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azsazz · 5 months

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The Magic Number

Kinktober Day 28: Hockey Player!Azriel, Rhysand, & Cassian x Reader [Overstimulation]

Summary: Req from godsend @vellichor01 : For the hockey idea, I love the idea of Azris or poly!batboys using you 😏😏 as their good luck charm the night before the championship game

Warnings: Smut, oral (both f and m receiving), use of toys (vibrator), fingering, anal, double penetration, foursome.

Word Count: 5,258

Notes: I'm having one of those moments...

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“C’mon, you know how this goes,” Cassian drawls, stroking a thumb across your cheek. His words are soft, kind, but the heat swallowing the color of his eyes is anything but. It makes your cunt pulse. “Been our lucky charm all this season, can’t break the streak now, can we, baby?”

You hum, looking at him through half-lidded eyes. Excitement stirs your gut as you stare up at the three, large hockey players taking up the expanse of your tiny living room. Azriel leans against the door they’d just come through, his hazel gaze pinned on you. Rhys is perched on the edge of your desk, arms crossed over his chest, looking every bit as serious as the captain of the hockey team should be. And Cass stands before you, his stature demanding and hot. They make you ache to your very core. “What’s in it for me?” You tease, batting your lashes.

“I can promise you at least three earth-shattering orgasms,” Cassian responds, pointing from Rhys to Azriel, then to himself.

Your face contorts, nose scrunching at his words. “Only three?”

Cassian’s eyes glitter. “Think you can handle more?”

You tilt your chin up in defiance. You know you can handle more. Have spent weekends locked away with them, ripping orgasm after orgasm from you until you’d lost count, had been nothing but a sobbing, shaking, wet mess beneath their lips and fingertips.

“I just don’t know if that’s enough anymore, boys,” you sigh dramatically, pulling your chin from his grasp. “You get all of this luck and I get to be sore for days? How is that fair?” You’re lying, and they know you’re lying. You’re not just terrible at it, but you love being sore for days, feeling where their cocks have abused your cunt with each step you take. You love the marks that their needy, manhandling hands leave on your skin, the bruises from their teeth and lips. You bite your own, shoving that thought from your mind.

“What do you want then, darling?” Rhys purrs, pushing himself from the desk to make his way closer. Azriel follows on an unspoken command, until they flank Cassian’s sides. They loom over you like Gods, and you have to crane your neck back to peer up at them from your spot on the couch. Fuck, they look absolutely stunning. How you’ve managed to bag the three star players of the hockey team, you’ll never know. Rhys’ voice takes on a huskeir note, violet eyes simmering with molten desire as he continues, “Want to tie us up and take what’s yours? Want to watch us fuck each other? All we need from you is one orgasm each, darling, and we’ll win the championship game tomorrow, I know it.”

His words make you shiver. Is that what you want? To be in charge for the night? You’d been doing this with them for the entire season, but the thought had never crossed your mind. You’re usually too cock drunk to form a coherent thought.

But the way that they tower over you, looking down at you as if you’ve changed their entire world, makes your stomach flip. They’ve always taken care of you, all three of them, and it’s more than nice, being guided into positions that put your pleasure first. They know you better than you know yourself. Sexually, they know you inside and out. They are the epitome of men right now, burly and large and oh so fucking irresistible. It makes you want to open your mouth and part your legs, let them have your way with you.

You just might.

You look from Rhysand to Cassian, Cassian to Azriel. They’re fresh from practice, hair damp from showers at the rink, tight shirts stretched across broad shoulders with the exception of Cassian, he would never wear a piece of clothing again if he had the choice, and comfortable gray sweats hang low around their waists like they know what it does to you.

Godsdamn what it does to you.

“Come on, baby,” Cassian all but whines when you don’t respond. “What can we do to convince you this is for the good of the team?”

Nothing. They don’t have to do a damn thing to convince you of this, because you know. Somehow, the three hockey players you’ve found yourself fucking this season decided that you were their lucky charm, having won each and every game after they’d shared you. It’s something of a pre-game tradition now.

But it’s still fun to tease.

“I don’t know,” you coo, leaning back in your seat. You slip your toes between Cassian’s wide stance and prop your feet on the coffee table behind him. “I think that Tarquin on the Sea Lion's is pretty goo—”

“Do not finish that sentence,” Azriel growls, eyes so dark it makes your thighs quiver.

“What if, this time,” Rhysand leans down, planting his hands on either side of the couch, trapping you. His sultry voice awakens goosebumps on your skin, his breath hot in his ear as he leans down, lips brushing the shell. “We stuff you with our cum, then shove a little plug up that tight little cunt of yours to secure our luck. You’d like that darling, wouldn’t you? To be stuffed with us until after the game? Keeping you nice and full?”

You nearly bite through your lip holding in a moan. Your head threatens to teeter back on your neck, eyes rolling back into your skull as a full shiver wracks your body in the best way. Holy fuck do you love it when they talk dirty to you, planting new ideas in your head, things beyond your wildest dreams.

Cassian’s adding, watching you struggle with a smirk. “When we win, I’ll eat it out of you.”

“Isn't showing up to the game enough?” you ask innocently, thighs pressed so tightly together they’re shaking with effort. But you’re being strong. There’s still room to play with them.

“No,” they all answer in unison.

It’s Azriel who takes a gentler approach. It’s a little surprising. He’s normally the quietest of the three, saving soft spoken endearments for when it’s just the both of you or when the other two have fallen into post-orgasm cat naps.

He kneels before you, hands brushing up your bare legs in what is supposed to be a soothing manner, but the motion only makes you hotter. Wetter. He’s looking at you with sincerity, like he might actually believe that you’re going to refuse them.

As if that would ever happen.

“What do you want, love?” he asks, so gently it nearly makes your heart crack. The strokes of his thumbs on your skin match his tone, tender.

“I want you to kiss me, Az.”

He can do that. He spreads your legs to slip between, using his grip on the meat of your thighs to pull you closer. You’re the same height as him, sitting on the couch as he is kneeling, and you don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his neck, fingers burying deep into those dark locks. His touch wanders to your face, caressing your jaw before pulling you into a slow, sensual kiss.

Your body bursts with pleasure. His tongue strokes softly against your own as he parts your lips. It’s a tentative motion, but becomes more sure when you whimper softly into his mouth. Azriel’s fingers grip loosely to the nape of your neck, pulling you even closer to him. So close, that you can feel the erratic pounding of his beating heart pressed against your own.

You can feel Cassian and Rhysand’s heated gazes on the both of you. It feels all too good, having their attention like this. Knowing that with the slightest of moves on your part, they’ll all be harder than stone. It eggs you on, kiss going from slow and steady, an exploration of each other’s mouths, to something hotter, rougher. Azriel sucks on your tongue and nips at your lips. Your fingers tug at his hair as your spine lengthens, pressing yourself closer to his chest.

Kissing Azriel is like being shrouded in shadow. He consumes you, body and soul. It’s the best kind of kiss, one that calms you when you’re anxious, a strong and steady presence. You can lose yourself for days in the taste of his lips, the feeling of his sure posture against yours.

Cassian takes hold of you quickly, inserting himself into the kiss you and Azriel find yourselves lost in. You make a noise of surprise. Having both of them licking into your mouth is no easy feat, but somehow, the men seem to know exactly what to do, as if they’re as in-synch now as they are on the ice.

Slowly, Azriel edges himself away from the kiss. He pries your fingertips from himself, no matter how much he loves the way you cling to him. He places them on Cassian’s shoulders, where you curl them harshly into his tanned skin and force him closer.

Kissing Cassian ignites a fire in your soul. It’s passionate, brash, and full of love. There is no doubt in your mind that this man was made for you, to walk through that fire for you, to reach your innermost self. He’s a warrior on and off the ice, in love and in life. He will fight for you no matter what, and you love him for it.

It’s always fun having Cassian like this, all needy and hot. His cock is swollen against the loose fabric of his sweatpants, and you can tell he’s not wearing underwear when you grind your hips against his, drawing a guttural moan from his lips. You drink it down greedily, keening in response. You’re getting just as desperate now, needing to feel their cocks in your cunt, filling you up with their cum until you’re so full you could burst.

But Rhysand is untangling you from Cassian with a look that leaves no room to argue. You’re panting, staring up at Cassian with a wildness that says this isn’t over. He grins, the sharps of his canines glinting in the lamp light.

“Go, get ready,” Rhys orders the other two, and you cling to him as he lifts you into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist as he strides towards the door.

Instead of walking through it, he’s pressing you into the wall next to it, dipping down to devour your mouth in one fell swoop.

Kissing Rhys makes you feel like a Queen. He’s demanding, showing you exactly what he wants. It makes you want to submit, fall to your knees and please him as he sees fit. It’s reassurance and confidence and pleasure in its finest form. He makes you feel like you’re on top of the world, like your soul belongs to something more. You would bow for him, and he for you.

He hooks his knee up, settling your weight onto it as his fingers find the hem of your shirt. His mouth is a distraction for his hands, gliding the fabric up and over your head, breaking the kiss for only a fleeting moment before he’s grabbing you again and plastering your front to his chest as he strides towards your room.

You’re lost in the way his tongue dances with yours. You love to hear his words, silky and playful, skilled with years of business classes, his backup if hockey doesn’t work out someday.

Rhys places you on the bed, breaking the kiss, but before you can even whimper your displeasure, Cassian’s boxing you in, fitting himself between your legs as you slide backwards. He follows like a hungry lion, devouring you with his gaze.

“Enjoyed that, didn’t you, darling?” Rhys grins, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes are wide, but you can’t remove them from Cassian’s wolfish grin as he prowls towards you, backing you into the headboard. “But look what Cassian’s got for you.”

“First, you’ll cum on my toy, then on Az’s fingers, and then on Rhys’ tongue,” Cassian presses his words into your mouth, rolling his hips against yours. It makes you cling to him desperately, and he smirks against your lips. You lick over his straight teeth, tasting his tease. He parts himself from you, sucking at the sensitive skin between your jaw and ear. His tone is low, filled with desire and gravel that scratches the right parts of you when he continues. “And then, when you’re crying and begging, maybe we’ll give you our cocks. If you think you can handle it.”

Your body wracks with a shiver so violent Cassian’s façade falters. If it weren’t for your reassuring hand clawing across his bare shoulders, he would’ve asked you if you were alright.

So the charade continues. You want to fight back, want to push them to the edge like they are you, because if they’re going to insist on fucking you for the good of their game, no matter how badly you want it, you’re going to make them work for it. You don’t hand out this kind of luck without some effort.

“Maybe I won’t give you my cunt at all,” you pant, chest rising and falling against Cassian’s. It feels like he’s crushing you, body pressed firmly to your own. You can hear Rhysand digging around in your drawer, looking for the pastel colored vibrator you have stuffed away. Azriel watches you with a heated gaze that sharpens at your words, pinning you to the bed just as effortless as Cassian is. “Maybe the sex after a loss is better than after a win.”

Azriel all but growls, taking the chance to climb up on the bed with you and Cassian. You remove one of the hands you have buried in Cassian’s thick locks, reaching out to touch Azriel. You want them all, love when all of their attention is on you like this. Your thighs try to clench but Cassian’s hips pin them wide and he gently rocks into you, nipping at the skin around your bra strap before taking it between his teeth and pulling it from your shoulder.

You rest your palm against Azriel’s cheek when he’s near enough, and though his serious gaze doesn’t soften, he leans into your touch, pressing kisses to your palm. “Baby, I think we both know that isn’t true.”

Gods, does he make you melt. They all do, stripping down and baring themselves to you. Each one of them is tall, tan, and muscular. They are Gods kneeling before you, worshiping you in every way.

You want that to start now.

As if reading your mind, Rhys places the pastel wand into Cassian’s awaiting grip. His grin turns into something feral as he rips your panties from your legs, fingers curling between you and the mattress to unhook your bra.

Azriel takes over, hands palming at your breasts as he moves the clothing. Cassian clicks the vibrator on and your legs want to close in response. You’re so fucking wet you know that you’re glistening for them, and with the speed at which Cassian sets your little toy, you won’t last very long, especially when the other two crowd around you and all three men stare down at you like you’re something worth devouring.

“Is it true?” Cass asks, but he doesn’t wait for your answer, pressing the buzzing toy to your already throbbing clit when you begin to speak. Your words sizzle into a moan, your body arching into the vibrations, hips wriggling as you chase the feeling it’s stirring in your gut. Az and Rhys hold you down, and they all watch in pleasure as Cassian plays with you. “You think losing sex is better?”

Normally, he’s all fun and games, built for edging you until you take control and sit yourself on his cock, but today, with the taunts in the air and the looming game at the back of their minds, he’s more eager to draw as many orgasms from you as he can. He needs to stuff you so full of his cum, right down until the minute he dares step foot on the ice for the championship game. He needs to see you in the crowd, hardly able to sit because your cunt is that sore, cheering them on with their cum still leaking out of you.

“N—No,” you manage to get out, but you hardly know what you’re babbling about. You cling to Rhys and Az, who mouth at your breasts as you writhe, pinning your arms to the bed. Your back arches as Cass finds that spot, the vibrator stimulating your clit with such an intensity, heat rushes to your core like a dam breaking. “Cass, ah—please baby, yeah, yeah, right there!”

“Right here?” He asks, and dread fills your body. You know that voice, and you chase the orgasm as fast as you can before he— “Or down here?” You cry out in frustration as he moves the wand lower, a buzz dulling as he slicks it against your opening.

“Az,” you whine, because you need more than just the toy. They’ve fucked you relentless, ruined everything for you, and now it’s no longer enough, not even when they’re away from you. “Need your fingers. Please!” You cry out when Cassian returns the vibrator to your clit, holding you still as you writhe.

He doesn’t hesitate, cock straining away from his body. He’d been ready for you since he awoke this morning, but practice had taken precedence before he could find his way to your apartment to fuck the bones from your body. He’s the most superstitious of the three, and not even your teasing he takes lightly.

But he’s conditioned to need you, more than he needs his shooting hand before game days. He doesn’t know how or when this started, but he’s not complaining. He loves it, in fact, thinking about you all wet like this when he’s in the thick of the game, when he’s thinking about starting a fight or stuck in the penalty box. He’s also the most worried about it all, taking many nights pulling you aside to talk about the arrangement. To make sure you feel loved instead of used. To show you how much you mean to him.

So, he doesn’t play around when he puts those skilled hands to work, plunging one into your cunt, then two because the first slides in easily. You cry out when he curls them, the shadow of a smile curving his lips in the most beautiful way.

“Hey,” Cassian pouts, “It doesn’t count as three if you and I are both doing it.”

Azriel doesn’t look away from you, watching as you come undone from the incessant buzzing and him stroking the bundle of nerves inside of you. He wants you to break his skin with your nails, burst his eardrums with your screams, drown him in your cum. “Then make it two.”

Cassian’s hazel eyes glint and he’s turning the setting higher.

“Rhys, down on the bed,” Azriel demands after your second, earth-shattering orgasm. The captain of the hockey team does just that. You shiver at Azriel’s words. He’s usually quiet, but when he takes over in the bedroom not one of you strays from his commands, his low voice making those words even sexier. He kisses you softly, helping mauver your body so you’re straddling Rhysand’s face. “Cass, head of the bed, legs open.” He turns back to you, hazel gaze pinning you in place as Rhysnad’s rough hands begging trailing patterns across your thighs. Your cunt nearly drools on him, and your muscles tremble with the effort to keep yourself from sinking down onto that tongue of his. “Baby, I want to see you suck Cassian off while you ride Rhys’ face. You can do that for me, can’t you, pretty girl?”

You keen, falling into his touch around your throat. You need to kiss him, need to sink yourself down and feel the ridges of Rhys’ tongue, his nose digging into your clit. You need to taste the precum beading at Cassian’s ruddy tip, taunting you. You need to feel Azriel’s mouth on yours first, though.

He allows you one kiss. It’s slow and sensual on his side, desperate on your part. He doesn’t allow you to turn up the heat, keeping you pinned in place as Rhys guides your hips down. You squeak against Azriel’s lips at the first touch of Rhysand’s tongue, already grinding your hips against his eager mouth.

Azriel’s fingers slide from your throat, gathering the hair at the base of your skull. Slowly, he guides you down to Cassian’s cock. It’s wet, leaking against his tight abs as he pins his hands behind his head, watching you with fire in his eyes.

You steady yourself with hands on his thick thighs. Your body is already convulsing with pleasure, three orgasms and a handful more to go is what you’d been promised, but as Rhysand grazes his teeth across your sensitive clit, you cry out, hot breath fanning across Cassian’s cock. It twitches as he flexes.

“You’re okay, baby,” Azriel coos, fisting Cassian’s cock, helping you steady yourself so you can take it into your mouth. Rhys’ pace is unhurried, but it still makes pleasure blind your gaze, eyes prickling with sensitivity. “C’mon, be a good girl and take his cock.”

You feel nearly boneless already, hardly able to hold yourself up as Azriel escorts Cassian’s throbbing cock into your mouth. You lick his slit and he hisses, head banging against the headboard as you suckle at his tip. His musk bursts across your tongue, heady and strong and utterly Cassian. You can’t help but moan, licking around the head, dragging down the silken skin as Azriel presses you onto it. All the way until he’s hitting the back of your throat.

“Relax, baby,” Azriel whispers, planting soothing kisses to your shoulders. It’s almost overwhelming how all three of them can be so gentle right now, when they’re finally getting what they need. Your need for them is overwhelming. You can see it now how well they work as a team, impeccable both on and off the ice.

You love it.

Your jaw falls slack at his soft words, and he’s pushing your head down, Cassian’s cock stretching your throat. Both men groan at the sight, and Cassian’s fingers find your cheek, caressing your face.

“That’s it, sweetheart, just like that,” Cassian praises, and you whimper in pleasure. Rhysand swirls his tongue and nips at your clit and you’re seeing stars, body wracking hot with the onslaught of an orgasm.

Cassian bucks and you choke, but you love it. They make you feel so full, even though your cunt aches with the need. You know you’ll get it soon enough.

Azriel leaves you in Cassian’s care while he settles himself behind you. You can no longer see him, but he dips down, spreading your cheeks to lap at your hole. You startle and moan languidly at the sensation, melting into the three of them further.

You can hear him spit, and then his finger is breaching your ass.

“Relax,” he murmurs again, curling his body around your own. The heat of his chest to your back is comforting, and you try your best to uncurl your muscles. “That’s it, just like that baby. Gooood girl.” His finger drags against your walls and you shiver, rocking back against the sting until he’s three fingers in and you’re moaning wanton around Cassian’s cock.

You cry when Azriel removes his fingers, but he’s pressing up to his knees and slicking his cock between your sopping wet cunt and Rhysand’s tongue. Oh, that feels fucking incredible, your sensitive clit burns at the heat of his cock, cunt quivering from the three orgasms already.

“I don’t know if I can,” you whimper sliding off of Cassian’s cock with a cry. Tears stream down your face and Cassian’s brushing them away softly, swiping his thumb across your lips to clear the string of saliva away. Azriel’s teasing your entrance, holding your hips steady as Rhysand shuffles up the bed, his own leaking cock brushing against your cunt. You’d collapse on top of him if it weren’t for Azriel holding you up.

Rhys takes your face in hand, kissing you firmly, proudly, sharing the taste of you with him. He’s showing you how wet you are for them, how good you’re being, but you still make a noise when the tip of his cock brushes against your throbbing clit. “You can do it, baby,” he reassures, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “Want to fill our darling girl with our cum. You want that, too, don’t you?”

Fuck, you do. You really, truly do. You want to taste it, feel it, bathe in it until there’s no question in their minds that you aren’t theirs. Some day, this lucky streak might end, but until then, you want to be stuffed with them, feel their heat inside of you, filling every part of you to the brim. You want to swim in them, and them in you. You need it like ice needs the cold, like the Velaris Bats need a championship.

“Yes,” you find yourself clawing at his muscles, drawing Cassian nearer by his cock as Azriel’s head slips into your ass. You groan, body sucking him in as you stare into the depths of Rhysand’s violet eyes.

The three of them consume you, and you, them. Once Azriel works himself in with a grunt, hips settled against yours, Rhys is nudging his cock into your dripping cunt. Your breathing goes a little ragged, but his lips are on your neck and you use that and Cassian’s cock as a distraction from the stretch.

They give you as long as you need to adjust, hands all over your body you can hardly focus on one thing. Why do that when there are so many delicious things happening at once? Your hand wrapped around Cassian’s girth, jerking him up and down while you suck and spit on the head of his cock. He groans in approval. You begin rocking back on both Rhysand and Azriel, letting them know with your loud noises that you’re more than ready for their cocks. Rhys’ mouth is attached to your breasts while Azriel’s sticks his fingers around your torso to flick at your clit.

Rhys and Azriel go from moving in synch to fucking into you, opposite in pace. Rhys pulls out while Azriel pushes in, one of them always filling you. It’s great, both of their cocks hot and heavy inside of your tight, wet holes. You shiver when their heads bump into each other through your walls, moaning around Cassian’s cock.

“Fuck, baby,” Azriel says, brushing the hair back from your shoulder. His movements are quickening, and heat rushes through you once again, your body bucking between theirs, following that feeling off of the edge. “Just like that.”

They fuck you through it, until you can hear the wet slaps of their hips against yours again, until your blackened vision clears, your movements lazy and slow as you grip Cassian’s cock like it’s the only thing holding you to this existence.

“I’m almost there,” Rhys hisses, and he and Azriel are moving in time again, both of them pressing into you so deeply you can’t even breathe. They’re filling you up, hitting all of the right spots, and you can’t help the stream of tears and cries that fall from your lips. You might cum again, you think, as Cassian slides down to comfort you with his soft lips against your skin.

“I’m cumming baby, f-fuck, yeah, I’m cumming pretty girl,” Azriel groans, pistoning his hips faster. The grip he has on your cheeks is biting, spreading them wide for his viewing pleasure as his strokes turn jerky. “Godsdamn, baby, I’m a lucky man.”

