Cowboy Like Me - Part 3
Azriel x Reader
Part three of my fic inspired by the queens of my heart, Taylor Swift and Sarah J. Maas.
Warnings: Language, references to SA
Part 1 Part 2 Part 4
“At least one of you has the agility of a spy.” The grey eyed beauty tsk’d.
A smug look of satisfaction flickered across my face. “I swear he wasn’t this clumsy when we danced on the pleasure barge.”
Nesta smirked, “He wasn’t this clumsy when we danced in the Court of Nightmares either.”
Azriel’s features contorted into that of mock offense. “I missed ONE step.”
My eyes rolled back. “Yeah, tell that to my poor foot that your one missed step landed on.”
Nesta and I both giggled before Azriel finally stated “Okay, we’re done here.” turning around leaving the two of us behind.
I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted, “Don’t trip over your feet on your way out, Az!” to which I was greeted with a vulgar gesture.
Nesta and I once again burst into laughter. She placed a firm yet delicate hand on my shoulder as we both fought to catch our breath.
I hadn’t known what to expect when Rhysand informed me that I’d be brushing up on ballroom dancing with the fierce sister of the High Lady, the King Slayer herself, but it certainly wasn’t an afternoon of finding amusement at Azriel’s expense. I could get used to such lessons.
Before Rhysand came back to retrieve Nesta, we enjoyed a cup of lavender tea together. Aside from a brief walk-through the seating area where he swiped a biscuit off my plate, Azriel sulked elsewhere in the palace.
Poor Illyrian baby.
Nesta laughed so hard that she nearly spit out her tea when I informed her of my stealthy baguette attack on the Spymaster the night before. Though, despite all of the laughter, I could see in her eyes that she cared for the male and none of the humor at his expense was entirely malicious.
“This is good for him.” Nesta whispered. “He’s always been quiet but lately he’s been noticeably quieter - making himself scarce. He doesn’t even come to family dinners like he used to.”
“Oh.” I muttered. “Do you know why?”
Nesta started to speak but caught herself, shrugging. “I’m not sure.”
Very well, I was a spy after all. One that wasn’t from her court. I wouldn’t share too much with me either - not to mention that they were friends and it was his information to share.
We enjoyed the remainder of our tea in casual conversation with Nesta confirming that she’d return in two days to instruct Azriel and I further. She parted with what could have been a threat or just friendly words of advice, softly yet firmly put. “He’s a good male. Try not to be too hard on him.”
With a wink she walked out of the palace to meet Rhys.
~~~~~~~~~~
After a long soak in the bath, I indulged in another comfortable Night Court lounge set - this pair including a silken set of shorts falling just below the curve of my ass and wandered to the kitchen.
A meal was already placed on the table, set for two. I wandered over and loaded my plate. It felt silly to sit by myself at such a formal table but I wasn’t exactly sure of the “etiquette” surrounding dining alone in a castle - seating myself next to a fireplace would be optimal.
As I dug into the seasoned roast on my plate, I noticed a shadow make its way to my wrist. “Hello, Shadowsinger.” I stated without looking up from my plate. “Sending your friends to spy on me?”
Azriel stepped into view with a cocky grin. “Just didn’t want you falling out of your chair again.”
I scoffed. “Alright, I deserved that.”
We sat in silence for a few moments before he looked up to meet my eyes.
“You said earlier that you had trained with others,” his eyes swirled with something akin to rage before gently continuing, “others who were not so professional. Why?”
“Why did I train with them or why did I tell you?”
“No, I appreciate that you told me. It’s not easy to open up about past experiences like that.” His face turned empathetic. “but why did you train with them? What path led you there?”
I paused. Nobody had ever asked me such a question before. I barely knew this male and yet he looked at me like he cared. Perhaps it was all a part of the Spymasters rouse but… I bought it. He looked at me as if I was more than just an asset to be used for one form of gain or another - a pain in his ass, yes, but something more than that.
He gave me a moment before his deep voice broke through the silence. “You- you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“No, I just,” suddenly my nails were very interesting. “Well, I-“
here goes nothing.
“Nobody has every asked me that before. The path has been a spool of memories unraveling within me, threading itself into the the very fibers of my being. I’ve just never… verbalized it.”
His fixed gaze remained patiently upon me, allowing time for my words to form.
“My parents were murdered when I was a child - barely twelve. Amarantha’s cronies ambushed my village, our house being one of the first that they broke into. Like a coward, I hid. My mother was skilled with glamours, using her last burst of power to put a glamour over the door to our underground cellar.”
My throat bobbed as I caught my breath. “Though my parents had instructed me to hide - it ate away at me. What if I could have done something? Anything? To help them - to help the others in my village.
By the time they were through, half of the houses were irreparably burnt, and most of my village had been murdered. They didn’t light the home aflame until after their brutal raid was over and I was fortunate enough that my home was one of the last lit aflame. Someone from the town winnowed to the Summer Court gathering a group of fae with water abilities to help put out the fires. My house was damaged but fortunately, livable enough to carry on with part of a roof over my head.
I spent the next several years there. I had hoped in time the village would rebuild but the remaining population dwindled over the years. The memories too unbearable and the homes far too damaged - the effort of repairing them not worth it.”
I paused, my trembling fingers wrapping around the glass of water before me as I took a sip. Setting the glass back down, I continued.
“When I was sixteen, and word spread that the remaining villagers were fleeing, I knew that the effort of surviving would be too much. I was skilled in hunting and even growing produce but I was one person. I couldn’t spend the remainder of my life in solitude, so I decided to take life back into my own hands.
Never again would I cower. I refused to be afraid. If danger found me again, I would defend myself. I traveled from court to court, taking up any apprenticeship that could aid in building my strengths, both mental and physical. I became adept in glamours, fighting with a range of weapons, stealth and agility, forging weapons, information extraction and so forth. In turn, I would assist my mentors with everything from household duties to their work.
The problem was, over time the males would become entitled. An ‘accidental’ slip of the hand that would reoccur until it became outright groping, there were multiple instances of males attempting to force themselves on me, some would bring in sleazy acquaintances in hopes that I would offer ‘services’ to them.
There were a couple of males who kept their hands to themselves but eventually their partners would become uncomfortable and send me away. I didn’t blame them, however. It was uncommon enough for a female to practice such trades. Townsfolk would gossip, rumors would spread, and they’d be forced to send me away or ruin their reputations - they couldn’t afford to lose business over salacious gossip.”
I took another swig of water and gestured around me, “and now, here I am.”
A muscle feathered in Azriel’s jaw - an unreadable expression on his face.
“Who?” he asked, his voice as dark as night.
“Who, what?” I puzzled.
“Who touched you?”
I huffed a bitter laugh, raising an eyebrow over my next sip of water. “Remember when I said I’d never cower again? Those males are either dead or missing their favorite appendages.”
His expression changed to one that could be read as… pride? Silence momentarily overtaking the room.
His deep voice finally cut through the silence as he spoke two words that sent a wave of heat through my body.
“Good girl.”
~~~~~~~~~~
I couldn’t sleep that night. After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, I stalked out to the seating area with a romance novel I’d found on one of the shelves in the palace. I was surprised to find Azriel seated in one of the chairs, a glass of whiskey in hand.
