathe. 

You gasped for air as he threw you into a chamber at the bottom of the stairs. It smelled of burnt flesh and it was damp, the dirt floors moist and clinging to your fighting clothes, your exposed skin.

You scramble to your feet, lunging as the iron doors clang shut. You reach between the bars, sobs silent as you couldn’t make a noise, the metal biting into your skin. There was no light down here and you already felt suffocated, not from the stifling flames clawing at your esophagus, but because you couldn’t see or feel the sun. 

You swear for just a moment that you spot regret in his gaze, stepping away from your reach. He doesn’t have to do this, if he would just explain what was going on maybe you could–

Beron’s mask falls into place again and the glaring look he gives you is so cold that it makes you shrink away from the iron bars.

He spits at your feet, muttering something in a language you hadn’t learned yet before he spins on his heel, leaving you all alone in the foxholes of the Woodland House.

#azrielxreader #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel/you #azriel/reader #azsazz #acotar #acowar #acomaf #acotarxreader #azriel #vanserra!sister

[azsazz]

Pack Mentality

Azriel x Cassian x Rhysand x Reader

Summary: As requested by a few different anons...You're in heat and it's so insufferable that all three bat boys see you through it.

Warnings: SMUT!!! 🥵 Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics.

Word Count: 5,351

Notes: Um...so this might have gotten a little out of hand.

_________________________________________

You’re not entirely sure how you got to this point, Rhysand fucking deep into you while Azriel and Cassian watch, cocks stiff in their own hands.

Only that you do, and you’ve never been more thankful for a heat in your entire life.

Through the writhing and whining haze of your heat, desperately needing an alpha to knot you, the three Illyrians you’d been friends with for so long had debated over who was going to help see you through your heat. Their brotherly bickering was taking too long and you were too distraught, your hormones going crazy, that you’d suggested all three of them take care of you.

Suggested was a light term, begging was more correct.

Cassian shoves into Rhysands shoulder roughly, jolting the future High Lord from your soaking cunt before his knot locks the two of you together. Jealous prick. The violet eyed male shoots the warlord a look that makes you shudder with arousal as he hisses, snapping at the warlord's shoulder with sharp teeth but Cassian doesn’t even spare him a glance, utterly consumed by pushing his neglected cock into your dripping hole. Rhys grips the tip of his own prick as his knot fully forms, gasping and curling in on himself, muscles pulled taut.

You give the Night Court heir a gentle caress to his forearm with a choked moan as Cassian’s hips meet yours. Rhys sends you a forced smile as his cock continues to spurt in his hand, taking yours in his other to intertwine your fingers, holding onto you tightly.

Azriel, still pressing soft kisses to your forehead, gentle as ever, sees his future High Lord in need and offers him a helping hand, literally. His assistance eases the pain for Rhys slightly, his knot misinterpreting his shadowsingers hand for your cunt as it pulses, thick ribbons soiling the bedding.

The two of them will be occupied until Rhys’ knot shrinks, just like Cassian had wanted. A jealous male through and through, he can’t even share with his brothers.

You didn’t know you could stretch further but it's happening as the alpha slowly shoves his way in, then pulls out at the same pace, biting his lip harshly. The scent of blood stings your nostrils in the most delicious way and you swirl your hips, encouraging him to start moving.

“Cass,” you gasp, arching off of the bed as he slides in a touch faster. Your slick coats his prick and drips down your legs onto the sheets below, the air heavy with your sweet scent, driving the males into a frenzy.

He pounds into you mercilessly, and you let out a cry of pleasure when he hits the bundle of nerves inside of you that makes you see stars and your head spin. 

There’s no thoughts in your mind as he pounds into you. You feel too fucking good to be worrying about Rhysand’s unbound knot or Azriel waiting patiently for his turn. Right now it’s you and Cassian and Cassian’s enormous cock splitting you in two.

He hooks his hands beneath your knees, pinning your legs to your chest and Gods you didn’t know it could feel any better but it does and you’re on the verge of unraveling beneath him.

Rhysand’s knot must have shrunk because Azriel’s placing his palm in front of your mouth, dripping with come. The scent of it drives you mad and you need to be knotted, it hurts so bad. The tease of the heir’s forming knot had nearly sent you over the edge, your pussy clenching, trying so hard to hold onto it before Cassian had pushed him away.

“Knot me,” you whine, licking the spymaster's palm fiercely. Azriel watches intently, his own dick twitching at the feeling of your tongue lapping at his marred skin. His hazel eyes gleam with lust as you slurp his brother's seed from his hand.

Cassian curses, holding your hips with a bruising grip as he pounds into you with abandon. Rhysand latches onto your nipple, licking and suckling at the pebbled nub, pinching and twisting the other. You shove your hand into his hair, fisting the midnight locks which spurs the alpha on. Azriel shoves his fingers into your mouth and you gag, but it shifts into a moan as you feel the warlord's knot forming, growing and brushing against your walls while he plays with your clit.

It’s too much, it’s all too fucking much, you need to be knotted, claimed, by any of them, by all three of them. You twist your head to the side, exposing your neck and you’re sure you hear them moan at your desperate display.

Azriel noses at the column of your throat as Cassian’s knot forms, his guttural moan causing the other two alphas to be on alert, the hair at the napes of their necks standing at attention because of the one who’s trying to assert his dominance. 

They might tear each other apart before the night is over.

The shadowsinger’s nearly drooling at your sweet scent and he lets his teeth graze over the delicate skin, pushing you over the edge into your own orgasm, milking the come from Cassian’s cock. He’s pulsing hot inside of you, the two of you locked together until his knot shrinks, and right now you’re hoping that it never does.

You can feel yourself falling into your omega space, reveling at the feeling of an alpha spilling into you, your pussy convulsing around his cock, his hot seed trapped inside of you. It’s utter bliss and you don’t feel like you have to worry about the three possessive alphas latched onto you. Their scents mix together and you let your body go lax into the bed, eyes falling shut. They smell like home and you feel protected, like nothing can get to you as long as you have your alphas.

__________

When you wake you’re no longer connected to Cassian. You’re feeling hot, writhing and whimpering in the bed because even though you’ve gotten knotted your heat is still at its peak and you need to be filled again, immediately.

But Azriel’s not having it, holding you close to his chest. His willpower is immaculate, letting you lean into his side as he forces you to drink and eat while you pout and try to rut against him.

“Please, Az,” you mewl, “It’s unbearable.”

“I know baby,” he whispers, giving in and pressing a firm kiss to your lips, “But you need to eat, keep your energy.”

“I don’t want to,” you huff, snaking your hand down to your clit. If he won’t help you you’ll just have to do it yourself.

He smirks, watching as you do just that. He’s toying with you. He knows you won’t be able to get off the way that you want by yourself, won’t be able to recreate the feeling of a thick knot deep inside of you, and after you drag an orgasm from yourself you collapse against him, begrudgingly eating the food he holds to your lips.

Your climax has sated you slightly, enough to finish your meal, gulping down a few hearty sips of water from the glass he’s handed over.

“Where are Rhys and Cass?” you ask, wiping an escaped drop of water from your mouth. You don’t really care, having one alpha here with you is better than having to go through your heat alone, and you know that Azriel can more than handle himself in the bedroom if the size of his wings are anything to go by, but having the three of them here makes you feel completely at ease.

“Fighting out in the yard,” he replies with a shrug at your concerned glance. He kisses the frown from your lips, and your breath catches in your throat as he makes his way down your body, settling himself between your legs, licking his lips at the sight of your dripping core.

His eyes flick up to yours and the slash of a smirk on his face has your cunt throbbing. “Rhys wasn’t too pleased about Cass pushing him off of you. Now that you’re awake and casting your hormones to the entire camp, I’m sure they’ll be joining us sooner than later.”

The ever so quiet alpha knows how to use his voice when he needs to, but now, dipping down for his first taste, burying himself into your wet pussy, his skilled tongue flicking against your clit, he’s saying everything that he needs to just by his actions.

“Uh, Az,” you moan, threading your fingers through his hair and holding him in place, jerking your hips against his mouth, chasing that orgasm that seems to be constantly looming. “Right there, yeah, I’m going to come!”

With a cry of pleasure you topple over the edge, panting as you try and catch your breath, head hazy from the shadowsingers wicked tongue.

The alpha doesn’t give you time to relax your thrumming heart because he’s pushing deep into you, so deep that it presses all of the air from your lungs, your fingers scrambling to grab onto him in any way possible.

He towers over you, wings splayed wide in a display of pure dominance leaves you shivering, keening for him to move. All you want to do is submit to him; you’ll do anything for this male above you, in any capacity he wants.

“I could fucking mate you right now,” he growls, licking a fat stripe against the juncture of your neck where he thinks his bite would look the best, “Just fucking clamp down and claim you.”

“Yes, please,” you drag your nails down his back, spine curving up to press into his muscular body. That sounds like utter heaven, being his.

“But that wouldn’t be fair, would it?” His question is a growl in your ear that has you trembling to your very core. He jerks his hips once and you gasp at the feeling, some of your slick slipping out as he moves back.

You wonder if Cassian’s come is still inside of you, and the thought makes you clench around him, body quivering. You’re not sated yet, won’t be for days to come, when your heat breaks. They’ll all get their turns, filling you up with their seed.

You want them all to breed you. You can picture it now as Azriel thrusts his hips. Your belly swollen with a pup. Any one of them would be an amazing father, and you know that they wouldn’t treat the babe as anything but their own. 

Could you actually have all three?

“Want–” you pant, words swallowed by a moan. The door to the bedroom opens and the two missing males of your party arrive, skin smelling of salt and blood and power. The pair strip out of their clothes hastily, not wanting to waste a mere second without you again, jealous that Azriel’s got his dick nestled inside your perfect little cunt.

“What’s that you want?” Rhysand whispers, climbing up onto the bed and kissing you passionately on the mouth, a hand in your hair to keep you still, having caught the first word of your plea.

Cassian assesses for a second – trying to figure out the best spot to wedge himself – to get as close to you as he can. He opts for lying against you, pressing himself flush to your side, body hot and tender from the brawl with his brother.

“Want you all to mate me, claim me, breed me,” you beg and the three alphas groan in unison, Azriel’s knot forming at your words, pouring into you. Rhysand’s cock throbs in his hand again and he presses his forehead harshly against yours, taking calming breaths so he doesn’t orgasm again, his heavy breath cool against your dewy skin. Cassian ruts against you with a grunt. He needs to come again, preferably inside of you.

“(Y/N),” Rhysand’s shuddered whimper of your name ignites that feeling inside of you, your cunt convulsing around Azriel’s prick as he’s nestled inside of you. He chokes on the moan threatening to spill from his lips, planting his hands on your hips harshly to keep you from writhing.

“Please,” you cry, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck, forcing him to look at you while he tries to pull away. You lock your legs around the shadowsingers hips although he isn’t going anywhere and loop your arm around Cassian, keeping him pulled tight to your chest.

“You’re just saying this because of your heat, Darling,” Rhysand’s voice is soft, sad, like he wishes that you could really mean the words. “If we did that you’d be regretting it as soon as your heat breaks.”

“No,” you protest, shaking your head slightly, mouth dropping open in bliss as Azriel’s cock twitches inside of you. Unfortunate timing, but through the hazy lust you’re feeling and the undeniable feeling to succumb to your omega nature is the truth. You love all three of these males. “I won’t.”

Cassian, who’s rubbing your stomach soothingly, looks like he might just bite you anyways, fuck the pact he’s made with his brothers. Here you are, begging for all three of them, whiny and needy and craving their seed in you. He can hardly control himself around you when you’re not on your cycle, but now that he’s had a taste, he’ll never let you go.

Az and Rhys share a look, having a conversation through each other’s minds as Cassain catches your mouth with his, distracting the both of you. It’s all he can do to not clamp down on your already bruised neck and mark you.

The spymaster’s knot loosens and you gasp into Cass’ mouth when he slips out of you.

“We’ll discuss it when your heat ends,” is what Rhysand tells you and you huff. You want to throw a tantrum at his words but Cassian’s pulling you closer to his side, his warmth enveloping you in a gloriously comfortable hug. You let your eyes drift closed as he murmurs softly into your hair, telling you to rest while you can.

You’re sure they’re going to talk it over while you sleep but you can’t help yourself, nuzzling into his neck and breathing in the familiar scent of the alpha as you drift off.

__________

It must be the middle of the night when you become desperate again. The three alphas are asleep and you’re still curled in Cassian’s embrace, his slight snoring rumbling through you to your bones.

Rhys is pressed up behind you, wings nowhere in sight with the spymaster behind him, laying on his back, shadows trailing lazily throughout the room. It’s nearly pitch black, the glow of the moon drifting in through the sliver between the curtains.

You want him, oh Gods do you want him. The tease of his knot when Cassian pushed him off of you was not enough, you need to feel that powerful cock pulsing inside of you right this second.

You straddle across his hips, whimpering and grinding against him, giving him kitten licks across his neck. You’re soaked, slick coating the apex of your thighs and you just know that the spot where you'd been lying is sopping wet.

“Rhys,” you plead, swirling your hips again. He’s rock solid against you, groaning sleepily as he blinks the sleep from his eyes, his hands automatically caressing your sides.

“(Y/N)?” he slurs, clearing the grogginess from his throat, “Need m’knot?”

“Yes please,” you sniffle, nosing at the column of his throat and running your fingers through his hair desperately. The texture of his soft locks feels incredible against your sensitive skin.

“Go on Darling, take what you need.”

You sink down onto his thick cock without hesitance and Rhys groans quietly as you begin to ride him with fervor, bouncing up and down on his length, swirling your hips. Your back arches and you let a loud moan slip out when you get that perfect angle, the male beneath you palming at your breasts.

The noises and movements rouse the other two alphas from their slumbers, dicks thick and heavy and dripping at the sight of you riding their brother.

Azriel is up and behind you in an instant, whispering in your ear and pressing featherlight kisses to your skin, asking if you can take two cocks shoved up inside your pretty pink pussy.

You nearly scream at his words, craning your head around to capture his filthy mouth with yours, teeth clacking as you fiercely kiss. The shadowsingers hand snakes around your front to your clit, flicking furiously at the nub as you grind down on Rhys.

You come on Rhys’ cock with a cry that’s swallowed by the alpha behind you. Your hips slow against the Night Court heir who grabs your thighs like he’s going to plant his feet and start jackknifing into you because he’s that desperate.

Az places a hand to your spine and you arch under his touch, shivering as his cock teases your hole, before he shoves it right beside Rhysands, the three of you moaning in pleasure.

You collapse against the alphas chest, utterly blissed out on both of their huge pricks as Azriel starts moving, sliding against Rhy’s dick and your walls. Your fingers fist the sheets, the feeling of both of them filling you up has you seeing stars, but it’s still not quite enough, you need more.

And the childish whimper of being left out from the largest of the three alphas has you taking his cock in your hand, sliding it up and down the silky shaft, thumbing at the beading precome at the tip and slicking your way down.

When you catch your breath you struggle to lift yourself from Rhys’ chest, arms shaking, trembling as you rise, looking up at Cassian through your fluttering eyelashes.

You mouth at the head of Cassian’s enormous prick, sucking at the tip before swallowing the alpha down as far as you can.

Your mouth is wicked, wrapped around him, your moans going straight through his dick. He gasps at the feeling of you tonguing your way down his cock, the head of his prick inching further and further down your hot throat as you take him in.

This, this is what you wanted, feeling full to the brim, your three alphas taking care of you through your heat. If they couldn’t see how perfect you all are together they had to be crazy.