You body clenches and Rhysand chokes, following his friend. He holds you tightly, eyes squeezed shut in bliss as he fucks him cum deep into your womb. “Holy fuck, darling. Fucking made for us,” he grunts. The erratic pressing of their cocks filling your holes has you cumming again, milking you of another orgasm.

“Fuuuuck,” Cassian mutters in awe as you blink through tears to look up at him. His hand caresses your jaw and he looks utterly destroyed by you and he hasn’t even gotten his chance yet. “Four orgasms? What a good girl, giving us all that.”

You whimper, nuzzling into his touch as Azriel pulls slowly out of your ass. You cry out, grip going firm where you clutch to Rhysand’s shoulders, missing the loss of him already. But Az is kissing up your spine, scooping the cum already leaking from your hole only to stuff it back inside of you, swirling his fingers through the thick, white cum.

“One more baby,” Rhysand coos, pressing kisses to your wet cheeks. You don’t think you can move even, you can hardly even keep your eyes open right now or your breathing controlled, allowing the three of them to manhandle you onto Cassian’s broad chest.

You collapse against him, cum leaking from both your cunt and your ass, getting his hips and thighs all messy with it. But he loves it, loves holding you to his chest like this, looking down at you as you snuggle into him like you could fall asleep in bliss in a matter of breaths.

“Let me give you my cum,” he whispers into your hair and your body trembles with his words. You’re utterly spent, but your body needs his cum mixing with the others just as badly as they need the win.

You nod against his chest, stroking a lazy hand down his torso. “Be gentle with me.”

He is. Cassian holds you close, rocking his hips in a steady, soft motion while you cling to him. He seems to be in no rush, but your cunt aches with every drag of his large cock, and you start writhing against him, a little uncomfortable but not yet willing to force him to stop.

The others’ cum helps slick the way, and Cassian’s soothing words kissed to your forehead keep you somewhat calm. He lets you dig your fingers into his skin as hard as you need to, especially when his grip spans across your hips, pinning you to him so he can fuck into you as he chases his orgasm.

“Doing so well for me, baby. Gonna fill you up and get you all cleaned up with the others,” he murmurs, and it’s then you notice he’s silently asked Rhys and Az to leave. The shower is going in the attached bathroom. You can hear the cap of the body wash opening. “We’re going to take such good care of you, baby, for all those orgasms you gave us.”

You sigh in response, much too tired to muster words. You tilt Cassian’s head down for a soft kiss instead, and then he’s panting against your mouth and fucking into you as he cums, swallowing your tender whimpers and moans.

“There we go, baby,” he coos, keeping his cock shoved in that pretty cunt because he knows you like that. He strokes your hair, letting you loll with the rhythm of his chest. “Helping us win the championship. Our little lucky charm.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Kinktober Taglist:@bunnymallowo@jeannineee@icey–stars@hannzoaks@harrystylesfan2686@azriels-shadowsinger @alysena2 @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @impossibelle @glitterypirateduck @reading-moongirl

#polybatboys #poly!batboys x reader #hockey!bat boys #acotar modern au #hockey au #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel x cassian x rhysand x reader #azsazz kinktober 2023

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prythianpages · 29 days

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I Can't Pretend | Eris x Reader

summary: After your sudden disappearance, Eris takes it upon himself to find you. When he does, he breaks down and can no longer hide his feelings for you.

warning: angst, suggestiveness, smut (p in v, loss of virginity); this one is kind of a rollercoaster of emotions and the longest imagine of this series (at 6K words)

a/n: you can find the masterlist to this series here or read this as a stand alone imagine (: all you have to know is that reader is engaged to Eris's brother and in the part right before this one, reader and Sawyer got threatened by Beron. this piece here is brought to you by Tom Odell's Can't Pretend.

“There will be a bedding ceremony at your wedding.”

“You just marked your death sentence.”

Your body grows cold, muscles tensing once again. The tears running down your face feel endless as you stare at the door closing behind the High Lord. When it finally shuts, the sound feels like a sentence in itself, locking you into those promises. Bedding ceremony. Death sentence. The words repeat themselves over and over inside your head like a haunting melody.

You’re going to be watched as you're forced to be intimate with Sawyer. Then, you’re going to die. You want to run…but where to?

A whimper drags you from your thoughts, directing your attention back to the male lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Your fate is sealed and cannot be helped. But you can at least help him.

You hardly recognize him as you kneel beside him and help him sit up. Blood trickles from his face and every exposed inch of his pale skin is littered with open wounds that make bile rise in your throat. You can also sense all the broken bones in his body, something urging you inside to mend them.

“Let me help you,” you whisper, unable to hide the tremor in your voice and your hands. Slowly, you bring your hands to his face, grimacing at the lack of warmth.

A choked, rattled sound escapes from Sawyer. He instinctively leans in to your touch, welcoming the surprising wave of relief that comes with it. It’s as if something deep inside you is calling to him, telling him that you can fix him.

“Did you…did you mean it?” He croaks out.

You don’t have to ask to know what he means. “Yes.”

Sawyer’s pained expression softens for a brief moment. “Sometimes…” he begins and as you blink away your tears, you catch the way he averts his gaze, focusing on the splatters of his own blood that taint the marble floor. “Sometimes, I wish the Cauldron had made me different too...”

“The Cauldron makes no mistakes,” you assure him, your voice steadying with every breath. “It doesn't matter who you love. All that matters is that you love strongly and freely. I sense you have a good heart…which I’m coming to find is a rare thing in a place like this.”

“I thought I was an asshole.” There’s a subtle hint of regret in his tone.

“Yes,” you say with a small exhale. “I’m afraid that you still are… An asshole with a good heart.”

And for the first time since you met him, a faint ghost of a smile graces Sawyer's lips as he looks back at you.

You continue to help heal Sawyer, the same way you’ve done for others in the past. The cuts on his face close as your fingers brush against them, the swelling of his face goes down and the broken bones begin to mend. It’s like a miracle. There’s no trace of any injury left behind other than the blood that has not yet dried.

It’s strange for it to be quiet between you both. You’ve grown accustomed to the insults thrown your way in his presence and even the look of disgust that usually mars his features when looking at you. But all you see is the bewilderment in his face.

As the weight of silence threatens to consume you, you find yourself humming to deter the thoughts lingering in your mind. It’s a familiar melody, one your mother would gently sing whenever your injuries and the sickness that would often befall you begged for relief. Just as it did in those tender moments, the melody you hum washes over you, bringing an immediate sense of comfort.

The warmth returns to your veins and Sawyer, too, senses the soothing energy as it radiates from your touch. His sharp aches dulls into a distant memory. “I didn’t know you were a healer,” he says quietly and then realizes how little he knows about you. He has an inkling that his older brother knows more. “Are you from Dawn Court?”

“My mother was. I think I inherited it from her side,” you reply, helping him to his feet.

As the two of you stand, the door slams open, causing you to involuntary flinch. To your relief, it is Lady Raelynn and not her fearsome husband. Her breaths are quick and shallow and eyes full of concern.

“Oh thank the Cauldron,” she breathes, rushing toward her son. She assesses him for injuries, not caring over the blood that stains her hands as she softly touches his face. “Let’s get you cleaned up. The healer is already waiting in my quarters and I’ve had my maid prepare some tea to soothe your ails.”

The way she speaks leaves an unsettling feeling in your stomach, as it gives away that situations such as this occur with such frequency. Lady Raelynn then turns to you, gaze dipping down toward your hands. They’re stained with Sawyer’s blood. “The both of you,” she adds as emphasis.

Her hand reaches for yours but you take a step back, suddenly feeling sick. She had already included you in the disconcerting routine. The urge to run comes over you again as Beron’s words resurface in your mind. Is this what your life will become? A routine of suffering and torture until death harshly claims you.

“I’m okay,” you say, taking a deep breath. It’s a lie and you all know it but they don’t push you further. They share a glance filled with understanding, deepening your revulsion. You think you’re going to throw up. “I–I think I need to rest.”

“Of course,” Lady Raelynn nods, a deep frown settling upon her face. “Please allow one of my maids to escort you back to your room.”

Eris has grown to know fear over the centuries. It held him in its grip, bringing forth tears and whispering sweet nightmares into his ears until there was no trace of hope left behind. But this feeling surging through his veins and creeping into his heart is much, much worse. Like a fear he’s never known before.

You’re not in your room. You’re not in the gardens. You’re not in the library.

All air has left his lungs and he feels like he can’t breathe until he finds you. There’s one more place within the Forest house he’s yet to check. He’s racing toward it, his pace reflecting the erratic rhythm of his heart. He knows he should tread carefully but you’re flooding him with your emotions through the bond, pushing away all rational thoughts from his mind.

The doors to Lady Raelynn’s quarters slam open. His eyes are drinking in the room like a man deprived of water, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Y/n,” your name is spilling from his lips in a choked breath. “Where is she?”

His gaze lands upon Sawyer, who sits on the couch and then to his mother, who sits right next to him. You’re not here either. His heightened senses take in the bloody cloth in his mother’s hands–not your blood–and then, the somber expression on Sawyer’s face. Across from them, three teacups rest on the small table, the faint scent of chamomile wafting over to him.

Suddenly, Eris is livid. His gaze darkens and he’s rushing toward his younger brother. Hands roughly grasp onto the front of Sawyer’s shirt, forcing the younger male to rise to his feet. Flames tickle around his throat, tightening with every second.

“What did you do?” Eris seethes. It’s more of a demand than a question.

“Eris!”

“Answer me,” Eris nearly growls, his eyes mirroring the flames tightening around Sawyer’s neck. “Or I swear to the Cauldron, I’ll–”

“Eris!” His mother calls out again.

This time, she’s successful. She steps in between her sons, a hand at Eris’s chest and she can feel the frantic beating of his heart. The flames around Sawyer’s throat loosen their grip but only a little.

“Your brother has endured enough blows today.”

“He looks perfectly fine to me,” Eris retorts, amber eyes taking note of the lack of injuries on him. Despite his mother’s words, he’s inclined to give him one. One that will remain and act as a reminder to never cross him. He already knows that whatever happened, was Sawyer’s fault.

“Yes,” Lady Raelynn begins, voice heavy with caution. She knows Eris will find out what happened one way or another and though it fills her with dread to be the harbinger of bad news, she rather her son hear it from her. “Because y/n healed him.”

The sound of your name brings Eris back down and the flames around Sawyer’s throat extinguish. He looks at his mother, silently urging her to go on.

“Your father caught the ear of the rumors circulating in court and well…well, he called for a bedding ceremony.”

Sawyer swallows thickly at the reminder. He casts his head down, overwhelmed by Eris’s heated gaze that is directly solely on him now. A realization hits him then and slowly, he lifts his head. “You care for her, don’t you? All this time…,” his voice trails off.

Eris falters. He shakes his head, a mix of horror and panic tainting his delicate features. “I told you–”

“Then you should know,” Sawyer interrupts him, lips pressing into a tight line before speaking again. “Father plans to kill her after the wedding.”

Flames erupt from Eris’s fingertips, itching to wrap around Sawyer’s throat once more. He warned his brother not to be a fool. To be more careful because this was not just a matter of life or death for Sawyer but for you as well. Eris just needed more time to help you and he fears Sawyer just deprived him of it.

A firm push from Lady Raelynn stops him from raising his hands. “Eris, your brother is not the enemy,” she reminds him, tone pleading with him to hear her. “Y/n is in her room. Go to her. She needs you.”

Eris's fiery temper flickers, dissolving into the familiar grip of anxiety that had driven him to this chamber. He takes a step back and Lady Raelynn’s hand drops back to her side. “She’s not in her room.”

It’s now Lady Raelynn’s turn to panic. “What do you mean she isn’t? My maid personally escorted her there. She even helped draw her a bath.”

“She’s gone.”

Sawyer lets a curse under his breath, a shiver running down his spine. “One more mishap,” he murmurs, fear swirling in his eyes. He falls onto the couch, sinking into the cushion with dread. “One more mishap and father warned…,” his eyebrows furrow, not being able to finish the threat Beron had made to the both of you and Eris feels his heart at his throat.

“She couldn’t have gone far.” Lady Raelynn speaks but it does nothing to reassure Eris.

“When I bring her back,” Eris says, voice steady with determination because he will find you. He takes another step back, toward the doors. One hand grasps for the knob while the other points a finger at Sawyer. “Then, I’ll deal with you.”

Sawyer says nothing but Lady Raelynn nods, urging him to go. “We’ll cover for you,” she assures him. “Please be careful.”

Eris leaves without another word, the doors closing shut behind him.

“He loves her.” Sawyer's words are tinged with sympathy and bitter amusement. A humorless chuckle escapes from him and he looks toward his mother. Her gaze remains fixed on the doors of her room, where Eris had left just moments ago, as she gives a silent prayer to the Cauldron.

“Are we cursed? To love those we cannot have?”

“I’m afraid you all have inherited it from me,” Lady Raelynn confesses softly, her voice carrying the weight of years of unspoken longing, clouding her eyes with regret and sorrow.

Leaves crunch beneath Eris's boots as he makes his way toward the stables, the crisp autumn air biting at his cheeks. His face dons his usual mask but his heart is still racing. He would much rather take his hounds in his quest to find you but the risk of raising suspicion held him back. It’s not uncommon for him to ride during these hours of the day and it’d give him a better vantage on covering as much ground as he can as opposed to winnowing.

The sound of a high-pitched whinny echoes through the air as Eris approaches, drawing his attention. His gaze settles upon the stablemen, their focus fixed upon a solitary stall.

“Lord Eris,” one of them greets, bowing his head in respect. “Do you wish to ride? I can ready your horse. Just give me a moment.”

Eris offers no response as he strides purposefully toward the stablemen, his curiosity piqued by the source of the anxious sounds. The stableman follows his gaze, his expression troubled. It’s your horse, Maximus. The white stallion throws his head back, pawing at the ground with such force that the dirt rises in swirling clouds.

“He’s been restless all morning, my Lord.”

“I’ll take him,” Eris finally speaks, his gaze lingering on the horse. From where he stands,he can sense the tension rippling through Maximus’s powerful frame. It reminds him of the way his hounds act when they sense something is wrong. “Perhaps, a ride will soothe him.”

The stableman’s eyes widen in alarm. “I would advise against it, Lord Eris. This one has a temper that only Lady Y/n can soothe. He’s bitten us before.”

Eris lets out a quiet amused huff, undeterred. “I’ll saddle him myself,” he says and it’s as if your horse understands for it tilts his head to look directly at Eris, a silent exchange passing between them.

The stableman simply nods, reluctantly handing the necessary equipment to prepare your horse. As Eris steps into the stall, Maximus steps back with a deep and heavy exhale. “It’s okay. I’m y/n’s…y/n’s friend,” Eris reassures though the word ‘friend’ rolls off his tongue awkwardly.

As he utters your name, Maximus's body relaxes slightly, mirroring the calm that had settled over Eris earlier in his mother’s quarters. He admires the way Maximus’s eyes soften slightly, betraying his deep love for you. Animals are the true definition of unconditional love, he thinks. However, there’s a flicker of doubt in the horse's eyes at the mention of the word "friend," as if he could sense something more. It makes Eris wonder if your horse can see past the glamor he meticulously placed over himself and you.

Maximus doesn’t move when Eris takes another step forward. He pats his neck softly, running his fingers down the silky white strands of Maximus’s mane. The white stallion’s head lowers and ears relax under the gentle touch.

“Can you take me to her?”

Maximus taps one of his hooves in response and Eris smiles.

Eris can feel your bond growing stronger and stronger as Maximus gallops, taking both of them deeper into Autumn’s forest. Around them, trees adorned with golden leaves blur into a whirl of color. The sound of thundering hooves fills the air. He pulls on the reins and the white stallion immediately obeys, coming to a gradual stop.

“Stay here.” Eris commands as he dismounts.

Maximus lets out a noise in protest but does not fight when Eris secures him to a nearby tree. He looks around the forest, allowing his senses to guide him through the labyrinth of trees. He feels a sharp tug against his ribcage, prompting his head to turn right. How did he not think of it sooner?

Eris quietly makes his way toward the clearing ahead, where the meadow he often frequents is. The canopy of the tall oak trees filter the golden sunlight into a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow. A kaleidoscope of wildflowers blooms along the edges, their petals kissed by the wind. His senses sharpen with anticipation. It’s as if a taut string is pulling him inexorably closer to you.

He’s flooded with relief when he finally spots you but it is short lived as he takes in your appearance. Relief is quickly replaced by a terrible sinking feeling that he feels in his very core.

The river is a distant murmur as you face it, your back to him. The shifting patterns of light and shadow play across your form, casting you in muted hues. You’re dressed in his clothes, the same ones he had given you when the two of you snuck out. The ruffled long sleeves do nothing to protect you from the biting Autumn winds and he frowns as you curl into yourself, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. You seem smaller somehow, more vulnerable. He’s already taking his coat off as he approaches you.

“Angel,” he calls out softly, placing his coat over your shoulders, but you don’t move. You don’t even react…are you even breathing?

Eris steps around you, his eyes pools of amber concern and as he comes to stand in front of you, his heart clenches. Your eyes are bloodshot and puffy. Tears stain your rosy cheeks, making his knees weak. Yet it's the emptiness in your gaze and the absence of radiance in your expression that shatters his heart. This court has broken you beyond repair. You, who always shined so bright, who lit up his world, were losing your spark. This is what he had been trying to prevent and he failed.

His hands cup your face in a tender caress, internally wincing at the lack of warmth he feels. Drawing upon his powers, he channels heat into his hands. As the warmth envelops you, he watches as your distant gaze gradually returns to him.

A pained expression clouds his features, tears stinging at his own eyes. He knows the answer, recognizes it the more he looks at you. He knows because you wear the same expression he does after facing Beron’s temper. But he needs to hear it. His brows furrow, barely able to contain the anger that had been left simmering. Anger not directed at you but at his father.

“Did he…did he hurt you?”

“I’m okay.”

There’s a roughness to your voice he’s never heard before that kills him inside. You lean in to his touch, tilting your head slightly to the right. Consequently, the same cheek Beron had struck earlier. Eris frowns. There’s no mark on your pretty features, no trace of harm of any kind. Though, he knows better now.

So he asks again. Differently and more carefully, this time. He’s trying very hard to tame the fire raging through his veins for your sake, worrying that he’d scare you if he allows you even the slightest glimpse of it.

“Did he touch you?”

You shift your head, attempting to escape his hold. But Eris doesn’t allow it and takes your silence as an answer. He swallows thickly. His father had laid his hands on you. Fiery tongues surge from the earth, swirling around you both and painting the air with bright hues of amber and scarlet. How dare he? His father is going to pay for this, Eris will make sure of it. He’s going to return the pain Beron inflicted on you tenfold. He’s going to ki—

“I’m okay.” You try again and it’s as if you’re also trying to convince yourself.

Eris leans his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m so sorry, angel,” he murmurs, voice thick with longing and regret. He had been so careful about leaving Autumn since your arrival and the one time he has to leave it, is when you find yourself in trouble.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“You’re here now.”

He feels the softness of your hand against one of his, prompting his eyes to open. His amber orbs glisten with a haunting luminosity as quiet tears escape them. “I put you in this situation,” he confesses quietly.

Confusion flashes onto your face, your eyes searching for answers and he feels his heart at his throat. “I arranged your marriage, knowing the life I would be damning you to. This is all my fault.”

“You couldn’t have known. You didn’t know me then and my father…this marriage would’ve happened any–”

“Don’t.” He interrupts you, inhaling sharply, voice strained with emotion. He doesn’t think you’d be defending him if you knew what he did to your father just hours ago. “Don’t defend me. I don’t deserve it.”

And then he reluctantly drops his hands, stepping away from you, needing to put some distance between you both.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Eris–” You take a step closer but he holds out a hand, flames erupting from the ground right between the both of you.

“No. You don’t understand, Angel. I’ve tried to fight it but I can’t contend. You’ve pierced through every defense of mine and now… I’m exhausted.I can’t pretend anymore.” Eris bows his head, flames dancing around him with heightened intensity. He collapses to his knees, surrendering to the turmoil within.

“You awaken sensations within me that I’ve never known. Sensations that both exhilarate and terrify me. If you–if you only knew the depths of my capabilities, the lengths I would go for you, the sacrifices I’ve already made...”

He can already imagine the heartbroken look on your face when you find out the truth. That he, your mate, the very being that should bring you nothing but joy and shower you in love brought harm upon your family. You’re one and only remaining family member. It did not matter if your father was a monster because either way, you adored him. Or rather, the idea of him.

Eris should tell you the truths he learned. How your father poisoned you for years, treating you not as his daughter but as a mere experiment instead. He only read snippets here and there from the journal, read just enough to be sickened with the horrors purposely inflicted upon you.

And Eris will tell you. He knows he needs to. But you’re breaking and he can feel you on the verge of shattering apart this very moment. If he tells you now, he fears–

“Eris.”

Your voice pulls him out of his racing thoughts and he winces. As if it physically pains him to hear the sweet way you say his name. “Don’t say my name like that, angel,” he nearly pleads. You don’t know what you do to him.

The flames pulse around him with the rhythm of his heart. He decides at that moment that you can hate him all you want after. As long as you’re alive, as long as your radiance returns to you, that’s all that matters. He just desperately needs you to be you again.

“Just tell me, angel, and I’ll do it,” Eris says, closing his eyes as he tries to steady his breath. “Tell me what to do to make you feel better? I can’t bear the sight of seeing you like this so please tell me.”

His words strike a nerve in you, the devotion in them unfamiliar to you. How cruel, you think, tears pooling at your eyes for an entirely different reason. You’re marrying the wrong Vanserra. You take a step forward, the flames of Eris’s fire threatening to swallow you whole.

“You care for me?”