“You’re up late.” I whispered.
“As are you.” He stated plainly.
“Couldn’t sleep.” I replied.
He nodded his head in understanding adding a two finger pour of whiskey to a glass, holding it out for me.
I accepted, sitting in the seat opposite of his. We sat in companionable silence as I read and he laid his head back, staring at the ceiling.
An hour later I was jolted from my reading by a soft snore. I looked up to see Az had nodded off in his chair. I chuckled to myself at the sight, but couldn’t help reveling in the softness of those sharp features. He truly was the most beautiful male I’d ever seen - I wondered if he realized his own beauty.
I retrieved a blanket from a nearby settee and gently placed it on him. Azriel didn’t stir, only his shadows briefly circled around me before deeming that I wasn’t a threat - one playfully tickling my ear.
I didn’t have the heart to leave him in the room alone, so I laid myself on the settee and drifted off to sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~
AZRIEL
A tug pulled him from his rest.
“Look.” his shadows whispered.
“See her.”
He opened his bleary eyes, smiling as they adjusted to the sight before him.
Gods. She was beautiful. The soft glow of the fire illuminating her feminine features added a delicate warmth to her that felt almost intimate - how rarely did she allow others to see her in such a vulnerable state? In this moment, you’d never know the strife she’d been through in her life. He couldn’t help but appreciate it - this moment of trust she was gifting him - laying her guard down before him, that strength she carried herself with at rest. He couldn’t help the feeling of contentment stirring within him at the sight. So many feared him - and for good reason - yet she felt comfortable enough to not only bring him a blanket but to fall asleep in the same space as him.
He gazed at her for longer than he cared to admit before his shadows lulled him back to sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning came quickly. I awoke to Azriel tapping my shoulder gently. “Wake up” he whispered.
“What- what time is it?” I asked.
“Time to get up - we’ve got a big day today.”
I let out a groan as I stretched, “I thought we were taking the day off from training?”
“We are.” He stated. “Get ready and meet me back here in an hour.”
“It’s too early for your cryptic bullshit, Azriel.” I yawned. “What are we doing?”
He smirked, arms crossed in a warriors stance. “We’re going to Velaris.”
———————————
Tags: @fxckmiup
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Another Love….? (Rhysand x Reader)
A/N: ngl that gave me the icks writing. I heavily support Feysand and this was more of a trial, I don’t think I’m ever writing a Rhysand fic again…this is day three of my 300 follower week…🤍
Summary: After years of pining for The High Lord of The Night Court, Y/N comes to realise that she will never be the one for him.
Request: no but this is specially dedicated to @cityofidek cause she’s awesome and because I know she likes Rhys.
Inspiration: Nope
Warning: Heart break, running away from your problems, moving on. Some mentions of traumas.
~*~*~*~*~
She’s his mate.
Tears streamed down you face as you watched Rhysand babble to Mor about Feyre, Feyre Curse-breaker, Spell Cleaver. Your hand flew to your mouth as you turned and excused yourself, winnowing away to the forests.
You heaved a sob as you thought of all that you had done together, as you thought of your favourite memories that had some how made you fall more and more for the unattainable High Lord.
Footsteps sounded behind you as you turned and shrieked at the sight of the Suriel. You scampered back, shield raised high. The suriel smiled at you as it bent down to observe your face.
“Interesting,” It mused as it reached out with a long, bony finger. “Interesting…” It repeated as it looked back to the moonstone palace.
“What do you want,” You gritted out as it smiled wider. It’s reply grated your senses. “One who wants what she cannot have, has someone who seeks her heart, yet every time she falls more, she breaks someone else’s heart,” It mused. And left. You pondered the suriel’s confusing riddle, the question that it had left you with. You sighed as your shoulders slumped and you sat on the ground beside the tree.
Another seeks her heart…
Maybe, just maybe, you’d find another love someday. You sent a prayer to the cauldron, as another tear escaped your closed eyelids.
~*~*~*~*~
A/N: I kept it short, I thought it would be fitting since Rhysand has the shortest Wingspan. HAHAHAHHA. But anyways, I don’t think I’ll do another Rhysand ever again unless it’s requested. And even this gave me the icks even though the suriel literally carried the whole thing. Bye my loves <3
Also!!! P.S. There are three mystery characters that I will be adding in this week so stay tuned, I have a feeling that I’m entering a whole new community. These characters are from two different series that are totally unrelated but I really love them and I hope you guys do too.
Taglist: @cityofidek @brekkershadowsinger
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A Court of Thorns and Roses Locations
⤷ THE MOONSTONE PALACE
For @reverie-tales
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Handmade with love by yours truly!
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Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of
Pairing: SingleDad!Rhys x Reader
Summary: After his mate and the mother of his son abandons them, The High Lord and Nyx are left alone and wanting.
Word Count: 3.9k
Warnings: allusions to sexual assault, allusions to depression, abandonment, broken homes (y'know keeping it light, in all seriousness this is not all angst it's quite sweet actually).
The sky is painted in hues of lavender and mauve and the flowering ivory clouds shade Velaris in a perpetual state of dusk. The silvery light of the waxing moon seems to cast you in a gentle opal light as you approach the opulent manor. The High Lord’s townhouse is nestled in the heart of the city of starlight and wreathed in the colors of twilight; a slate facade that looks as though it is crowned in green, climbing ivy and night-blooming jasmine frame the large bay windows on the ground floor. From here you can see the large stained-glass window on the top floor, light refracts and it casts a myriad of dancing light onto the stone below-- dappled pinks and roses that fracture and give way to amethyst and indigo.
You spare a look to your aged companion as she breaches the threshold of the High Lord’s residence and, on unsteady feet, approaches the ornate wooden door and knocks thrice.
You remain for a moment a solitary figure at the entryway of the property, contemplating the series of events that led you here. Mother above, you chastise yourself. The thought occurs to you then, that perhaps you had made a mistake in coming here; that you should have given yourself more time, that you should have remained in the quiet solitude of the library where the world seems like a bitter memory.
“Come, girl.” Madja’s voice is tired and impatient as she beckons you closer with the wave of a crooked finger. “Don’t just stand there.”
You swallow thickly, bowing your head in obedience and you notice how her eyes soften as you approach the door tentatively.
“Nervous?” the old woman asks, you feel her eyes on you-- examining and critical.
“A little,” You admit, eyes downcast as you loose a shaky breath, “I haven’t left the library besides for training in quite some time.”
You stare down at the sleeves of your faded pewter robes as they billow in the evening breeze; the silver embroidery around the cuffs has begun to fray and the layers of fabric gather about your waist, the pleats have been poorly ironed and the heavy fabric falls over the curve of your hip haphazardly and pools to the floor in a swathe of heavy cotton. Shame pools in your stomach at the sight of your slippers as they peek out from the skirts of your robe.
It’s about time you asked Clotho for a new set of robes you think.
“You’ve met him before, no?” Madja’s voice breaks the tenuous peace you have found in those moments. You look up at her and a deep set frown graces her weathered face, “when you first came to Velaris?”
The visions fall on you like night; the Moonstone Palace saturated in onyx and jade, the reflections of your face in the marble of the throne room floor, the sentries as they dragged you before the High Council. The sounds of your screams and a sea of rubies and pearls as the bodice of your dress is torn away from your heaving chest-- all that red. Terrible and red.