Every thrust from Azriel has you sliding further down Cassian’s shaft, choking on him. The delicious, wet sounds of his dick squelching in your throat and the other two in your dripping cunt have them all on edge, ready to come at any second.

“Ah, fuck,” Cassian hisses, pulling out and gripping the base of his dick harshly, squeezing his eyes shut. He can’t come, doesn’t want his knot to form if it’s not inside of you. It had happened once before and it was not something he wanted to relive, ever.

He might be feeling slightly bad for doing it to Rhys earlier.

Azriel and Rhysand fuck into your with abandon and it’s euphoric, being sandwiched between the two powerful alphas as they get off. Their knots form fast, sensitive and sliding up against each other, against your walls, your slick making everything so messy, so pleasurable.

Rhysand comes first, locking himself into you with a loud bark of a moan, eyes rolling back in his head as Az overstimulates him, still thrusting.

The shadowsinger kisses down your neck, shoving his forming knot up into you as far as he can with Rhysands cock stuffed into you, bursting in you with a strangled cry.

__________

Your heat breaks three days later.

You’re utterly exhausted, draping yourself across whichever alpha is closest, letting them thread their fingers through your hair and hold you close, reveling in the scent of their seed on you, soon to be washed off until your next heat.

You force yourself to clean up, standing from the bed early in the morning while the three males are still fast asleep. You yawn, stretching your arms over your head as you make your way to the washroom, swearing you can still feel days worth of come seeping out of you.

Good thing you are on the tonic.

You take your time, relaxing in the hot water with your eyes closed, letting your muscles loosen from the week of activity. It was everything you could’ve asked for and more, the three alphas sharing you, giving you everything you needed while only fighting with each other on a few occasions.

A lazy smile crosses your lips, Possessive alphas.

It’s Azriel who finds you first, no doubt his shadows alerting him that you were no longer in the bed with them. He’d rolled over and draped an arm across Cassian’s broad shoulders instead of you, pulling back with a faint dust of pink on his lips when he realized.

He washes you carefully, those skilled fingers taking their time, caressing your aching body softly. Maybe you’ll convince the spymaster to give you a massage later, after you’ve eaten and hydrated a bit more.

And maybe they’d let you take a walk, smelling like their individual scents: cedar and smoke, earth and wind, and sea and citrus. They wouldn’t let you go alone, no way would these overprotective bats let you wander the camp alone. They’d go with you, flaring their wings and glaring at any other male who set their sights on you.

But you are not theirs, and they are not yours.

The words that had slipped from your mouth during your heat were still at the forefront of your mind. You want them, all of them, so badly that it makes your stomach twist with fear. What if they didn’t want you or weren’t willing to share? Rhys said that you would all discuss it, but when?

Az helps you from the tub once he’s deemed you clean enough, wrapping you up in a large towel and sending you off with a kiss to your forehead so you can get dressed while he bathes next.

Stomach growling, you shove yourself into something comfortable. You’ll change if they decide to let you out of the house, your hormones still seeping from your pores on your first day off of your heat.

You begin working on breakfast, an idea forming in your mind.

One by one they lazily trek into the room. First, a freshly showered Azriel, who pressed up behind you with a kiss to your cheek, murmuring if you’d like any help. You smile gratefully but decline his offer, telling him to take a seat and that breakfast will be ready shortly.

Next comes Cassian, hair disheveled and not yet bathed, too hungry to do anything other than follow the smell of food, stealing a piece of meat on his way by and stopping your protest with his lips against your own.

Finally, after taking his time in the bath comes Rhysand, dressed to the nines as always. He’s brushing his arms from the invisible lint no doubt and he greets you with a dazzling smile and a wet kiss to your throat.

Maybe he hadn’t forgotten afterall.

Placing each of their plates down in front of them you take a step away, trying to calm your breathing. None of the three alphas touch their food, sensing the emotion in the air, looking towards you with worried eyes and furrowed brows. 

“What is it, Darling?”

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“What’s going on, baby?”

You flush at their worried questioning, heart thundering in your chest so loudly you’re sure the entire camp can hear it, smell exactly how nervous you are.

“Um, I know it may not be the bond, but it’s still a bond of its own, and I know I feel it with the three of you. Will you have me?” You blurt, gesturing to the full plates in front of each of the alpha males. You refuse to look up at them, worrying your lip between your teeth as you await their responses.

“Oh, (Y/N), Darling,” Rhys smiles up at you, violet eyes sparkling like the night sky, “It is the bond, can’t you feel it?”

You twist your fingers nervously. That’s what that was? You had felt it during your heat but you’d been too overstimulated with pleasure and instinct that you hadn’t been able to differentiate the two.

“But you said–”

“I said that because I didn’t want you to make the decision based on impulse,” he slides from his seat, caressing your cheek with his hand as he gently tilts your face to look up at him. “You’re ours, (Y/N). If you’ll have us.”

You try to bite back the smile creeping to your lips but you can’t. Azriel and Cassian stand, flanking Rhysand on either side, peering down at you with twin smiles.

“Will I have you?” you laugh, utter joy bursting in your chest, reverberating in each of their chests. “Of course I’ll have you! How many times do you need to hear it, alpha?”

The heir goans, heat sparking low in his groin. He’ll never stop needing to hear it, you moaning his name, the feelings you let pulse freely down the bond.

His brother’s too, catching the arousing scent wafting from you. Their pupils widen, eyes darkening at the thought.

As much as you’d like to take this back into the bedroom, you’re sore, tired, and hungry. Your stomach growls, breaking the lustful tension into something more relaxed. Rhys leads you to a spot at the table and you watch as they each stare down at their plates, then at you, tender and in love.

Each of them accepts your offer, taking a bite of their breakfasts.

You can feel the air sparking as you eat, the silent breakfast filled with anticipation for what’s to come. Cassian’s leg won’t stop shaking beneath the table, Az’s shadows keep twitching around him, and the fork in Rhys’ hand keeps twirling in circles nervously.

It’s too much, you can’t finish your food. Setting your fork down on your half eaten plate you offer with an erratic heart, “Ready?”

You puff a breath of laughter as the three males shoot up from their chairs, ushering you into the bedroom you’d all locked yourself in for the past week. The sheets are fresh but the smell of sex still lingers in the air and it sends a shiver of arousal down your spine.

They situate you on the bed, lying back comfortably as they all climb in around you, maws nearly drooling at the sight of your perfect neck, analyzing where they’ll leave their bonding marks.

“I want you all at the same time,” you gasp softly as Cassian noses at your neck, searching for your scent gland. He can’t wait to taste you.

Rhysand chooses one side of your neck, the two warriors on the other side, and they all share a look between each other, their pact hanging heavily between them. Not a single one of them were to be mated with you, they all loved you too much to see one brother win out, but the three of them, together…this could work.

There are already tears of joy in your eyes and Azriel kisses them away before they settle in, teeth scraping against your neck, a gentle tease that has you shivering in anticipation, before the alpha's bite down.

You let out a ragged moan as their teeth sink into you, drawing blood and throwing your hands into their hair, scrambling to touch any parts of them that you can. The feeling is surreal, you don’t even think you’re in your body anymore, you can see parts of yourself through each of their eyes, back arching off of the bed in pleasure. You keen, overwhelmed by feelings that aren’t even yours, tears slipping freely from your eyes.

You try to pull them closer, their growls of pleasure have their teeth sinking in further, marking you for good.

When they tear themselves from your neck you can’t help but let out a sob. But then they’re each kissing you, taking turns and you can taste your blood on their mouths but it’s heavenly and you don’t think that you could be any happier than you are right now.

“Well?” Cassian asks when you’ve calmed down a bit. He’s looking at you with anticipation, nervous and needy, and so are Az and Rhys.

“C’mere then,” you whisper, letting him help you sit up. On your knees before him you brush away the hair at the nape of his neck, fingers brushing over the tan skin lightly. You give the spot a teasing lick and his hands grip your hips for stability, exhaling a shaky breath.

You don’t hesitate further, biting into the soft skin, completing the mark. The metallic taste of his sweet blood is overwhelming, and you feel a rush throughout your body, like you’re drunk off of him. You sway at the feeling and four more hands hold you up, grounding you.

You gasp, pulling away but his lips are pressed against yours in the next second, body flush against yours in hunger. Your hands frame his head, reveling in the feeling of his bond nestled in your heart.

But there are still two more males waiting patiently for your mark.

Azriel is next. Kissing him softly, sharing the blood of his brother with him, the shadowsinger growls at the taste of another alpha on you, gripping you tighter to his chest.

His hazel eyes are dark, and he guides your mouth where he wants you to mark him, right where everyone can see. You moan against his hot skin, clamping your teeth down harshly because you know it will get him a bit bothered.

And it does. He groans out your name, shadows sweeping around the both of you in excitement, his cock hardening in his pants. You palm him roughly before you pull away, the taste of him dizzying you. His chest heaves and it takes both of his brothers to pry his hands off of you because of the look you’re giving him – unfinished business.

You smirk at Rhysand who’s already giving you that look, that hunger in his eyes is the exact kind he gets when he thinks about ruling over the Night Court, powerful and dominating.

You wrap your arms around his neck and he dips his head down, licking over your lips for a taste of his friends, of you, all mixing together as one. He never thought he’d share a mate, and with two people no less, but you are worth it, even only having a third of your heart is worth it to him.

You already know where to bite him, you’d thought about it so many times, pictured it the first time you met him. You want it right at his collar, where it would peek over his clothing for his future peoples to see, a mated alpha marked by a territorial omega.

He lets you. He’d let you do anything you wanted to him if you batted your eyelashes the way you’re doing now.

With a nod on his behalf, you dig in, tearing at the skin with your teeth, drinking down a few gulps of his blood, making a mess across your lips. It’s not as neat as you’d like, but the feeling of him spreading through your body has you power hungry, staking claim of what's yours.

He hisses in pleasure, letting you take as much as you want, and you pop off from his skin, soothing over the torn flesh with your tongue as it heals, lapping up every single drop. 

“You cruel, wicked, thing,” he purrs once you’ve pulled away, collecting a stray drop of blood from your lip with his thumbs and sucking it into his own mouth, violet eyes glowing.

“Welcome to the pack.”

#acotarxreader #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acomar #azrielxreader #azriel x you #azriel smut #azriel x reader #cassian smut #cassian x reader #cass x reader #rhys x reader #rhys/reader #rhysand x reader #rhysand smut #a/b/o #azriel/cassian/rhysand/reader #azsazz #azriel x cassian x rhysand x reader #acotar smut

[azsazz]

Lips of an Angel (Part 3)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Based on the song ‘Lips of an Angel’ by Hinder. Azriel left you for Elain. After finding out that he has a child he didn’t know about, he’s furious.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1,121

(Part 1) (Part 2)

Notes: Literally so short but hopefully it’s worth it. 💙

_________________________________________

Rhysand feels Azriel before he even arrives.

There’s a dark static in the air, charged like lightning ready to strike. The shadows of the room grow darker around him; seeping through the cracks of every floorboard, crawling down the corners of the walls, painting them in long, black strokes. Tendrils of anger soaked night billow in from the slats of the framed windows like thick fumes, as if Azriel is trying to smoke him out.

If Rhysand could understand their inky whispers, he thinks they would be screeching.

He feels his own powers reacting, zipping through his blood in excitement, eager at the chance to play. It’s his inner beast, calling and clawing its way up his throat in response to the dark power of his brother, trying to intimidate him.

His shadowsinger is looking for a fight.

Tendrils of black climb up the sides of his oak desk like an amoeba seeking a host, pincers ready to grab on and not let go. He has to plant his palms flat over his work to keep them from getting swept away in the tornado of rage.

Rhysand’s eyes glow violet as the faelight is swallowed by the onyx shadows. His heart beats unevenly in his chest as he waits, spine stiff and body frozen in his chair, the creature within him threatening to burst forth from his chest as he waits for Azriel.

The shadowsinger winnows into the room, splintering through his shadows with ease. They’re wailing like lost souls, coiling around Rhysand’s limbs to trap the High Lord in his spot should he try and pounce. He’s breathing harshly, well past the point of seeing red. His siphons are glowing the brightest he’s ever seen, thrumming with a newfound power he’d been hiding within himself for far too long.

Seven blazing blue beams are consumed by the wall of black he’s met with when he appears in Rhysand’s office. They’re vibrating with so much power Azriel’s half convinced that they’ll shatter like his aching heart.

Betrayal hangs heavy in the air and its putrid scent chokes Rhysand as it mixes with Azriel’s smoldering fury. Fingers sharpen into dark claws, scraping against the desk, tearing through the thin documents with ease and digging into the thick wood. It’s as much restraint he has, for if Azriel does not remove his shadows, he will take matters into his own hands.

Azriel’s furious as he realizes, the apples of his cheeks red with rage. He’s panting like a feral hound but acts as their master as he calls his shadows to him. They melt against Rhysands wrists, pinpricks of acid against his tan skin as the obey.

A shadow snakes its way back towards Azriel, weaving its way around shaking hands curled into tight fists. It rests at his shoulder like a crow, its caw of war is something even Rhysand can make out clearly.

Violet eyes meet blazing gold, a war between two brothers.

Rhysand had to give it to his spymaster. He could see how the male was spiraling, even without having to look into his mind. He had nearly felt the realm shift on its axis when his nightmarish powers released, sleeping throughout the city like icy death.

“What’s on your mind, Azriel?” Rhysand questions. His tone is the same coolness he uses when talking to Beron or Tamlin. It’s never been directed at Azriel before and it only makes him angrier, wings tightening and shadows hissing threats in his ears.

“Don’t play coy, Rhysand,” his shadowsinger spits. His fingers twitch, begging to uncurl and reach for the familiar cool hilts of his swords. He hates it. Hates that Rhysand is taking the easy way out and putting on his front as High Lord, making it known that he is the true ruler, instead of acting that as an understanding brother.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” The enervated lilt to his voice sharpens as he catches Azriel’s slight movements, his instinct to carve answers from the flesh of his brother. But Rhysand is no fool and he will not be treated as such.

He’s toying with him, of this Azriel knows. Waiting to see how he reacts. If he was a better male he would sit down in the plush chair across from his brother and talk about it. But he’s not. He’s steaming mad and Rhysand knows this. The beast lurking beneath his skin transforms the emotions to feral rage. Azriel blinks the red from his vision. Once. Twice.

Rhysand understands exactly why he’s here because the darkness has reported no other bodies within the River House with them. He’s sent his mate and his son away, sensing his burning wrath through whatever mental bonds he shared with them.

Protecting his mate and his kin.

Something Azriel has never gotten the chance to do, because he hadn’t even been aware he had a child of his own.

His stomach twists and the flare of outrage nearly shoves him over the edge. Acid rips through his organs and up his throat and Azriel takes a shuddering breath as he pulls on the reins with all his might. The darkness inside of him feels like that of a crow, picking at the cracks in his armor like a sledgehammer with its beak, slowly chipping away at his hold.

He growls at the feeling in his chest, a hot knife to his heart as he thinks about what Rhys has kept from him, from what he’s done to you, to his son.

“I have a son.” The admission alone both soothes and angers him. A storm of warmth and bitter darkness battle for power.

Rhysand only hums, and the darkness wins out.

Azriel bares his teeth, speaking before his brother deigns to respond with an indifferent goad that will only make him more furious. “Why didn’t I know, but you do?”

Watching the stars wink out of the violet skies that are Rhysand eyes should scare his beast away, but it only reacts to it, the gold of his eyes swirling with black shadows.