“Devastatingly so.”

Another step forward. Your heart hammers in your chest. The flames lick at your feet and you should fear them. But you don’t. Because it’s Eris and though you shouldn’t, you want him. Not Sawyer or anyone else. You want Eris. All of him.

“You’d really do anything for me?”

Eris lets out a sound–a mixture of an exhale and laugh. It’s humorless and singed with disbelief as if he can’t believe you’re really asking him that after he just confessed it all to you. But you need to hear it again.

“I would traverse all over Prythian, surmount every obstacle, and brave the fiercest storms just to see the light of your smile. All you have to do is ask.”

And then you’re taking that last step, braving yourself against the searing heat that dances in the air to reach him. Because if you’re going to die, you need him to know. You need him to know the truth that lingers in your heart.

That he’s your golden hour, painting your world in shades of warmth and love, but also your midnight hour, where secret desires and dreams are whispered under a canopy of stars and now…

Now, he’s everything in between. You’re every waking thought and the last before you sleep. You need him to know that you burn for him. Ardently. Your breath catches and Eris’s eyes snap open, widening as his fire reaches out to embrace you.

But it doesn’t burn you.

The two of you look at each other in awe before you’re falling to your knees in front of him, the flames enfolding around you in a tender caress. Neither of you say a word. Your hands reach out to cup his face, coaxing his gaze to you. He doesn’t stop you this time. Not even as you lean in and press your lips against his. He should pull away but he doesn’t. Instead, his lips move against yours, kissing the warmth right back into you, giving a piece of light from him to you.

You pull away, just enough to speak but still close enough to feel the warmth of his mouth. “And if I ask you to take me in a way only a lover could, what then?”

He looks at you with such an intensity it sets you alight but then he’s averting his gaze and there’s an ache in your chest. “Please,” you whisper, eyes glistening with tears.

You always dreamed of what your wedding would be like, who you would marry. A part of you always knew that it would be arranged. Still, you foolishly hoped that in light of the arrangement, love would blossom. That your husband would hold affection toward you and learn to love you. That on your first night together, he’d be gentle and caring.

But your dream was morphing into something darker. Your husband would never love you in the way you desire. He hated the very thought of you and though you caught a mere glimpse of the caring male underneath the harsh exterior earlier, it did nothing to soothe you. It can’t be Sawyer.

The night you dreamed of was becoming a nightmare. The last thread of hope was hanging precariously, threatened by the sharp blade of anxiety and fear. You can’t lose the last part you hold dear to Sawyer. You can’t let Beron win. They don’t deserve to forever hold this over you.

You look at Eris, your last thread of hope. “Your father called for a bedding ceremony and I don’t want that to be my first time. I don’t want Sawyer to…to…”

“I know, angel,” Eris murmurs, not letting you finish your sentence. He wipes at your tears and then places his hands over yours, which remain on his face. He gives a gentle kiss to your lips but his body is tense. The thought of you having to endure the horrors of a forced bedding ceremony. Your body on display for others to see, the emotional and physical pain it will bring upon you, the—

Eris has to force himself out of those dark thoughts, the bond in his chest roaring with a fierce and protective anger. He kisses you again. This time, on your forehead. “It’s not going to happen.”

“But your father–”

The fear in your eyes pains him. He pulls you closer, nose brushing against yours as he forces you to look into his eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“With my whole heart.”

“Then trust me when I say that no one will touch you against your will again.”

“Even though your father, the High Lord, has condemned me to death?”

“No one,” he repeats, voice firm as he pulls you close to him. One arm wraps itself around your waist while the other cradles your head to his chest. He brushes his fingers through your hair, basking in the sweet scent of rose it brings forth.

Silence envelops you both and you allow it to embrace you, the same way Eris does. In his arms, you are safe, you are warm. It is just the two of you…against the world.

“Tell me what you’re thinking of,” Eris speaks softly.

“I’m thinking…” your voice trails off as you shift in his hold to face him. His hands fall to your waist and you make yourself comfortable in his lap, placing a knee on either side of him. “What if it's your touch I will?”

Heat and desire pour through the bond, filling his veins.

“Your eyes I dream of,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his red hair and tilting his head up to look into his eyes. When you lean in to delicately kiss the corners of his eyes, he shudders beneath you.

“Your heart I want.”

Your hand trails down his neck in a tender caress, stopping at his chest. Right over the organ that beats for you. The golden threads stir under your touch and he swallows thickly, eyes locked onto you. He wonders if you can feel it–the way the bond is singing madly like it wants to be heard. With a sudden boldness, he tugs on it.

His eyes widen when your body seems to react, lurching forward slightly. Your movements still, hand lingering on his chest and he watches you with bated breath. You felt it…but your end of the bond remains quiet. Still waiting to unravel, only giving him a glimpse of the emotions stirring within you.

Something that both uneases and relieves him. He wants to know exactly what you’re feeling–if your emotions resonate with the same fervor that consumes him. He wants you to understand the depth of his devotion to you. However, amidst his yearning, your oblivion toward the bond allows him to mask the subtle shift in your scent. A silent sacrifice that weighs heavy upon his heart but a burden he is glad to carry if it means he can safeguard your innocent heart from the cunning foxes at court.

Your hand continues its path downwards, tracing a tantalizing path toward his. His heart stirs with a flutter of anticipation. He can feel the unspoken yearning in your touch. With trembling fingers, he intertwines his hand with yours, each brush of your skin igniting a wildfire in him that grows brighter as you bring his hand to your lips.

“Your hand in marriage I long for.” You press a soft kiss upon the fourth finger of his left hand and his resolve is faltering. Teetering on the edge of surrender…

The flames surrounding you both catch on the ring on your fourth finger, the very one claimed by his brother. A forced and loveless claim. Yet still, regretfully, not him. A stark reminder that you are not his and perhaps, will never be. The simple golden band glistens precariously as if acknowledging his thoughts. He should stop you.

“Y/n–”

“Your touch I crave,” you continue, your longing turning into a desperate need as you kiss him. Harder, with more urgency, sending a delightful sensation down his spine that makes his cock twitch.

As your hips roll against his, Eris abruptly pulls away. The hands at your waist tighten, keeping you still and holding on to that last wall of defense. He wants you but he shouldn’t.

Your brows furrow and Eris hates the hurt that flashes in your eyes. The hope that deflates. “I’m sorry.Have I misinterpreted your—““

“I want you too,” he interrupts, needing to reassure you. He licks his lips, gaze flickering to your own, already missing their taste, before lifting back up. “Gods, do I want you but not like this.”

He gestures to the autumn meadow around you both. The meadow that is painted in hues of crimson and gold and alive with the whisper of falling leaves and dancing flames. It’s beautiful. The epitome of Autumn. But it’s no proper place to have you.

“You deserve better. You deserve for your first time to be special.”

“It does not matter where we are. As long as it’s with you, it is special. Please,” your bottom lip trembles and Eris leans in, gently kissing it steady. “I want you to be my first. I don’t want it to be Sawyer or anyone else. I want it to be you.”

“We don’t have to do this now. There will be another time,” Eris utters but his voice lacks strength. The promise in his words hangs in the air delicately like a wisp of smoke that is already dissipating into uncertainty.

“Time,” you echo quietly, a wistful shadow casting over your features. “What if we don’t have time? What if–what if this moment is all we have left?”

Eris wants to respond but the words catch in his throat. There’s nothing he can say to reassure you there. He knows you’re aware of the impending dangers that wait for you back at court. His father will be watching you closely now, security will be tighter. Eris will have to be more careful, tread lighter and with higher caution.

There’s only a little less than two weeks away from your marriage to Sawyer. The three of you are running out of the time and there is still so much to do. The stolen moments with you will have to cease and he senses you’re aware of this truth as well. This may be the very last one between you both.

If you thought Autumn was a terrible place before, then you’re about to learn that it’s much, much worse. It’s a living hell. And Eris curses the Cauldron for its cruelty.

Angels like you shouldn’t live in hell.

“So much has been taken from me and I fear there is very little choice I have remaining in this world. But this,” you pause, placing his hand over your racing heart, an urgent plea echoing in the rapid rise and fall beneath his touch. “This is mine to give and it wants you. I want to give it to you before it’s too late…”

Eris’s entire body tenses, muscles tightening with restraint.

“And if your heart feels the same, then I need you,” your voice trembles under the weight of your emotions and suddenly, Eris feels like he can’t breathe. “Like fire craves the kiss of air–”

No one has ever looked at him with such devotion, spoken to him with such passion. It’s overwhelming and threatening to drown him in its intensity. While his mind is screaming for him to run away, his heart wills for him to stay.

“–like flowers thirst for the tender caress of rain, like–”

Eris’s lips crash onto yours. His kiss is searing yet gentle and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and he groans into your mouth. He carefully guides you back onto the soft bed of fallen leaves and golden grass, cradling the back of your head with one hand while the other remains over your heart.

He kisses you until you’re both breathless and forced to pull apart. His body hovers over yours, amber eyes drinking you in. He tenderly kisses the remnants of your tears away, reveling in the way you softly sigh and lips begin to curve upwards into a smile.

“I love you, Eris.”

The three words hit Eris so hard there’s a crack in the last wall of defense. He’s terrified to move, not wanting to leave this moment but also in fear that if he does, that last wall will crumble entirely.

“Me? Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more unequivocally sure.”

Eris studies you intently, captivated by every subtle shift in your expression. There’s nothing but unwavering love and desire reflecting back at him with such luminous intensity that it threatens to blind him. He can no longer think properly. Every reservation, every thought telling him to stop is slipping through his fingers.

All he can think about is you and how you love him. You love him! You love him! You love him!

And when he meets your eyes again, it’s too late.

The damage has already been done. That last wall of defense is crumbling at a devastating speed. A soft flush creeps up his cheeks, betraying the vulnerability that seeps through his every pore in surrender.

“Is this what you really want?”

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut in anticipation as his nose brushes softly along your neck. “Even if it’s just for this moment, let me be entirely yours. Every beat of my heart. Every breath. Take it all.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Eris murmurs against your neck, inhaling sharply and when the honeyed scent of your arousal greets him, he whimpers.

Gentle is not a word Eris Vanserra would use to describe himself. That is, until he met you. His mate. The one who dismantled the walls he spent centuries constructing around his heart in months with little effort. In your presence, lies a burning desire to soften the edges of his demeanor. To be the gentle male worthy of your affection.

You wield a power over him unlike any other, leaving him utterly captivated and surrendering to all rationality. He should tell you he feels the same but he is beyond words. How can mere words capture the magnitude of his devotion?

So when you’re asking–begging–to be his, he can’t bring himself to say no. Not when this may be the very last moment shared between you both. Not when you’re giving him the perfect opportunity to show you the depth of his feelings instead.

Everything fades into insignificance. Nothing matters but this moment. With a touch as light as the brush of butterfly wings, his hands explore your body. Tentatively, as if scared to burn you with his burgeoning desire. Always asking for permission–”is this okay?” “yes”–before venturing further, before discarding your clothes–his clothes.

Flames continue to dance around you both, a protective circle and barrier against the cold winds. Each flicker of light casts intricate shadows upon your faces, your bodies. Eris pulls away just enough to admire you. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning down and capturing your lips for what feels like the hundredth time. But it will never be enough. “So, so beautiful.”

You’re melting like wax beneath every touch and then his lips are tracing down the paths his hands have forged. Gentle and somehow still urgent. His mouth lingers on the swell of your breasts, sucking and eliciting the prettiest sounds from you.

“If it’s too much, you tell me,” he utters, holding your gaze as he rests his chin on your stomach. He can sense your nerves. He’s nervous too. He wants this to be perfect for you. As perfect as it can be, given your circumstances.

“We can stop whenever you want.”

You nod but it’s not enough for Eris. “Words, angel,” he says, pressing a tender kiss to your stomach. “I need your words.”

“I’ll tell you,” you breathe, body arching into him. “I promise.”

Eris presses another kiss to your stomach before continuing his path downwards, to where he can feel you aching for him the most. He’s breathing so hard and kissing every inch of your skin, setting you ablaze. His nose brushes against the apex of your thighs and he’s flooded with your arousal. It’s overwhelming all his senses and he’s pulsing with need to have a taste.

Still, he pauses to look up at you through his long eyelashes.

“Please,” is all you manage to say.

Eris moans in anticipation, drinking in your otherworldly beauty, the same way he wishes to devour you. One hand rests on your hip while the other reaches for yours. His fingers intertwine themselves with yours and when you squeeze them, he lowers his mouth and finally has a taste.

You throw your head back with a choked cry. “Eris!”

Eris groans, lapping and working his tongue against you. He’s never loved his name more. “You taste absolutely divine,” he breathes, losing himself in you. If this is how you taste, his cock throbs painfully as he imagines how you’d feel.

You reach your peak soon, crying out his name again. He lifts his head and brings your locked hands to his lips, admiring the look of pure bliss on your face. “Beautiful,” he whispers again, heart swelling with warmth. Overcome with emotion, he dives for your lips and pours them out into his kiss, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue.

The hand not intertwined with yours, caresses against your core, fingers prodding at your entrance. Your mouth parts in a gasp at the intrusion but he eases you through it until you're clenching around his fingers and begging for more.

“Are you sure you still want this?” He can’t help but ask, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Yes.”

“I’ll go slow,” Eris promises, his amber gaze filled with softness and tenderness. Blush rises to your cheeks and it’s instinctual, the way you look away. He lets out a low sound in disapproval. “Eyes on me, angel.”

When you meet his gaze, his pupils are blown but his gaze remains soft and warm. Your lips curve upwards and he does the same. Both of his hands are locked with yours, resting on either side of your head. He holds your gaze, slowly sinking into your warmth and stilling at the furrow of your brows. He kisses them, allowing you to adjust and wanting to ease any discomfort you may be feeling.

“You’re doing so well for me, angel,” he encourages, voice strained. The bond in his chest is surging with pride at being your first and with a primal fervor to be the only one who gets to have you like this.

He feels like his heart is going to burst into flames and when he finally sheathes himself inside you, everything catches fire. His mind. His body. His soul. Every muscle, every nerve in his body is coming undone with every thrust. His kisses, though still soft, grow intense. So hot yet so sweet.

Fire consumes him, its vibrant flames igniting not destruction but building something new. Something beautiful. Something heavenly. where hopes and dreams, once thought lost, are resuscitated. The wounds of his heart being mended by you.

His body presses further into yours, mouth pressing feverish kisses down your neck, whispering sweet praises and worshipping you for the divine being you are. Your moans grow louder and you’re clenching around him tighter. “I love you,” your voice is a mere whisper but he hears it loud and clearly and you don’t seem to mind his lack of response. Not when he’s following after you, bodies shuddering as release courses through you both.

Eris pulls you close to his chest, arms tight around you. He can feel your heartbeat. Fast but steadying and in tune with the rhythm of his own. The gentle rise and fall of your chest let him know you’ve fallen asleep. Letting out a sigh in content, he closes his eyes, wanting to bask in this moment longer.

His fingers lightly trace along your back, tracing the four words he couldn’t bring himself to say back to you earlier.

I love you, too.

a/n: I've never written soft smut before so I hope it was okay. I also hope I was able to convey the desperation between Eris and reader well. I debated a lot on whether keeping the smut or scrapping it. Huge thank you to @stormhearty for helping me out with this part and giving me her input! ily! ❤️

series tag list: @fabulouslyflamboyant5 @fxckmiup @stormhearty @skyesayshi @sfhsgrad-blog @crazylokonugget @evergreenlark @secretlyhers @mybestfriendmademe @ib525, @96jnie, @glitterypirateduck @thatsassyhufflepuff @acourtofbatboydreams, @mal-adaptive-dreams, @dandelionfairyyy, @queerqueenlynn, @circe143

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria

#eris x reader #eris x y/n #eris x you #eris vanserra imagine #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x y/n #acotar imagine #acotar x you #acotar x reader #acotar x y/n #eris angel au #eris vanserra smut #eris smut #acotar smut

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 1 month

Text

STEAL THE STARS

── Azriel x Fem!Reader

[ witch / fairy hybrid reader ]

For as long as you’ve known them, Rhysand and Cassian have treated you like a little sister. Despite all of the joking around, you know you can go to them for anything. Rhysand made it clear from the day you came to stay with them that if you wanted anything at all, you need only ask for it.

With a certain shadowsinger, it was different. Azriel seemed to always keep you at arms length. He’d be polite if you spoke to him, but he didn’t engage with you in the same way the rest of the inner circle did. You had no idea why, and used to spend hours wondering what you’d done wrong.

Eventually, you simply stopped trying. Azriel didn’t realize just how much he enjoyed your presence, until you were basically never there. By the time he realizes his true feelings, he may not get a chance to tell you. Because the moment he comes to his senses, Madja is telling them it may be too late to save you.

TAGLIST ── if you requested to be tagged and your name isn’t clickable, i wasn’t able to tag you! it might be a privacy settings issue. also UPDATE i have literally 0 self control so this will be more than 1 part. i kept going and going and realized i wasn’t even halfway done, and that i definitely needed to split it up.

#acotar #acotar au #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel x female!reader #azriel x fem!reader #azriel angst #azriel fluff #cassian #rhysand #inner circle #steal the stars

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highladyandromeda · 1 month

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Shadows of the Heart

Prologue

Azriel x Reader

Summary: After years apart, Y/n returns to Velaris, bearing the weight of sacrifice and secrets from her past. Reunited with Rhysand and his Inner Circle, she navigates the complexities of rekindled friendships and unresolved tensions.

Y/n’s powers are inspired by Scarlet Witch from Marvel. She is a sorceress living in Vallahan, with her family hailing from the night court.

Word count: 1k-ish

Warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, but nothing particularly graphic

Azriel stood off to the side, quietly observing the cozy scene in the House of Wind's living room. There was Feyre, nestled comfortably on Rhys's lap, her giggles echoing softly as she leaned in to catch his whispered words. In the corner, Amren made an art out of lounging, a smirk playing on her lips as she peered over her wine glass. Cassian had wrapped an arm around Nesta, her head bent together with Gwen and Emerie, engrossed in a lively discussion about their latest read. The ambient buzz of conversation, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses filled with Rhys's impressive wine, created a backdrop of contented harmony.

Azriel tried his best to shove aside the twinge of jealousy that crept up on him, watching his brothers and their bliss. He didn't want to feel like just an onlooker, basking in the warmth of their happiness, yet here he was. His mind wandered to Elain, who had opted for an early night. Would her presence have allowed him to drift away from this feeling, to find solace in her gentle smiles and tender gazes? It seemed chasing fae after fae with hearts as bright as the sun was his lot in life. Yearning for a sliver of light in his shadowed existence, a beacon like Elain, or Mor, someone to take him out—that's when he noticed it—his shadows, usually so still, began to stir anxiously around him.

In danger, in danger, they whispered, urgency threading through their murmurs.

In pain. Falling, falling, the ones closest murmured, their voices escalating into a desperate shout.

Springing to his feet, Azriel scanned the room, brushing off the puzzled glances thrown his way. Then, a sharp thud echoed, quickly followed by a cry that cut through the relaxed chatter. In a heartbeat, he was dashing towards the balcony, with Rhys and Cassian hot on his heels, all three propelled by the sudden urgency to uncover the source of the disturbance that had just intruded upon their peaceful evening.

Bursting through the balcony doors, Azriel was met with a scene that defied all expectations. Chaotic runes smeared across the floor in hasty, overlapping strokes forming an intricate magical circle. At its heart lay two figures: a faerie kneeling, her skin so pale it shimmered with almost ethereal light, ebony locks sprawling untidily about her. Her eyes, aglow with an intense crimson, matching the runes surrounding her, pierced through the night. Dark stains marred her robes—wounds, he realized, still seeping blood from her arm and leg. She cradled Mor’s head in her lap, their gazes locking in a moment so profound, that Azriel felt the world around him come to a standstill. He swore he felt his heart stutter, a memory long forgotten trying to urge its way out. Mor, his attention snapped to, was equally pale, her lips tinged a sickly shade of blue.

“What did you do to–” Just as Azriel began, he saw the female look behind him, exclaiming, “Rhys!

“Y/n?” Rhys ran to her, his hands frantic, unsure of whether to hold her or lean for Mor.

“Rhys” She began again, her breaths coming out in spurts. She grabbed his hand as he leaned down to hold her, “Poison…she’s been poisoned, needs tonic–”

Barely finishing her sentence, her eyes rolled back and she collapsed, Rhys’s hands halting her from hitting the floor.

“Call for Madja” Rhy yelled. “Mor’s been poisoned and perhaps Y/n as well.”

Before Azriel could react, Cassian stepped up, carefully lifting Mor, while Rhys carried Y/n, both moving swiftly back into the sanctuary of the house.

They found a bedroom with two twin beds, laying one on each.

Madja, a whirlwind of expertise, raced around both, focusing her skills on stabilizing Mor's precarious state. Meanwhile, Rhys was tasked with a grim duty, pressing down on Y/n's wounds, which despite the salves and a plethora of cloths, continued bleeding relentlessly.

"It's the runes," Amren interjected, her voice slicing through the turmoil like a blade. All eyes, save for Madja's, who momentarily lessened the fervor of her tonic mixing, turned to her.

"She utilized ancient magic," Amren stated, her declaration hanging in the air, dense with implications, yet devoid of further explanation, prompting Rhys to press for clarity.

"And that means?"

The urgency lacing Rhys's voice caught Azriel off-guard. Who was this female, who seemed so familiar and why was she so important to Rhys? He felt a spark of anger at the way Rhys held her, despite knowing Rhys's heart belonged to Feyre.

"It means she offered her blood as a sacrifice. Likely to transport herself and Mor here. Inspect Mor for runes," Amren directed without pause.

Before Amren's words could fully settle, Madja cut through the sleeves of Mor’s dress, revealing an arm ensnared by crimson runes, mirroring those that marred the balcony.