Hewn City had always been cruel to you. You, a useless daughter to an ambitious man. The dreams are less vivid now but the sound of footsteps on marble still haunts you.
“Yes, it was him who brought me to Velaris-- after-afterwards,” You acquiesce to her questioning, eyes set on the light beyond the frosted glass panes of the onyx doorway, “though I doubt he remembers.”
Your avenging angel.
Madja looks at you carefully, taking account of you before she nods to you in silent acknowledgement.
The door to the High Lords townhouse opens with a flourish to reveal Morrigan. She’s more beautiful than you remember, radiant even as the dark shadows of sleep cling to her. Her golden hair hangs in loose waves over the delicate curve of her shoulder and though the deep umber of her eyes meets yours in a warm inviting stare as she utters your name.
She knows your name.
“Come on in from the cold.” she beckons you with the curve of a slender hand. You smile politely as you cross the threshold of the house. The wards fall away as you pass through into the foyer and the smell of mandarin and night blooming jasmine flood your senses.
The foyer to the townhouse is truly beautiful; a testament to the fine artistry and craftsmanship that seemed to define Velaris’ art district. The walls are paneled wood, painted in a shade of twilight that can only be found here, in The Night Court, and the burgundy carpet so rich in color that it reminds you of a blood moon, the oil paintings that hang on the walls seem to exude an air of majesty unlike anything you’ve ever seen.
In this room night reigns triumphant and you behold it all with a sense of wonder and awe. A careful deference to the love and care contained between these walls. It is a home that has been truly cherished by the people that live here.
“Did Madja tell you why you had been summoned here?” Morrigan’s voice is soft and sweet and the feeling of her hand on your robed arm pulls you from your thoughts.
“Sorry - I - uh” I stutter, glancing between her hand on my arm and the unyielding warmth of her gaze. “No she didn’t, only that there was a position in the High Lord’s household that Clotho recommended me for.”
“It was my recommendation actually,” Morrigan smiles proudly, letting her hand drop to her side idly. “Clotho just happened to agree.” The words leave her lips with the ghost of a smirk as she recalls the conversation between her and the High Priestess.
The last time you had spoken to Morrigan would have been in Hewn City, all those years ago. You abandon yourself to those days; when you had been the cursed daughter of a capricious Lord. The girl you were died under that mountain. The woman that stands in her place had been forged of blood, and splintered bone-- made strong by violence and tempered by time.
You nod solemnly and cast a glance to Madja who watches on in quiet curiosity.
“Rhys is upstairs,” Morrigan says softly to you both, gesturing up the staircase to the upper level of the house, “I’ll fetch him down”.
You notice then how troubled Mor looks. The rings around her eyes are pale purple and blue and her skin, once radiant, has become pale and sallow. She begins her ascent up the stairs with a small wave of her hand signaling Madja to follow. From here you can see a singular light that pierces through the blanket of the dark that shrouds the upper levels of the house.
Mor regards you once more as Madja passes her on the stairs and points towards the ornate door that leads to the antechamber at the heart of the house. “Go on in, we won’t be a moment.” In a flourish of golden blonde hair and crimson Morrigan winnows away and leaves you to linger in the foyer for a quiet moment.
The smell of cherries and marigold shades the air in her absence.
Voices, disembodied and distant from the upper levels of the house draw you into the heart of the house.
The antechamber of the High Lords townhouse is a beautiful living room, plunged into near darkness spare the slivers of jade light that dapple the dark walls from the emerald chandelier, even in the darkness you can make out the dark marble of the hearth that is draped with moonflowers and ivy. The low backed chairs are elegant and worn from use and there are books strewn about the room and a small library contained neatly in the alcove.
Your eyes find the painting hung above the hearth; immortalized on oil and canvas the High Lord of Night and his Lady. The High Lord is painted in a deep navy tunic and the silver paint mimics the delicate embroidery favored by the Velarian tailors in The Rainbow. His violet eyes shine bright against the dark.
He is a thing of dark beauty, you think.
In this light, his High Lady looks as though she is wreathed in starlight as smiles down on the antechamber from her place above the hearth. You observe the pointed curve of her nose and the upturn of her cerulean eyes and something aching and jealous festers in you at the sight of her beauty.
Otherworldly and ethereal.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” The low tenor of a man calls out from the darkness of the room, the voice is measured and devoid of any emotion as it permeates the dark. The male cuts an intimidating figure in the low light and all thought and sound eddies from your mind. You’re sure the sound of your heart like an echoing war drum is loud enough to shake the mountains as he takes a step towards you.
“High Lord?” you question. He steps further into the light and you regard him pensively; his skin is pallid and his eyes are ringed with dark circles of amethyst that trouble you. His onyx hair is left tousled and the ends have grown long enough to curl away from the harsh lines of his face. The sharp junction of his jaw has become obscured by the smatterings of coarse, black hair that grow there.
Even still, even in the unforgiving jade light, he is the most beautiful male you have ever seen. He smells of night blooming jasmine and violets undercut with something inherently masculine. Pine and whiskey perhaps.
His presence is something truly captivating; dark and intoxicating. When he looks at you there is only dark in those violet eyes.
The High Lord sinks into the worn armchair by the hearth with a deep sigh and for a moment he allows his eyes to flutter closed as he breathes deeply and all you can do is surrender yourself to that dark magnetism. The dying fire in the hearth warms him and in this light you notice the golden hues of his skin and the dark inky trails tattooed across the planes of his chest where his shirt opens.
“You’re staring--” The High Lord’s violet eyes falls onto you. In those liminal spaces between the seconds, when he is looking at you, all ceases to be. You tilt your chin downwards, hoping to avert his gaze, as you offer him a courteous bow.
“My apologies High L-” the apology is cut off by the High Lords gentle protests. None of that, Love.
You pray to the mother that he doesn’t notice the flush along the tops of your cheeks or the wild fluttering of your heart at the pet name.
“Sit down,” The High Lord gestures simply to the seat across from him by the hearth and his whole demeanor is somehow softer when you deign to look at him again. Wordlessly you comply with his request, a careful hand runs down the length of your robes to smooth out the lazy pleats in the skirt as they fan out around you in the low backed chair and while you don’t dare to meet his eyes directly you can feel him looking at you.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologizes though his voice is distant, despondent even and his eyes find the painting that looms over the hearth. “The portrait-- It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He muses, tipping the rim of his whiskey glass towards the portrait.
“Very beautiful, High Lord.” you agree, smoothing the heavy material of your robes again. He watches you then with a curious glint in his eyes and he takes a few moments to assess you.
“Just Rhysand will do,” He smiles lightly, though there's a sense of apprehension as he regards you playing with the threads of your sleeves for the third time in so many moments, “there’s no need for such formalities when it’s just the two of us.”
“No of course not,” You agree and look at him through thick lashes and offer him a small smile in return, “forgive me, I’m--” you extend a hand to him over the small end table between the arm chairs and he takes it in earnest shaking it lightly. A calloused pad of his thumb rubs an absentminded circle into the skin of your hand before he brings your hand, trembling and slender, to the sulk of his lips and places a chaste kiss against the knuckles.
“I know who you are, Priestess,” he says lightly-- playfully. You offer him a polite laugh in return and nod your head again.