“You never realized or asked about what we were doing when you weren’t around because you were too busy with your head shoved up Elain’s skirts. Maybe I should appoint a new spymaster,” Rhysand rasps lowly, and they both flinch. A brutal admission that sends shame zinging up his spine. His knees nearly give out with it and he growls like a rabid animal in response, Rhysand’s power and his shadows swathing the room into complete black.

They’ve fought in his darkness before, and now, as Azriel launches himself across the large desk, Rhys is ready, his own beast waiting for him with raised fists.

#Azriel #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #azriel x you #azriel/you #azriel angst #acotar #acowar #acomaf #acotarxreader #au!wren #azsazz

[azsazz]

Siren Songs

Merman!Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: A mermaid Azriel making a pearl necklace for his beloved... 

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1,879

Notes: No because this has me in my feels. 🥺

________________________________________

The ground is soft beneath your toes, grass tickling your feet as you wander through the low hills, a soft smile on your face. Your basket is clutched tightly in your grip but your pace is leisurely, enjoying the sudden spring weather as you walk.

You’d kicked your shoes off almost immediately, eager to feel the perky, lush grass, rearing its head under the warm sun. Winter had been far too long for your liking, snow piling onto the ground, the cold weather freezing over the Sidra, and it had left a pang in your chest, knowing that if the river running through Velaris was a block of ice, than so would the bodies of water scattered throughout the Night Court. 

But the deep blues of the Sidra are now flowing again, and for the first time all winter, the longing that filled your soul was replaced with excitement, with hope.

Your sweater is folded nicely in your basket, the warm sun kissing your skin, pale from winter. Your heart thrums in your chest, the soft breeze carrying your hair around you in a gentle caress. 

Life is good.

You shut your eyes at the feeling, humming appreciatively, pointed ears perking up as you slow to a stop, the sweet, low sound of singing not far off.

Forget where you’re going,

Forget what you’re doing,

And come to us,

Come live with us…

Your heart settles in your chest, warming at the sound of the familiar voice, drawing you to its sweetness like a moth to a flame.

It’s a soft melody, saccharine and weaving through the trees, the lyrics dancing happily in your head. It sounds safe, like something comfortable, trusting, urging you nearer with its prominent words.

You follow, and it's as easy as breathing.

The path through the squabble of trees is simple, the path worn from the others before you, lured in by the honeyed songs and perfectly pitched tones. His low rumble of a voice settles your bones, your heart fluttering in your chest.

You don’t want to pry your eyes open, don’t want the spring-like tones to stop, but you trip over a loose root with a gasp, shattering the sugary mood.

The pounding of your heart in your chest doesn’t slow because there’s no more sweet song, because he’s there, all tanned skin and blue shimmering tail kicking up aimlessly where he’s splayed out on a smooth rock, working something in his hands that you can’t quite make out from your vantage point across the pond.

He’s fucking beautiful.

Your breath catches in your throat as he turns.

His dark damp hair clings to his forehead like he’s only just arrived, a sneaky bead of water trailing down the column of his throat. His startled face melts into a certain softness reserved only for you. His golden gaze flickers with his tail and his pretty pink lips curve upwards as he takes you in.

The glow of your presence is fractured when his scarred thumb mindlessly caresses the object in his hands. It catches in the sun but from this far away you can’t make it out, even less when he bashfully tucks it beneath the water as he slides off of the rock.

He swims towards you like he’s the one drawn to you, and you have no doubt that he’d pop right out of the water if he could, but his powerful, shiny blue tail moving fluidly behind him as he moves nearer prevents him from doing just that. 

You crouch at the edge of the pool with a soft smile. You don’t care if the water seeps through the knees of your dress, chilly from only the first few days of spring, you only care about getting your hands on him, letting him hold you after such a long time apart.

Reaching a hand out he slides right up into it, planting his hands on either side of your legs as he breaks the surface, pulling himself up from the water and into your embrace. 

“Azriel,” you breathe, and it’s wet with emotion. You’d missed him entirely too much.

“(Y/N),” he murmurs your name like a prayer, pressing his forehead up against yours. Every part of him aches for you, and he so desperately wants to press his body up against yours, to finally feel you again after having had to spend so much time away in the Summer Court while winter raged in Night. He doesn’t want to ruin your pretty dress.

At least not yet.

The kiss feels like your first. Everytime your lips meet it feels like you’re a young girl in love, dreaming about falling in love with a prince or a knight.

A merman is so much better.

It’s tender and you feel it rushing through your veins, wrapping your heart with warmth and love and longing, settling into your bones like you’ve never once been apart. He is a breath of fresh air.

“You’re early,” he whispers against your lips before pulling away slightly.

You give Azriel a soft smile in return, brushing the wet hair from his brow. 

“You know I can’t resist that pretty voice.”

Azriel winces, drawing back on instinct. Your heart twists with worry. He knows that his singing lures in anyone who hears it, and while there was a time that that would end in a harrowing death for whomever listened, it just isn’t who he is anymore.

Not since he’d met you.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he admits worriedly, but you’re pressing your hand to his cheek in reassurance. His scarred one darts from the water to wrap around your wrist and your temper flares at the sight of the pink skin, heart aching for the merman who’d been dragged out of his home and set aflame. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, Az,” you speak easily, trying to dispel the fear in his golden eyes. He’d never forgive himself if someone else had lured you in like this, and he’s beat himself up over it for years since he’d done the same to you. “I know you would never hurt me.”

The twin emotion in your chest eases as he assesses you, relaxing when he detects no lies.

“I love you,” he gently turns your hand from his cheek to press a kiss to your palm, “I missed you.”

“I love you too, Azriel,” you respond, eyes sparkling and chest thrumming with just how much you love him, “It was a long winter without you.”

“I wish I could experience it,” he says, flopping his tail into the water with a pout. “It’s not fair that water freezes in the winter.”

“If it didn’t it would still be too cold for you to swim in, Az,” you roll your eyes playfully, “No matter if you believe that or not.”

He pushes away from the bank, floating on his back a moment, tucking his hands behind his head as he grins up at you, hazel eyes glimmering with mischief. “You should steal me away, I’ll live in your bath.”

You laugh and his smile only widens, “You’d hate it.”

“But I’d be with you,” he says somberly, the grin dropping from his face as he once again swims closer. “I hate being without you.”

“I know,” you respond sadly. If you could steal him you would, but it would be horrible for Azriel to be trapped in such a small place for the entirety of winter. If there was only something you could do.

You perk up as an idea blinks into existence.

“What is it?” he asks, cocking his head cutely at your sudden shift in attitude. 

“What if I move to Summer?” you ask bashfully, cheeks pinking up as your gaze falls to your lap. “Then we could be together every day, even in the winter.”

He doesn’t answer for so long that rejection stings your chest, but when you peek up at him, his jaw is agape with awe.

“You–” he clears his throat, “You would do that for me?”

Your cheeks flush hot and you know they’re redder than Cassian’s siphons.

“You know I would, Azriel. I love you.”

He breaks out into joyous laughter, springing from the water and snatching you around your waist. You squeal as he tugs you into the pool of water with him, holding you tight.

His scaly tail is smooth against your exposed legs. The water is a lick of cold against your body, but his warmth against you makes it worth it.

“You’ve just made me the happiest male in the entire continent,” he grins, and he doesn’t stop as he kisses you. You wrap your arms around his neck and the kiss is nothing more than your smiling mouths pressed together because the utter delight he’s flooding your chest with has you feeling on top of the world.

You peck him once he settles a little, eager to get you going. You could listen to him talk for hours, and you love how excited he is, telling you all about how there’s a building you could live in that butts right up to the ocean, balcony and all so he’ll be able to visit you everyday.

His one hand moves across your hip to adjust you better and you feel something in it but you can’t make it out because of the dark water.

“Az,” you peck his cheek with a giggle, “What’s it you’ve got in your hand?”

It’s his turn to look sheepish, a ruddy blush creeping up his gloriously tanned chest to his cheeks.

“I, uh, I made you something,” he tells you, acting a little nervy.

You’d just offered to move to a different court to be with him, so you don’t know what could possibly have him so jumpy.

“Can I see it?” you pry with a sweet grin that you know he can’t resist.

He bops you on your nose, grinning when you scrunch your face up cutely. 

“I suppose so,” he replies, more playful and relaxed. He scoops his hand out of the water and you gasp at the string of milky pearls he holds.

You almost don’t want to touch it, don’t want to taint its beauty, but Azriel’s taking your hand and showing it to you, urging you to finger over the smooth, opalescent pearls.

“Took me all winter,” he admits in the silence you’re stunned by its allure, “Couldn’t get you out of my head, love.”

Your eyes are wet when you look up at him, “Thank you, Azriel. It’s so beautiful.”

“You’re so beautiful,” he smiles, sweeping you into another wild kiss. He spins you around in the water before settling again, asking eagerly, “Can I put it on you?”

You nod, turning around in the pool, wading your arms to stay afloat as he slips the necklace over your head. It’s a perfect fit slaying across your collar bones.

“Well? How do I look?” you ask, turning around slowly so that your love can drink you in.

Azriel can’t help it, taking your hand and tugging you into his chest. He’s the happiest he’s ever been, deeply in love with you.

“You look perfect, love,” he whispers against your lips, “Absolutely perfect.”

#Azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel/reader #merman!azriel #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acotarxreader #azsazz #azriel!au

[azsazz]

In Full Bloom

Tamlin x Reader

Summary: The creature chasing you through the woods finally catches you.

Warnings: Smut. Not monsterfucking but not not monsterfucking? I have no idea tbh.

Word Count: 2,956

Notes: This one has been a long time coming and goes out to @acourtofmenandthirst, @writingsbychlo, @swansworth, and @azrielscrown 💙

_________________________________________

He’s coming.

You curse under your breath and push harder, leaning into your run as you thunder through the forest, dipping and weaving through trees so tall they nearly touch the clouds themselves. The ground is uneven, littered with upturned roots and wild moss, the burrows of animals and pockets of wild brush.

You don’t dare look over your shoulder at the beast prowling after you. His footsteps tandem in time with the pounding in your chest, thump thump thump.

Swallowing harshly, you search ahead. Your breath catches in your throat as you realize exactly where you are, how the grass creeps into the doorways of the trees, growing long and tall until it can’t anymore, the branches and leaves swallowing the sunlight.

You’re about to reach a clearing. And when you do, there will be nowhere to hide. 

You’ll be fair game.

You curse, weighing your options. Veering towards the right takes you deeper into the forest, the part of Spring that nears the wall that separates the human lands from your own, and climbing upwards would mean potentially crossing the lines into Autumn, something you most definitely don’t want to do.

So you continue on your path, your only option, praying that you’ll lose the beast.

The sun burns your eyes, having become accustomed to the darkened forest. You squint, throwing your arm up to block the harsh rays. The ground turns from soft and earthy to grassy and warm. Stalks of the long grass pull at your clothes, the skirts of your dress you’re sure are torn from low hanging branches reaching out for you in the forest–

You cry out as the beast lunges, its paws plating in the middle of your back with a shove that takes you off of your feet. You break your fall the best you can, squeezing your eyes shut against the wispy threads of grass as you go, catching yourself on the palms of your hands.

You scramble to twist around but a claws foot lands on either side of your face, caging you in.

The wolf is huge, easily three times the size of an Illyrian warrior.

Its eyes reflect the deep green of the trees you’d just escaped. You can see them now, a blur behind him as you stare in shock at the beauty, the flicker of pride in them.

The wolf leans in but you don’t flinch away, letting the animal sniff loudly. His maw is hot against your throat, his panting sends shivers up your spine like a zap of lightning. The heaving breaths across your creamy skin tickle, but nothing is funny about the way it goes still, as if the raging beast within him wants to cut a deep slash through your delicate flesh, feel your hot blood sticky across his paws.

Lips curl back from razor sharp teeth, grazing across your neck and you can’t stifle your whimper this time. The wolf laps up the stench of your fear, choking on it, and something within him snaps, offering a low whine, his tongue falling from his mouth to lap across your cheek in apology. 

You wondered how something so murderous could be so gentle.

“Come on,” you huff, “That’s not fair!” 

You squeal as his form changes. Even after all of this time it still shocks you. Tamlin’s joints crack as the transformation begins and you shudder. The loud clicks are as unsettling to you as the first time he’d shifted in front of you, you watch his back bow like a cat as his spine contorts back into human form.

His snout pulls in, sliding back into that perfectly straight nose you’ve become so fond of. Long, sharp teeth shorten back to normal, blunt ones, though his canines seem just as pointed, white and glinting in the sun.

Talons turn to nails, flexing into the upturned dirt the wolf had left in his wake. Most interestingly enough, is his bushy tail. It melts back into his body like honey, the golden hairs sliding back into place all over except for a few choice places you know all too well.

What’s left behind is the very male you love, fully nude, his long blond hair cascading around your face like the weeping willows of his lands, caging you in.

His lush emerald eyes remain the same, though the shape changes from wide like a predator to lazy-lidded and docile. That glint of hunger still lingers as he studies you, but it’s a different kind of hunger, a heavy stare that has you pressing your thighs together in response.

“You’re much too fast for me on foot, my lady.” He’s not even a touch breathless from the wild chase. You realize it’s your chest that’s rising and falling faster with the winds, brushing up against his bare one in the best way. Your lips part as your nipples graze against the hardened muscle. You can feel him through your thin spring dress. It makes you shiver.

“You promised,” you exclaim with a pout, but there’s no heat behind your words. Your fingers find his, sliding between his own as you relax fully into the soft grass, letting your head fall back into the soft earth, shifting your legs wide for him to settle between.

“I also promised that I would be able to control myself outside of the palace,” he leans in closer, slotting his hips against yours tightly. You gasp as his fully hard length rubs against you through the thin cloth. “But it looks like I’ve broken that promise too.”

“Tam,” you breathe, tucking a long strand of hair back from his face. The sun shines across his perfectly tanned skin, caressing his warm skin and pink cheeks, admiring the gleam of his luscious lips when he wets them. “We can’t–”

“We can,” he whispers. His large hand brushes across your cheek, thumbing at a droplet of sweat. Your sweet scent makes him throb against your thigh, smelling exactly of the roses he’d had planted all around his gardens when he’d first met you, unable to get your intoxicating scent out of his mind.

Planting the large garden had only reminded him more of you.

“I am High Lord, petal. I can do whatever I please.”

“Okay, then we shouldn’t–”

Your protest is swallowed by his mouth sliding over yours. You get lost in it immediately, loving the feeling of his warm mouth against your own, his tongue delving inside to lick and explore, tangling with your own in a heated battle he nearly always wins.

His hand on your collar bones slides down. You shiver and moan into Tamlin’s mouth at the feel of his claws dancing across your skin. You arch at the sensation, almost wanting him to slice into your skin. Four fingers fold into a fist until he’s dragging a single claw between your breasts to the fabric of your dress, his razor sharp nail splitting the cloth with ease, exposing you.

Tamlin noses his way down your neck, kissing and sucking little marks into your skin. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation and your hands find his hair, digging your blunt nails in and twisting his long locks between your fingers. He growls in response, pleased.

You gasp as he takes one of your breasts in his hand but there’s no sharp claws digging into your skin, they’ve flattened back out into the calloused fingers you know so well. Tamlin’s mouth captures your other, the tip of his tongue flicking over your nipple as you squirm, soaking cunt seeking out friction desperately.

He hums languidly, lathing over the pert bud after a nip that has the clouds in the sky above spinning. You keen as he repeats the same motion with your other breast. He’s playing with you like a wolf does its prey, out in the springy foothills on this sunny day. He wants it to last.