It was then that Azriel's senses sharpened, recognizing the scent that pervaded the air—a metallic tang he had initially overlooked in the chaos. Blood. Those runes, those symbols, all wrought from blood. Recollections of the massive circles they had traversed to enter this scene played back in his mind, causing his stomach to churn. It was reflected in Feyre's gasp as she rushed to aid Y/n, while Rhys was overtaken by a wave of nausea.

The room, already tense with fear and uncertainty, was engulfed in a silent horror as Madja's voice, though trembling, broke through the silence. "She's correct. The blood serves as an anchor for Morrigan's soul. The runes must bind Morrigan to..."

"Y/n's," Rhys provided, his voice steady in the thick silence.

"Yes, to Y/n's very essence," Madja concluded. "This means Y/n will continue to suffer, to bleed, until Morrigan shows signs of recovery. In exchange.”

A heavy silence settled over them, punctuated only by the rhythmic thud of Madja grinding her herbs, as the gravity of their situation unfolded.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's note: Hi everyone! I’ve been a lurker in the acotar fandom for ages, this is my first time writing, so do let me know what you think. I'm not totally sure how far I want to take this series, but I do have longer chapters planned ahead.

#azriel au #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #acotar series #acotar #acomaf #acowar #azriel x oc #rhysand #morrigan #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 3 months

Text

Practice On Me — Bonus Part — Fin x Reader.

Summary: A reimagining of how things would have gone if Reader had decided she wanted Fin — despite him being her friend’s father.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Heavy on the smut. 18+, minors dni. Some jealous and possessiveness. Mentions of forbidden relationships/affairs. If the choices Reader makes in this are something you’re against, I urge you not to read! 🫶🏻

Rita’s is like no other place you’ve been — or seen — before.

Is this what you’ve missed out on, trapped within the frozen maw of Windhaven? There is no place like this there, of such vibrancy and euphoria. The music, the coloured faelights, the energy — it all makes you feel…on top of the world.

Like there’s life outside the misery you’ve known.

Mor knocks a shot back, grimacing as she slams the empty glass onto the bar. A sudden burst of giggles leaves her as she says, “My father would have my head if he could see me right now. Literally.”

You don’t doubt that for a second, because Mor looks resplendent, not just in her natural beauty, but her joy. She has danced and drank and kissed and danced some more. And seeing her like this…it makes you glad that she convinced you to come out with her tonight.

“My father would have my head, too,” you tell her over the music. “I’m surprised he hasn’t already.”

At that, she rolls her eyes, and she reaches for two more shots. “Here’s to saying fuck the males,” she knocks her glass against yours. “May they all perish.”

You’ll happily drink to that. With the alcohol that has you in its grip, you’re buzzed on thoughts of storming back to Windhaven and confronting all your demons. Confronting anyone and everyone who has ever hurt you and made you feel less than you are. Your father. Lord Devlon. Azriel—

You banish that thought as the liquid slides down your throat with a satisfying burn. You are in Velaris, not Windhaven. A new place with new people, where anything feels possible. The thought is heady and dizzying.

Someone calls Mor’s name, and she glances over her shoulder, her beautiful eyes lighting up again. You truly don’t know how often she’s able to escape the Hewn City and get away to Velaris, but judging by the amount of friends she’s introduced you to tonight, she’s certainly made her mark here.

“Let’s go dance with them!” Mor yells over the music, grabbing your hand.

You think that dancing might be the answer to everything you’ve never known, and so you gladly follow; gladly throw yourself into the thrall of the busy floor.

But that’s when you see him.

Something…some deep power…compels you to look up. Coaxes your eyes to that area a level above, where the city’s VIP guests spend copious amounts of money on copious amounts of alcohol and drink it from their cushy velvet booths. They’re reserved for associates of the High Lord, a not-so-formal place to meet to discuss not-so-casual things.

But none of that matters. There could be an entire circus up there right now, and still all you would notice is — him.

He notices you, too.

The High Lord’s eyes zero in on you from up above. You watch, rooted to the spot, as he takes in the sight of you, from your braided back hair, to your painted face, your dress and the legs exposed by them. He looks like…like he’s finally setting his sights upon an image that was merely fantasy up until now.

He braces his arms on the balustrade. And he just stares.

You want to know what he’s doing here. Whether he’s at Rita’s for business or…or for pleasure. You’ve heard that there are rooms upstairs for people willing to pay the price. Perhaps there’s a lover up there with him somewhere, waiting to explore every last inch of that glorious, sculpted body—

The bleating jealousy that makes your heart twist is…unexpected. And not ideal; not one bit.

He is Rhysand’s father. Things may have been fucked up royally with Azriel, and you may have been burned by the experience — but Fin is Rhysand’s father.

Your friend’s father.

Your friend’s father who has just so happened to help keep you feeling alive these past weeks. With his layers-deep allure, the sweet, sweet words that roll off his tongue. His hospitality, his generosity. His kindness. All of it, you’d attributed to him being a natural charmer, a High Lord who knows precisely what to say, what to do.

It strikes you in that moment — just how much it’s all sunk its way into your bones and made you feel…dangerous.

He watches you like a cat with a mouse. Watches as somebody grabs your hand and yanks you into the tightly knit dancing bodies. The music pulses through you from head to toe, a frenzied tune of strings and keys that somehow come together to create the feeling of being borne aloft. Being on top of the world.

As you become lost to the sensation of dance, you’re glad to forget all your thoughts about Fin. You don’t want to wonder what he’s doing here. You don’t want to imagine what those strong, rough hands might get up to, where they might venture.

You become sandwiched between two males who dance with you in a way that makes you forget your wings were ever stolen. They touch you and touch each other, and you welcome it all, happy to be someone, somewhere, else. At least for a while.

But there’s suddenly a foreign touch to your shoulder. That of a cold, meaty hand that stills your movements and draws your attention. The two males happily slink away and begin grinding on each other, and you spin on the spot to find a tall, stocky male who looks like he punches people in the face for the hell of it.

“Y/N?” He checks, and you nod. “The High Lord wishes to speak with you. Upstairs.”

You glance over your shoulder, eyes searching for Mor and finding her just as she’s following a male and female to a cloaked-off area at the back. That’ll be her occupied for the remainder of the night. You’re officially going solo.

But not for long. Not as the bouncer juts his chin in the direction of the staircase and begins to lead you there. Perhaps it makes you a fool, but you follow without a word.

He pulls back a rope and gestures for you to go on up, and then he’s refastening it behind you and turning back to train a keen eye on the dance floor. It’s purely the alcohol that hits you with enough of an ego to climb those stairs like you belong amongst the chandeliers and velvet booths.

But you look good — amazing, even. You know you do. And looking like this, things like scars and other insecurities seem so trivial. You’ve taken back the right to feel as beautiful as you are. You wear your Illyrian features proudly, and you’re pretty and lithe and graceful—

And your heel catches on the top step of the staircase, almost sending you sprawling to the floor — if not for the warm hand that catches your elbow.

“Easy.” Fin rasps into your ear, setting you steady on your feet.

Your numbed, inebriated senses are not immune to the effect of his voice, it would seem. The deep baritone, rough as jagged rock, pushes its way into your skin, your veins, and spreads far faster than any alcohol could.

“Pardon me, my Lord,” you answer, and you’re unable to shove down the hysterical giggle that claws up your throat. “Fuck, you’re the High Lord.”

He cocks a dark eyebrow. “And you are drunk.”

“The whiskey they serve here is immense.”

“I’ll be sure to extend your compliments to Rita herself.”

Is that, you wonder, who he’s up here meeting? Perhaps the elusive Rita is a close associate of his. Perhaps they do deals in both business and pleasure.

And taking in your fill of the High Lord right now, in a dark button-up shirt and fitted breeches of a slate grey, you would not blame Rita one little bit.

Gods, he’s exquisite. Rhysand may resemble Roza more than he does Fin, but…with two parents of such stunning beauty, it’s no wonder your friend is as handsome as he is.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” you make no secret of the way your eyes linger on him. Tonight is dangerous, and you’re enjoying it.

“Nor I, you,” he narrows his gaze down at you. “Imagine my surprise, considering that when I left the palace earlier this evening, you were curled up in the library with a book. And yet, here you are. Wearing…” mahogany eyes take in the short cut of your dress, “…that.”

“Mor surprised me with a visit.”

“My niece ought to be more careful not to press her father’s buttons too much,” a muscle in his chiselled jaw ticks. “And I think you ought to be more careful not to push mine.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Bold. So foolishly bold of you. You’ll regret it once sober, you’re sure. “Was there a particular reason you summoned me up here, my Lord? I was rather enjoying dancing.”

“I noticed. And I’m taking you home.”

“What—”

Before you can even finish the word, Fin’s gripping your elbow again, and darkness sweeps you away.

Being winnowed while drunk is not a fun experience.

You feel the cosmic, air-light step from one place to another. Your stomach lurches, your head spinning. You can barely get a hold of yourself as you cling to Fin and prepare your feet to touch solid ground.

And then the darkness is gone, and you’re back in the toasty, warm glow of the palace’s library. Your knees buckle, trying to drag you to the floor, but Fin keeps you upright.

“What the…” you gawp up at him. “Why did you bring me home?”

He ensures you’re able to stand on your feet before pushing away from you. Doesn’t even look at you as he commands, “Get to bed.”

“I was enjoying myself.”

“Just as those males were enjoying you, too. You’re drunk and you need to sleep it off. Get to bed.”

He strides towards the door, his knuckles white from how hard he grips the hilt of the sword sheathed at his side. But sword or no, you refuse to give up so easily.

“No,” you say simply. “I will not.”

Fin stops. Goes still. And then he turns back to you.

His temper is clear on his face, but he doesn’t storm back over like you’re half expecting him to. Instead, his eyes shutter, and he seems to take a deep, soothing breath. When he’s looking at you once more, he flicks his wrist in your direction.

And immediately, gone is the haze of the alcohol.

Immediately, you’re completely lucid, completely steady on your feet. Not a lick of inebriation remains, as if you had, indeed, slept it off.

“Did you just sober me up?” you’re outraged by the mere idea.

“Yes.” Fin admits shamelessly. “Now you won’t fall victim to a hangover in the morning — a favour from me, to you, and I ask you in return to get to bed. And don’t even think about trying to venture back out. I’ll know.”

Your blood boils. And the anger isn’t simply because of your ruined fun, but because…because it stings, the way Fin is treating you with such contempt. Scolding you like you’re little more than a petulant child. He’s been nothing but wonderful since you came to Velaris, and yet now, he speaks to you like…like most of the males back in Windhaven do.

It makes you see red.

“What right have you to dictate how I spend my evening?” you snap. “I was under the impression that my free time is my own, and if I wish to go and get drunk and dance like a fool, that is up to me.”

Cold, beautiful anger hardens Fin’s face. He stalks closer, squeezing the hilt of that sword so, so tightly. “What right have I? This is my home. My city. My court. I am your High Lord, and you choose to behave in such a way when I’ve opened my home to you and offered you refuge? When I’ve given you a place to run to and left my resources at your disposal?”

You rock back on the heels of your feet, staring at him. Every word lands a hit — as good as if he’d nocked them in a bow and fired them right at your heart. It stings. Gods, it stings. You want the careless oblivion of the alcohol back.

Because you grapple daily with the pain, the anxiety, of feeling unwanted. And you…you had begun to think that Fin actually cared for you. Actually enjoyed your company as much as you enjoyed his.

You’d begun to care about his thoughts and feelings where you were concerned. And begun to believe that it wasn’t just the hospitality and courtesy that he would dole out to any runt on the street.

His eyes seem to track the way your expression changes, your shoulders slump. You swallow. The anger is replaced, simply, by hurt.

“If I am a burden, my Lord, I apologise,” you rasp. “I don’t intend to be one. I appreciate your generosity, and I…I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused.”

You hope you can keep your tears at bay long enough to escape to your room. You’re pelted with shame, embarrassment, hurt. You step forward and hurry past the High Lord, desperate to book it out of there, to get to bed.

But his hand encloses around your wrist, tugging you to a stop. And he says, quietly, “wait.”

That hand on your wrist holds the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

You pin your gaze to the ground, unable to look at Fin. You hear him swallow.

“That isn’t—” his voice is gravelly. “I didn’t mean that.”

You don’t think you can speak. You remain a statue beneath his touch.

But so gently — such a contrast to the whirlwind of his actions before — he’s walking you backwards. Slow and careful. You feel your back hit the wall, and he lets go of your wrist and seems to curl his fists at his sides. There’s a desperation to the action that only then coaxes you to look up at him.

His expression is…pleading. For what, you’re not sure.

“You are the furthest thing from a burden,” he says, quietly, on an exhale. “Your presence here is very much welcomed, I assure you.”

You don’t dare breathe a word. Every last bit of your very sober courage is being thrown into maintaining eye contact. There’s none to spare for speaking.

But your lack of response seems to trouble Fin. His eyes rake over your face, searching for something. He swallows again.

And then his eyes shutter, and he whispers, “Mother above, what are you doing to me?”

You don’t know how to answer him — whether he’s even talking to you at all. He takes in a very slow, very deep breath, as though it’s the only thing that’s stopping him from…doing something. What, you’re not sure.

But you can feel it, sense it — the ferocity with which he’s swallowing down words and holding himself back. Like he wants so badly to say something, but can’t.

His eyes open, clearer than they were seconds before, and he says in a far gentler tone, “Get to bed, Y/N,” he inclines his head. “Sleep well.”

With tense, squared shoulders, he turns — and it’s you, this time, that stops him. You halt him with a hand on his arm, and you could swear you feel the muscles flex under his touch.

“Wait,” you say, not ready to let him go, not prepared to leave things between you like this. “Stay and talk with me for a while.”

His jaw clenches like he’s gritting his teeth. “That isn’t a good idea.”

“Why? We talk all the time, you and I. And there are clearly things you’re holding back from saying—”

Your words are cut short as he suddenly meets your gaze with the intensity of a blazing fire. You think it might burn you. You hope it will.

“It’s a bad idea,” he grounds out, gutturally, “not because of what I want to say. But because of what I want to do.”

“What—”

“You are my son’s close friend. You are Roza’s guest,” he tugs his arm out from under your hand. “You are far younger than I am. I am trying my hardest — I have been trying my hardest — to be a good male. And right now, a good male would take his leave and go to bed, so I bid you goodnight, Y/N.”

“Fin—”

“I hope you sleep well.”

“Fin,” you grab for him again. “What if I don’t want you to be a good male?”

Beneath your touch, he stops. Goes preternaturally still.

Words punch out of you with terrifying gall — and truth. “What if I want you to do those things—”

Quick as a flash, he’s pivoting, and he has the upper hand. Has you pressed so tightly up against the wall, his body boxing you in.

And gods, the feel of it might set you on fire. A brush of your hands, a kiss on the backs of your fingers — they’re nothing compared to the weight and press of his muscles against your body. You want your clothes to melt away, and his, too. You want your hands on his bare, hot skin.

“I don’t think you realise what you’re saying,” he growls.

“I do,” you breathe. “I am completely sober. Completely clear of mind. And I am telling you, Fin, I want you—”

A strangled noise is the only warning you get before the High Lord’s mouth is on yours.

The kiss is pure power. It passes from him, into you, roils through your veins and makes you feel like somebody remarkable. It’s the cloak of darkness and the kiss of sin. Of somebody capable of very, very bad things.

And it’s immediately addicting. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to get enough.

You claw at his shirt, tugging him closer, closer, and his broad hands cup your face as his mouth devours yours.

This kiss…it’s been building. The need for it has been working its way beneath your skin for a while. All the heated glances, the late-night conversations. All the thoughts, in the dead of night, of what Fin might be doing in his own bed. Wondering whether he was thinking of you.

It’s so, so forbidden. So wrong. But it feels so godsdamn right.

And the way Fin’s tongue slides between your lips and strokes into your mouth — it tells you that he feels it, too.

Your hands glide from his waist, round to his back, and you yank him harder against you. So desperate are you to feel him. Feel what you think you do to him.

He makes another low noise. And then he’s tearing his mouth from yours. But he lingers close, your foreheads touching.

“Better than I’ve been imagining,” he pants, his hands still clutching your face. “Much better.”

“You’ve imagined kissing me?” You know he has.

“I have imagined,” his thumbs sweep your cheeks, “doing all sorts of things with you, Y/N. Things that would make even the most salacious of a person blush.”

Such a relief — to know that it’s not all just some wild fantasy you’ve cooked up in your mind. That you’re not just some wayward, longing young female who craves the affections of an older male to patch her deep wounds.

No, it’s not that. It’s desire. It’s need. And it burns inside your veins until you think you might erupt into flames.

“I’ve imagined them, too,” you say, without a lick of shame.

Once again, his eyes are shuttering. Once again, he takes that slow, steadying breath. And as you watch him do so, you can’t bear the thought of him still grappling with right and wrong. You can’t bear the thought of him squaring his shoulders and walking out of here, leaving your lips bruised, your body aching, your heart hurting. You can’t bear it—

“I want you to do those things,” you lift your chin, gaze unflinching. “I want you to touch me.”

Fin’s eyes reopen.

He stares at you.

His throat bobs.

You have never seen somebody look so wild, so ravenous. There is heat everywhere, in his stare and in his taut body. His eyes flick down to your lips.

That mere glance at them is the deciding factor, it would seem.

He growls, the sound not at all one you’ve ever heard from a person, and he yanks you up into his arms and kisses you again.

So naturally, your arms twine around his neck, your legs locking around his waist. You can feel the strength of him against you, in the way he holds you. You can taste his crackling power.

He doesn’t falter in the kiss nor his steps as he carries you away from the wall, and you’re suddenly being placed down on the library’s desk, sending books and parchment and pens and ink pots flying. They all clatter loudly to the floor, and neither of you care.

But Fin does pull away to look at you, and there’s wicked, boyish charm in his eyes as the corners of his mouth twitch up. He merely says, “Oops.”

You surge up and kiss him again.

He sighs into it, like your mouth is the answer to all his questions. And when heated hands land on your thighs, you part them, allow him to slot his body in between. The mere feel of it has you pushing up against him, finding him hard—

But again, he pulls away. He scans your face and rasps, “Tell me you’re sure.”

You do not balk from his intensity. From the fact that this is the fucking High Lord of your court, who was changing this world and building a reputation long before you were a mere thought in your parents’ minds. You do not balk from the fact that there are a million different reasons that this is wrong.

You think only about the fact that it feels right.

And that translates into your voice as you say, firmly, “I’m sure.”

You think you see the words course through his body. They change something — forever.

“This isn’t about Roza,” he breathes — breathes heavily, like it’s taking everything to tamp down on the desire to devour you then and there. To say what needs to be said.

You shake your head, “No.”

“Nor is it about Rhysand.”

“No.”

“It’s about me and you.” He destroys what little gap exists between your bodies, his hardness pushing through his breeches, right up against your centre. His hands brace on the desk, either side of you. “And gods, I want you, Y/N. I want you so much, I can scarcely bear it.”

“Have me,” is all you manage — before he strikes.

You think, hope, that his mouth might find yours again — but he’s barely brushing it before his lips settle on your jaw. His hands travel up your legs, fingers biting into the flesh. They find your hips, thumbs delivering explorative sweeps. They tug your dress up as they climb, exposing more of you to the warmth of the room. Exposing more skin that you know he wants to lay claim to.

And when the hem of your dress is ruched around your waist, you smile — at your little wildcard exposed. That he finds no underwear hiding what sits between your legs.

Your choice to forgo a pair seems almost foretelling, now — like some part of you knew the night would end like this, and you wanted to be ready.

Fin’s eyes dip to your slick, exposed cunt. The hunger in them is almost intimidating. You open your legs just a little wider—

But his rough hand is gripping your chin, almost hard enough to hurt. And he snarls deeply, “It drove me to madness — seeing those two males dancing with you. Touching you.”

Pleasure bolts down your spine, and from the way his nostrils flare, you know the scent of your arousal is consuming him.

“Did it?” you stare back at him, welcoming the discomfort of his brutal grip.

“I wanted them dead. I wanted to draw my sword and gut them for even looking your way. For touching what I want to be mine.”

That pleasure again — skittering over your skin. His words do something to you. You bite down on a moan.

“It is yours,” you tilt your chin up to him, smiling when he immediately glances to your lips. “Take it.”

“I warn you,” he lowers his face to yours, “I don’t like to share.”

“And I warn you, High Lord,” you watch as your words land, drawing a deep, raw scent from him. “Neither do I.”

With a growl, he snaps. The kiss he gives you is not slow or sweet. His hand continues to grip your face, and his mouth attacks yours, his tongue sliding between your lips. You can’t help your moan, this time, as his taste overpowers you — a taste that you can only describe as pure thunder.

But it ends too soon, as he begins to leave a trail of heated kisses and bites and sucks along your jaw, down your neck, your collarbones. Your head falls back, and the touches are like little zips of lightning — lightning cleaving through the night sky.

“Pretty dress,” he hums against your skin — and that’s all the warning you get before that dress is ripped apart. Torn to ribbons.

No part of you is left to Fin’s imagination.

He tears his mouth from you and steps back to drink you in.

Instinct roars at you to curl in on yourself and hide. To remember that you are scarred, and flawed, and not to the liking of many — including yourself, a lot of the time.

But something about Fin’s weighty, scorching stare stops you from moving a muscle.

You lift your chin and hide nothing as he takes his fill. His eyes travel a journey from the top of your head and down — down your face, your neck, your breasts. Down your stomach, your waist, your hips. Down to that fine dusting of hair on your pelvis that tracks a thin path to—

Fin drops to his knees with a low noise. His hands wrap around your legs and prise them further apart.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he levels his face with the very centre of you, and your breath hitches in your throat at the sight.

The sight of the High Lord on his knees before you — on his knees for you.

As though he senses the direction of your thoughts, his eyes flick up, and he smiles.

And then he dives in.