Something dark burns in his eyes in those moments; silver and violet. Like the darkness between the stars. He smiles to himself then, a soft beautiful thing. A secret shared between him and the dying light in the hearth as he picks at an errant threat on the stitching of his shirt.
“Why am I here, Rhysand?” You ask, inhaling deeply, hoping that his answer might assuage the anxiety that has been coiling in your stomach all afternoon. The door to the antechamber opens then and light, golden and radiant spills into the room all at once. The radiant light reveals the room to you fully, you observe the emerald velvet chairs and the dark wood furnishings, the landscapes hung on the walls and the rare manuscripts and novels bound all in black that line the walls.
This house is something truly breathtaking.
It feels like a home you realize.
“There you are!” Morrigan's velvet voice smothers the morose tension in the room as she comes into view. She’s since shed the tiredness that plagued her before and you notice the way her hair frames her face like a halo of gold in the soft ochre light. In her arms, swaddled in sapphire spider silk, is the High Lord’s son.
“We were beginning to wonder where you had gone.” Mor coos at the bundle in her arms as she approaches Rhysand who takes the babe in his strong arms.
As if he could get any more beautiful-- the man looks as though he was carved by The Mother.
It’s wrong, you know. He is your High Lord and you are…
The cursed daughter of a capricious Lord, you remind yourself.
Rhysand glances at me hesitantly and I meet his eyes briefly before focusing on the babe in his arms. He’s since broken loose from the swaddling and his chubby fist clutches at his fathers shirt. I can just see the top of his little head, it's all tufts of curly blue-black hair and pointed pink ears. You smile fondly to yourself as he continues to wriggle in his father’s grasp.
Gods, it’s been so long since you had smiled that wide without the feeling of guilt that usually attends it.
“You used to be a governess, didn’t you?” Mor says by way of explanation for your summons. To her credit her smile never falters even as your demeanor hardens against her, “Clotho said you had talked about it a few times.”
“Yes. I was,” You admit swallowing thickly, your voice comes out strained like the words themselves pain you to speak, “that was a long time ago though.”
That had been long before him.
You must have only been a youngling yourself. You had been happy-- that much you remember. Those were the happy recollections of your old life; summers spent under the opal lights of The Moonstone place, children’s laughter like birdsong that breaks apart in the humid air as you danced and sang long into the nights. Of dark autumns and smoky air, a bonfire and a small hand that holds your own with such gentle reverence.
“Clotho said you wanted to leave the Library?” Rhysand questions you, his eyes are dark and filled with a thinly veiled darkness that draws you into their depths as you speak to him without pretense.
“I do,” You answer him honestly, your voice wavering only a little, “I don’t want to spend my days rotting in the depths of that House.”
Rhysand considers it carefully and his face twists into a pained expression that almost breaks your resolve. You hadn’t meant to hurt him-- never. But you’re done hiding in the dark.
The world is a cruel place and full of cruel men. It always had been and it always will be. There is nought you can do to change that. So why should you cower from the world any longer?
You want to live.
The whining of the restless babe in Rhys’ arms rouses your attention and something akin to longing gathers in your chest as you regard him. You pull a lip between your teeth as he fusses and Rhysand struggles to soothe him. The babe looses a cry that comes out as a pitiful howl and you can feel a small ripple of power permeate the air.
“May I hold him?” The words take everyone in the room by surprise and the High Lord only nods easily and stands to pass the babe into your arms.
“I’m grateful,” You continue as Rhysand stands before you and transfers his son’s weight into the crook of your arm, “To you and your court for providing me, and girls like me with somewhere to heal but--”
“But you weren’t meant to cower in the darkness of the library forever.” Rhysand’s words come out as little more than a whisper and the feeling of his warm breath on your skin is something entirely perverse.
You shake your head, mouthing an inaudible ‘no’ before lowering yourself back into the chair by the hearth, hoping to hide the rosy blush that spreads across your cheeks. Rhys doesn’t retreat back into his armchair like you had thought he might and instead sinks to his knees before you and allows one of his son's fists to wrap around his ring finger. The babe seems to quieten then in your arms as he nuzzles against your chest, one balled first clinging to his father and the other pulling at the neckline of your robes and he smiles sleepily in your arms.
Looking at him now you are overcome with the realization of the absence that had stained this family’s happiness. Rhysand had given himself completely to a woman who had changed her mind. And their son-- their son; all cherub cheeked and big blue eyes framed with dark lashes-- had been abandoned by the woman who was supposed to love him without condition. Before the ghost of her had been an abstract thing. Something intangible and errant, a whisper or a memory, but now, as you look between the babe in your arms and the woman immortalized about the hearth you feel nothing but biting fury. A dangerous wrath only tempered by the stilling of the High Lord beside you.
It is Morrigan’s movement at the side of the room that rouses you from thought. “Then perhaps we can come to an arrangement?” The smile that graces her lips is brilliant and calculating and the sparkle in those umber eyes tells you she is genuine in his intentions.
“An arrangement?” You ask hesitantly, raising one arched brow to her.
“Yes.” The High Lord nods in agreement as Morrigan approaches you all casually, sauntering over to snatch a glass of wine from the decanter, “you’re free to leave the Library at any time but--”
“Help me take care of Nyx,” The High Lord beats you to it, his voice is soft and gentle and one of his fingers runs along the curve of Nyx’s ear as he begins to doze in your arms.
“High Lor-” You start, and you’re torn between declining outright and trying to dissuade them altogether, “Mor, I haven’t cared for a babe in well over 60 years.”
“Listen to me,” Rhysand’s violet gaze is unyielding and when you can no longer avert his gaze he takes on of your hands in his own and all but pleads with you, “take care of Nyx, for one year-- just until I get used to doing it on my own-- just until he starts his pre-schooling.”
The thought of him raising his son all alone pains you, a physical, bone deep ache that settles over you. You mourn for him then, for the love he thought he had, for all that he lost and then you mourn for the babe in your arms. For the son who will grow up without knowing his mother’s love. The High Lord looks at you through dark lashes and you note the tiredness in his eyes and the desperate sadness that seems to radiate from him these days and yet, he smile softly at you. As one might smile at something lovely and precious.
“And in return?” You ask peering down at him with sympathetic eyes when his whole body goes lax.
“I’ll help you get set up somewhere-- anywhere you want.” The words come quickly and if you were a cruel woman you would see what more he would offer you. But when he’s looking at you like you might just be his last hope you can’t find it in you to do anything but allow yourself to be persuaded by him.
You see a home; a cottage maybe, made of ancient stone and covered with climing ivy and jasmine. On the outskirts of Velaris, away from the artisans and market stalls of the main square, but close enough that you never feel truly alone. A home and it smells of mandarin and moonflowers, the sound of children laughing, and a garden blooming with violets in the garden in the leonine yellow heat of high summer. You smile wistfully and you swear you feel the gentle caress of a hand in your mind's eye.
“You can live here with us in the meantime” Rhysand continues gesturing to the house around you.
It’s warm and inviting and your body sings in response to the prospect.
“I don’t think that's a good--”
“Just until you find somewhere of your own.” He assures you standing to his full height before you. He casts a morose glance to the portrait that hangs about the hearth and you can see the moment his violet eyes meet painted cerulean.