You claw at his back in hopes to get him moving, telling him how desperately you want him, but Talmin only revels in the feeling, wishing he could give you some of his powers to turn those pretty lavender nails into long, sharp claws so you can really leave your mark on him, tear him up like how you make him feel in his heart, piercing your nails through the muscle and keeping it for yourself.

Tamlin wants nothing more than to be claimed by you, to have anyone he comes across know that he belongs to you just as much as you belong to him. That he’d let you leash him even outside of the bedroom for his people and all of Prythian to see.

He’d wear that collar proudly.

Your hand snakes down his chest and you feel the shaky breath he takes as you move lower and lower over the coiled muscles, through the scratchy blond hair right down to his cock.

He nearly yelps at the way you grab him, needy and confident. Every nerve ending in his body lights up at your touch, the tug you give him, rubbing your thumb across his slit, catching the bead of precum and sliding it across his shaft on your next downstroke.

His arms shake and he wants to fall into you but you feel so fucking good playing with him. He bucks into your hand and you give him a squeeze that has his breath catching in his throat and he nearly tears through his lip as his teeth begin to elongate without his permission.

Tamlin’s never had trouble keeping himself from shifting, until he met you that is. With you every time feels like the first, fully succumbing to the beast inside of him, body on fire in the best way. Blood coursing through his veins and adrenaline pumping. That first time he’d shifted completely was nearly orgasm inducing, and so is being here with you.

His growl of your name makes your hand falter and your hips fully relax. He groans against the skin between your breasts where he’s sucking a bruise before he’s lifting his head to look up at you. His mossy gaze is glowing in the sun but his eyes are dark with lust. 

“Do you want to cum on my tongue or my knot, petal?”

Your response is a pitched whine. You scramble to lift the bottom of your dress, the other guiding his cock to your slicked cunt.

Tamlin’s resolve nearly breaks. He can feel the shift coming and it takes all of his restraint as High Lord not to succumb to his wolf form and fuck into you.

His body is taut and he refuses to move until he’s sure that he won’t transform. He presses his forehead to yours, eyes squeezed shut tight, and on a shaky exhale he speaks.

“Why aren’t you wearing anything under this dress, petal?”

You tease him, twisting your hand and nipping at his lip. You know that he won’t hurt you, no matter what form he’s in, and you could admit that you’d thought about what it would be like to be with Tamlin in his true form. 

“I forgot to put them on this morning,” you respond, tone dripping with false innocence. 

He groans, remembering that sneaky smile you had on your face before you’d run off. He’d wondered if he would find out why you’d had that look on your face, and now he has.

The head of his cock is hot where it sits flush against your cunt. You want to writhe but his strong hips are pinning yours down. Your cunt tries to clench, tries to get anything, but he’s not moving just yet, hasn’t got himself under control yet.

“Bad, petal. Filthy, petal. My petal.”

His words are accompanied by a feral stroke to the bond that thrums through your body down to your core. It causes you to cry out, clutching onto his arms, his back, anywhere you can reach.

“Tamlin, please!”

With a snarl he snaps his hips forward, filling you with his cock in one slick motion.

He can’t help himself, with the way you cry out with pleasure, arching up against him already as he presses you back into the soft grass. The sun beats down on his back but it’s nothing compared to the heat of you beneath him, the warmth you’re sending down the bond.

“Fuck, (Y/N),” he groans, but he has nothing to follow with, his head is empty of words, lost in the feeling of your slick cunt clutching his cock like a vice. He pulls out and presses in again, picking up speed as your legs wrap around his waist, another cuff he’d never wish to be freed from.

He can barely even kiss you, panting into each other’s mouths from the effort. You are the reason he’s reclaimed the Spring Court, the reason that his lands look more vibrant than ever. With you by his side, beneath him, on top of him, he feels like the High Lord his court needs him to be.

He wants to make you his.

As if you’re reading his mind you bare your throat.

“Bite me,” you gasp, nails scraping at the base of your neck as you try to pull him closer. You want those puncture wounds on your shoulder, the scars left behind of him laying claim on what’s his, the bond made physical to show everyone that you are his and he is yours.

Tamlin shudders and keens like a pup. Your words make him weak, threaten to shred every last bit of resold he has just to shift a tiny bit and give you what you’re begging him so nicely for. 

He lets you guide his head to the juncture of your neck and shoulder, right over the spot that he loves. He noses at the area, smells strongly of roses, lazing over the area with his tongue before he gives the area a gentle bite with his human teeth. You whine under him.

“More,” you beg, knotting your fingers in his long hair, using it to lock him there.

He shushes you with a kiss beneath your ear, his words dancing in the winds.

“Are you sure, petal?”

It’s accompanied by a thrust that hits you perfectly.

“Gods, yes,” you plead, clutching him closer.

Tamlin hums, relaxing into the transformation tingling at his body. He doesn’t want to hurt you, so he won’t fully shift, he’ll work you up to that one soon, when you’re alone in the privacy of his palace, not out in the rolling hills of the Spring Court where anyone or anything can come and watch.

His fingertips elongate into claws. You gasp, eyes rolling into the back of your head as Tamlin braces one hand on your hip, his claws pricking your skin. The other hand is less controlled, long claws buried deep into the dirt beside your head as he fucks into you with fervor.

He can feel his teeth sharpening, and it nearly takes all of his focus to stop them from getting to their full length. He thrusts into you deeply as he bites gently at your shoulder. It’s enough to break skin like you wanted but not enough to leave scars with your fae healing.

Another thing he will do to you in the privacy of his home.

Your cunt is already tight against him, but you keep begging him for more so more you will get. His cock grows bigger and you cry out at the feeling of him swelling inside of you, letting his cock fill out into his wolf form.

Your mind goes fuzzy with it all, the sharpness of his claws and teeth on your skin, grounding you from the absolute pleasure his enormous cock is putting you in, stretching you open with its girth.

“Look at you,” he coos, lapping at the mark he’s bitten into your neck. Your blood is sweet on his tongue, he savors your honeyed nectar. “All pretty and cumhungry. You want it, petal?”

It’s so good. Too good. You can feel his cock expanding with his knot. It drags up your slick walls, hitting every part you need it too, fingernails scraping down his back as please roll off your tongue with ease, utter nonsense but Tamlin seems to understand exactly what you need.

He lifts his head to roar. It rumbles the hills around you, startling the grasses. Birds caw and fly off in the distance but it’s drowned out by the blood pumping in your veins, the pounding of his heart pressing against your own. 

Tamlin grinds deep into you and curses, filling you up with his throbbing cock. It drags magnificently inside of you, locking deep into your womb, pumping with you full of his cum. His knot nestled inside of you makes damn sure that none of his cum leaks out of you, and the fleeting thought of you carrying his babe or a whole litter of babes makes his cock throb harder, spurting out into your tight cunt, all his. 

You follow right there with him, the swell of his knot vibrating within you, pumping you full of his rich seed is everything you need to orgasm just as hard, crying out against his damp skin. 

You squeal as he rolls abruptly, pulling you with him.

“My sweet petal,” Tamlin sighs, pressing light kisses to your hairline. He holds you close, arms tucked around your waist, claws and teeth put away for another time. You settle down onto his chest, exhaling contentedly as his cock stays within you, hot and throbbing as the both of you catch your breath.

“That cloud looks like you.”

#tamlin x reader #tamlin/reader #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acotarxreader #azsazz

[azsazz]

Structure of the Gods

Modern!Cassian x Reader

Summary: Figure drawing class is normally not something to write home about. But today, the nude model just happens to be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen...and your best friend Feyre knows him.

Warnings: Nudity, sexual themes.

Word Count: 2,382

Notes: Here’s the Cass I promised this weekend. The trifecta is complete! 💙

_________________________________________

“(Y/N)!”

The breath whooshes out of your body for two reasons. One, because you’d stopped so abruptly in the doorway to the drawing room that your best friend, Feyre, had slammed into your back.

And two, because of the fucking God standing before you.

He’s clothed in a robe that you’ve become accustomed to the models wearing for your drawing; the thin, gray cotton stretching over the expanse of his broad shoulders. He’s so tall that it nearly shows his ass – cut short like he’d ordered the incorrect size – and you think that if he turns around you might be able to see the tip of his–

Feyre shoves you forward. You stumble into the room, nearly tripping over your feet because you can’t seem to look away from the hulking figure who’s turning his head at your friend's hiss of your name.

“Cassian?” Feyre’s scold dies on her lips, her tone perking up at the sight of him.

You remember him, of course you do. He’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of and more. Unruly brunet hair that’s been thrown haphazardly into a knot at the back of his head. You wonder if he’s just that effortless that his hair turned out to be that perfect or if it had taken years of practice. Loose strands frame his strong jaw and he tucks a lock behind his ear as he recognizes Feyre, face splitting into a wild grin that makes your knees weak and your heart trip.

“Fey,” he exclaims excitedly, bounding closer. You swallow harshly, heart stuttering at his beauty. The nearer he gets the taller he becomes, towering over the both of you. He doesn’t hesitate to pull your friend into a bear hug, and when he straightens you have to crane your neck back so far it almost hurts. “What are you doing here?”

You clutch your sketchbook tighter to your chest, drinking in the tree of a man before you. 

Cassian.

From the front, the robe hardly closes over his tanned chest, large pectorals peeking out from the cloth. You can make out the curve of his body, the slopes leading down to his tight waist where the belt is tied in a lazy knot, like he’s not worried that his bulky muscles will snap it right in half to expose him.

“I’m in this class,” she laughs easily, but there’s a pink tinge to her cheeks, “Although I didn’t know you were going to be a part of it.”

Cassian shrugs easily, winking, “Nothing you haven’t seen before, little one.”

You have to choke back the gasp that crawls its way up your throat, eyes flying wide as you stare at Feyre, who’s shaking her head quickly, stumbling over her response.

Her glance flickers to you and you catch the realization in her eyes. She tucks her arm with yours and tugs you closer as she changes the subject.

“Cassian, this is (Y/N). I think you’ve met before. At Rhys’ last party?”

And those breath-taking hazel eyes slide to you, examining you slowly. It makes your face heat and your grip on your book tightens, palms sweaty.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, a sparkle in those earthy eyes, “I’d never forget a pretty face like that.”

Your cheeks grow hot with an embarrassed blush but you don’t have time to respond, nearly jumping under his heavy gaze when your professor calls for everyone’s attention.

“That’s me,” Cassian grins, flashing perfect teeth, “See you later.”

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding as you and Feyre scramble to your seats, putting your bag and books down and making your way to get the large drawing pads you keep stowed in the room so you don’t have to lug them around campus three times a week.

“You know him?” you ask, incredulously, passing her her drawing pad and reaching for your own.

Feyre smirks, nudging your shoulder, “Yeah, he’s one of Rhys’ friends. Interested?”

You glance over your shoulder to where he’s speaking with your professor. He’s nearly an entire head taller than the man running the class, explaining how the time will be split – one minute warm ups, a fifteen minute session, and the rest of the two hours will be spent in one pose so you can all work on drawing the full human form.

You’re very interested. Had been when he’d had his tongue shoved down your throat in the middle of the makeshift dance floor is Rhysand’s basement. He’d been called away before things could go further, as the reigning champion of the longest keg-stand he had to keep his crown once Azriel had surprised everyone with a whopping twenty–two seconds, and you hadn’t even been able to snag his number in your haze.

You hadn’t seen him around campus after that no matter how badly you wanted to.

But now, setting up your drawing pad, flipping to an open page as you sit on your bench next to Feyre, you’re about to see much more than you had imagined.

“Slightly,” you shrug at Feyre’s questioning stare. She scoffs, rolling her eyes as she pulls out her charcoal and kneaded eraser.

Your mouth goes dry and you snap your charcoal in half as the robe slips from his tanned shoulders, unveiling the marble statue of a man underneath.

Rippling muscles line his body, corded and thick in all of the right places. You can’t help it, staring unabashed because he’s turned away from you, your eyes falling from the inky whorls of tattoos across his shoulders, down through the cavern of the muscle lining his spine, all the way down to his tight ass.

The one minute alarm jars you from your stupor. Feyre notices your blank drawing pad, the crumbled charcoal in the palm of your sweaty hand, laughing under her breath as Cassian changes poses.

You avert your gaze as he turns, quickly rifling through your pencil case for another stick of charcoal.

You can feel his eyes on you as you put the chalk to your paper, and you hardly look away from those glowing eyes as you roughly sketch, trying to relax as much as you can with the obvious tension between the both of you.

The alarm is off again and he’s shifting, putting a foot up on a block and bending over slightly, resting his forearms over his folded knee. Your charcoal slides across your paper in a fluid motion as you draw the curve of his spine, much more confident now that his eyes aren’t watching you work.

After a few more rounds of quick studies there’s a short break where all of the students turn to a fresh page while the professor talks to the model, instructing him on his positioning for the longer fifteen minute focus.

Feyre leans over, a glint in her eyes and an amused smirk on her lips, “We did ten minutes, why do you only have nine drawings?” Her question is innocent but her face is anything but.

“Shut up, Fey,” you grumble, cheeks pinking as you flatten down your paper.

She giggles and then your professor announces the beginning of the fifteen minutes.

You lose yourself in the quiet of the classroom, nothing but the sounds of long strokes or chalk against paper, the scratch of quick sharp lines being drawn in. You have a view of Cassian’s backside again, so it’s much easier for you to focus on your work.

You draw the contours of his muscle, packed on layer upon layer from years of hard work put in, your fingers rubbing in the dark soot to your drawing pad, wishing they were sliding against that perfectly smooth, tanned skin.

It’s easy to draw his form, and you find yourself sketching in his dark ink, pulling out the highlights of the fluorescent lights beaming harshly on his shoulders, drawing the fly away hairs from his bun. You wish he’d take it down so you can draw it cascading over his shoulders and back like you imagined.

The timer rings and the professor calls for a break before the last long drawing. You dust the charcoal from your fingers, admiring the expanse of Cassian’s arms as he tugs on the robe.

Feyre stands to stretch, shooting you a knowing look, which you ignore in favor of digging out your water bottle from your bag, drinking down a much needed sip.

“You like him,” she sing–songs in a low voice to you, a grin on her face.

You’re thankful that Cassian is occupied with the professor, asking questions about how he’ll be posed for the remaining time.

“Can we not do this right now? Please?” you beg, frowning at your friend.

She raises her hands in surrender, “Fine, fine. But might I just say that I think he likes you too.” Her head tilts in his direction and your gaze cuts to where he’s talking to the professor, eyes darting away from yours when you turn.

You bite back a smile and Feyre winks at you.

Cassian lies down for the last session, on an air mattress covered with what you hope is a clean sheet.

Of course, you are sitting right before his…well-equipped package. 

He’s huge. Split you open, break your back huge. You can’t stop looking at his cock, the slight curve as it rests against his leg, surprisingly tan and a perfect pink at the tip. And he’s not even hard.

Your professor starts the timer and all time is lost.

You’re in the zone, admiring the sheer side of this man, how he looks while he’s relaxed. Cassian’s eyes are closed and you think he might even be sleeping with how even the rise and fall of his toned chest is.

You take the time to reach out your pencil and measure his length, just like you’d been taught.

Well–equipped indeed.

The timer ends before you know it, and you sit back to admire your work. 

Feyre leans over to take a look at what you’ve drawn. “Looks great (Y/N). I can really tell you spent a lot of time on his cock.”

You choke, batting her away as you slam your drawing pad shut. She lets out a full laugh and you can’t help but shake your head at your friend, breaking into a smile of your own.

“Fuck off,” you roll your eyes, standing to put your sketch pad away.