His tongue wastes no time in sinking between your folds, licking a broad stripe right up the centre of you. At the first stroke, your head falls back, your arms wobbling where they’re braced on the desk.

“Look at me,” Fin growls. “Only me.”

His voice of pure High Lord power drags your eyes back to him. And thank the fucking Mother it does.

You see everything in the way he feasts on you. His tongue laps at your wetness, and it coats his lips, his chin, coats him in you. The damp heat of his tongue is liquid fire. It promises to scorch you, end you, and rise you anew like a phoenix from the ashes.

Your fingers sink into the strands of Fin’s hair and tug. Judging by the noise he makes, the way his pace picks up, you think he likes it.

He utterly fucking devours you, like he’s fought a centuries-long wait to do so. And whatever magic commands his mouth — you know you cannot possibly last against it.

“Oh, gods,” your moan breaks from you, hips bucking up. You think your voice might be loud, but you don’t care. “Fuck—Fin.”

It all happens at once — his name falling from your lips, the growl rumbling in his throat, the flicking of his tongue against your clit and the finger he plunges into you, curls inside you. Every part of it is lightning strikes to your veins, and you come apart, utterly break.

Your climax slams into you and steals your breath. You’re nothing but a gasping, panting, trembling shell. Your mind is somewhere else entirely.

With your head falling back, eyes pinned to the ceiling, chest heaving, you don’t catch the swiftness with which Fin stands, licking your wetness from his lips. With which his clothes are gone in a blink of an eye.

But then he commands, “Look at me.”

It’s the second time he’s said it. Your head lolls forward once more.

You swallow the breaths you’re still trying to get down. Try to stop your body fucking shaking.

But it’s no wonder it does, as you look at him.

Your High Lord is nothing short of exquisite. He is art. Your fantasies have done him no justice.

That golden skin of his seems to attract the glowing light of the room. It bathes him, but it does not steal the attention. It outlines every fine plane of his body, the sculpted muscles on show, the nicks of injuries that have scarred and silvered over time.

There is not a single part of him that isn’t pure, refined power. And when your gaze drops to below his waist…a shudder wracks through you.

His cock stands hard and leaking at the head. You watch, your mouth watering, as he wraps a hand around its length and gives a long stroke.

“Fin—”

“When you look at me like that,” he prowls closer, “there is no way I can consider this forbidden.”

He’s within reach. Your fingers inch towards him. You want to touch him, taste him—

But he curls a hand around yours and stops you in your tracks.

“Not tonight,” he says. Pure promise is laced within the words. “No playing tonight.”

As if he hadn’t just played with you. You want to protest, to get your fucking mouth around that considerable length, but his hand tightens around yours.

And then he’s flipping you over, so fast that you don’t have time to even register it. You land on your front, your belly and breasts pressed against the desk. Fin lays his palm against your back and drags it slowly down. And in the wake of his touch, he leaves kisses. Kisses to your shoulder, your back. They’re…soft. Tender.

“Have I disappointed you?” he murmurs against your shoulder, folding his body over yours. You don’t think it’s an accident that the head of his cock nudges that sweet area between your legs.

It’s all you can do to breathe, “I wanted to taste you.”

“And you will,” he drops the brush of a kiss to your skin. “But now is not time for that.”

You don’t need him to tell you what now is the time for. Not as his hands find the flesh of your hips, and he yanks you to the very edge of the desk, moving with you. The feel of him so close to where you want him is downright cruel.

“Have you thought about me fucking you?” he asks, those hands travelling to rove your ass.

Your nails bite into the desk as you answer, “Yes.”

“Did I make you scream?”

You bite down on your lip at the feeling of him spreading you apart, opening you up to him. “Yes.”

You feel it — his cock sliding between your folds. Not pushing in, but dragging torturously against your sex. From your entrance, up to your clit. The head of his cock pushes against it.

And the moan that rips from you is downright filth, as he rolls his hips and allows your wetness to slicken his length. It feels so fucking good. To you, and to him.

A breath shudders out of him, and he purrs, “Are you going to scream for me now?”

“Fuck yes,” the words tumble from your lips. “I want you, Fin.”

Just like that, his restraint snaps. The High Lord strikes.

He drags his length through your folds and enters you with a single, powerful thrust.

A shout leaves you, and you’re clawing at the desk, trying to keep your grip against the pleasure that courses through you. Fin fills you and stretches you. He pulls out and slams back in to the hilt.

“Fuck me, you’re tight,” he growls, his hands sinking back into your hips. He begins a steady thrusting, sliding in and out of you with a drag that makes you feel every glorious inch of him. “Gods.”

“So good,” you pant. “Want you harder.”

The plea seems to make him groan, and he wastes no time in picking up the pace. His hands bite into your skin as he fucks you faster, harder, your moans and pleas and curses falling from your lips without any nudging from you. The pleasure is all-consuming. In seconds, it’s buried within your veins.

“You like that?” The grit in his voice has you clenching around him. He’s so fucking filthy, so fucking sultry, as he snarls, “you going to be a good girl and come for me?”

Gods, yes, you are. Already, release is coiling tightly within you, and it’s a force entirely of its own right, inching closer and cresting the hill, ready to sink its claws into you. Fin’s cock hits deep, and out of nowhere, his palm is flying through the air and making contact with your ass cheek. That is all it takes.

The pleasure of it all is too much — the sting of the slap, the depth and thrall of his thrusts, the way he growls and grunts as he lays claim to your body, your pleasure.

You cry out, your orgasm blasting through you with unstoppable force. The long strokes of Fin’s cock fuck you through it, through earth-shattering pleasure, through what feels like a mind-altering experience.

“My filthy girl,” he pulls out of you suddenly, and though your cunt still clenches and twitches, desperate for more, more, more, he flips your trembling body onto its back once more and tugs you up, slipping back between your legs. “Fuck, I can’t tell you how relentlessly I’ve thought about making you scream for me like that.”

Past words, you can only reach up and pull his head down to yours to capture him in a kiss. Your taste still coats the tongue that he slides between your lips. It spurs you on to deepen it, luxuriate in the feel of it. And you become so lost in it that you tug hard at the strands of his hair when he enters you again in one great, sweeping thrust.

His arm folds around your back, hand grasping at your shoulder, and it seems to afford him perfect purchase to pound into you. Sounds fill the air of his skin slapping against yours, of the breaths and moans you huff into each other’s mouths. You think the two of you, together, might be loud enough, forceful enough, to bring the City of Starlight to rubble around you.

Fin’s lips tear away from yours, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck. His thrusts are growing quicker, sloppier, reaching a feverous pinnacle that will surely break.

“Fuck, you’re going to make me come, Y/N,” his sweat-slick brow presses against your neck. “Taking me so well like this. Squeezing me like this. You’re going to make me fucking blow.”

You want that — more than anything. To feel the power of him spilling into you.

You squeeze your thighs against his, dragging your free hand — the one not sunken in his hair — down the muscles of his shoulders, his back, his waist — to his ass, where you dig your nails into the tight, toned flesh and encourage him to pump into you harder, faster. The feel of it makes Fin shout.

“Come for me,” you choke around your pleasure. “Please, Fin…want you to come.”

An animalistic growl rips from him, and he slams into you one, two, three more times, and then stills, throwing his head back with a roar that shakes the library. Hot, thick ropes of his seed seem endless as they’re unleashed inside you.

The force of it shatters you both, you think. With his trembling as thorough as yours, your nails are still raking over his skin as his brow presses to the crook of your neck. Strands of hair stick to the back of his. Your fingertips smooth over them tenderly.

It feels like eons that you stay there like that, holding each other up from collapsing under the weight of your mutual release. You want to hold him like this, always. You don’t care what others may have to say about it, what they may deem to be wrong about it. You want him.

He pulls back, as though sensing the thought. Meets your eyes. For a beat or two, he simply studies your face, something like clarity on his own.

And then he dips down and drops a kiss to your brow. Such a tender act, in the wake of such passion.

No words are needed. Not as he scoops you up into his arms, leaving behind the mess the two of you have created. There’s a flash, and he’s winnowed you to your bedroom. A fire roars to life immediately. Fin places you down on the bed.

You watch through hooded eyes as he makes his way into the bathroom. Moments later, he’s returning with a warm, damp washcloth, and he perches beside you.

“Open your legs for me,” he whispers, and you do.

The High Lord of the Night Court is gentle as air as he takes care of you, wiping between your thighs and delivering soft, soothing strokes to your skin. A pleasant soreness sits in your lower belly. He leans down and presses a kiss there like he knows just that.

And then he’s sitting up, and it frightens you — the thought of him walking away, of this ending here and now.

So you lay a hand on his arm, breathing, “Stay with me.”

He pauses, eyes roaming your face like he’s assuring himself you mean it. And then he dips his chin.

“I would be honoured,” he rasps.

And thus, the affair begins.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The need you and Fin have for each other is…insatiable.

Every moment he’s away, you’re thinking of him, longing for the moment he’ll appear in your room and rip your clothes off. If anyone else in the palace — staff, servants, associates — are aware of what’s going on, they don’t give it away. And that suits you just fine.

You can’t get enough. You’re giddy with it. Giddy from the multiple, interesting circumstances you’ve landed yourself in.

Like when you lured him out of a meeting and dropped to your knees in a fucking broom closet, taking his cock into your mouth until he was canting his hips forward and spilling down your throat. Or when he fucked you on the balcony of his personal quarters, your body pressed up against the balustrade, the two of you open to the elements and your moans loud enough to reach the stars above you and the city below you. Or when he took you to watch the ballet, and up in the cushy surrounds of your private viewing box, you watched the performance with him deep inside you, his fingers indolently playing with your clit, his low voice in your ear reminding you to keep quiet.

It’s…exciting. Enthralling. It changes everything.

And as he pulls out of you now, sweaty and panting, and collapses beside you in his bed, you’re not sure you could ever tire of this feeling.

He wants you. He wants you so ferociously, like nobody has ever wanted you before.

As you catch your breaths, he props his head up with his hand and stares at you through hooded eyes, glazed with lust. He leans down and grazes a kiss to your mouth.

“I don’t know how to make it stop,” he ponders as he pulls back, moving a hand to brush his fingers over your breast. “All this need — wanting you constantly.”

You lean up on your elbows, tilting your head, “Do you want it to stop?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Never.”

Never. Never is a very long time. It makes your stomach flip — the enormity of it.

Fin circles the tip of his forefinger around your pebbled nipple, watching with predatory fascination as he adds, “But this will, inevitably, blow up in our faces at some point. We haven’t exactly been secretive — not that I want to be. But people will talk.”

You lean up to brush your mouth over his. “Let them talk,” you say, and kiss him.

Immediately, he melts into the kiss. Your mouth seems to have an effect on him that you never thought yourself capable of. Always draws a long, pleasured sigh from him as he sinks into it, welcomes it.

He kisses you and kisses you, so greedily, so desperately. His hand snakes up to cup your cheek. He’s already hardening against your leg.

But he pulls away, dropping his forehead against yours. And he breathes, “Make a bargain with me.”

You trace a thumb over his bottom lip. You’ve never made a Night Court bargain before; never had reason to. “What bargain?”

“When this blows up in our faces,” he grips your hand, folding his own over it, “we face it together. You and I.”

“You and I?”

“You and I” he kisses your hand. “I don’t claim to be perfect. I don’t try to be. I can be brutal and callous, and I can lie and play games,” another kiss. “But not with you. Never with you. I will look after you. Take care of you. I’ll be whatever you need me to be.”

Words that you’ve always longed for someone to say to you. Words that should not be taken lightly, should not be said without meaning.

But you know he means them. You can tell he does.

You watch closely as your fingers interlace with his. And you whisper, “Together?”

Fin’s thumb sweeps over yours. “Together. We’ll face it together.”

“Then it’s a bargain.”

A flash of splintering pain zips around your midriff. You glance down to find the tattoo now inked there. The black line that draws a perfect circle around your waist, like a trail of night-kissed lightning.

You look up at Fin to find a roguish smile playing on his lips.

“Oh, I like that,” he hums.

And then he’s leaning down and pressing kisses to that circlet signifying your promise to one another. Kisses the entirety of it, flipping you on your front in the process.

And kisses lower, until you’re screaming for him again.

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-a-girlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl

#practice on me #pom #daddy fin #acourtofwhatthefuck #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar au #azriel #acotar fic #rhysand’s father #high lord of the night court #high lord #acotar x reader #fin x reader

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lyssasdrafts · 2 months

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biker! azriel aesthetic

#— afterglow #this is him in afterglow btw #acotar azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel au #acotar au #acotar #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #modern acotar au

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achaotichuman · 3 months

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Human Nesta would shake Nessian Nesta by the shoulders screaming "What the fuck is wrong with you???!!!!"

Human Feyre would be drawing her bow trying to shoot Feysand Feyre just so she would never become her.

Human Elain would look at Elucien Elain and be like, "Nice."

#acotar #elain archeron #pro elain archeron #nesta archeron #pro nesta archeron #feyre archeron #pro feyre archeron #anti nessian #anti feysand #pro elucien #anti rhysand #anti cassian #anti ic #anti acosf #anti acomaf #anti acowar #acotar headcanons #acotar au #elucien

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azrielbrainrot · 3 months

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Darling, I'd Wait for You, Even If You Didn't Ask Me To

Band!member!Azriel x College!Student!Reader

Description: You have a really bad day and Azriel is there to help you through it.

Warnings: A little angst

Word Count: 4328

Notes: I don't know how I feel about this one but this is an important moment in their relationship. Hope you enjoy!

this story is part of the band universe

It feels like you are running on autopilot as you climb the steps to Azriel's apartment floor, not even waiting for the elevator. The only thing your body seems to be concerned with is delivering you to your destination before it gives out, whatever it takes. You and Azriel got really close ever since you met him almost two months ago, still, this might be too much to drop on him. You're not even sure why you decided to come to him instead of Viviane but it had been your first thought, your only thought in fact.

Your mind only starts catching up to you after you knock on his door too hard with your cold hands, the pain giving you a moment of clarity long enough to realize the voice you hear behind the door isn't Azriel's but his roommate's. This makes you take notice of yourself. You must look like a trainwreck with your tear streaked face and damp clothes from the rain, holding onto your duffel bag like it's your last lifeline.

However, you don't have time to try to make yourself more presentable before Cassian opens the door. The smile that seems to always be glued to his face drops as soon as he takes you in, saying your name in question. You're not sure if it's because of the emotional overload you're going through or if it's just surprise and embarrassment at being caught like this, but you just stare at him, unable to move your body or form any words in response.

He's quick to pull you into the apartment, closing the door behind you. Cassian is a lovely guy but the truth is you don't know him that well, only met him a couple of times, you feel guilty that he had to see you like this. When you decided to come here you didn't remember he and Azriel lived together, didn't even think of the possibility of running into anyone besides him. It might have not even been a conscious decision, your heart felt like it was shattering into a million pieces and by the time your mind thought of going to Azriel, your body seemed to already be taking you his way.

“Are you okay?” He grabs your shoulders and looks you up and down, making sure you're not physically injured. You can't be sure but you're positive you didn't do anything besides look at him wide eyed.

He takes the heavy duffel bag off your shoulder and it's only then your arm feels the effort it took to carry it for the entire way, it was surely going to be sore the next day. You vaguely hear him call Azriel's name but it only registers when you see him come out of his bedroom, looking scared and confused.

As if your previous impression hadn't been bad enough, you run to him and wrap your arms around his waist as soon as you see him, burying your face in his chest and letting your tears finally fall freely. He's frozen for a second, not sure of what is happening, but he wraps his arms around you promptly. Unfortunately, this only makes you sob and shake harder into him.

Azriel was having a hard time trying to figure out what to do, it isn't every day that his friends run to him in tears, holding onto him like their life depends on it. He hasn't known you for that long either, doesn't really know how to best console you so he decides it's best to let you cry it out before trying to talk to you and it seems like you intend to do it into his shirt.

Your sobs were getting louder and you were shaking so much with each one that he's convinced your body wouldn't be able to keep you upright if it wasn't for him. Nodding at a wide eyed Cassian, he pretty much picks you up off the floor and takes you to the privacy of his room. Sitting down on the bed with you on his lap and just stroking your head, hoping it helps you at least a little.

After what must have been close to an hour, you start coming to little by little, vaguely aware that Azriel had moved you and was murmuring softly that it's going to be okay, finally letting yourself think back on what happened. You've been dreading break all semester for this exact reason. You knew the moment you stepped foot back in your hometown, you wouldn't be able to push the situation to the back of your mind anymore.

As soon as you left the train station, you got in an uber directly to Eleanor's house, not even stopping by your parent's house to greet them or drop off your bag. Even before arriving you knew the conversation was only going to hurt you but you couldn't have predicted how much. You only faintly remember her cries for forgiveness as you left her house in a rush, you remember the anger you felt as you heard her begging as if she wasn't the one who hurt you.

Eventually the sobs shaking your body subside and you're left holding onto Azriel. Your body was starting to scream at you for being in the same position for so long so you move your hands from where they were clinging to his shirt, pull your face back from the now damp fabric, cringing softly at the feeling and darker patch you leave behind, and move to wrap your arms around his neck instead, straightening your back and leaning your head on his shoulder. Letting out a soft sigh when his hand moves with you, stroking your back comfortingly.

“Do you feel better now?” You can feel him talking with how close you're pressing to him. You're a bit embarrassed by the position, sitting on his lap and clinging to him so much, but the comfort it's giving you far outweighs it and, in this moment, you just can't bring yourself to care. You just nod in response to his question.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He squeezes a little harder when he feels you tense up slightly. It's not that you don't want to tell him but talking about everything just makes it even more real. “You don't have to. I can just keep holding you for as long as you need me to.”

Your heart flutters in your chest. Azriel has a beautiful voice, one you're currently hearing whispering softly in your ear, and a way with words, you'd expect nothing less from a songwriter really. Still, sometimes it made your body all tingly and you were left wondering if you were reading too much into things or if there was more at play between you two. You can't deny that your relationship is different from any other you've ever had, you've never felt this comfortable with someone so quickly.

Letting out another sigh, you pull away from him enough to see his face. Regardless of what he says, you can't actually stay wrapped in his arms and ignore the truth forever. You catch his eyes for the first time tonight and the concern you see in them has you trying to pull yourself together. You don't want to worry him too much, you'd hate to think he was sad because of you. It's bad enough you ruined his night. And Cassian's. You'll have to apologize to his roommate the next time you see him.

It takes you a lot more effort than it should, but you move away from him, unwrapping your arms from around him and sliding off his lap. He lets you, not moving from his position against the headboard, only flexing his hands as if he wanted to reach out when he takes a look at you. You run your hand over your face trying to catch any lingering tears and over your hair, it's still damp from the rain. Gods, you don't know what you were thinking.

“Did I ever tell you about Eleanor?” You know the answer already. Before this whole situation you probably would have found a way to mention her with any new friend you made, she was such an integral part of your life, but now you avoided even saying her name out loud. He shakes his head, straightening himself and staring into your eyes, listening intently.

“Me and Eleanor met when we were kids, we've been friends ever since,” you have to clench your eyes to avoid any more tears at the thought, “She was my best friend. I never thought it would get to this.” You would have believed almost anything over this actually.

“I had this boyfriend through the last years of high school - Parker. I broke up with him right after graduation. I was moving here for university and, honestly, I think I was dating him out of habit at that point. The breakup didn't really affect me much, I was excited to start over in Velaris so I wasn't thinking about it.” You look down at your hands, this is the first time you're telling anyone all of this. “But a few months ago, I got a call from my mom telling me Eleanor and Parker were dating. I was confused because me and El were still talking almost every day and a little hurt that out of everyone she chose him, without at least warning me. I thought it had to be a lie or misunderstanding.”

“I called her asking about it and she confirmed it. That was the last time we talked until today.” You look back up at him, almost forgetting he was there. Actually saying these things out loud was strangely cathartic. “I've been ignoring it the whole semester, I knew knowing more was going to be more painful but I had no more excuses when I went home for break,” you let out a weak sigh, “I went to her house and she told me they only started dating after we broke up,” you can't help the pathetic tremble in your voice, “she said they've been in love since we were dating but they didn't want to hurt me so they didn't say anything. She almost made it sound like they were doing me a favor.”

You get up from the bed, your sadness turning into anger. “I'm not even sure how long they've been fucking behind my back. She told me they only kissed at a couple parties when they were drunk but she was hiding this whole thing from me for months at least so who knows what else she lied about. And if they were in love with each other the whole time me and Parker were together then they must have at least talked about it. I can't even trust her. She was my best friend and I can't even trust her.” You're probably pacing like a crazy person around his room but with everything he's seen in the last hour, you can't even be bothered by it. “Gods, I'm such an idiot.”

“You're not an idiot.” You look back at him. His voice had an edge you've never heard on him before, his words coming out clipped behind a tense jaw. He was angry. “You didn't do anything wrong. She's a bad friend.” Something tells you he had to choose his words and ended up at the least offensive one, not the one he would have prefered to use.

You have to swallow down the instinct to defend her. Azriel was right. What she did to you was awful. She shouldn't have treated you like this, shouldn't have helped your boyfriend cheat on you, even if nothing had happened physically, and definitely shouldn't have pushed you aside so easily, ignoring your almost two decades of friendship over a boy.

You feel your shoulders sag a little, your angry outburst had burned the rest of your energy. It seems Azriel noticed it too because he gets up from the bed and walks over to where you're standing in the middle of his room, reaching out to grab your hand.

“You need to forget about it. They're not worth your tears.” The feeling of his rough skin playing your fingers distracts you momentarily.

“That's easier said than done.” Forgetting Eleanor would be impossible, she's part of your history, and, as much you hate to admit it, so would be forgetting Parker, he was your first boyfriend after all.

“Trust me, I know,” he looks down at your intertwined hands, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, “But lingering in the past doesn't help with anything. You need to let yourself feel it and then move on.” He looks back up at you and touches your cheek softly, wiping at the tears still staining your face. “And it feels like you've felt it enough for today.”