“Rhys--” You warn gently.
“Please,” He turns to you again and the desperation in his tone has you yielding to him further, a gentle sweep over your face before settling on the sleeping babe in your arms, “please.” He repeats it once more and you swear your heart breaks just a little bit for him.
He had saved you once, you think. You had only been a girl then but you remember looking at him in that light; he looked like the shadow of some dark winged God-- avenging and angelic.
Perhaps this time the girl can save the God.
“A bargain then.” You muse lightly holding out a pinky finger to him.
Rhysand huffs out a laugh and curls his finger around your own. Nyx’s hand seems to flex in response, his own tiny pinky finger outstretched in agreement.
“A bargain.” With the simple confirmation you feel the gentle burn of a promise as it kisses its way up your wrist, and you see Rhysand’s own inky sigil as it glows faintly on the skin of his outstretched arm.
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Elucien DOES NOT ruin the three x three symmetry, actually, and here's why:
This is a variation of the Death of Koschei the Deathless, in which three sisters marry three kings, one of the Moon, the Wind, and the Sun.
Considering Rhys is the High Lord of the Night Court, and owns the Moonstone Palace, it seems pretty apparent to me that Rhys is the Moon King. And his mate is Feyre.
Cassian is an Illyrian who is born hearing the song of the wind, loves Illyrian culture per ACOFAS, is called the Prince of Bastards, and lives at the House of Wind, it's safe to say that he's the Wind King. And his mate is Nesta.
And Azriel is...
Oh. Wait.
So it's not three brothers three sisters, and yet it still maintains the three symmetry.
Because Lucien means light, he's the son of the High Lord of the Day Court, presumably the heir as his only son, and likely will have access to whatever palace Helion resides in once his heritage is revealed. And his mate is Elain, whose name also means light, who craved sunshine in her darkest moment, and who is often represented by flowers, which benefit from sunlight.
Hmm.
Intreresting.
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Of Nightmares and Memories | eight | Azirel X reader
Series Warnings: Kidnapping. Mistreatment. Cursing. Pining. Violence. Depression. Talks of suicide. Eventual smut
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven
A/N: I'm very nervous about this part and the ones coming after it. I hope you still enjoy it, even though it's probably what you're expecting.
When the darkness faded, all you could see was the Moonstone Palace that you’d spent so much time in as a child. You could finally fill my lungs with air, a sweet jasmine scent floating in it. Feyre was gently laid on a couch in the center of the great room. Mor, who didn’t seem to know what to do, ran forward and wrapped her arms around you, squeezing you so tightly the newly fresh air was knocked from your lungs.
“You were dead,” She cried, “We mourned you. For years we mourned.”
“I’m sorry,” You choke out, “I tried, for years I tried.”
But then you gave up. And you accepted your fate in the Spring Court. You didn’t fight hard enough when Amerantha still had control. Or in the days following her fall. You could have made it, surely you could have. You thought you could winnow short distances at that point, though you hadn’t tested it. You should have been able to jump from place to place until you made it to the border of the Night Court. Until you made it to safety. But you didn’t. You threw up in the rose and gave up.
You gave up on them.
Dread filled you. Because how could you explain everything that happened to you? How could you explain that you’d given up on ever seeing any of them again, and that your only thought had been of death. Because then, maybe the Mother would grant you access to your own mother. Maybe she would allow you to look after Rhys and the others from whatever world exists beyond your own.
Guilt swirled in with the dread. How could you tell your brother that you’d been praying for death for hundreds of years? How could you tell him that your mother didn’t beg for herself that day, or her wings, she begged for you. Begged for them to spare you and send you on your way. Begged as they started to cut into your back, leaving behind two long and ugly scars.
How could you explain any of it?
“How are you alive?” Rhys questioned, pain lingering in his eyes.
“Tamlin begged for my life that day,” You reply, feeling an icy cold settle over you.
You hadn’t spoken of it. Hadn’t voiced what happened that day. Saying it now makes it all too real. Before you could imagine that your mother was still alive, flying around Valaris, but now….now saying it aloud you knew she was gone. You could feel it deep in your bones.
“He begged his father and brother, said it would be better to keep me as a bargaining chip,” You explain, “He ended up just keeping me as a toy, after everything happened.”
Then a thought accrued to you. Tamlin was so desperate to get Rhys to release Feyre from their bond, he said he would do anything. Perhaps he would have let you go…perhaps he would’ve finally used you as a bargaining chip against your brother.
“He probably would’ve offered me on a silver platter for you to release Feyre,” You laugh.
“All these years, you’ve been right there?” Rhys asked, voice cracking.
It's been years since you’d seen him cry. The stone exterior was crumbling, leaving behind a broken boy who lost his mother and sister in the same day, only to have one returned to him. You want to move to comfort him, but you’re locked in where you stand. As if there is a spell over you, keeping you from moving.
You’re afraid to move, truly. Because if you move you might wake up and find that this is all a dream. A beautiful and cruel dream. So you stay put as the tears fall from both yours and Rhys’ eyes.
“All this time,” You reply, “I’ve been locked away in the Manor House. I was there that night that you and father came, and I was there when you first met Feyre, and every moment after that.”
“Calanmai,” he says suddenly, “You were there that night. Gods above, you spoke to me.”
The tears are falling harder now. Unstoppable against the emotions you both feel. Mor is still standing close to you, you could almost lean against her for support. But she’s somehow also giving you and Rhys your space to work this out.
“I was praying to the Gods and to the Mother and to the Cauldron that you would be able to see beyond the glamor and see me,” You verify, “That’s why I said I was like the wind, I hoped you would hear it and realize.”
His head shook, “I couldn’t allow myself to believe. I heard you, Mother I heard you, but I couldn’t believe it. You didn’t smell like you.”
“Scents change, besides, I was wrapped in Lucien’s clothing to disguise my scent,” You explain, “I expect I smelled like Lucien for a long time. He was the only constant visitor I had for years.”
“Y/N-” His voice broke as he surged forward to wrap you in his arms, “My sweet baby sister. I’m so sorry.”
You shake your head. If anyone should feel guilty about all of this, it should be you. You should have fought harder that day. Even at such a young age, you could have misted all of them if you really wanted to. But you’d never killed another fae before. Never killed another living thing. So you hesitated and that was long enough for them to overpower you both and kill your mother. They’d come for Rhys that day, but they got a better prize in the form of the Princess of the Night Court.
“No, you don’t get to feel bad about this,” You warn him, “You are not to blame.”
“If I hadn't trusted him…if I would’ve just met you both in the woods thay day,” He all but cries out.
“No, it’s no one's fault but Tamlin and his family’s,” You stay sternly, hoping maybe one day you’ll believe it.
Maybe one day you’ll finally believe that you aren’t to blame for your mother’s death. That none of it was your fault. She had no real power of her own, no way to protect herself. It was on you to do that. It was Rhys’ responsibility to protect you both. Not that you would ever, ever blame him for what happened. He couldn’t have known what Tamlin was planning with his family. He couldn’t have known that his friend wanted him dead because they saw him as such a threat.
Suddenly your body felt heavy and weighed down. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to. All you felt was pure exhaustion. Your eyes flutter and Rhys seems to notice the change in your body.