You slide it into its drawer, letting Feyre take her own this time. On your way back to your seat is when Cassian comes up to you, stopping you in your tracks.

The robe is once again on, and he’s holding it shut over his chest like he hadn’t had the time to tie it in his haste to get over to you.

“So, what did you think?” he grins and it makes your heart melt a little.

“About what?” you answer, trying to play it off like you weren’t just staring at his cock for two hours.

His smile falters for a moment before it turns wolfish, smug as hell. He knows you’re playing with him and Mother does he love a good game.

“Been thinking about you the whole time,” he admits, staring down at you with his mesmerizing hazel eyes, “Straddling that fucking bench, it was hard not to think about how you’d look sitting on my cock like that.”

“Really?” you duck your head to hide the blush heating your cheeks, cursing yourself from backing down from his words so easily. “You hardly even looked my way.”

“Couldn’t be getting hard in the middle of the session,” he replies easily, tilting your chin up with his warm fingers, “They wouldn’t ask me back then.”

You purse your lips, “What a shame that would be.”

“Don’t like to share, sweetheart?” he purrs, releasing your chin. “Did you make sure to get my cock the right proportions?” 

You roll your eyes in response. “It took about all of five seconds.”

“That’s alright. Some learn better from hands-on experience,” he winks at you, not backing down.

“I can’t draw what I can’t see,” you retort, the comment slipping easily from your lips as you hold his gaze.

“Sweetheart, there’s so much of it I’m not even sure you’d know what to do with it. Need a better view?” He asks, wolfishly.

You scoff, narrowing your eyes at him. You don’t have a response and Cassian raises his brow in challenge as he continues. “Care to find out?”

“As if you would be so lucky.”

“It’s my nickname after all,” he purrs, leaning in closer. His tongue flicks out to lick at his bottom lip.

Feyre appears, startling the both of you apart. “I thought your nickname was Big–”

“Not now, Fey. I think Rhys is waiting for you out front.” Cassian doesn’t break eye contact with you as he speaks. Feyre’s brows furrow and she looks like she’s about to respond but she must think better of it. If Rhys is really outside waiting for her she would much rather be hanging out with him anyway.

“See you Friday, (Y/N). Fuck you, Cass.”

You both wave, his glowing hazel eyes still pinned to yours as she takes her leave.

“So what do you say we skip the rest of our classes and study anatomy at my place?” he offers when Feyre’s gone. He lets the front of his robe slip open an inch further, showing off his impressive chest.

You chew on your lip for a moment. He’s obviously just invited you over to have sex, and you’re far enough ahead in your classes that you could miss one…and he really is so fucking handsome.

“I’d ask if you’re going to put anything on before we leave.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, “I think it would benefit us more if I didn’t. Half of the work is already done.”

“I think enough people have seen you nude today,” you nearly growl at the thought of him striding around campus in his thin robe.

Cassian lets out a hearty laugh that makes your heart hammer in your chest. He repeats the same question he’d asked you earlier, reaching for the neatly folded pile of clothes. “Don’t like to share, sweetheart?”

#cassian #cass x reader #cassian x reader #cassian/reader #cassian/you #art school au #art school cass #acotar #acowar #acomaf #acotarxreader #azsazz

[azsazz]

Moonlight Rising

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Isn’t this what living in the Night Court is all about? AKA: You feel like one of the stars and you love Azriel because he reminds you of the thing you adore the most, the moon.

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1,409

Notes: This is the song that inspired this fic and I literally listened it to repeat while I wrote this. 💙🌙 

_________________________________________

“Look at the moon,” you murmur, eyes awe-filled and casted towards the sky.

“You always say that,” Azriel responds just as softly, admiring that look on your face, committing it to memory. He’s afraid that speaking too loudly will wake the glowing beacon hanging above or draw your attention away from it.

The silver of the moon reflects in the pools of your eyes and he feels so lucky that it’s him you’re here with right now. It’s like a secret between the two of you in the late hours of the night when it’s just you and him and the moon, the rest of the court asleep and dreaming. But not the two of you. No, you’re here, hand in hand and walking amongst their dreams, the stars.

You shrug, grinning, and as your gaze slides to him the admiration doesn’t falter. It makes his heart flutter and his bones soften. “I like to see what she’s up to way up there. How she’s feeling.”

“How she’s feeling?” his brows furrow as he glances up at the moon in question. It’s big and full,  painting of metallic light, casting a magical sparkle throughout the streets. “What do you mean?”

“You mean you don’t feel that?”

“Feel what?” he questions, and he realizes that he’s let his guard down, too comfortable in your presence. He calls upon his shadows from where they’re lazily trailing along the winding path, but they have nothing to report.

“Oh, come on! Here,” you shake your head, pulling Azriel to the center of the square, “Lie down with me.”

Azriel watches you fall to the ground in the center of the square, settling onto the uneven cobblestones on your back, looking up at him with a brow raised.

He glances around the streets. It’s too late for anyone of sound mind to be roaming around. The arts district is quiet.

So he joins you, planting himself directly beside you. His wings are tucked awkwardly and they brush against the rough ground beneath him but he’s willing to lay for as long as you want if you keep looking at him like that, love-drunk on stardust. 

His heart thumps in his chest like the first time you’d ever held his hand.

“Now close your eyes.”

Azriel stares at you. You’re so beautiful in the moonlight like this, happy and free.

You squeeze his hand with a soft smile, urging him to follow your instruction. Your lashes kiss the tops of your cheeks. “Close your eyes, Az.”

His cheeks burn, but he does as you say, adjusting himself, the pattern of the cobblestones is uncomfortable but he’s slept on worse. He wonders if he complains enough you will give him one of your massages that always turn into something more–

It’s quiet. He can hear your breath, the sounds of bugs serenading the night.

“You feel that?” 

Whatever you’re feeling he doesn’t. But what he does feel is the warmth of the palm of your hand on his own, the bones of your knuckles pressed to his, your fingers utterly relaxed in his slightly tense grip. He can feel the sliver of moonlight in his chest, that string from his mind, his body, his soul, connecting him to you, to everything that you are. It shimmers.

“Yeah,” he breathes anyway, “I feel it.”

“Do you think the stars gaze back at us?” You stun him sometimes. When you’re not taking his breath away with your beauty you’re asking him silly questions he’s never considered, patiently awaiting a serious response.

He loves you for it. Your mind, unmatched.

“I suppose they could be,” he ponders, turning toward the stars. “Although they’d probably think us crazy for lying on the hard ground in the midst of Autumn staring up at them.”

You laugh and his heart soars.

“What do you think that one does?” you ask, pointing to a star just north of the moon.

Azriel tries to pinpoint exactly which one you’re talking about but there’s so many in such close proximity that he doesn’t think that he can, but he answers anyway, an amused smile on his lips.

“A baker, I reckon.”

Your finger shifts in a different direction, “And that one?”

“Swordsman.”

“How about that one over there?”

“Town fool,” it rolls off his tongue easily, the rapid fire back-and-forth.

“And her?”

“Thief.”

Your hand falls and you make a face at your mate. “A thief?”

He shrugs in response, “What? They can’t all be nice.”

You huff in disagreement. You suppose he’s right though. It did look a little dimmer than the rest.

Letting the night wash over you once more, you settle. Being out under the moon and the stars with Azriel is something that you’ll never tire of. And you’re thankful that he’s willing to go with you, whether it’s admiring them from afar or answering your playful questions or flying you with them, across the night sky.

“Why do you like the moon so much?” Azriel breaks the comfortable silence, voice barely a whisper, as if he’s afraid of the answer.

You swallow thickly, blink slowly as all of the reasons you love the moon rush through your mind.

“There are many reasons,” you start, thumb brushing over the rough scars of his hands. You let your head fall to the side and he’s already staring at you, golden eyes so different from the silvery moon in the sky. They look like the sun, and light up every part of your soul with just a single glance, in the same way that you are the moon, seeing through all of his darkness.

“Tell me your favorite.” It’s soft, small smiles like you’re sharing a secret.

“I think your hands are the first thing I loved about you,” you admit.

Azriel frowns, nearly dropping your hand. Your fingers tighten around his loose ones so they don’t slide from yours.

That wasn’t what he had asked. He didn’t ask you to lie to him, didn’t ask you to bring up the marred flesh over ruined muscle and charred bone. He flinches because when had they stopped becoming a constant reminder and were now just…a part of him?

“Why?” Azriel’s throat is tight and his heart pounds in his chest. His eyes hurt, prickling with the unfamiliar feeling of tears, something he hasn’t done in years, and he wonders if the moon is actually affecting him in some way. He doesn’t want to talk about this but he wants to know why such an ugly part of him can be the thing you loved first about him.

“Look,” you nod back towards the moon but he doesn’t look away, eyes flickering between yours as if looking for any sign that you’re lying to him or about to change the subject.

You flood the bond with the warmth that the sun within him makes you feel, and he looks.

Taking his hand that you haven’t yet let go, you raise them up into the air between you, until the back of his palm sits next to the moon in your line of vision.

“Look at them,” you whisper, teary eyed and soft smiled.

And Azriel does. He’s overcome with emotion as he stares back and forth between the moon and his own hand, really looking. It doesn’t take long for him to understand why you’ve said what you did, with the way that the roughness of his hands look like that of the moon. Dips and pock-marks alike, both imperfect and rough but yet somehow they’re your favorite things in the world.

He sucks in a harsh breath as he assesses, and you let him take his time, watching the realization wash over his features in the bright moonlight. His long, inky lashes clumping together with wetness, the bob of his throat as he swallows the lump of emotion lodged there. You can feel what he’s feeling, down the open bond. Never closed, not for you. Apprehension and fear melting away into something more, something stronger. Love and pride.

“We’re the same,” he breathes, tearing his gaze from his hand and the moon shining down.

You nod, a tear of happiness slipping from the corner of your eye that reflects silver in the light. Azriel brushes it away with his fingers, hand still holding onto yours tightly.

“I love you to the moon and back, Az.”

“To the moon and back, (Y/N),” he promises.

#Azriel #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #azriel/you #azriel x you #azriel fluff #azsazz #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acotarxreader

[azsazz]

Dead by Dawn

Azriel x Cassian x Reader

Summary: Zombie!AU: It’s been a while since the end of the world.

Warnings: Blood, gore, injury, graphic depictions of violence, eventual poly!relationship, undead.

Word Count: 3,811

Notes: Mother knows I don’t need another AU but frankly idc 💅🏻

_________________________________________

Day 189

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Fuck me, you think, digging your tattered sneakers deeper into the ground. You’re hoping to gain better traction on the dirty road as you run–sprint away from the creature at your back. Gravel gives way, making the asphalt slippery as you try to maneuver through the barren streets or the abandoned town and away from the monster trailing behind you.

You don’t need to be bolting at full speed, but any form of running is tough due to your injured knee. You’d twinged it the other day as you ran through the forest with a horde of undead lazing after you, locked in on the stench of your blood.

You’d tripped over an upturned root and fell harshly, landing directly onto a stone. The crack of your knee smashing into the rock cracked through the forest and the zoms had grunted loudly in response, almost gleefully, like they knew you’d been downed.

It truly is just your luck.

Something always seemed to go wrong in your presence. If it wasn’t dropping your last can of food into the river while you were crossing it was attracting a group of undead while you were grumbling loudly about just how shit your luck really was. It was the man you’d trusted who’d ended up robbing and abandoning you while you slept, leaving you only with the short knife tucked into your boot at the time.

Hell, you were probably somehow connected to the apocalypse happening.

You chance a look over your shoulder, and for a split second your heart calms and you slow your pace, the road clear behind you.

Hunched over with your hands on your knees you gulp down the arid summer air. The stifling heat chokes you and you cough loudly to clear your airway, sucking in a large breath just as a bead of sweat rolls down your mouth. You wheeze, coughing harder as the tiny offender slips its way down the wrong pipe. 

Like you said, bad luck.

Pounding on your chest, you wince. Your hacking will attract more. You need to stop.

Scanning your surroundings, you try to gather your bearings of where you are in this small, rundown town. You were just supposed to be passing through for the usual runs of searching shops for food and unused supplies. Your backpack is a little too light for your comfort.

You’d convinced your comrade to split up, and now you're regretting it more than ever. The town is small enough, quiet enough with the rustling leaves and sounds of birds chirping nearby. There are no human sounds, no scuffing of shredded shoes dragging across the pavement, no snick of safety switches clicking off. 

It’s silent.

You cut off your coughing abruptly and straighten, swallowing uncomfortably. Your tongue is thick in your mouth and your throat is dry from lack of water. You’re down to your last bottle, and choking on your own sweat has only made you thirstier. Your heart pounds in your chest, too loud for you to make out the sound around you but it’s then that you realize–

It’s silent.

The wildlife has gone completely still, birds sensing the threats lingering nearby, falling quiet in their nests. Not only do zoms lure for tasty human flesh, but they’re known to trap any living creatures they can.

A low inhuman growl drags your attention away from the trees. It grates against your skull like it always does, a cry for help, a cry for flesh. Your head snaps around back the way you came. 

You curse.

Really, really unlucky.

Not one, but three undead come stumbling out from behind the building you’d passed. It’s an old laundromat, and one of the zoms is clad in a half-torn dirty t-shirt that you think could use a good washing. Or burning. They’re tripping over their own stupidly clumsy feet, and when they catch sight of you, pick up your sweaty, delicious scent over the soft breeze, their milky white eyes zero in on you.

Grunting softly, you begin jogging away from them. Running has never been your favorite hobby, but it’s imperative to your survival now. Doesn’t matter that your lungs feel like they’re on fire with every step, your knee sending sharp shockwaves of pain up your leg with each step. 

At least it isn’t broken.

Ignoring the throb in your leg, you reach for the holster wrapped tightly around your waist. You’d had to punch another hole into the leather to keep it tight enough not to slip down your rapidly slimming hips. You know you won’t find anything there, that dick had stolen your gun long ago. These days, the worn leather belt housed a knife, but you’d dropped it in the initial scuffle with the leader of the small zom pack chasing after you.

You’d laughed, thought it was your comrade and had shoved the creature off of you. But when your fingers had torn through the delicate flesh on the zombies arm, rotting veins and thin skin spilled out over your hand you were quick to your senses. Reaching for the knife, hand slicked with thick, chunky blood. Your grip slipped once, twice, and the zombie was up in an instant, pushing against the hand you’d planted across its chest.

Finally tugging the knife loose from where it was nestled in your holster was a relief that turned sour as the zombie swiped out. Dumb luck had the flailing limb striking true, knocking the weapon from your unsteady hold. It landed with a soft thump, a small cloud of dust puffing up and clinging to the black blood coated hilt.

Time froze as you stared at the zombie, letting out an unamused puff of air as your heart kicked into gear. It’s head jerked forward on fractured bones, the clacking of it reverberated up your spine like a hot knife, and you winced. The zoms mouth parted and its rotting gray tongue rolled out, lapped at the air, tasting your scent.

It shoved harder against your hold.

You’d managed to wrestle the undead away, pushing it to the ground, but you hadn’t had the time to grab your trusty knife that you’d carried with you since the beginning of the end. You climbed to your feet and side stepped the cracked hand reaching for you, the bony tips of fingers free from dead skin, sprinting away.

Unsure of which way to go, you raced up the road away from where you had last seen your friend. You wouldn’t let her get caught because of your stupidity.

You try to outrun them, weaving in and out of the few buildings in town, but they’re locked on your scent, although you’re pretty sure you smell like one of them by now, you can’t even remember the last time you’d showered.