“You're right. It's late I should-”

“I'm not kicking you out,” his face breaks out in a tentative smile, “I'll go get your bag so you can change, your clothes are still damp. Don't want you to get sick. Then we'll get you some food, alright?” You can only nod. Coming here was the right decision, he was being incredibly gentle and caring with you.

He brings you your bag and takes you to the bathroom, telling you to change and clean yourself off a little, disappearing back into his room right after. As soon as you see your face in the mirror you realize he was being nice in his assessment, your entire face was puffy. Even after giving it a good wash you still looked like a mess. It truly looked like you cried your heart out, you suppose you did.

You also use this time to call your mom quickly and let her know you'll be coming home the next day instead. She had probably heard that you had come and gone already because she doesn't even question your decision or the way your voice cracks, small towns are both a blessing and a curse. You wonder what everyone in town was saying now that your ex boyfriend was dating your best friend. You gather your things to move back to Azriel's bedroom before your thoughts catch up to you. He's right, you've cried enough for today, cried a lot more than those two deserve as well.

Looking at yourself in the mirror one more time, you take a deep breath before joining him in his room again. Now that you've settled down more you're not really sure what to do or say. He drops his phone and stands up as soon as he sees you, walking over to take your bag from you and placing it on top of a chair. He changed out of the shirt you covered in tears and snot, you barely noticed since it was the same color as before but this one is tighter, it strains against his back and biceps enough that you have to look away.

With everything going on, you hadn't even looked around his room before. It was fairly simple and organized, the dark furniture and paintings fit his aesthetic in general and the navy comforter and curtains combo contrasted beautifully with the white walls. The low lights cast shadows around, making the room feel cozier too, you could see yourself spending days in here. You notice a couple notebooks sitting on his desk that you suspect he might use to write songs but his bass is missing.

“What?” Your confusion must have shown on your face because he looked more than amused at your obvious snooping.

“Your bass isn't here.”

“We practice upstairs in Rhys' penthouse so I just leave it there most times.” He says walking to the door. “Let's find you something to eat.” You nod before following him.

“You all live close to each other then.” You haven't seen them interact too much but it's obvious how close and comfortable they are with each other, brotherly even.

“Rhys' father owns the whole building,” he chuckles a little at your wide eyed expression, “he rented us this apartment for probably half what everyone else pays.” You look around on your way to what you can see now is the kitchen. It's a big space with high ceilings and lots of windows. You don't even want to think how rich Rhysand's father must be to own such a building.

“It's a really nice apartment.” You take a seat at one of the tall chairs around the kitchen table. The kitchen alone was probably bigger than your own bedroom, even the furniture felt expensive not to mention the marble countertops.

Thinking about it now, it makes sense that Azriel and Cassian couldn't really afford this big of an apartment in such a nice place in the city with their jobs at the record store and the gym, especially with how much you know they invest in their band.

“Yeah.” He opens his fridge and looks inside, trying to find anything to eat. Your stomach finally makes itself known at the thought, you haven't eaten since before the train ride to your hometown. “You should see the view from the top of the building though. It's the best part, I'll take you there sometime.” You watch him give up on his search and open the freezer instead.

“Is this okay?” He holds up a frozen pizza and you nod immediately. You have the same one sitting in your own freezer right now. You do find it cute how it seems like he's a little disappointed that this is the only thing he has to feed you right now. He looks like he was ready to cook you a five course meal.

“More than okay,” you give him a smile and keep talking as he moves to get it prepared, feeling the tension leave your body bit by bit the more you talk to him, “Did Cassian leave?”

“He's probably with Rhys up in his apartment.”

“I feel like I should apologize to him.” You can't imagine the emotions going through him at seeing a girl he barely knows show up crying at his doorstep. “I think I almost gave him a heart attack.”

“You don't have to worry about it,” he comes and sits across from you. “I told him you were feeling better before he left.” That had to have happened while you were in the bathroom. You don't know how good the soundproofing is around the house since you didn't even hear him leave but you hope he at least didn't hear you sobbing for an hour and the short outburst that followed. It's enough that Azriel witnessed it first hand.

“Maybe I should apologize to you too,” you find yourself twirling your thumbs to avoid his gaze, “that was… a lot,” you finish sheepishly.

“You don't have to thank me for anything.” Your eyes find his again, you've found it's hard to look away from him for long, especially if he's talking to you. Azriel is incredibly captivating, even under these fluorescent lights.

“I showed up at your doorstep out of nowhere and just cried my eyes out for over an hour,” you look over to the pizza getting ready in the oven, “and now you're even making me dinner.”

“You can show up at my door every day if you want. I'd rather you weren't crying but if that's what you need then I’ll be here,” the smile he gives you should be illegal, it's almost tempting you to do exactly as he says. “And I'll make you dinner as many times as you want me to,” he looks over to the oven just like you had done before, “I'm not sure this counts as cooking anyway.”

You want to tell him you don't remember the last time someone took care of you so attentively and effortlessly, that not everyone is this compassionate, but decide against it. After dinner comes out of the oven, you busy yourself with eating while Azriel tells you more about the band and their next concert, he's letting you take a breather and leads the conversation, something you're not sure he's used to doing and appreciate immensely.

When you're done and he's cleaning up things, you watch him awkwardly. You didn't have a plan when you came here at all but you definitely didn't expect to stay so long, don't really know what to do or say now after everything is done. It's getting late too so you should really leave and make your way back to your apartment. You cringe softly at the thought of having to go back there after telling your roommate that you wouldn't be back for another couple weeks, she probably took the chance to bring her boyfriend over.

“Come on,” Azriel says as he pats your shoulder softly, telling you to follow him to his bedroom. He probably has work tomorrow as well, you're being a nuisance. You speak up when you get to his bedroom, looking at his comfortable looking bed wistfully.

“I should go home now,” you look over at your bag, not looking forward to carrying it again, “It's getting late.”

“You can stay here,” he looks a little confused, like he had expected you to stay already.

“No, it's fine.” You'd love to stay with him, at least so you knew you wouldn't end up crying in your bed alone while trying not to listen to your roommate and her boyfriend. “My apartment isn't far.”

“I'm not letting you go anywhere.” He reaches up to stroke your cheek, examining your face with a slight pained expression. You hadn't stopped to think about it yet but it seems it's going to take some time before he forgets you sobbing in his arms, these soft touches and worried looks might linger a little. You wonder how your heart is going to handle them, you already have to tell yourself not to let these things get to you too much, that he's only doing them out of friendship, on a regular basis.

“If you think it's not a bother.”

“You could never be a bother.” When his band makes it big there are probably going to be thousands of people that will put up posters of this same smile in their room, you feel blessed to be able to witness it in real time and so intimately.

“We have a guest room but it's full of stuff,” he says as he rubs the back of his neck and looks over in what you assume is the direction of the room he's talking about. He looks a little embarrassed and it makes you wonder just how much and what kind of stuff he's talking about. “I'll stay there so you can sleep here. It's more comfortable anyway.”

“No,” you can't make him sleep in the guest room in his own house after everything he has done for you today, “You stay here, it's your room. I can even stay on the couch, I can sleep anywhere.” After this whole day, you think you could even sleep on the floor.

“I want you to stay here. You need to rest properly.”

“Then…” You let your words trail off. You've already asked so much of him but the way he's looking at you patiently has you working up the courage to make one more request, possibly the biggest one. “Can we both stay here? I'd rather not be alone honestly,” something you can't identify shifts in his eyes and it makes you rush to assure him, “only if you're comfortable that is.”

“I should be the one asking you that.” Did his voice get deeper? It feels like it.

“I don't mind.” You feel more than comfortable with him, you would trust him with your life really.

The problem is trying not to get flustered at just the thought of sleeping next to him. You had spent a good while cuddling up to him, sitting on his lap, but it had been the last thing on your mind. Now, as soon as you feel him lay down next to you and pull the covers over the both of you, laying facing you, he's the only thing in your mind.

He watches you for a second, studying your reactions to him, before reaching out to you and holding your waist softly. You nod instantly, but it's only after he pulls you closer to him that you realize this is what he meant. He lays down on his back and you lay your head down on his chest, letting your hand rest on his torso tentatively.

The moon and the few lights filtering through the window cast a bluish glow around his room and the soft beat of his heart starts lulling you to sleep almost immediately. It makes you relax further in his hold, shifting slightly to find the perfect spot against him.

“You're warm,” you mumble sleepily. He only hums in response, tucking you better in his sheets. It makes you smile against his chest.

You want to tell him it would be impossible to get cold when he's as warm as a furnace, that you usually don't wear sweatpants to bed either but, by the way he had awkwardly looked for clothes to sleep in earlier, you think he probably would be wearing a lot less if it weren't for you too. You really wouldn't mind feeling his skin on yours but you appreciate the thought.

“Sleep now, princess,” he murmurs as he leans down to kiss your forehead softly. Princess? Your heart stutters in your chest but you're so tired that your body obeys him almost immediately, not giving you time to linger on the kiss or the nickname. And as you're laying in his arms, you don't feel so lost anymore.

taglist: @bookishbroadwaybish

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel angst #azriel fluff #azriel acotar #azriel fic #azriel shadowsinger #divider by saradika #band au

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serpentandlily · 7 months

Text

Wicked Games

Dark!Batboys x Reader

Summary: Desperate to pay off a debt, you decide to break into the penthouse of one of Prythian’s richest males, one rumored to make his money in a less than legal way. But after witnessing something you weren’t supposed to, you find yourself caught in a wicked game of cat and mouse with three of the most dangerous males in Prythian. (Modern AU!)

Warnings: Violence, dark themes (will update per chapter)

Part II

Part I

༺♥༻

It had been too easy sneaking in through the back door of The Sidra, a huge building filled with luxury apartments only the top one-percent could afford. Too easy sneaking into the laundry rooms downstairs and finding a freshly cleaned maid’s uniform. And too easy convincing one of the maids on duty into believing you were a newly hired employee.

It wasn’t hard to play the role. You had worked as a cleaning lady before—at a motel when you were only sixteen. So it wasn’t long before she was dropping a keychain filled with master keys for each floor into the pocket of your apron and pushing a cleaning cart into your hands.

Before you knew it, you had an access card to the elevators in one pocket and those all too important keys in the other. You waited until no one else was near the elevators before slipping into one and immediately pressing the button that would take you to the penthouse.

According to your sources, aka one of your exes, one of the richest males in Prythian lived in that penthouse. A male who was rumored to make his money in a…less than legal way. And if you knew anything about those types, you knew they’d have cash stuffed into just about every hidden crevice of that apartment. Because that kind of dirty money never made it into banks.

You had tried to do some research on who was living here but it seemed like he was a rather elusive male. All you could find was a first name, Rhysand—and that he had ties to Velaris, the illustrious night club downtown.

It didn’t matter though. All that mattered was getting into this penthouse, finding his hidden stacks of cash and getting the hell out of here. You needed this money and this guy was rich enough that you doubted he’d even notice a measly six grand missing from his piles of cash.

But that six grand meant life or death for you. Because you needed to pay off the debt you owe your ex. You knew his patience with you was slipping and you were worried that for once he’d actually go through with his threats.

The elevator dinged, signaling you had made it to your destination. You stepped out of the elevator, leaving the cleaning cart behind, and found yourself in a grand corridor. There was only one direction to go, only one set of large double doors up here.

You knocked once. Twice. A third time. No answer, no noise, nothing. You thanked God for your luck today as you fumbled with your ring of master keys, trying to figure out which one worked for this door.

It took you longer than you liked but soon you were pushing the doors open and making your way into the insanely large penthouse. Your jaw dropped as you took in the place, envy crawling up your skin like thorny vines.

This place was…incredible. It was opulent, full of expensive looking furniture and high-tech electronics. You spun around, taking in everything. Jesus, the sitting area alone was larger than your own studio apartment. Everything looked so ornate and for this being the supposed bachelor pad for one of Prythian’s richest males, you were surprised by how elegant it all was.

But you quickly snapped yourself out of your admiration. You had a job to do. Find the money you needed and get out of here before someone returned. You checked the usual spots for hidden safes—behind paintings, where medicine cabinets should be, in closets. You cursed as you found nothing out of place.

That was until you stumbled upon a large painting of three mountaintops with a star painted above each in the master bedroom. It was incredibly heavy, but you managed to get it off the wall and nearly let out a squeal of joy when you caught sight of the safe built into the wall. You pulled out the small electronic stethoscope that you had found at a pawn shop years ago and got to work with cracking the safe.

It was one of the skills your ex had taught you. A skill that had come in handy quite a few times. And you were particularly good at this part. So good that you had the safe opened within the hour. Your jaw dropped as the door clicked open and revealed piles and piles of cash, some gems and gold chains. You were half tempted to take it all but restrained yourself.

Just enough. You needed to take just enough to pay off your debt…and maybe some extra for rent this month. Just to get you back on track with your payments. Still, just a small amount that hopefully would go unnoticed. You opened the satchel you had hidden under the maid apron and started tossing stacks into your bag.

Once you were certain you had enough, you closed the safe and went through the strenuous process of hanging the large painting back up on the wall. You were sweating a bit as you finished, wiping your clammy hands on the apron.

Now all you had to do was get the fuck out of here. You could not believe your luck as you made your way back to the front door. Could not believe that everything had gone exactly to plan.

Which is why you shouldn’t have been surprised at the sound of a key unlocking the front door. Of course it wouldn’t have been that easy. Fuck. You looked around quickly, spotting a closet in the hallway and managed to slid yourself into it right as the front doors opened. You held your breath as three large men came walking in, the two in the back lugging in another person whose head was covered with a burlap sack.

Your eyes widened as you took in the scene, your heart beginning to pound in your chest. The male who led the group forward was one of the most handsome males you had ever seen. He was wearing a finely tailored suit, his tie loosened around his neck. His hair was short, a dark blue-black color which suited his golden skin.

The two guys holding up their captive were equally attractive, if not more. One was huge, taller than the other two, with muscles cut from stone like a God. He had shoulder length dark brown hair that had been pulled into a bun and wore black pants and a white button-up shirt with his sleeves folded up to his elbows, exposing his veiny forearms.

The other male was just straight up beautiful. His features were more elegant than the other two, as if a romantic artist had spent their whole life carefully crafting him out of clay. He also had dark brown hair, cut short like the first guy, and golden skin that matched the other two. His face was expressionless, unreadable, and that made him look all the more lethal.

The two guys dropped the captive to his knees and yanked the burlap sack off his head. You nearly gasped in surprise as you recognized him. He was known widely in the criminal world as “The Attor.” He was a slimy looking male who used all sorts of weird torture methods to get his victims to talk. Last you heard of him, he was working with Hybern, one of the many gang leaders in Prythian.

“Are you going to talk now?” The male in the suit purred. He sat down in one of the plush armchairs, resting his ankle over a knee. He held an air of authority and you guessed that he was the leader here.

“Fuck you, Rhysand,” The Attor spat, wiggling to try and break free of his bonds.

Ah, so this was the famed Rhysand. You had expected someone older, someone maybe in their fifties. But this guy couldn’t be older than thirty. And god, he was so hot. Most criminals were ugly, aging men. Nothing like the handsome devil who sat in his chair like it was a throne.

Rhysand merely chuckled before running a finger down the armrest of his chair. “Tell us what Hybern’s planning and I might just decide to let you leave with your life.”

But The Attor just spat at his feet. “You and I both know I’ve been a dead man since your dogs caught me.”

The lethal looking male snarled at that. The noise was so animalistic, it sent a shiver down your spine.

“You’re right, you have been,” Rhysand answered with amusement. “And now I tire of our games.” He nodded at the male who had snarled. “Kill him,” he ordered.

Before you could even process those words, the man yanked a blade out of his pocket and swiftly stabbed it straight through The Attor’s throat. A small gasp escaped your mouth as red blood sputtered out of the wound and the man slumped to the ground, his eyes glazing over. You quickly slammed a hand over your mouth, praying to God that they hadn’t heard your slip-up. But you had never seen someone killed before. You had only ever dealt with petty criminals, mostly thieves.

“Did you hear that?” The one built like a God asked, his eyes narrowing as they swept over the place.

You smothered yourself further with your hand, pressing your body against the wall of the closet—as far from the door as you could get.

“I did,” the lethal one answered, yanking his dagger from the dead man’s neck and wiping it clean on his clothes before returning it to his own pocket.

“Who’s here?” Rhysand called out, standing up.

The other two began to search through the room, their footsteps surprisingly silent. You squeezed your eyes shut and sank onto the floor, praying and praying that they wouldn’t look in the closet, that they wouldn’t find you. As a few moments passed, you were beginning to grow hopeful.

But then the closet doors were yanked open and you were being pulled out by your upper arms. You let out a small cry as you opened your eyes to see the lethal one staring down at you, his face impassive as he dragged you into the sitting room and tossed you onto the floor next to the dead man’s body.

You let out a whimper, your apron soaking up some of the blood on the floor.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves an intruder,” he called out, gaining the attention of the other two who returned from wherever they had been searching.

Rhysand stepped forward, looking down at you in surprise. He clearly hadn’t expected to find one of the maids hiding in his closet. Your whole body tensed as the corners of his lips ticked up. This close now, you could see the unusual color of his eyes, a rich shade of blue that almost looked violet.

“Well what do we have here?” His voice was so sensual, bringing color to your cheeks. “What a pretty little mouse you’ve caught, Az.”

“I’d say so,” the other one smirked, his eyes roaming your face. But you kept your attention on the leader.

“I-I’m sorry, sir. I was cleaning in the bedroom when I heard the ruckus and…I swear I won’t tell anyone what I saw. I’m sorry. Please, just let me go,” you pleaded, quivering under his amused stare.

“That’s odd,” he said, tilting his head at you. “I didn’t schedule any cleaning services today.”

You blinked, trying to come up with another lie. “I-I’m a new hire, sir. I only d-did as I was told.”

He stroked his jaw, glancing at the other two men who stood behind you. “Interesting. You know, I didn’t happen to see any cleaning supplies when I was looking around just now. Did you two see any during your search?”

“Nope,” the bigger one chimed. You could hear the smile in his voice. The other one must’ve shaken his head because Rhysand looked back down at you.

“I-I…” you choked on your own words. Fuck, how were you going to get yourself out of this one? You were screwed. So fucking screwed. You were going to die right here just like the man next to you.

Rhysand stepped forward before bending down on his haunches in front of you. A pathetic whimper fell from your lips as you backed away, only to run into a pair of legs. You gulped, looking up to see the pretty one staring down at you, that unfeeling face sent another shiver through your body.

“You’re not a maid, are you, little mouse?” Rhysand purred, reaching a gloved hand out to brush some hair from your face. You were shaking like a leaf now, as you found yourself surrounded by three dangerous males.

Fuck, you were going to die. All twenty-one years of your life wasted just to die here, likely never to be found. Not that anyone would be looking for you or miss you. You had grown up in foster care, never knowing who your parents were.

“I-I am,” you lied. “I swear it.”

Rhysand clicked his tongue, giving you a mocking frown. “What a pretty little liar you are. I don’t like liars, little mouse. Do you know what I like to do to the people who lie to me?”

You shook your head, not able to form any words. He gave you a wolfish grin and pointed a finger at the dead body on the ground, blood still oozing from the wound on his neck. You whimpered again, a few pathetic tears now slipping from your eyes.

“Oh, don’t cry, pretty girl,” Rhysand purred. “It would be a waste to kill a little thing like you. Don’t you agree?”

Your head was spinning now.

“What…what do you want from me?” Your voice shook, making you feel even more pathetic. Rhysand smiled again but it was not reassuring—more like a predator showing off its sharp teeth.

He glanced up at the other two. “What do you guys think? Should we let this little mouse go or should we punish her for her trespassing?”

“We don’t even know what she’s here for yet,” the pretty one said. His voice was as dark as him and just as cold.

You used this time to glance towards the front door, noting how far away it was. You could make a break for it. You were a fast runner and you had the advantage of being smaller and more agile than them.

It could go horrible but you had to try. You had to try and get out of here before they did whatever it was they wanted to you. You would only have one shot, one chance.

Before any of them could notice you plotting, you scooped a handful of blood from the floor and flicked it into Rhysand’s face. He let out a noise of surprise and you used the distraction to slip between the other two and dart towards the door.

You could hear their yells from behind you but didn’t look back as you yanked the door open and sprinted into the hallway. You bypassed the elevators and slammed into the stairway.

You could hear footsteps running behind you and you pushed yourself to run faster, hopping over railings to other floors when you could. You burst through the door leading into one of the other floors and sprinted down the hallway.

A man was leaving his apartment, his eyes glued to the phone in his hand. You pushed him out of your way and slipped into the open door, ignoring his curse from behind you. You ran into the bedroom, darting for the window.

You let out a small cry of relief when you noticed it was connected to a fire escape. You quickly pushed it open and flung yourself through the window, landing with a thud on the metal landing.

You didn’t waste any time climbing down the ladders from landing to landing. You had made decent progress by the time one of the males had figured out where you had gone. The metal fire escape rattled with both of your weights now on it, but you continued climbing down until you reached the bottom.

As soon as you landed on the ground, you took off down an alleyway—twisting and turning down different paths, trying to keep them off your trail. Unlike those rich pricks, you knew the underside of this city like the back of your hand.

As soon as you were confident you had lost them, you found a spot in the shadows to rip the maid uniform off. You tossed it on the ground and quickly got dressed back into the clothes you had brought in your bag.

Once you had pulled on the jeans and jacket, you tossed the hood up and slung your bag back over your shoulder. This time you made your way to a busy street, hoping to get lost in the crowd.

You didn’t let out a breath of relief until you were on the subway, on the line that would take you back to your neighborhood where your shitty apartment would be waiting for you.