“You’re exhausted, aren’t you?” he questions.
You try to smile, but you know it doesn't reach your eyes, “I don’t sleep well anymore.”
He sighs deeply and wraps an arm around you as he slowly leads you towards the bedrooms, “I can have a tonic brought up for you.”
“No need,”You shake your head, “I’m sure just being back here will put me at ease.”
You wished you believed the words you were saying. But you didn’t. You weren’t sure that anything would put you at ease again. All you could feel was anxious energy swirling in your belly. Threatening to boil over at any moment. You couldn’t fully wrap your mind around the fact that you were free. Couldn’t fully understand that you were here, and safe, and with your family again. Or at least part of them.
“Cassain and Azirel won’t know what to do with themselves,” Rhys lets out a small laugh as he wipes at his eyes.
“You can’t tell them,” You halt suddenly, “Oh, Rhys, you can’t. I’m not ready.”
“Don’t you want to see them again?” he questions, brows drawing in.
“Of course I do, but I-” You shake your head, feeling your whole body start to shake.
How could you explain it to him in a way that would make sense? How could he understand where your head was at? Seeing them would push you over the edge. Seeing Az…knowing his shadows would tell him your darkest secrets…you couldn’t handle it. You couldn’t handle seeing him disappointed in you…disgusted with you. It would break you in more ways than Tamlin ever could.
To lose Azirel was like to lose the air you breathe. It would kill you to lose him. You could feel it deep within you. You wouldn’t survive Azriel turning his back upon you. So it was best that he just didn’t know you lived. Maybe you could live out the rest of your days in a cabin in the mountains. Yes…that would be good. You were used to the solitude anyway.
“You can’t tell them,” You begged your brother, “Please Rhys. I can’t bear them knowing.”
“But Y/N, they’re our family,” He tried to reason with you.
“Please Rhys,” you shake even harder, “I can’t bear it. I’m not ready.”
“Okay,” He finally relented, “Okay. I won’t tell them.”
Your body sags with his agreement. Your breath comes out in heavy pants, because your lungs seem to be constricting and not allowing the proper amount of air into them. Everything just feels wrong now. Nothing feels right. You feel as if you shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be allowed to have a moment of happiness with your brother.
You shouldn’t be allowed happiness when it’s your fault that your mother is dead. You should have done more to save her that day, instead of going limp in the arms of Tamlin’s brothers. You should have done everything in your power to save her. Instead you let her die, and you still live. It would have been better if you just died that day.
“Here we are,” Rhys said, unaware of the thoughts you were having, “Try to sleep. I’ll come check on you in a while.”
“Okay,” You sigh, pushing the door open, “Rhys?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Little Star. Now sleep, before you drop in a heap on the floor.”
You couldn’t sleep though. No matter how hard you try. Because all you could think of was how it should have been you to die. It should have been you, and not your mother. She could have helped Rhys with his transition into High Lord, she could’ve been there for Cassian and Azirel, who desperately needed a mother.
But instead you lived. And now you’re too cowardly to tell them that you lived. Too cowardly to ask to return home to Valaris. Too cowardly to do anything.
Rhys didn’t come back for hours, when he did you pretended to be asleep. All the while tears quietly slid down your cheeks. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Your life wasn’t supposed to happen like this. What did you do to make The Mother punish you so?
“I’m taking Feyre to Valaris,” He spoke, somehow knowing you’re awake, “Please consider coming with us.”
“No,” You say firmly, not rolling over to see him, “I’d like to stay here.”
“It’s your home, Y/N,” He pleaded, “You can’t hide from it forever.”
“I can’t go back Rhys,” You can’t explain it to him. He would never let you out of his sight if he knew.
“Please consider it,” He begs, “Please, Little Star, I don’t want to be separated from you again.”
“Then don’t leave,” You snap at him.
“You know I have to go back.”
“Then take her and get out,” You snarl, “I’m not going back.”
“Y/N-”
“Go Rhysand!” You yell, reaching for anything to throw at him.
You can feel yourself losing control of the little power you had access to. Darkness seeping from your body. There were no stars in this darkness, only a black void. Much like the cocoon that Feyre created. Only this was something you never did. Your darkness always had stars, but now you aren’t sure if you could conjure them even if you tried.
That light inside you had been snuffed out long ago. It was only now that you realized it. It was only now that you accepted it as the truth. Your light was gone, the stars were gone. You weren’t Rhy’s Little Star anymore. You were something worse. Something made hard from years of captivity and cruelty. You weren’t sure you would even recognize yourself if you looked in the mirror.
“Fine,” You’d never heard him sound so defeated. You were sure if he had wings they would be dragging on the ground as he turned to leave your room. He stopped at the door and looked back at you, “I’ll send Mor to check in on you.”
“Don’t bother,” You mumble, “I’ll be fine.”
Only you wouldn’t be fine. You weren’t fine. And You weren’t sure that you ever would be fine again. The darkness threatened to swallow you whole and you wanted to let it. You wanted to give into it and let it take all that you were. Maybe it would be better that way. Easier.
When your door clicks shut and you hear Rhys’ footsteps moving away from you, you allow yourself to fall apart. When the house goes silent you let out an anguished cry loud enough to almost shake the whole mountain. Life wasn’t supposed to happen this way. You were supposed to be overjoyed at being freed, not whatever this is.
You feel as if you’re going to rip yourself apart, and for a moment you wish you would. You wish death would just come for you. You yearned for the sweet release that death would provide. Because at least then you might be able to find peace.
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Hello hello, hope you’re good!! I was wondering if you could write about batboys x reader where they’ve been together for years and years, and then the sisters turn up and it turns out that each of the sisters are mates for each of the batboys. Reader is understandable upset but the batboys are dense and don’t quite understand. It’s just very very angsty for our reader but ends happy :)) Thanks!!
brush away the dust
Batboys x f!Reader
Summary: Tears slid down her cheeks as the memories replayed, good and bad. No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t get the images out - they stuck.
Warnings: angst
A/N: happy is up to interpretation, right? It deviated a bit but it’s along the same lines!
She braced her arms on her kitchen table, willing the memories to leave. Centuries, and she lived on her own now. Gods, she’d spent half a century under the mountain with Rhys, in pain every day hiding their relationship, blending into the shadows. Amarantha’s leash on him was tight, so tight they barely risked seeing each other, let alone speaking. Fifty years without Azriel or Cassian and this is what she returned to.
Of course, Rhys kept the offer of a spot in the Townhouse open for her.
A spot. Like it hadn’t been her home for the last three centuries.
“You … can stay if you need to.” He said, not looking up from the papers. Bags lined his eyes, clouded with something she couldn’t recognize. He was a shell of himself, but then again so was she. Feyre had arrived yesterday - and now she was all but kicked out of her home.
“I’ll leave.” She said quietly, waiting for a second. He gave her a nod, not bothering to look up, and she left, forcing herself to keep her pace even and calm. Maybe Amarantha had taken away part of the male you loved.
Three hundred years, thrown out the window by the Mother. A cruel mistress.
“Why has Rhys been pulling away from her?” She overheard Cassian asking Azriel. She learned how to be silent in the last fifty years, learned how to blend into the background - disappear. Not even his shadows spotted her.
“He has a mate.”