Rounding the corner of an old bar, you debate stopping for a drink. You pray that there’s an unopened bottle of vodka, or tequila inside. Hell, you’d take just about anything right now.

Making a mental note to come back around and search the bar, you trip. You use your hands to catch you, cursing as your palms scrape against the pebbles and dirt. You hope that there’s no blood, muttering beneath your breath as you survey the alley. There’s a tall chain link fence blocking your path.

Well fuck.

There’s no way you’ll make it up in time, and the drop from the other side is a long way. Plus, you don’t know if your aching knee will be able to support your weight against the flimsy metal, having just fallen on it again.

Your day really can’t get any worse.

Your limbs slide against the dusty ground as you flip over. Your fingertips dig down for purchase. The three zoms are approaching quickly, limping closer to you, keen on getting a taste of your flesh. One of them even looks like it’s smiling, peeling lips torn and curled around blackened rotting teeth, grinning at you sadistically.

Your heart stutters in your chest.

This is it.

You search the alley frantically, hoping that there’s at least a broken bottle from the tavern you can use in defense against the looming creatures. There’s nothing but pebbles and litter, not a single potential weapon in sight. You swallow hard, gaze flitting back to the zombies who moan softly, making grabby hands at you like babies do their mothers.

Your back hits the fence and you squeeze your eyes shut tight, the sun blaring hot across your skin.

You’ve had a pretty good run, you think, for someone who’s luck is as shit as yours. 189 days.

You send a silent prayer up above – although you’re pretty sure whoever is supposed to be watching over Earth has taken a break long ago – and hope that your comrade will be okay.

The zoms are almost on you and you curl tighter around yourself, refusing to open your eyes. If you’re going to go, the last thing you want to see is yourself being eaten. No thanks.

There’s a loud war cry just as the long, overgrown, brittle nails scrape against your cheek. You shudder and a shadow crosses your vision for a millisecond, and your eyes snap open. Squinting against the harsh sun you watch as the zombies arms are lobbed off, falling right onto your lap.

Black blood drips thickly and your empty stomach curdles. With a grimace you shove the limp limbs off of your legs and pull yourself to your feet, the zombies attention turning to the new person in the alley with you.

You loose a sigh of relief at the shaky laugh and taunts thrown at the undead, “Come here, you fuckers!”

It’s your comrade. She’s armed with a landscape scythe in one hand and your knife in the other. The sunlight casts over her sharp cheekbones and her gray eyes are almost as pale as the zoms. It’s unnerving sometimes but right now your chest swells with relief. Her menacing (and slightly crazed) smile has her looking like an angel of death.

“Feyre,” you exhale, head falling back against the chain link fence in solace.

The armless zombie struggles, trying to stagger to its feet, but it ends up inchworming its way towards you and your savior. With one quick jab of your knife to its head, the creature goes still.

Feyre jerks the blade from the body and dances around the other two zoms, swiftly moving behind them. You catch one of their attention, beating your hand against the fence, rattling the metal with your hands. Before one can turn around to face Feyre, she uses her scythe, the curved blade protruding from the stomach of the zombie. She grabs the handle with both hands and lifts with a grunt. The body's decomposed muscle and bone give way as she slices from stomach to head, splitting the damn thing in two. When it falls away it reveals a grinning Feyre.

You grimace at the sight. She’d found that gardening scythe a few weeks ago and now it’s her new favorite weapon.

“Gimme,” you gesture to your knife with a nod of your head, the last zombie still slowly making its way towards you.

“You sure?” Feyre cocks an eyebrow. She’s still on a high from her last kill, “I don’t mind.”

You shrug your shoulders in response, “Be my guest.”

You let Feyre take the last one, sliding the knife easily into the base of its neck. It’s a more humane kill than the last one, and you’re just glad it’s over quickly.

“Don’t drop this again,” Feyre says seriously, striding over the dead bodies and firmly placing the knife back in your hand. Her fingers wrap around yours tightly, making sure you understand the importance of the weapon.

“Not like I was trying to,” you mumble, looking away from her in shame. Your gaze settles on your hands and your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You hadn’t even known the girl long but here she is, saving your life and sticking by your side even though she doesn’t have to.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she admits softly, looking at you with sad eyes. If she’s saying this because she doesn’t want to be out all alone in the shit world or because she feels a kinship with you from what you’ve both been through, you can’t say.

You sigh, frustrated. “I’m no good for you, Fey. You’d be better off without me.” You wipe the blood from your blade onto your already dirty pants and nestle it back in its rightful spot on your belt.

“Stop with that, (Y/N).” Feyre places her hands firmly on your shoulders and stares into your eyes. Her gray iris’ are piercing, similar and yet different than the undead, like she can see all of your deepest secrets and fears, all of the things you’ve had to do to get here, to stay alive.

You’re vaguely aware of the zombie blood dripping from her blade onto your shoulder and you try not to cringe. “Like hell you’re leaving me in this shit hole alone.”

You chuckle softly, ignoring the pang of guilt you feel. Once she finds what she’s looking for, she will absolutely abandon you, your mind supplies.

“Sorry,” you offer quietly.

“Just don’t scare me like that again,” she responds, waving off your apology. There are no ‘sorry’s’ in the apocalypse, no need to ask forgiveness for the evils you’ve committed. You trail Feyre out of the alley, “Use your words next time.”

“Didn’t want to attract more,” you admit, knowing that if you had screamed for help it would only put the both of you in more danger, “Ended up doing that just fine anyway.”

Feyre doesn’t respond to that. She can see that you’re already kicking yourself for what’s happened, even though the both of you are okay. You have a habit of that, blaming yourself for most things that go wrong. You always have.

“You’re limping,” she points out instead, “You hurt?”

“Nah, just fell on it weird,” you try to smile but it looks more like a grimace. “It’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“We should find somewhere to stop. You can rest and I’ll check out the other stores. Maybe we can find you some painkillers.”

The odds are highly unlikely, but you don’t mention it. Not all of the stores in this tiny town have smashed windows and ransacked shelves.

“We’re not splitting up again,” you demand, following Feyre through the broken window of a nearby store. You wince when you lift your leg and pain shoots up it.

You look around the dinghy shop and make a face. It’s a mattress store, and you have no idea how long it’s been since it’s been broken into, but by the looks of the stained and matted mattresses, you can tell it’s been awhile.

Feyre hums in agreement, scythe poised and ready for anything that might pop up and surprise the both of you. You keep your knife tucked tightly in your hand, ready to back her up without a second thought.

“There’s a clothing shop a few stores down. Untouched. Thought we could drag a mattress down there for a night. Sleep on a real bed for once,” Feyre suggests and throws a grin over her shoulder towards you, “Maybe go on a little shopping spree.”

And that’s another thing that differentiates you from Feyre. While she was scoping out for supplies that might actually help you survive in this undead world, you were thinking about booze.

“It would be nice to get some new clothes,” you comment, pulling at the dirty shirt clinging to your sweaty skin. You frown, looking around at all of the mattresses, “And sleep on something comfortable, if we can find one that’s decent, that is.”

Feyre rolls her eyes, “Oh, come on (Y/N). Everyone knows they keep the nice ones in the back. All wrapped up and ready to go.” She raises her eyebrows at you in a silent question, and you nod, silently telling her that you’ve got her back.

Feyre shoves open the door to the storage room and you’re surrounded by stacked mattresses lining the walls. 

“Jackpot!”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The both of you had managed to drag a twin sized bed two stores over into the clothing shop with little trouble. You’d ignored the twinge of pain in your leg at the weight. It grows worse the longer you stand on it, but you really do want to sleep in a real bed.

You shove it as far away as you can from the window at the front of the store and tear the plastic wrap off of it. Your heart stumbles as you think that this is what it must feel like for the zombies to tear through flesh. You shudder.

Instead of falling onto the fresh mattress like you want to, you’d gone back out to search for more supplies before the sun sets. You need water, but it’s scarce to come by these days. You each have one bottle left in your bags from when you’d found a pack of unopened water bottles sitting out in the sun in front of a gas station. It probably wasn’t the best thing to be drinking from a plastic bottle that had been sitting in the sun for who knows how long, but you didn’t have the luxury of being picky these days.

You’d seen one more zombie in the drugstore you were hoping to find some painkillers in, but if the spilled pills surrounding the trapped zombie were anything to go by, it looked like they had gotten to them first.

You whistle to yourself as you walk through the aisles, a slight limp in your step. You kick an open bag of chips out of your way, searching for anything that is still usable to eat for the night.

You’d gotten used to the constant hunger pains, the feeling of your stomach trying to eat itself, contorting in pain when you thought about shoveling a thick and juicy cheeseburger into your mouth. As long as your stomach still jumps at the thought of food instead of flesh, you can manage.

Feyre was built for the apocalypse. She’s figured out how to ration, and she’s always planning, not knowing when you’d find your next meal.

Another reason you were so lucky to have her.

You’re frustrated, having walked down the food aisle three times but still coming up with nothing. The only food left was opened or had rotted out a long time ago, and you don’t need to be getting sick over spoiled food.

“Find anything?” Feyre asks, returning from checking the back room and moving over to where you stand.

“A few bandages, but no food,” you sigh, holstering your weapon. “You?”

She shakes her head, “No food either, but I found these,” she tosses you a bottle of painkillers and you smile gratefully. “Fucker didn’t get to those ones.”

“Thanks, Fey.” You immediately tug off the cap and down two. They catch against your dry throat but eventually work their way down.

You tug your backpack off of your shoulder, stuffing the canister inside. It rattles and you remind yourself to stuff a clean sock into it so they don’t move around as much.

The both of you search up and down the rest of the aisles of the small store just in case. Feyre becomes fascinated over a rubix cube you’d found, still in its package. You smile softly at her as she tears open the plastic and mixes the colors. You both need something that reminds you of the simple life before.

You find some chains and padlocks still handing in their spots in the hardware store and you’re both incredibly thankful. Even though you haven’t found more food, you still have a can of beans you can share, and you have clean clothes and a comfortable place to sleep for the night, so today isn’t as much of a bust as you thought.

“Fuck,” Feyre sighs are she settles down onto the mattress next to you. “Been a rough day, hasn’t it?”

You hum in agreement, passing her the can of beans. You’ve both changed, opting for plain t-shirts and new jeans. You’d almost cried when you found a package of unopened socks, shouting for Feyre like you’d found a cure.

“S’just socks, (Y/N). Calm down,” she’d replied, but the relief shone in her eyes as well.

You share the beans, passing it back and forth in silence, the both of you lost in your thoughts. You’d packed up what you could into your bags. They sit at the foot of the mattress, ready and close just in case something happens. Your new running shoes sit neatly next to them on your respective side of the bed.

“Go to sleep, I’ll take the first watch,” you offer, and who is Feyre to argue?

She settles into the soft bed and is out as soon as she’s comfortable, exhausted from today’s events. You’re constantly worn out. There’s just something about the end of the world that is so very tiring.

You hum to yourself, checking the exits for the third time in two hours. You need something to do or you’ll fall asleep. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. Feyre knows it’s because of your slight paranoia that something terrible could happen if you don’t continually check your surroundings. But you’re not wrong.

Checking the lock and chain on the front door, your attention is caught by something moving outside.

You immediately crouch out of sight, peeking out the grimy window into the darkness to see what it is. 

Three figures, too fast to be zombies.

Your heart pounds. You can hardly make them out in the dark, but it looks like two people dragging another along between them. They’re tall, you can tell. Must be men. They hurry down the street as you watch on. Your gaze flickers up the street, searching for zombies, your knife gripped in a firm hand, but you don’t see anything.

You wonder if the person they’re dragging with them is injured. They must be, otherwise they’d be running alongside the other two. You wonder how much blood they’re leaving behind as the three of them find an open shop across the street and down a few from where you and Feyre are hiding out for the night. An old cafe of sorts. You’d checked it over earlier, but you suppose it’s as good of a place as any to take shelter in for the night, the window and door still intact.

They’ll be away from monsters, at least.

Everything in the new world is a lot scarier in the dark.

_________________________________________

(Part 2)

#azriel x cassian x reader #azriel x reader #cassian x reader #zombie au #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acotarxreader #azsazz

[azsazz]

About Last Night

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Req from @noteonthepolaroidpicture : all of the baby bats either in velaris or in some other court (maybe autumn n they’re older along with Maude or something) plan to sneak out and go to Rita’s (or some bar in another court) and baz is very much ‘they cannot catch all of us’ and of course they all get caught but it’s a very admirable effort by them. And Knox is very much ‘I told you’

Warnings: Creepy guy hitting on Zuzu and Asteria, drinking, partying, mentions of blood.

Word Count: 5,211

Notes: A little taste of the older bat babies a lot of you have been wanting. Enjoy! 🥰

_________________________________________

“Look Giddy, I know you want to see your girlfriend and all that, but if we get caught, we’re in deep shit,” Wren argues, a stern look on his face and arms crossed tightly over his puffed out chest, trying to seem like he’s the one in charge.

He isn’t.

“If we get caught,” Gideon defends, before adding as an afterthought, eyebrows furrowed, “And she’s not my girlfriend.”

He rolls his eyes at all of the knowing looks his sisters and cousins give him at that little statement, cheeks tingeing red in betrayal.

“Besides,” he brushes off, coming around to Baz’s side. He slings an arm over his cousin's shoulders, an easy grin replacing the frown he’d just been wearing, knowing the younger male will be the easiest to convince to agree to his antics, “If we don’t go, we’ll have no cool stories to share when we’re older.”

Wren's mouth parts, another protest on the tip of his tongue but Gideon’s quick to cut him off, “And, if you don’t think that our parents are guilty of sneaking off you’re only playing yourself, Wrennie.”

The latter cringes at the use of his childhood nickname, sharing a look with Nyx.

“You’re not talking about a different bar Giddy, you’re talking about a whole different court,” Sif wrinkles her nose at her older brother, and Castor agrees.

“And one in Autumn.”

“Fine,” Gideon responds breezily, but the rest of his family knows he’s not about to let this crazy idea go. “Stay here. Go to the same hole-in-the-wall our parents have been going to for centuries. Baz and I will go. Right Bazzy?”

Wren's younger brother takes a moment, looking around the circle at each of his own siblings. Wren, with his wide eyes, pleading with him silently not to agree. Zuzu, looking as bored as ever, giggling with Asteria over some male she’d seen in Summer. Jax is as stoic as always, but that pinch in Baz’s gut tells him that his younger brother could use the excitement.

And the twins. Malos, who’s picking the dirt from under her nails with the curved tip of her most precious blade, smirking while Knox speaks into her mind–

The group startles as someone stumbles out the backdoor of the bar and into the alley, clearly drunk out of their mind. The bassy music and loud conversation spill from the building until the heavy door swings shut, cutting it off abruptly.

The male digs deep into his pockets, grunting as he struggles to free his hand from the tight fabric once he’s grasped whatever is so important, unaware of the eleven sets of well-trained eyes watching him, grinning triumphantly when he produces a thickly rolled snout.

He places it between his lips, bringing his free hand to the end of the joint, and with the snap of his fingers a flame flickers to life. Knox’s brows twitch while Malos’ eyes widen with intrigue at the blatant use of magic.

The male hadn't noticed the large group of young adults arguing, for they’d all gone silent in his presence, watching the drunkard struggle with his treat. He suckles at the tip of the joint, holding his breath to let the smoke leech into his lungs, before exhaling all of his worries away, white smoke curling from his mouth like the few shadows sweeping around the group protectively.

Mirthroot.

The male coughs into the crook of his arm at the strong flavor, the smoke sticking to his throat, and finally seems to realize that he’s not alone. He blinks once, twice, trying to clear the glaze from his vision.