You bit your lip, unzipping your bag to make sure all the money you had stolen was accounted for. You finally let out a breath and rested your head against the cold wall of the subway cart.

You had fucking done it. You had stolen from one of the richest men in Prythian and gotten away with it.

༺♥༻

“This is only six grand, bunny,” your ex, Tamlin, said with a small frown. “Where’s the rest?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean? I owed you six grand, right? That’s what you said. It’s all there.”

“Oh, bunny, you owed me six grand last week,” Tamlin replied, pushing some of his blonde hair away from his face as he looked up at you. You bounced from one foot to the other, standing in front of his desk. “It’s seven thousand, five hundred now—you know, because of interest.”

“What?” You breathed out. “You never mentioned anything about interest!”

Tamlin chuckled, sitting back in his chair. “I did. You must’ve not understood. It’s okay, bunny, not all of us can be smart. It’s a good thing you’ve got that pretty face of yours to get by. But I’ll take this for now. I’ll need the rest by next week, though. And it’ll be an extra one thousand, eight hundred seventy five by then.”

“You can’t be serious! Tam, I—do you know what it took to get that money! Please, I’m begging you. Can’t this be it? An extra thousand dollars is nothing but petty cash to you. Please.”

“I don’t think so, bunny,” Tamlin responded with a mockingly sad voice. “You see, you lost those kinds of privileges when you broke up with me. I could’ve taken care of all of this for you but you’re the one who wanted to cut ties. So now you have to play by the same rules as everyone else.”

“This is ridiculous, please,” you begged. You were willing to get on your knees at this point. All you wanted was to be done with this—done with him. “I can barely afford rent. Barely feed myself. I won’t be able to get you another grand by next week.”

“That stopped being my problem a long time ago, bunny,” Tamlin said, all niceties gone from his voice now as he stood from his desk, placing his palms flat against the surface. “Get the money to me by next week. I’d hate to see that pretty little face of yours ruined. Do you understand?”

You scoffed but Hart, one of his guards, took a step closer to you, so you swallowed your pride, ignored the tears building in your eyes, and nodded your head. You quickly left the room, made a quick exit from the warehouse and started the long walk back to your apartment.

How the hell were you going to get more money for him? He was doing this on purpose, still upset with you for breaking up with him. You wiped at the angry tears spilling down your face. Would you ever be able to pay him off? Would you ever be able to get rid of his presence in your life?

You kicked at the loose concrete pebbles on the ground as you made your way home. You kept your hood on, head ducked towards the ground to avoid any unwanted attention. Now that you no longer had Tamlin’s protection, the men in this neighborhood had gotten rowdier with you.

Once you reached your apartment building, you took two stairs at a time to get to the fourth floor, wincing as you heard Marcus yelling at his wife again for the third time today. You wished she’d put a kitchen knife through his gut and do your whole neighborhood a favor.

You pulled your cheap, burner phone out of your pocket along with your keys, ready to call your friend Valerie to bitch and moan about Tamlin as soon as you were inside.

But apparently God had other plans.

As soon as you flicked on the lights to your apartment, your phone slipped out of your hands and landed with a thud on the floor. Your eyes widened, your heart plummeted all the way to your stomach as your gaze fell on a pair of unusual violet eyes.

Rhysand.

Rhysand was sitting there on your dingy mattress, his nice clothes a stark contrast to your fraying sheets. He gave you a grin that could rival the devil’s.

“There you are, little mouse,” he purred. “I’ve been looking for you.”

#acotar #fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel x reader #azriel x you #rhysand x reader #rhysand x you #cassian x reader #cassian x you #batboys x reader #batboys x you #azriel #rhysand #cassian #reverse harem #modern au #acotar au

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shadowdaddies · 12 days

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a continuation of the Batboys Band AU from elenana.art on Instagram

#acotar #acotar fanart #feysand #a court of thorns and roses #rhysand art #feyre art #feysand fanart #Feyre Archeron #acotar rhysand #rhysand and feyre #feyre fanart #Cassian #acotar azriel #Azriel fanart #batboys #batboys fanart #acotar au #feysand au #ACOMAF

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starswholistenrp · 1 year

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it's finally here! join our discord! fc reserves are open high lord/lady claims are open inner circle claims are open see a sneak peak at the site plot

#au acotar #acotar rp #acotar #site ad #jcink ad #a court of thorns and roses #fantasy rpg #jcink rp #rp #fantasy rp

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azsazz · 5 months

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Midnight Muse

You and your best friend Feyre have just moved into a new apartment for your sophomore year of college at art school. What you didn’t know when you signed the lease is that you’d be living next to three rowdy boys. One in particular, loves to get on your nerves.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

Part Eleven

Part Twelve

Part Thirteen

Part Fourteen

Part Fifteen

Part Sixteen

Part Seventeen

Part Eighteen

Part Nineteen

Part Twenty

Part Twenty-One

Part Twenty-Two

Part Twenty-Three

Part Twenty-Four

Part Twenty-Five

Epilogue

Midnight Muse Playlist

Thank you to @writingsbychlo for the beautiful mood board 💙💙 ilysmmm

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel au #midnight muse #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel/reader #art school au #art school az

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prythianpages · 2 months

Text

Wanna Be Yours | Part Two

Rhysand x Reader | Rhysand is absolutely smitten with you and you appear to be blind from it.

This is a part two to this. You can find the masterlist to keep track of future parts here.

warnings: none

a/n: I use a prompt from the lovely @thepromptswhisperer . you can find the post here. I bolded & italicized the dialogue I used from it.

The secrets that Rhysand holds in his heart are harder to hide than he thought. He can’t help it. His heartbeat is at its peak whenever you speak or simply look his way. The weight of his confession persists, akin to an inconsolable ache nestled in his chest, right above the delicate golden thread that intimately connects his soul to yours.

Three months have passed since that night—the night when he found himself grappling with delirium, induced by the venom coursing through his veins. It was the result of a miscalculated move when patrolling the Night Court’s borders. His injuries, though not fatal, seemed insurmountable due to the poison's cruel deception that night. In a panic, he insisted on seeing you and only you. If he were to face oblivion, he wanted you to be the last person he saw.

The poison, however, proved powerless against your skill. You healed him and brought him back from the brink. "I think I might be in love with you," were the words he had uttered to you and though he was lucid, he meant them. Wholeheartedly.

And now, there's no uncertainty. He is in love with you. The Cauldron may have destined you two together but Rhysand is beyond doubt that he would love you, bond or no bond. You’re beautiful, sweet and kind. Everything he could ever dream of, and dream of you he has done. A lot.

Rhysand wonders if you dream of him too. If you think about him as much as he thinks about you. He wished he had been there to see your reaction when opening his gift but you had been busy all day. It sparked a worry in him that you were being overworked. Then, his own duties got in the way, leaving him with no choice but to leave it at your door. You had greeted him the following morning when you went to check up on him. The smile you graced him with in appreciation for the gift was as golden and glorious as the sun itself. One he wants more of.

You have him wrapped around your finger and you don’t even know…

“Whiskey for your thoughts?”

Dragging himself away from the labyrinth of his thoughts, Rhysand brings himself back to the sitting room of his house. He accepts the glass of golden brown liquid from Cassian with gratitude, leaning back into the soft cushion of his chair.

“I miss her.”

Azriel’s shadows seem to flicker with a knowing gleam. He doesn’t have to ask to know who Rhysand is referring to. “It’s only been a couple of days.”

“A couple days too long,” Rhysand replies with a sigh, prompting a chuckle from Cassian. As he swirls the liquid in his glass, mirroring the stirring emotions within him, his usually composed facade begins to waver. “She’s my mate.”

“We know,” Cassian grins, though it’s the first time Rhysand has said it. A quick exchange of glances with Azriel makes Cassian shrink back sheepishly, putting on a surprised expression. “Sorry, I mean. What??”

Rhysand glances between Azriel and Cassian. “You know?”

Cassian and Azriel exchange another guilty glance before Azriel turns to Rhysand. “We suspected,” he replies.

“You’re not exactly subtle, you know. We also heard your confession–ow!” Cassian's words were cut short as he shot Azriel a glare, rubbing his arm.

Rhysand arched an eyebrow, a mix of amusement and disbelief in his eyes. He takes a sip of his drink, the corners of his lips lifting into a wry smile. "How is it that you two heard, but she didn’t?" he asks, his tone taking on a solemn note.

“I invited her to dinner and you know what she did?” Rhysand doesn’t wait for his brothers to reply to continue. “She brought Madja and another healer with her. Thought it was a group dinner. I bought her flowers and she handed them out to her patients. Thought I had given them to the infirmary, not her. I asked her to join me for a coffee but she said she was busy and I do believe her–there’s been a nasty flu going around. By the Cauldron, is she even taking care of herself? Maybe, I should pretend to be sick just to get her to see me…”

Rhysand downs the remainder of his drink, the burn in his throat paling in comparison to the burning he feels for you. Turning to Azriel, his eyes sparkle with determination.

“Hit me.”

Azriel chokes on his drink and Cassian grimaces as droplets land on his arm. “What?”

“C’mon. I’m sure you’ve been longing for it, especially after I sent you to parole the Illyrian camps last week,” Rhysand says with a smirk. He then angles his head, giving Azriel perfect access. He taps his jaw. “Hit me. Hard. So that I don’t heal as quickly.”

“Why aren’t you asking me?” Cassian asks, tone on the brink of offense. “I can give you a nasty black eye!”

Rhysand is about to reply when a shiver runs through the air. The room then falls into silence. Rhysand feels something teasing at the edges of his senses. His eyes, aglow with the ethereal light of night, narrow. There’s an unsettling disturbance within the rhythmic pulse of his court. An intruder.

Azriel’s shadows pick up on the stirrings of Rhysand’s instincts. He’s rising from his seat, ready to take on the uninvited presence. However, Rhysand, swifter than a fleeting shadow, vanishes into the embrace of the dark night before Azriel can.

There’s a knock on your door and you pull your gaze away from the gold trinket box Rhysand gifted you. Carefully placing it back onto your nightstand, you make your way toward the door. Madja, your mentor, is on the other side. She holds a faelight in the palm of her hand that highlights the gentle contours of her face. The small smile on her lips speaks volumes and you don’t have to ask why she’s coming for you in the late hour. Still, you can’t help but voice your curiosity as she guides you to the foyer of the infirmary.

“What is it this time?”

“Nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure.”

You smile in greeting to the Shadowsinger who is waiting for you. He nods his head at you and without a word, offers his arm. Madja calls out words of encouragement to you.

Azriel’s shadows wrap around you both and winnow you to Rhysand’s private residence. A beautiful and vast estate nestled in the heart of Velaris. He guides you to Rhysand’s room, though you know your way around well. As your hand reaches for his bedroom’s door, Azriel’s voice stops you.

“I must warn you…he’s in a mood.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you say, echoing Madja’s words from earlier. It’s more to reassure yourself than him. Azriel only smiles at you in response.

Rhysand’s room is spacious–a sanctuary of regal splendor. Its walls are bathed in a deep shade reminiscent of midnight and adorned with tapestries of celestial landscapes. Everything about the room reflects the refined taste and mystical elegance of its inhabitant and what a mystery he is to you. The High Lord of the Night Court is the most powerful in Prythian history. To many, he is careless and as cold as the winds from the Illyrian mountains.

Only those dear to him know the truth of his nature. You still can’t wrap your head around as to why he chose to let you see the man behind the mask. Perhaps, it’s all attributed to your power but with Madja living here, you don’t quite understand the need for two healers in Velaris.

“Daybreak.”

Rhysand looks like a dream.

He stands under the gracefully arched openings of his balcony. Wispy curtains sway with the gentle night breeze, carrying with them the intoxicating fragrance of citrus and sea that caresses your senses. As moonlight spills into the room, it bathes him in a stellar glow, causing his membranous wings to dance in magnificent midnight hues. You can’t help but wonder which is more beautiful–the breathtaking view of the Court of Dreams from his balcony or him.

A stifled sound from Rhysand pulls you out of your trance, blinking away a gentle intrusion you felt in your mind.

“I have a name, you know,” you remind him.

“I know.” Though his back is to you, you can hear the smirk in his voice.

He turns to face you and you pick up on the telltale signs of subtle surrender in the slump of his shoulders. His wings vanish and your eyes trace down to his chest, where he cradles a feebly wrapped arm. A subdued darkness stains the light bandage. As your eyes lift back up to his face, his lips press together into a fine line.

“Come,” you say as you motion for him to sit. With a casual flick of your wrist, your first aid kit materializes from the pocket realm, settling gracefully onto his desk. “May I?”

Rhysand promptly slips his shirt off before extending his injured arm to you with a nod. You arch a brow. “You didn’t have to take off your shirt.”

“It’s warm here,” he protests, though a mischievous glint dances in those violet eyes of his. He leans back into his desk chair, manspreading those glorious sweat clad thighs of his. “Feel free to admire me, darling,” he smirks at you and you force yourself to look away only to catch his biceps tensing with purpose.

“You’re blushing.” He muses, his eyes tracing every nuance of your reaction.

“Yeah, so? Never seen anyone fall for your charm before?” You retort, feigning nonchalance. Internally, you’re cursing the way your blush deepens and the way your stomach flutters at the sound of his laughter. It’s deep and alluring, wrapping around you like a sweet melody. You’d think after months of knowing him, you’d be immune to his shameless flirting.

Focus, you remind yourself as you do your best to ignore the playful smirk that continues to grace his luscious lips. So much for Azriel’s claim of Rhysand being in a mood. Whatever had soured his temper must’ve gone away, you think. Despite his injury, he looks perfectly fine to you.

You gently grasp his forearm and begin to unwrap the bandage carefully. The scent of antiseptic mingles with the warm, earthy undertones of his skin. Up close, the flush of his cheeks become more pronounced and the thin sheet of sweat glistens on his tattooed chest. Your keen eyes immediately pick up on the black ink trickling from the small wounds on his arm. Recognition dawns in your eyes.

“These are puncture wounds from a Puca.”

“Very astute of you, darling.”

A furrow appears on your brow as curiosity mingles with bewilderment. You can't fathom how a Puca, a dangerous creature that roams throughout Prythian, managed to get this close to someone as powerful and even more dangerous as Rhysand.

“What did it appear to you as?”

Rhysand's demeanor undergoes a shift. A-ha, there is that sour mood you had been expecting. Something akin to embarrassment flickers in the depths of his violet eyes. He instinctively pulls his arm back, but you tighten your hold, silently demanding an explanation.

"They say that a Puca uses your own desires to lure you and then eat you," you remark, your tone a mix of caution and concern.

Rhysand, attempting to maintain an air of nonchalance, hums thoughtfully. "Is that so?"

You drop your gaze as your hands fall into the familiar rhythm of tending to his injuries. “Azriel said you were in a mood so whatever it appeared to you as, must’ve been something for it to get you this go—“

“You.”

Confusion clouds your expression, and your glowing hands still. "What?"

You can feel the warmth of his gaze, a sharp intensity that lingers on you. "It appeared as you."

A moment of silence stretches between you two. The corner of Rhysand’s lips quirk up, the silver fleck of his violet irises sparkling with a mix of amusement and something more elusive. His gaze holds yours and there’s the slightest hint of vulnerability beneath his charismatic exterior. One you don’t catch.

"You flatter me," you finally say with a soft laugh, not believing him for one bit.

And all Rhysand can do is look at you in bewildered wonder as your hands continue to move with deliberate care. He needs to try harder.

Days later…

Come back home.

Those three words stare back at you. Haunting and persistent. "Home," you quietly muse to yourself. Dawn is your home. Or so you once believed.

A home is meant to be a sanctuary. A place of safety. A place of comfort. Over time, it transformed from your sweet haven into a source of distress. But if Dawn is no longer your home, then what is?

Is it the Night Court? You don't feel suffocated with high expectations here. The nights may be dark, but the stars shine their brightest here. They watch over you, listening to your silent whispers. There is a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows, almost like a sense of belonging.

You crumple the letter, the tangible weight of memories folding with it. Time is healing, you remind yourself. With a heavy sigh, you turn back to the stack of books and paperwork on your desk. Yesterday had been a slow day in the clinic so Madja asked for you to accompany her while she bought supplies. She treated you to a nice dinner afterwards. It was a much needed break but now, you found yourself behind in your studies and patient’s charts.

With a glance toward your desk candle, you use your powers to light it up. Leaning forward slightly, you fix your gaze on your first report with a strong determination to finish the stack by the end of your shift. No distra–

A knock echoes through the slightly ajar door.

Your office door is deliberately left open, a practice maintained for moments just like this - in case a patient requires urgent attention. While there’s a room in the clinic set up with rows of cots and medical equipment, your office provides an additional space for those seeking a more private examination.

"Hello, daybreak.”

Rhysand strides in, his easy confidence filling the small space of your office. You glance up only momentarily before returning your attention to the task at hand, responding with a dry humor that matches his tone.

"Hello, High Lord. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Rhysand tilts his head, his gaze lingering on you. Moving with quiet elegance, he walks past the examination table and approaches your desk instead. His attention is immediately drawn to a book resting on top of one of the many stacks. A poetry book, he recognizes, adorned with a delicate cobalt blue ribbon.

“What’s this?”

“A gift from Azriel,” you reply casually and miss the way his face twists at the nonchalance of your tone.

Rhysand blinks at you. “A what?”

“A book. That Azriel got. For me.” You repeat, deliberately slower this time.

Rhysand heard you perfectly well the first time. His eyebrows knit together as he gazes at the book, a storm brewing in his expressive eyes. If looks could scorch, the innocent book would be reduced to a pile of ashes. Your birthday is months away and Solstice was weeks ago.

“I’m hurt.”

You look up, keen eyes glancing over his form again. “You don’t look hurt.”

Undeterred, he saunters closer, swiping a deliberate finger across the papers on your desk. "Come on, surely you can spare a moment for a poor High Lord in deep pain."

You inspect his outstretched hand, where a barely visible mark is displayed on his pointer finger. "It's a papercut," you deadpan.

“It hurts.”

"It's already healed."

Rhysand dramatically lets out a deep sigh and you suppress the urge to smile. The sound of a bell ringing–a sign that someone is in need of help–has you rising from your seat. You walk toward Rhysand, who continues to brood. Holding his gaze, you bring his hand to your mouth and press a light kiss right over where the papercut had been.

“There.” You say, giving his hand a squeeze. “Feel better now?”

Every nerve in his body tingles with excitement, and there's a giddy flutter in his stomach. “Much better,” Rhysand breathes with a grin, savoring your touch.

He doesn’t allow your hand to drop, brushing it over his cheek instead and holding it there with his own. If you can’t see the flush to his cheeks, then surely you must be able to feel its warmth.

“How can I ever repay you?”

“You’re already paying me,” you remind him with a soft exhale, a laugh almost. The sound is music to Rhysand's ears and all his heart wants to do is dance to its rhythm. He realizes he can’t let this moment slip. Not when he finally has your full attention and a golden opportunity to seek more of it.

“You can come with me to the Midnight Eclipse ball.”

“Midnight Eclipse ball,” you repeat, your voice laced with intrigue, and Rhysand can't help but admire the way your eyes gleam with curiosity. “What is that?”

“Come with me and find out,” Rhysand replies, his eyes sparkling at you. He leans in closer, captivated by the softness of your gaze, and with a smile, he boldly adds, “As my date.”

“Your date?” you ask, your breath catching slightly.

Rhysand only hums in reply, taking pleasure in the way his cheek presses further against your hand as he does so. The look he gives you is almost pleading as he gazes down at you.

“Okay,” you finally say after a moment of silence with a small smile of your own. “I’ll join you. When is it?”

Rhysand beams down at you, his eyes filled with warmth and anticipation. Shifting his face in your hold, he presses a gentle kiss against the palm of your hand and now it is you who is overcome with a giddy flutter in your stomach. Rhysand, normally attuned to your every shift in expression, is too caught up in surprise to take note of it.

“Next Saturday,” he replies, holding your gaze.

The bell rings again, the sound prompting Rhysand to reluctantly let go of your hand. You give him an apologetic smile as you turn toward your desk, grabbing a couple of supplies. “I’ll see you next Saturday.”

You excuse yourself, walking around him to exit your office. Rhysand follows but chooses to lean against your doorframe, watching as you rush toward the infirmary.

“Don’t forget, it’s a date!” Rhysand calls after you, putting emphasis on the word ‘date.’

“Yes, I got it!” You reply, giving him a thumbs up before disappearing around the corner.

Rhysand smiles to himself. Though Saturday is almost five days away, he doesn’t mind the wait. Not when you just agreed to be his date. He looks down at the hand you kissed, closing it into a fist, overwhelmed with the giddy excitement building up inside him. You’re so utterly endearing. He brings his fist close to his mouth, suppressing the urge to bite it as he swoons over the thought of having you as his date for the Midnight Eclipse ball.

Reality begins to set in and his smile widens into a grin. Now, he has to plan the ball he literally just made up…

a/n: tbh, I don't know how I feel about this part. I feel like I set up expectations too high for myself because I really loved how the first part turned out and this part is kinda meh to me. anyway, I hope you still enjoyed this. I'm looking forward to writing the other part(s) as those include scenes I've had in my head for weeeeeeks lol. (You'll finally learn the little secret or two reader is hiding in the next part...any guesses? )I estimate only like 1-2 parts left, depending on how long the next part is.

tagging: @minnieoo , @phoenixgurl030, @nebarious, @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444

#rhysand x reader #rhysand x you #rhysand x y/n #rhysand imagine #rhysand fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x y/n #acotar x you #rhys wby au

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lalacliffthorne · 7 months

Text

modern!batboys as (your) roommates - headcanons.

because let's be honest, we have all thought about that at some point.🦇

(this is the introduction of my new drabble universe!!! I can´t tell you how fucking excited I am.)

it would be wrong to say that your life was boring before you met the three idiots you now call your roommates

sure, it wasn't as exciting

but you had your tiny little apartment, went out with friends once in a while and mostly enjoyed having your own space and routines

but then

shit hits the fan

and by shit I mean your landlord

because of a loophole in the rental agreement, he's able to kick you out of your apartment with only a months notice

in other words

you're fucked

or, as your best friend Feyre, who you met the first week of orientation and became inseperable with, says -

"That bastard." Feyre's eyes are stormy.