Where Rhys goes, they follow.
“It would be different without him.” Cassian said, trying to sound gentle. Azriel’s features had softened - in pity. They were looking at her with fucking pity. Still, she kept her cool. No, she wouldn’t let them see her anger or hurt. If they could brush it off this easily, she could at least pretend to.
“I understand.” A neutral mask slid over her features. Cassian blinked once. Had he expected a different reaction? Her, before Amarnatha, showed her heart on her sleeves. Her emotions could always be read, free for the whole world to see. But, she’d learned better - and now somehow it paid off.
Tears slid down her cheeks as the memories replayed, good and bad. No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t get the images out - they stuck.
Lover.
They traipsed in from the sauna, bruised and smiling from the snowball fight. Cassian swept her into her arms and she squealed as he spun her in a circle.
Azriel caught the gift Cassian tossed from under the tree with a sigh, passing it towards her. He left his hand on her thigh, watching intently as she opened it.
Silver from starfall lining his face, his violet eyes danced as he spun he her in circles, over and over again.
Friend.
“I want you to meet her.” Rhys asked, “come with Mor.” She’d pursed her lips but gave a nod. A favor, she could do him a favor. Even if she recognized he was asking as her High Lord - not her lover. Pretending couldn’t hurt.
“Who is she?” Feyre asked Rhys as they left the room.
“A friend.” Mor glanced at her in alarm as her expression fell. Rhys had already strolled away - out of earshot, but she was good at keeping her sobs silent. Still, Mor tugged her up out of her chair - winnowing her out of the moonstone palace.
Stranger.
She nearly froze as she spotted them in Rita’s. Mor locked eyes with her and made her way across the floor. “Do you need me to distract them?” she murmured. Looking over her shoulder, Azriel had spotted her, and looked away. Cassian and Rhys didn’t bother glancing in her direction.
Mor saved her in those first weeks. She came over, tugged her out of bed and made her eat, take a shower, leaving her new apartment, bought with the money she saved over the years. Her money. She’d never be that dependent on anyone again. Absolutely never.
Mates. Gods she hoped she never found one. She never wanted to be the person who could discard someone, throw them aside after centuries - like nothing ever happened. A promise, she made a promise to herself - she would never say a word against them.
Of course, she came when Madja asked for her help. Cassian was unconscious as she helped heal him, sealing the giant wound cutting him nearly in half, hiding her tears behind a professional mask. Maybe the glamor had worked too well. Not even Mor recognized her. Amren’s eyes had flared, but she gave her a pleading glance and received a curt nod in return.
She lasted all of two years in Velaris. Rhys had a child, Cassian found his mate, Azriel became infatuated with someone - she refused to learn who. Refused to remember their names. Maybe what hurt the most was they never reached out, never sent a letter or asked how she was. Expendable.
She moved to the Winter Court after things had settled. Viviane welcomed her, made her feel at home. Never asked prying questions - found her a job as a healer, helped her get a new home. A small cabin, surrounded by snow - three cats who found her and refused to leave. Over the decades, they became memories. Memories that didn’t haunt her any more. Instead she learned to take the good portions of them - to focus on how much she learned from that. Peace, she’d found peace and a home. Somewhere she was just herself, not their partner, but built a home and community. A community of people who liked her for who she was.
Still, she kept the one portrait of them, and wondered if they’d burnt their copies. Her hand brushed the dust away, and she found herself smiling fondly at them. Their faces, captured in time. Her eyes found the clock. One minute had passed, and she put it back in the drawer. Forgotten for another year or two.
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The Planets & Random or Obscure Associations
~Sun~
Creativity, vitality, head of state, the father, games, yellow and orange clothing, articles of value, jewelry, gold, brass, power, diamonds, citrine, topaz, jasper, amber, rhodochrosite, mistletoe, almonds, citrus, succulents, sunflowers, fevers, heart, back, spine, grapes, walnuts, rice, chamomile, frankincense, juniper, saffron, marigold, rosemary, rue, palaces, towers, luxury.
~Moon~
Eternal, cycles, silver, aluminum, pearls, moonstone, opal, selenite, chest, glands, lymphatic system, nervous system, emotions, mother, ancestors, nurture, rebirth, tides, baths, ocean, brew, boat, sap, willow trees, succulents, pale color plants, white flowers, cucumber, cabbage, lettuce, melons, shellfish, pumpkins, lakes, fountains, ports, fishponds, pools, springs, sewers, dairies, toys, reflection, blankets, objects of comfort.
~Mercury~
Communication, journal, pen/pencil, any writing tools, wings, phosphorous, mercury, agate, tiger's eye, brain, nervous system, eyes, respiration, thyroid, speech, hearing, intellect, vehicles, money, bills, paper, books, pictures, parties or social gatherings, scientific instruments, butterflies, messages, mail, hazel, mulberry, myrtle, seeds, aniseed, dill, fennel, lavender, liquorice, marjoram, parsley, valerian, hazelnuts, beans, mushrooms, pomegranates, carrots, celery, libraries, schools, markets, fairs, public spaces, tennis or badminton court, studies, banks, bowling greens, offices, blue, white, or light colored flowers.
~Venus~
Love, relating, lust, high-quality fabrics, copper, bronze, sodium, malachite, tourmaline, emerald, rose quartz, kunzite, sapphire, pastels, throat, kidneys, lumber region, art, music, aesthetics, social life, fashion, jewelry, wine, pleasure, alder tree, fruit trees, paint, ash tree, birch, pomegranates, early flowering, daisy, mint, marshmallow, meadowsweet, mugwort, plantain, tansy, roses, thyme, vervain, yarrow, potatoes, strawberries, wheat, sugar, nectarines, ballrooms, bedrooms, dining room, gardens, fountains, wardrobes, theaters, looking and feeling good.
~Mars~
Lust, conquest, desire, flaming sword, red things, fights, iron, brass, bloodstone, carnelian, cinnabar, pyrite, magnetite, ruby, garnet, hematite, muscles, reproductive organs, blood, kidneys, immunity, heat, action, arms, pepper, sharp instruments, cutlery, attacks, scissors, weapons, physical intimacy, bites, stings, scalds, burns, accidents, hawthorn, pine, thorns, cactus, aloes, anemone, arnica, belladonna, garlic, ginger, hops, mustard seed, nettles, wormwood, chives, onions, leeks, radish, rhubarb, tobacco, labs, furnaces, distilleries, bakehouses, ovens, smiths, butchers, fields, anger, passion, self-focus.
~Jupiter~
Expansion, optimism, religion, religious sites, tin, seduction, turquoise, chrysocolla, topaz, citrine, jasper, liver, pancreas, pituitary gland, sciatic nerve, excess, abundance, prophecy, philosophy, knowledge, universities, foreign travel, luggage, honey, oil, silk, fruit, distinct clothing, merchandise, horses, domestic birds, gambling, indulgence, entertainment, oak, dandelion, sage, endive, chervil, asparagus, figs, churches, temples, palaces, altars, courts, mansions, woods, orchards, winery, cornucopia, connecting with the soul.