He staggers closer to the group, not picking up on the way they all bristle, wings tucking closer to their backs with tension.

It’s Zuzu and Aster he stops next to, of course it is. They’re dressed scantily, ready to head into the bars and immediately wander off from the rest of their families in favor of prowling the dance floor for potential suitors, waiting by the bar drinkless until males and females alike send one their way.

Zuzu looks over her shoulder at the man. He’s a half head taller than her in her heels, not handsome, but not quite ugly either. So she forces her red painted lips into a sultry smile, batting her eyelashes, the face she’s mastered, one that will get her almost anything she wants from any stranger.

It works, the corner of his mouth lifts in response, gaze flicking towards Asteria who’s also smiling at him like he’s the most handsome thing they’ve ever seen, watching with round eyes as he brings the joint to his mouth for another drag, pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

“Two very pretty girls,” he grins, sidling up close to Zuzu. His voice is like gravel, like he’s smoked a tinge too much mirthroot tonight, “Might I have the pleasure in–”

“Yes,” Zuzu agrees immediately, plucking the joint from his grasp. The male’s mouth parts in protest but Asteria’s stepping forward, trailing a red dipped nail down his alcohol stained shirt.

“We’ll look after this while you go inside and get us some drinks,” her smile is alluring. He seems to mull it over for a second, hazy gaze drifting down to where her hand is on his chest, up to her gleaming violet gaze and then over to Zuzu, who has his joint hanging limply between her clawed fingernails.

He agrees then, stumbling back a step as he rushes to get the pretty females their drinks, calling over his shoulder in a rough slur, “Be right back. Don’t go anywhere, pretty girls!”

Malos makes a face while Castor seems awestruck at her older cousins who snicker to each other as the male gives them one last eager look before dipping back inside. They mentally take notes at how easy Zuzu and Aster have made it look.

The males of the group relax slightly now that the male has swooped inside like a knight on a mission from princesses, although, they suppose that’s nearly what they are, with their parents titles. Tension melts from their tight wings. It’s much too early for their talons to be ruffled by some asshole in the street.

“You’re not going to smoke that, right?” Nyx points disgustedly at the man's joint in Zuzu’s grasp.

She rolls her eyes, red lips curving into a wicked grin as she stubs it out on the side of the building and holds it up with sparkling eyes.

“Let’s see what this will get us in Autumn.”

“Not you too,” Wren groans, brushing a hand through his dark hair, free hand on his hip. He looks towards Jax and the twins for some sort of reinforcement, even though he’s the oldest of the six.

“Knox says we’ll get caught,” Malos provides in a bored tone, sheathing her knife and crossing her arms over her chest. She doesn’t want to burst Wren’s bubble, but a part of her is itching to go, to explore a different court.

Wren breathes a sigh of relief but it’s short lived because Baz’s mouth curls into a splitting smile. All of his siblings groan at the sight, knowing exactly what that look means.

“Anyone else care to wager how far we’ll get before mom and dad find us?”

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

Maude Vanserra meets them at the border of Autumn, her younger sister and brother in tow.

She’s thrown herself into the arms of Gideon, who, despite telling his sisters and cousins that Maude is not his girlfriend, secretly is.

Juniper perks up at the sight of Sif and Castor, nearly flinging herself into a group hug with her two best friends, while Rook grows smaller under the lingering gaze Malos throws his way. The youngest has been forced out of the palace by his sisters, who, for once, actually want him to go out with them.

He’s a dashing young male, with his unruly amber hair brushed back from the glowing embers of his eyes, a crisp white shirt hanging off of his thinner frame, the first two buttons undone in haste.

He’d much rather be at home, reading strategy books or playing whatever wraith he can find in a game of chess, especially when he catches sight of Gideon and Baz, two of the loudest troublemakers in Prythian.

“C’mon,” Maude squeals, grabbing Gideon’s hand and tugging him along to the front of the group, “Let’s get this party started!”

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

Chlo’s is nestled in the foxholes of the Autumn Court, a place where none of the Night Court children had been before. In fact, they're pretty sure they aren’t allowed to be in here, not because of who their parents are, but because the city reminds them of Velaris, hidden and protected from above ground.

There’s music in the streets, not dissimilar to the music found in the Night Court. Bonfires litter the foxholes as they walk, males and females alike gather around the fiery pits, dancing and drinking and laughing the night away.

Knox shakes out his wings, brushing off the uncomfort he’s feeling from being unable to see the stars in the sky, sharing a look with Jax, who looks equally as uneasy.

He’s regretting not slinking away with Malos, who never truly let herself have a night off from Spywork, their shadows whispering in his ear her whereabouts.

Even Wren has given up on complaining once they’re entered the bar.

It’s nothing like Rita’s, that had been around for ages. Chlo’s is all dipped cedar and dark pine, flanked by a pristine cafė and a rundown storefront that claims to do psychic readings. Faelights beam in colored glass jars that are swinging throughout the room like strobes. The folk music from around the bonfires disappears as the plucky strumming of the guitar and deep bass of the drums plays unabashed, the bodies of fae and creatures alike gyrating to the lust lined music.

“Now this is awesome,” Zuzu breathes, dark eyes casting around the room in wonder. She peels away from the group with Aster on her heels, mirthroot joint tucked behind a pointed ear as they beeline towards the bar, eager to try the autumnal flavored drinks.

Castor, Sif, and Juniper head for the dance floor, giggling like school girls as they slip through the crowd with ease, hands linked together like the flower children of Spring.

Even Jax seems to be feeling lighter, absorbing the would-be overwhelming emotions filling the space, had he not mastered his powers at a younger age. The air is filled with excitement, carelessness, and a hint of lust that makes his throat thick. His hazel gaze glosses over as he revels in it, mouth twitching into a blissful smile.

Nyx and Wren find them an unoccupied table, settling into the chairs with minor struggle, the wings at their backs shifting awkwardly to wrap around the backrest. Jax slips into an empty seat without complaint, looking lighter than he has in years, while Knox kicks out another with a heavy boot, flipping it around to straddle the high back of the chair, wings resting comfortably at his back.

Baz, Gideon, and Maude move towards the bars for drinks, leaving Rook standing nervously at the table full of tall winged males, clad in all black and as intimidating as the cauldron itself.

He really should’ve stayed home, the youngest Vanserra thinks as he slumps into one of the empty seats.

Knox blinks, looking around the bar with all-seeing eyes. He hasn’t called his shadows back, figures it would be safer for Malos to have them creeping along with her while she’s snooping through the Autumn Court. He sends her a mental note not to stay out too long, to which she replies immediately, Missing me already?

Dearly, sis, he replies with a roll of his eyes.

Her laughter echoes in his mind and with quick word that she’s already on her way back to meet them, she’s gone.

Knox tries to settle into his seat, but finds himself at a loss. Malos is on her way and he’s with his siblings, but the bar is nearly too dark for him to be able to sign across the long table to Wren on the other side, and he isn’t sure how to conversate with Rook, if he even knows sign language, and Jax seems to be strangely in a world of his own right now, so fiddles with the thick ring on his finger while he waits for his drink.

Wren and Nyx are in deep conversation when a tray full of drinks slams down on the table between them, held by a grinning Baz.

“You’ve got to try these,” he exclaims, handing out shots to Nyx and his brothers. Maude and Gideon follow with their own trays, pitchers of drinks and a multitude of shots line each, presumably for the rest of their party.

Wren sniffs at the glass Baz hands him. The singing smell of alcohol burns the back of his throat and the tinge of cinnamon chokes him as he swallows the dark liquor down. He makes a face, frowning up at his brother.

“What in Mother’s name is this?” Nyx asks for both of them.

Baz shrugs, clinking his glass against Gideons and Maudes who’s cups are raised in a silent toast to themselves, “I don’t know but it’s awesome, isn’t it?”

The two oldest share knowing looks, well aware not to trust what Baz suggests because it’s most likely the thing that will get them in trouble.

Rook takes his like a pro, slamming the empty glass onto the table and quickly reaching for another. His pale, freckled cheeks have a rosy blush to them from just the first drink, and all of a sudden the first few undone buttons of his shirt don’t seem like they weren’t clasped because he was rushing, but now seems purposeful as his shoulders loosen with the alcohol.

The drink turns out to be some sort of cinnamon moonshine Maude had told them would put them on their asses when they’d each eagerly reached out for a second shot.

Jax forgoes the liquor, opening his senses more and more, letting the happiness and fun wash over him, loosening his tight shoulders. He turns to speak to his youngest brother, catching the prick of discomfort he feels when his eyes lock on a pretty female slinking through the crowd.

His mouth goes dry at the sight of her and he’s quickly mumbling to the youngest as he slides from his chair, “Be right back.”

Knox puffs out a silent breath as he watches his brother go, slinking through the writhing bodies with the stealth of a snake. He sits up in his chair, trying to follow Jax’s path but he loses him quick enough, slumping down, fingering the rim of his glass.

His dark eyes cut to the clock behind the bar, taking note of the time. He knows that their father is going to catch them, there’s a guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach that says so, but even so, it’s nice to see Gideon with his girl, his siblings letting loose.

If only he himself could do the same.

Rook looks as bored as he is, tipping back on the two hind legs of his chair, a drink clasped close to his chest as he watches with sharp eyes both the party members and the crowd around. Knox watches intently as the youngest male does so, the gleam of his golden necklace catches in the bouncing faelight but the shadowsinger can’t quite make out the shape of it.

He averts his attention before he gets caught.

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

Malos stalks into the bar thirty minutes later, her itch to spy around the Autumn Court unfulfilled.

She’d wanted to find out more about the shadow hounds she’s heard so much about, looking to try and lure one out with her own shadows, but hadn’t caught sight of one of the protected animals of the Court.

She pushes through the bodies without a care, and no one dares call her out for her actions once they see her glower, the massive wings and fighting leathers. They don’t even know about the numerous weapons sheathed within them.

She almost wants one of them to bite back at her, stir up some trouble. Preferably someone at least twice her size or with a knack for fighting. 

She feels up for a little challenge.

But no one does, not even her older sister when she brushes through her and Aster, her shadows trailing her like obedient dogs.

Zuzu tugs on her hand but it’s not a fight she wants, laughing tipsily as she tries to get Malos to dance with her.

A smile tugs at the corner of Malos’ mouth, all she will allow before she’s twisting Zuzu into a spin, twirling her right into Aster’s arms. The pair spill into a fit of giggles before deciding to get another drink.

The younger sister takes the unoccupied spot next to Knox, scooping up an abandoned shot and knocking it back like it’s nothing. It’s sweet, the taste of cinnamon coats the back of her throat like syrup and she grimaces at the taste.

Not even her Aunt Nesta would drink this shit.

She doesn’t even get a chance to speak to her twin before Nyx is sliding into Jax’s empty seat, slinging an arm over her shoulders with an easy grin on his face.

Malos blushes at the contact, trying to shove the older male off of her. The heir doesn't budge, just plants a wet kiss to her cheek and beams, holding up another drink for her to take.

“Where’ve you been?” Nyx asks loudly–knowingly–in her ear.

She cringes away on instinct, glaring at the sly look on her twin's face, who blanches under her gaze, smartly averting his gaze to try and catch a glimpse of Jax.

She can smell the liquor on his breath. It’s hard not to, with all of the empty glasses littering the table. He’s faring better than Baz and Gideon though, who have their arms wrapped around each other's shoulders, drunkenly serenading Maude and Wren, who are only encouraging it.

“Around,” she replies smoothly, voice even like her father taught her.

If she’s going to be Nyx’s spymaster some day, she’ll have to keep practicing.

“You need to catch up,” is all he replies, cheersing his glass against hers.

Reluctantly, Malos takes the drink, glancing at Knox on the other side of her.

How much longer?

Should be any minute now, he replies, arms crossed as he leans on the tall back of the backwards chair, looking as relaxed as ever for someone who’s awaiting the downfall of their plan.

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

Baz should’ve seen it coming, he really should have.

But he’s having too much fun in the Autumn Court, with their fast-paced music, whimsical drinks, drunk and partying with all of his family. It’s everything he wanted tonight and more; dancing with the girls, trying to out drink his brothers.

His shadows are hissing in his ears but the bass is too loud and he’s not focused, can’t quite hear the urgency over the fun that he’s having. He bats them away when they ruin one of his toasts, and Rook nearly topples out of his seat when they skitter his way.

Three things happen all at once.

One. 

The shadows beneath the table awaken, shifting and slithering around each of the Night Court children’s ankles and pulling tight, chaining their legs to the ground.

They startle, sharing wide eyed looks between each other and harsh swallows of guilt, knowing they’re in deep shit.

Two. 

Sif and Juniper’s beaming smiles drop, looks of terror replacing them as they catch sight of the bulky figure striding for them. The crowd parts easily, some grumbling about how the night is going to turn chaotic from the sight of those broad wings, some sneering at the Night Court females.

Castor hasn’t noticed, back to the looming male. She’s having fun, buzzing from the spiced cider she’s had and dancing wildly to make her sister and Juniper laugh. Her eyes are shut tightly, grin stretching across her face so hard her cheeks ache, until she runs into the brick wall of the male at her back.

She spins on her heel, ready to tell them off but her mouth goes slack as she stares wide-eyed up at him, a firm frown on his face.

“Dad?”

Three.

A shadow crawls over the shoulders of the two females at the bar, drinking in the attention from a group of fit fae males while they await their cocktails of choice.

If they had been paying more attention they would’ve felt the rippling power throughout the nightclub, seen the fae lights flickering overhead.

They share a quick look and a low curse, before Zuzu and Aster paint on their most innocent faces as they turn towards the crow of darkness standing at their backs.

The High Lord of the Night Court stands behind them, arms crossed over his chest, a disappointed look on his face. Rhys has even put on one of his most extravagant crowns for the occasion, dark painted iron and gleaming onyx gems that drink in all of the light.

The young warriors surrounding them cower under the harsh violet gaze of the High Lord, slowly backing away in hopes he won’t notice.

“Let’s go,” he growls, grabbing each female by their wrists and winnowing away into nothingness.

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

“Knox wins, again,” Malos mutters, crossing her arms over her chest and rolling her eyes.

They’d all been dragged back to the Night Court without a word from their fathers, and now they’re all standing in a line before them, mothers and fathers furious with them for their actions.

Her twin looks down the line of siblings and cousins, a smirk on his face that clearly states ‘I told you so,’ but when his fathers withering glare turns his way he ducks down bashfully, shrugging in defense, signing a lame ‘I’m sorry,’ that he knows will do nothing to get him out of trouble.

“This isn’t something to be won,” Rhysand scolds. His heart hasn’t stopped racing since he’d learnt of his children’s venture to the Autumn Court. And while Beron was no longer an issue at hand, there are many other things that could’ve happened had he showed up any later. “This isn’t some game!”

Rarely have they seen the High Lord like this. Once, when they’d ruined a High Lords meeting by releasing a young snowcat they’d found roaming outside during their snowball fight in Winter, and the other, when they’d all banded together when they were young, trying to steal a slice of the enormous Starfall cake before dinner. The entire table had fallen to the ground, destroying all of the desserts in front of the entire party. They were sent to bed early that night.

Azriel hasn’t spoken. He’s absolutely fuming at what the children have done. A part of him feels so stupid, his shadows screeching in his ears hadn’t been enough to wake him from his deep slumber, after having taken you three times since arriving back from a long trip to the Steppes.

His children had done well in choosing tonight to sneak out, he had to give them that.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do with them. Interrogate them all separately like he used to do when they were younger, though he knows that his children had learned some of his ways and have most likely made up a story to all tell their parents.