"What the hell am I gonna to do?" You bury your face in your hands, your voice muffled when you mumble: "How am I supposed to find a new apartment in a few weeks? For this one, I looked over a year, and it's a glorified shoebox!" Your voice rises as you feel a wave of dread crash over you and your heart rising into your throat.

"Hey, it's okay. If worst comes to worst, you can crash at my place,", Feyre raises her brows, "even though we'd have to share my bed, but - I won't just let you sleep on a park bench if that's what you're worried about. Unless you find another glorified shoebox that's technically out of your budget, it's you and me, crashing on my bed, climbing over your stuff to get to the bathroom, finding out what married life would feel like."

even though you love her to death, that really does not sound like an option you want to explore

so you try everything

scouring every paper for apartment advertisments, posting on your uni's socials, going to all the viewings you can find -

nothing

but just when you're ready to just give up

a miracle happens

the miracle is 5'5, has impeccable style and hair, a love for deep red lipstick and drops by for lunch

Mor has been your friend for two years now, since you almost spilled your coffee over her laptop at the library

(she's still not letting you live that down)

she also likes to get you out of your comfort zone

"Are you serious?" Mor stares at you wide-eyed.

"Yep." You tiredly stir your coffee. "I've been turned away for twenty apartments in the past few days alone. I'm aready seeing myself bunking with Feyre. She offered, but her bed barely fits into her apartment as it is."

Mor breathes a giggle before hastily clearing her throat. "Sorry."

You grin weakly before rubbing your face. "I don't know what I'm gonna do. I know it could be even worse, but -"

"It already feels pretty shitty,", Mor ends. You sigh in confirmation and are about to change the topic, because you haven't seen the blonde in weeks and feel bad about ruining your lunch. But before you can open your mouth, Mor suddenly squints in thought. Then she looks at you.

"How much do you value your privacy?

Given the fact you'll be basically homeless on the street in about a week if you don't find a new place - not much.

Mor begins to grin, and there's a bright twinkle in her eyes.

"Well, then I might just have the solution."

the next day, Mor drags you downtown

she takes you to an old but sophisticated building you wouldn't even dream about living in

a single month's rent there would probably empty your whole bank account

but Mor just winks and pulls you up the stairs

on the third floor, a guy leans in an open door

and that

is how you meet Rhys.

Mor's cousin is annoyingly beautiful

tall, with perfectly tousled dark hair, a perfect grin that causes his cheeks to crease and, from the looks of it, the also perfect physique

he's also annoyingly charming

(if you'd met him somewhere without Mor, you would have probably gaped for a moment before catching onto the mischievous twinkle in his nearly violet eyes and promptly avoided him, because someone that pretty had to have some fault)

as it turns out, Rhys' fault is offering practical strangers to live with him without even batting an eye

"What?"

You blink at Mor from where you just sank onto the very comfortable couch, because she can't possibly -

"Okay, before you freak out, just listen, okay?" Mor is grinning giddily. "The guys have a free room they don't really use anyway and you really need a new place - so you could just move in here!" She beams. "The place is definitely big enough, and you'd fit in perfectly, I promise! They're just as chaotic as you, but also very responsible -"

"Mostly." Rhys' eyes are twinkling. He's looking completely and slightly concerningly unbothered by the prospect of you, a factual stranger, moving in with him and his friends.

"- they don't have any bad habits, they're fairly neat -"

"Mostly."

Mor widens her eyes at you. "It's perfect!"

You blink at her.

"I've already talked to my roommates." Rhys' deep voice is almost soothing - mostly because he sounds a lot calmer than Mor, steady and reassuring.

"If you want, this can be temporary, until you find a place just for yourself, but this way you don't have to stress about needing to find a place in a certain time, plus,", he cracks a grin, "I don't like the idea of you having to crash on somebody's couch in the foreseeable future, that's just bullshit if we got a free room here no one uses anway. And if this works,", one corner of his lips quirks even more until his grin is a lot closer to the wicked twinkle in his eyes, "none of us would mind another roommate."

"You don't have to decide right now." Mor smiles brightly. "But I think it would be great, and you'd make a bargain with the rent, because Rhys loves to play sugar daddy -", her cousin flips her off, "and I think this would be a really good idea." She grins, suddenly a little sheepish.

if you weren't so desperate, you would whip out about a dozen arguments about why this probably isn't a good idea

like the fact that rooming with three dudes sounds like a lot of testosteron, or that you don't even know them, and that they don't even know you -

but from the way Rhys lounges in his chair, smirking easily while Mor beams at you, he doesn't seem to see too much of a problem in that

also you are very, very desperate

but there´s still that one thing -

"About those roommates -"

When you hear the door, you raise your head, your heart doing a slightly concerning flip in your chest.

It's a day later, and you just finished a tour of the apartment Rhys has given you. Even though it's huge and very grand with it's high ceilings decorated with stucco and the original hardwood floors, it feels warm and cozy. The room you'd be sleeping in is as big as your whole current apartment, light with two big window and a view of the trees on the street outside.

It kind of makes you wonder where the catch is.

Maybe it's about to walk through the door.

You hear a deep voice and heavy footsteps, then a dude appears in the door to the kitchen.

Your heart does a somersault, and you feel your lips part a bit. Because frankly, it's a miracle he makes it through the door without hitting his head.

The guy's huge. His shoulders and chest strain against his t-shirt; he looks like one of those dudes who basically have muscle in their DNA, all corded muscle under ridiculously huge shoulders and a solid middle, muscular long legs under black jeans -

And you're staring.

Big time.

The dude's looking over his shoulder, which means he thankfully doesn't notice you oggling him. The half of his hair that isn't pulled back in a bun brushes against his neck when he grins, his cheeks creasing. He's really good looking, in a rugged kinda way, with his roughly curved jaw and the scar on the side of his face, and when he looks back ahead, his eyes twinkle warmly.

Then, behind him, another guy appears in the doorway, and your breath catches.

Because if Rhys is annoyingly beautiful, the guy in the door is drop-dead gorgeous.

Just like the other two, he's tall and all lean muscle. His shoulders shift under his black t-shirt as he leans against the doorframe, his hands sliding into the pockets of his black jeans. His eyes look like amber in sunlight, his dark hair is tousled, a strand curving over his forehead. His face is all angles and soft lips, dark brows that look like he likes to crunch them in a scowl, but right now, he looks fairly relaxed, though his gaze is watchful.

And on yours.

Feeling warmth wash into your cheeks, you hastily look away while crap, crap, crap echoes through your head, because of course he caught you staring.

On to a really great start here.

Your gaze grazes his hands and the bit of uneven skin that merges into veiny, tan forearms before your eyes trail over the tattoos peaking out from his sleeves.

There's the sound of someone clearing their throat, and you feel the heat in your cheeks deepen when your eyes dart up and meet Rhys', a twinkle in his iris when he sends you a lazy grin.

"Boys, this is Y/N." He raises a brow. "Our new roommate."

and that is how you meet Cassian and Azriel

it almost makes you reconsider

because you're really not sure you're gonna survive rooming with three guys that pretty

but after thinking it over for a few days, you realize that you really don't have a choice

and so a week later, Rhys and Cassian come over to your apartment to help you move the first half of your stuff

neither blink an eye at the fact it's about the size of a broom closet in comparison to their home

Rhys does however scowl when he sees the condition of the bathroom

you're ready to sink into the floor when you hastily explain pretty much all the apartments in the building look like that

(a lil dingy and moldy)

but when he turns, Rhys just glowers and grumbles under his breath about how he'd like to rip your landlord a new one

it's the first time you realize that under all the aloofness and swagger and cheeky grins, Rhys cares

it's proven again when you move into your new room a week later and there's a new mattress on the also new bed bed

you haven't bought either of them, but when you try to protest, Rhys just huffs about your back probably being fucked up because of your old one and about how he'll add it to your rent

he never does

you get used to rooming with three guys surprisingly quickly

sure, it is pretty much a total 180 -

going from living alone in a tiny apartment

to sharing a huge flat with three dudes who make the place vibrate with laughter and bicker like they have been married for thirty years

but even tho you never thought you'd be the type to actually enjoy having roommates

you find that with them - you don't really mind

of course it is nice to have the place to yourself sometimes

and after about two weeks, you're comfortable enough to blast your music and dance through the kitchen when you're alone

(yes, at some point, they catch you - it takes you about a minute to realize there are three guys standing in the doorway, watching you dance with a broom. you get a mild heart attack and Cassian and Rhys start cackling while Azriel smirks)

but even if usually there's always someone around -

you find that all three of them are very good at both respecting your boundaries and leaving you be when you need to curl up in your room

but also seem to know when you need someone to drag your ass out into the world

and something about knowing at least one of them will probably be there when you get home makes you feel very warm and fuzzy

and even tho you weren't completely sure about this situation in the beginning

you get roped into living with the three guys instead of just rooming with them

it really starts with Cassian

probably gets used to you living there the quickest

after barely a week, he's treating you like you've lived with them since the beginning

like just sticking his head into your room and roping you into helping him with dinner

it surprises you a little that they all have dinner together

(from what you've heard from friends who have roommates, they usually all do their own thing most of the time)

but it makes you realise that these guys are more family than just roommates

Cassian is surprisingly easy to talk to

he's quick with the quips and the banter

also very flirtatious

constantly makes you laugh, his deep, boisterous chuckles infectous

also super affectionate

you're convinced that the man is actually just a huge teddybear

after just a few weeks, you're used to hugs that lift you off your feet, cheek kisses as greetings and being casually lifted out of the way like you don't weigh anything

not that you're the only one who gets that treatment

no, there are hugs in greeting that make Rhys groan dramatically like his air supply is cut off

pats on the shoulder and smacking forehead kisses that make Azriel crinkle his nose

Cassian quickly becomes the one you go to when you need advice.

he always listens attentively

doesn't sugarcoat things

stays objective while never making you feel bad or less about anything

and it quickly becomes pretty clear he'd put everything aside if any of you ever need help

gives you rides in his beat up truck to uni

always picks you up when studying at the library gets late bc he doesn't like the idea of you out alone after dark

with Cass, even mundane things like grocery shopping become fun

he's just casually funny and teases the shit out of you at every opportunity

has no understanding of the concept of personal space

and with most people, that would kinda put you off a little in the beginning

but Cassian just has something about him

something so inheritly good and warm and sunny

that he never once makes you feel uncomfortable

if anything, with him around, you feel a lot more at ease

and not just bc it's always nice to have a guy in your back that towers over you like a lighthouse

though the whole massive, tatted dude with the dark eyes thing kinda goes out of the window as soon as he grins at you

dimples and all

but don't be fooled

when the grin's gone and he's glaring, you know why people make way for him immediately

works at a gym to earn some money at the side

once, he takes you with him just for fun

then one time becomes another and before you know it, you tag along twice a week

it would be wrong to say it's not doing something to you when he crouches in front of you, his deep voice rumbling as he mumbles encouragements

"Alright, come on, sweetheart, gimme one more."

Trying not to make a very embarassing groaning sound, you crunch your face in concentration and slowly lower yourself into a squat, your muscles trembling slightly.

"There you go, that's it." You can feel Cassian in your back, spotting you, his deep voice rumbling through you, and it's just almost distracing enough for you to -

"No, no, come on, you can do it." Cassian's deep chuckle sets you at ease, and he lightly pats the side of your thigh. "You got this, c'mon."

With a soft groan, you push yourself up again, and you can hear the triumph and wide grin in Cassian's voice when he goes: "Yeeessss, good job, baby. C'mon, you can do one more."

Blowing out a heavy breath and glaring at nothing in particular, you ready yourself.

when one day, he makes you lose focus, you're gonna throw something at him

you're pretty sure he does it on purpose just to see how red you can get

but Cass is really good at pushing you without overdoing it, always teasing and encouraging

and if you manage to do something, in the gym or otherwise, he grins so widely you're almost sure he's more proud of you than you are yourself

Rhys is a flirt.

and after you get over the first initial blush that just won't leave you alone for the first few weeks

it actually becomes entertaining

now bantering back and forth is basically all you do

it gets so bad, Azriel constantly rolls his eyes at the two you

but just like you suspected, behind all the flirtiness and mischievous grins

Rhys cares

a lot

whenever you´re upset, he looks like he's contemplating ripping apart whatever or whoever made you upset

and whenever someone has a go at Cass or Azriel, Rhys picks them apart with lethal precision and a wicked smile

if Cassian is most affectionate, Rhys is close second

he's slightly more casual about it

pinching your nose, flicking your ear softly, offering his cheek for a kiss in greeting

always down for amazing hugs tho

whenever you get on your period, Rhys turns full mother hen

it's actually quite entertaining to see a 6-foot-something dude grumble because you don't want to take painkillers

"I just don't like to take them until it's really necessary, okay?" You glower at Rhys, curling up on the couch and trying to suppress a wince.

Rhys incredulously narrows his eyes.

"You're bleeding from your uterus and look like you want to curl into the couch. I'd say it is pretty necessary."

behind all the snark and arrogance, Rhys cares

also seems to have a rather unhealthy tendency to put everyone else first

you catch on pretty easily that even though his father is absolutely loaded, Rhys doesn't particularly cares about his money

in fact

he doesn't hesitate to spend whatever money his father pumps into his bank accounts for a second

when you ask Mor about it, she just smiles lopsidedly.

"I think it's his kind of protest?" She squints into the sun shining onto the balcony of the flat, the big glass of iced tea in her hand glittering in the light. "You know, spending all that money, preferably on his friends? Mostly because I don't think his father really likes them."

You wince.

"He knows he can't win against his father." Mor crunches her brows in thought. "I think he came to terms with having to take over the business one day, and he cares about the people who have their jobs there, so he won't let them down. It's just hard sometimes, if your whole life is already planned for you." She shrugs gently. "Doing this, living with Cassian and Azriel and now you, spending his fathers money on it and actually having a good time than just being bitter and stuck up - it's his way of not surrendering completely."

you have never met Rhys' father, but even tho he's powerful af

you really feel a strong desire to kick him in the balls

Rhys has a knack of knowing exactly when you need to talk and when you need to be distracted

it's not unusual that after a bad day, he just joins you on the couch, plopping down and pulling your feet onto his lap

it either leads to you venting and him listening

usually giving very appropriate responses of either huffs, scowls or downright glowering

or, if you don't want to talk

he either lets you use him as a human pillow, grumbling over your choice of movie while scratching your head

or he takes you out

to the cinema, a museum, the theater

you're pretty sure you've grown a lot more cultured in a few months than the whole of your life before that

it never gets boring tho

the whole thing kinda annoys the crap out of you in the beginning bc he never lets you pay for anything

but you get better at finding ways to pay him back in other ways

like taking over making dinner on days when he's exhausted

coaxing rants out of him when his father gets to him

dragging him out on nightly walks through the city when he can't sleep

and after a while

you understand that it's just one of Rhys' love languages

and it is fun to spend his father's money ;)

especially when it means museum saturdays with the two of you just sitting and staring at paintings

or going to the cinema and pigging out on popcorn and greasy stuff while whisper hissing facts at each other

even takes you to stuff like wine tastings

Rhys is a foodie

likes super fancy pickles, trying food you can't even pronounce and splurging on dinner

and if he decides the two of you need to get out of the apartment

one way or another

it usually ends in a restaurant

always orders like half the menu

also cooks the best out of all of you

like I'm talking freaking perfection

whips up the fanciest, most delicious far-too-many-courses meal for holidays

and goes all in even if he just makes dinner

you often get lured into the kitchen by the delicious smells

usually ends up with you on the couch at the table while Rhys moves around the kitchen

talking about everything and nothing

(also not above slapping anyone's hand away if they try to sneak a taste)

Azriel is quiet

not shy; you catch onto that pretty quickly

he's too quick and easy on any dry remark in response to his friends' boisterous teasing for that

and his gaze too firm and piercing

rarely shies away when you catch his gaze

in the beginning

that intimidated the shit out of you

the way he appears without a sound, towering over you, all dark and quiet and brooding

it's like he perfected the art of going unnoticed

tho you're not quite sure how

bc how could anyone not notice him?

after a while tho

you realise that even tho Azriel is dark and glowering and brooding

there's something gentle about him

it surfaces in the smallest things

like how his lips curve the softest bit when you grin up at him

how light and careful his touch is

how he is always respectful, putting himself between you and the street, holding doors open without ever seeming to think twice about it

and how everything about him seems to darken when he witnesses anyone being treated poorly

but even if anger rages within him like a rising tide, quiet and dangerous

you still always feel safe with him

maybe it's bc, even in those moments, you just know it will never be directed at you

and that even tho there's always that darkness within him, it's never something that feels unsettling or dangerous

and instead soft and welcoming

like something about him and that steady, dark gaze just calms you

maybe because he's so quiet, Azriel seems to see and hear everything

in record time, he begins to catch onto every little detail about you

mundane things

like how you like your favorite drink or what your favorite ice cream is

the only reason you know he notices is because he begins to hand you cups in the morning that are exactly right and the freezer starts to always hold a big container of your favorite ice cream

but also seems to know exactly what your tell is when you're nervous

uncomfortable

or tired

what makes you upset

happy

nervous

what causes you to giggle uncontrollably

and so on

it should probably unsettle you, how easily he sees through you

but it doesn't

sure, it's a bit weird at first

but you quickly realise it's strangely comforting - that someone pays enough attention to know even the smallest thing about you

is your favorite person to be around when you just need a break

it's like something about him is grounding, steady to you

like being around him makes your thoughts calm down

makes it easier for you to sort the chaos your mind sometimes becomes

beneath all of the quiet watchfulness lies a wicked, dry sense of humor

his mumbled remarks make you snort laughter or beam widely up at him

always makes his lips curve

reads a ton

when you first see his room, you almost gape

because the guy has books

they fill the shelves

balance in towers on the floor

sit on the window sill and next to his bed

most of the books in the shelves in the living room are his as well

has a great dislike for movie adaptions

sits there with that scowl of his, glaring at you until it's over when you make him watch one

says it destroys the pictures in his head

(to be fair

you don't think he's entirely wrong about that)

always has a camera in reach

got a few, all older ones; no fancy digital ones, but all on film

just like he seems to catch onto everything

so does his camera

it's like the manifestation of his quiet perception of things

to fix things onto film

captures everything

most of the time, you don't even notice

only sometimes you raise your head to find the camera in his hands, a slight curve to his lips

develops all pictures himself, in a dark room on campus students can book

spends hours in there, just working in silence

there's usually a lot of bugging involved before he shows the developed pictures to anyone

usually ends in all of you leaning over them eagerly, trying to figure out when he took them

Rhys standing in the kitchen, grinning over his shoulder like Cassian just made a bad joke

you and Feyre, laughing so hard you lean into each other

Mor, lying upside down on the couch while focusing on the cards in her hand while you're next to her, mid-motion, a focused expression on your face

Cassian napping on the couch, twisted in a very uncomfortable position to fit all six feet something of him onto the cushions

there seems to be an endless number, and they're all carefully stored away in his shelves

some, he refuses to show to anyone

it takes you so little time to feel at home in the huge flat, the prospect of looking for an apartment for yourself is off the table before you can actually start

and it doesn't take long until you're part of the routines like you'd been there since the beginning

Saturday and Sunday evenings are for movie nights

sometimes, Mor joins you

you sit with Azriel on the couch, sharing a big bowl of popcorn while staring at Rhys and Cassian argue about which Star Wars movie to start with

in the summer, you take trips to the lake for swims

have game nights

and evenings sitting on the balcony, squinting into the setting sun

barbecues

afternoons in the park, one joining in after the other

in winter, you go to the ice rink

bake together

and spend whole weekends on the couch, watching movies

you go to the gym with Cassian or accompany him on his runs

(well, he's running - you're on your bicycle, because there's no way you can keep up with that dude´s long legs)

get dragged out onto hikes by Rhys

in the evenings, you usually all end up in the kitchen for dinner, banter thrown over the dinner table

Azriel and you mostly take care of the grocery shopping together

it usually entails you trying to reach something on a high shelf and Azriel huffing, moving to grab it without even having to stretch

sometimes Cassian joins in, and you both make it your mission to annoy Azriel until he laughs

both Az and Rhys regularly give you rides on their motorcycles

while Cassian likes to stick to his old, beat up truck, Rhys has a car as well, but alternates between it and the motorcycle

more often than not, he uses it as opportunity to flirt

small cleaning duties in the apartment are rotated between the four of you

but big-once-a-month-deep-cleans are something you make a day of

blasting music, you divide the flat and get to work

(bathroom duty is rotated)

in the (very rare) case of an argument, it usually ends in one of you being mediator

which means after a cooling off period

the arguing parties are locked in the pantry until they've talked things out

works surprisingly well

sometimes, the boys bring someone home

it usually comes with a text

or the very oldschool sock on the door

tho you ban that one after Cassian forgets it

and you walk into the flat unsuspectingly only to be flashed

Cassian apologizes profoundly

after he's done laughing

there are also a few awkward encounters in the hall in the morning that leave you contemplating not running around in just big t-shirts

Feyre still gives you rides to campus and back

but sometimes, it's Azriel waiting in the parking lot instead, leaned against his motorcycle, two helmets next to him

it does not help with the way your heart seems to speed up whenever you find his amber eyes on you.

but you're very adamant on pushing that away

it's probably not that serious anyway.

it would be wrong to say your life was boring before you met the three idiots you now call your roomates

but it sure as hell is a lot better now that you have

even if they do drive you a little nuts sometimes

@azrielshadows1nger @waytoomanyteenagefeels

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