On the other hand, it’s quite obvious who the masterminds behind the plan are.

But Cassian asks anyway, slipping easily into the voice he uses when he’s commanding an army, “Who did it?”

For a moment, none of their children move. There isn’t a twitch of a hand, a flicker of a gaze to point out the culprit. 

At least, not until Rhysand and Azriel let their power leech a little.

That would always get them to break.

The rest of the children flinch, frantically pointing at Baz and Giddy, who sway in their spots, though they’ve seemed to sober up tremendously since getting caught, knowing they’re in deep shit.

They seem to realize at the same time that they are pointing at each other, frowning and protesting at the same time, “Hey!”

“Basil, Gideon, stay put,” Rhys’ tone is fierce, a pointed look pinning the two young males to their spots, “The rest of you, get out of my sight.”

None of the other children dare to respond other than quickly filing from the room with you, Feyre, and Nesta on their heels.

Azriel studies his son intently. His eyes are glossed over, cast downwards to the floor because he knows he’s in trouble. There’s a leaf shaped shot glass tied around his neck and Azriel can smell the stink of moonshine from where he stands.

Gideon isn’t much better off. Mouth bruised and neck littered with love bites from the eldest of the Vanserra daughters. His hair is a disheveled mess and his shirt is rumpled.

They look utterly guilty.

Rhys takes the lead. He’s acting as High Lord first instead of concerned father and uncle, since this incident is a multi court disaster, and he knows his brothers are too infuriated with their sons to speak right now.

“Do you know how much danger you could’ve put everyone in?” Rhys asks, violet gaze unwavering, “I had to send a raven for permission to retrieve you all.” He’s disgusted, they can tell. Baz can hardly look at his father, for fear of the utter disappointment he’ll see.

Gideon opens his mouth to respond but Cassian is quick to silence him, “I don’t want to hear it, Gideon. This is the most foolish thing you’ve ever done! And putting your sisters into that kind of danger all for a female? What were you thinking?”

His son shrugs, biting his tongue because he wants to yell back that Maude isn’t just some female. Baz tries, “But we had Wren and Nyx with us! And Malos and Knox! And Jax! We’re all trained, we know how to defend ourselves!”

He doesn’t know what’s worse. The fact that Azriel responds with an icy calmness, when Baz wishes he would raise his voice and scream at him, or the fact that of course, his father is right.

“That’s not the point, Basil. You may know how to defend yourselves, but in a different court, should something have happened, it would not be so easy to help you out of it.”

The shadowsinger’s frozen with anger, with fear. He’s immediately brought back to his childhood, when he was locked away from the rest of the world. If his children had been seized and locked away like he was…he can’t even think about it, the churning in his stomach is enough. His mind is racing a thousand miles a minute, and hasn't calmed since getting all of the children back to safety in the Night Court. 

He’s afraid he’s losing his mind.

A gentle thrum vibrates in his chest, like a purr. You, calling out to him through the bond, sensing and sharing his fears, but trying to be supportive in the only way you know how while you’re in separate rooms.

He eases only slightly.

“Your brothers and sisters are not spymasters yet, you should remember that,” each word tastes like acid, he hates the fact that he even needs to be having this conversation.

Baz’s shadows pick up on the well-hidden emotions of his father and his throat goes thick with emotion.

“Dad–”

“Enough, Basil,” Azriel raises a hand in response, shaking his head slightly, “Hear your punishment with no complaints. Then, we are going home.”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbles, cheeks burning with shame as he steps back next to Gideon to await his punishment.

Rhys looks back and forth between them, trying to decide a punishment worthy of sneaking out the court. He knows that Gideon is a young male in love for the first time, and his heart squeezes in his chest at the thought of what he was like when he was young and in love.

And Baz…he knows Baz means well, that he wants to please his siblings, wants them to have a fun time no matter what they are doing. He has much to learn, if he ever wishes to be as good a spymaster as his father or warrior like his uncle.

“Gideon,” Rhys starts and the older of the two looks up, ready to accept his punishment, “You’re to help Aunt Elain out in the gardens. You’ll be–”

“But what about my allergies?” he protests loudly. A harsh look from Cassian shuts him up, huffing quietly, “Yes, High Lord.”

“Basil,” Rhysand turns to his other nephew, “You’re going to spend one hour a day with Bryaxis.”

Baz’s mouth drops open in shock. He glances to his father whose eyes have widened only slightly, before they get that familiar gleam, and he knows he’s speaking to his High Lord.

You can’t put him down there, Azriel hisses to his brother.

And why not? Rhys’ brows twitch but he doesn’t avert his gaze from his nephews.

This is Baz we’re talking about. Baz and Bryaxis? I can’t even imagine the kind of friendship my son will have with the beast…what kind of trouble they’d get into.

Shit, you’re right, Rhysand agrees, before amending his punishment, “I’ve changed my mind. Baz, you will be bringing Amren her dinner for the next two months.”

“Fuck me truly,” Baz mutters under his breath because she’s a way scarier beast than the monster in the library is.

Gideon can’t help but to be relieved with his punishment, mild compared to his cousins. He’ll take an itchy nose over having to take blood to Aunt Amren anyway.

“And the both of you are on doubles for training until your father’s deem you sorry enough to stop,” his violet eyes cut to Cassian’s, then Azriel’s, a hint of amusement glimmers there before he finishes addressing the young males, “Starting this morning. At first light, which is now only an hour away. Rest up.”

They are definitely going to make their son’s hangovers a living hell.

Baz bites back a groan, shoving Gideon when the older boy starts for the door. He stumbles and throws a glare over his shoulder at his cousin, but chooses not to say anything because the entire thing was his idea and Baz hadn’t ratted him out, even though he easily could’ve.

“And one more thing,” Rhysand calls after them, and they turn slowly, a bad feeling settling in the pits of their stomachs. 

“You’ll be walking the stairs in the House of Wind, right now.”

“Try not to be too late for training, boys,” Cassian adds, siphons flickering with his words.

He owes Baz big time.

#Azriel #azriel x reader #dad!azriel #daddy!az #daddy!azriel #daddy!cassian #daddy!rhysand #daddy!cass #daddy!rhys #azriel x you #azriel/reader #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acotarxreader #azsazz #azsazz next gen #azsazz - wren #azsazz - baz #azsazz - zuzu #azsazz - jax #azsazz - malos #azsazz - knox #azsazz - nyx #azsazz - asteria #azsazz - gideon #azsazz - castor #azsazz - sif #azsazz - maude #azsazz - juniper

[azsazz]

Mirror Mirror

Cassian x Reader

Summary: Anon req: cassian x reader where he’s fingering the reader in front of a mirror 🙈

Warnings: Smut, fingering.

Word Count: 1,949

_________________________________________

“That wasn’t very nice of you,” Cassian comments lowly, “Teasing me at the dinner table like that.”

You look up from your book, mouth going dry as you catch sight of your mate entering the room from the attached bath. His fluffy white towel is tied so low on his hips that you can see the jutting vee and dusting of dark hair dipping down into the soft fabric.

Gods.

You can’t seem to look away, even after all of this time together, his beauty still stuns you.

His long hair hasn’t yet been brushed out, tangled and dripping over the mountains of muscle packing his broad chest and shoulders. Your hungry gaze follows a droplet as it rides the planes of his chest, the hard lines of his abdominals, right down into that fuzzy patch of hair.

You lick your lips and when your gaze returns to your mate's face you find him smirking.

“Sorry,” you mutter, face growing hot as you sink further into the bed, raising your book to cover the temptation that is the glorious male on the other side of the room. You clench your legs together beneath the covers that are suddenly too hot against your heated body.

He was right. You had been teasing him at dinner. A foot dragging up the inner seam of his pants, batting your eyelashes innocently when he’d given you a stern look in response to your antics. 

“I don’t think you are,” he responds gruffly, walking towards the armoire, uncaring that each long stride had the knot of his towel loosening, slipping down over the curve of his ass.

Cassian knows that you’re watching just above the bridge of your book, the godsdamned Illyrian perception was like magic, always seeming to know your next move before even you did. 

“You know, if you’re going to stare, why don’t you come over here for the best view?” he asks, looking at you through the mirror, his cocky smirk makes your stomach twist with anticipation.

You don’t have to be told twice, scrambling out of your bed to meet your mate where he’s rifling through the drawers.

Cassian spins around, catching you off guard, pinning you to the warm front of his chest with a firm grip across your waist and a gentle hand on your throat. Damnit, you fell for whatever plan he’s got going in his head right now.

You swallow, wondering if it’s the knot of his towel or his stiff cock that’s pressed up against your ass.

“You want to flaunt and tease me all night?” He asks softly, hands moving up to caressing your face before his large hands slide across the swell of your throat and to your shoulders, turning the both of you around to face the full mirror of the wardrobe, his body still molded to yours.

He’s a looming figure behind you, tall and strong, over a foot taller than you.

His hand slips beneath the hem of the shirt you’re wearing, his shirt, his calloused fingers brushing up the smooth skin of your stomach. It makes you shiver against him, eyelashes fluttering, mouth parting in a near gasp as you lean your head backwards against his chest.

Cassian hums disappointedly against the shell of your ear and it makes your entire body buzz. His thumb brushes over your pebbled nipple and a gasp slips from your mouth as you arch into him.

“Ah, ah, ah, honey. I want you to watch.”

You blink, unsure if you’ve heard him correctly, but he’s moving his hand from your waist, gently taking hold of your chin and tilting your head downwards until you meet his lusty hazel eyes in the mirror again.

“Okay?” His words are like silk but his touch is electric, dragging his large hand down your stomach to dip into the waistband of your panties.

You’d forgone anything else, more comfortable in just your underwear and one of Cassian’s large t-shirts while you waited for him to join you in the bed.

You realize that he’s still waiting for you to respond, running his fingers back and forth across your mound, not daring to move any closer to where you desperately want him.

“Yes,” you breathe, locking eyes with him. Cassian kicks your legs apart with ease and you gasp as his hand slips downwards in a fast stroke, parting your lips, searching for that wetness.

You exhale harshly at the same time his lips make contact with your neck, kissing and suckling at the skin, working his way closer and closer to the spot he knows makes you weak, all while he runs a finger through your slick.

“Good girl,” he purrs, looking at you through lowered lashes in the mirror. It’s clear that he had been thinking of a way to get back at you for your teasing, and with a bit of teasing of his own while he forces you to watch in the mirror is the perfect punishment for his mate.

He knows exactly what he’s doing and you were foolish enough to think that he would let what you had done go. No, that wasn’t your mate at all. You’d thought he was going to react how he normally does, chasing you up the stairs after dinner with a cheeky pinch to your ass, but this…this erotic torture of his…you can admit you quite like it.

Until he keeps playing with you, stroking and rubbing at your clit in delicious patterns, drawing you nearer and nearer to the edge, then pulling back to give his attention elsewhere. 

It’s infuriating. As is trying to keep your eyes on yourself in the mirror. All you want to do is let your head fall against his chest in pleasure, but everytime that you do Cassian stops what he’s doing with a low scold, and you huff in frustration, snapping your eyes back to his sinister  reflection.

Cassian’s warm hand glides up the front of your shirt and you whine because he should be under the fabric, not torturing you by staying on top of it. But it’s clear his destination when he continues his path upwards after giving your nipple a harsh pinch that makes you yelp because you haven’t been looking in the godsdamned mirror at him.

He reaches your throat squeezing gently, not enough to make a difference but you keen nonetheless, rolling up onto your tiptoes to push your neck into his retreating hand. The fingers in your cunt nearly slip out and you’re torn between letting them fall out of you so you can feel the hot press of his fingers pinching your pulse points or settling down even further on his digits digging into your cunt in the most delicious way.

Your decision is quick as you clench around his fingers, mouth parting in a needy sigh as they push father into you as you return to the flats of your feet.

“That’s it baby, open your mouth for me,” he breathes. He’s no longer watching you through the mirror as your jaw drops ajar at his soft words, he’s tall enough that he can look right down at you, cock throbbing as he slides a finger into your waiting mouth.

He groans as you begin immediately sucking, eyes rolling into the back of your skull as you do so, a lewd moan muffled by his thick finger. It resonates with him, makes the bond pulse with pleasure and your noise melts into a needy whimper at the feeling, clawing at the golden skin of of the hand he has fucking into you.

You grind down on his fingers, circling and writhing against him. The towel has long since fallen, no match for the sensual swirl of your hips, the harsh grind you give him when he does something absolutely pleasurable. You’re chasing your orgasm as he slides his fingers up to your sensitive clit, rubbing the swollen bud with fervor. You can feel it building, that flame licking up your body, stomach coiling in anticipation, ready to cum with a cry of your mate’s name–

His fingers slide away, back into the hot cavern of your cunt and you growl frustratedly until his fingers dig backwards down your throat, choking the sound off.

That makes you look back into the mirror, glaring at him like a brat because he hadn’t let you cum.

His smirk is fucking sinful, heavy-lidded as he speaks, voice gruff, “Not very fun to be teased, is it?”

You shake your head, the only thing you can do with his fingers deep inside your throat.

“I bet you want me to fucking stick my cock inside of you so you can see what I see when I fuck you,” Cassian growls, dipping down to speak against the side of your neck before sucking roughly. His hot breath mixed with his calloused fingers pressing into your dripping cunt sends shivers up your spine and you cry out, begging.

“Yes, yes, please Cassian, I want that.” You hope he can make out your pleas around his fingertips.

“Well that’s too bad,” he grunts. He’s fully hard from where he’s pressed up against your back but he won’t give in, not tonight. This night is all about you and how he’s going to punish you for teasing him at the dinner table.

“I’ve just showered and now you’re making me all wet again,” he grunts and it’s true. Your knees are shaking with the pace he’s setting and he must realize this because he’s removing his fingers from your mouth, making sure to smear the saliva across your lips, catching the drool you weren’t able to swallow around his enormous fingers and stuffing it back into your mouth.

For a fleeting moment you wonder how his wrist isn’t sore but then his thumb brushes your clit at the same time he slides across that bundle of nerves inside your cunt and you’ve forgotten all about it, throwing your head back with a noise that nearly makes him cum against the thin fabric separating your ass and his throbbing cock.

Your knees give out with a cry but he’s catching you with his free hand, holding you up against his chest as he works you through your orgasm, circling the delicate bud with a knowing touch that goes from rough and quick into smooth, calming strokes.

“That’s my girl,” he kisses the damp hair sticking to your forehead, hazel eyes cast into the mirror to watch you. The rise and fall of your chest, the crescent marks you’ve left on his skin from how hard you’d been holding him when you’d cum, the bulge of his hand in the fabric of your panties, soaked nearly through.

“Such a good job, Love,” he murmurs, slowly removing his hand from your pants. As much as he wants to lick your orgasm from his fingers and finish himself off from just the taste he’s wiping the wetness onto your shirt, ignoring your weak protest as he does so.

“You can’t possibly think that I’m letting you sleep in this now, Love,” he grins, pressing a soft kiss to your lips that makes you follow for more, pressing up to the tips of your toes on shaking legs, enjoying how loving and gentle your mate is.

“More kisses in bed,” he promises, scooping you up into his arms, “But first I’m going to clean you up.”

“But you didn’t cum,” you protest weakly, sated from the knee-knocking orgasm you’ve just gotten.

You snuggle closer into his chest as he laughs, the steady rumble a perfect lullaby.

“Oh yes I did, Love. Yes I did.”

#cassian #cass x reader #cassian x reader #cassian smut #cassian/reader #acotar #acowar #acomaf #acotarxreader #azsazz