~Saturn~
Limits, boundaries, father time, lord of death, shadows, lead, iron, steel, calcium, asbestos, sulphur, diamond, onyx, calcite, skeleton, spleen, skin, teeth, nails, joints, structure, crystallization, old age, blockage, anything dark, wool, heavy materials, agriculture, wheelbarrows, spades, farm houses and buildings, cold, laws, aspen, blackthorn, buckthorn, cypress, elm, toxic plants, hemlock, henbane, belladonna, hellebore, barley, beetroot, safflower, parsnips, spinach, deserts, woods, valleys, caves, church yards, ruins, coalpits, sinks, wells, mud, institutions.
~Uranus~
Eccentrics, mavericks, invention, genius, revolution, change, trends, disruptive science or tech, uranium, magnesium, lapis lazuli, sapphire, aquamarine, azurite, chalcedony, electricity, neon lights, plaid, nervous and circulatory system, pineal gland, chaos, violence, upheaval, astrology, steam engines, coal, machinery, coins, baths, fishponds, dangerous places, computers, magnets, quantum physics, research, welfare, humanity, hypnotherapy, railways, banks, gas, psychiatric hospitals, offices, hospitals, dispensaries, fortified places, chemicals, mingled/mingling, spirit and matter.
~Neptune~
Illusions, veils, diffuse, deception, water, oceans, mysticism, enlightenment, artistic pursuit and understanding, zinc, potassium, amethyst, fluorite, jade, sugilite, coral, aquamarine, pineal gland, lymphatic and nervous system, spine, mental processes, addiction, psychoses, disease, photography, music, substances, gas, religion, poetry, mimicry, chameleon, anesthetic, telepathy, empathy, dancing, psychic gifts, places near water, hospitals, places of healing, jeweler, painters, brewers, musicians, visionary.
~Pluto~
Power, influence, darkness, new life, what's hidden underneath, seeds, volcanoes, deep earth or ocean, bury, explosions, eruptions, abduction, plutonium, smoky quartz, obsidian, jet, pearl, deep reds, reproductive organs, the unconscious, nuclear, transformation, death, birth, rebirth, underworld, riches, earthquakes, big business, murder, detection, detective, invisibility, sneak, enforced change, hidden places, underground, drains, sewers, radioactive places, the occult, black magic, sacrifice, renew.
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Fatui x fem!Creator ft.platonic Pulcinella
@tea333love:Hi, can you write an order? You can write about cult! Sagau fatui harbingers, who found out that creator performs in theater in Sneznaya (imagine that there is a theater in Sneznaya) and one day they decided to go to performance of creator and we're amazed by elegance of dance and can you write what happened then? (Fem! Reader and she is 18 years old). (Romantic fatui harbingers, plantonic Pulcinella).
(La Signora, Childe, Scaramouche, and Arlecchino are in this becuase I can, also spoilers for Scaramouche and La Signora lore)
You have been performing in theaters across Teyvat ever since Yun Jin saw your dancing. At first it was just Liyue, but soon word spread of your skills. At this point everyone knows that you're the Creator, and combined with your skills, it was only a matter of time before other theaters around Teyvat wanted you to perform on their stage.
When it reached the harbingers that you're performing in Snezhnaya, they just had to see you perform. So with the help of Panatlone's money, and their status as harbingers, they got premium seats.
The legends and art of Snehznaya painted you as a motherly, mature figure (a milf). Your titles in Snehznaya was королева сверх жизнь, Queen above life, or simply королева, queen.
Your appearance was discribed to them, but it never said how old you were. When the curtains lifted and you were in full view under the lights of theater, you were dressed in traditional Snehznayan ballet outfit with a white under bodice, purple outer bodice, dark blue skirt, silver accents, and red shoes. You were decorated with stage makeup and costume jewelery silver in color with fake moonstones and rubies. When the music started, so did your dancing.
From their seats, they could see how young you looked. Pulcinella seemed to have his focus torwn between you on stage and a few members of the audience. While most of the audience looked at you in awe and respect, a few held... less than respectful looks. Some members of the audience had the gall to look at you with a hint of lust.
The music started slow, you at first only moved you hands. You moved elegantly in tiem with the music. It was like you were in a trance, your yes were open but it looked like nothing was behnd them.
When the performance reached it's end, the theater filled with applause. The harbingers were in awe, they wanted to know you better. Each of them had their own goals in mind. They left theater, planning a time to meet you face to face.
The next morning you are escorted to the palace and to the meeting room of the harbingers.
After that night, your visit lasts a month, in that month a lot happens. Your time is split between all eleven harbingers, so let's get into that.
Pierro
He is a bit cold at first.
It's not because he doesn't like you, he loves you and but he is emotionally constipated
when is finally able to talk to you, he is watching his words as to not offend you
He is stiff, cold but very knowledgeable
He will take you to the palace library, after stealing you from another harbinger
In the library he sits on the couch closest to the fire, sits you in his lap, and then he starts reading to you or telling you stories from his younger years
He will give you his huge ass jacket, rejctibg the jacket is not an option
Il Capitano
He is the silent bodyguard to you, I will hear no arguments
He cares about you, but unlikey Pierro, who is emotionally constipated, Capitano just doesn't know how to properly show his love for you
If you show an interest in military history, or weapons, or anything like that he will teach you whatever it is you want to know
When the more... unsavory folks approach you he just stands silently behind you and stares
They leave, running as fast as they can
That night at the theater he was entranced by your skills
He would ask for you to dance, only for him
Dottore
He is curious about you
We've seen how he is not opposed to performing human experimentation so with you, a supposed god, he has many ideas
He wants to see how far you can go
But, he also wants to know why you "made" certain things
If you say you don't know or that you can't remember, he'll use that as grounds for making you drink "something to jog your memory"
He sees you as a wealth of knowledge that is all his
He does not care about you as a person
He is not allowed to be left alone with you
Colombina
She loves you
You're the picture of beauty in her eyes
Her and La Signora will team up to pamper you
Will sing you to sleep, you just have to ask
She fell in love when she saw your dancing that night, so like Capitano she will ask you to dance for her
I think she has a baking talent, I.. I don't know why she just seems like she knows how to bake
you will be her taste tester for her baking
She cuddles you to sleep, naps, or anytime she wants to
Arlecchino
I...I don't know where to start
She knows you're a god, but she sees you as weak due to your age
She keeps up her calm, sane persona around her
Another person who is not allowed to be alone with you, but she oftens sneaks you out with her
She loves you, like a person loves a favorite possession
She allows the children at the House of the Hearth to interact with you
She kind of feels something in her cold, dead heart whenever you interact with the children
She only allows people to look at you. No one can touch, speak, breath, or even be near you with her around
She teaches the children to snitch on you or distract you if you try to leave without her
Pulcinella
OH MY GOD!
The second he sees you, and sees how young you are
He is now your unofficial grandfather, he will hear no different
He sees it as a personal mission to protect you, even though you are a powerful god
He will try and teach you new things every day you spend with him
Will feed you a lot "becuase you are a growing girl".
Tries to keep all the young harbingers from dating you
While he can't stop Pierro and Capitano, because they're fossils, he will just make sarcastic remarks and glare at them if they get to close to you
He will teach you chess, and he will play with you
Scaramouche
Oh....Oh he is complecated
As we all know, he has a... complex relationship with gods
Let me rephrase that, he has problems with his archon mom
He is the biggest tsundere to ever tsundere
You couldn't waterboard the fact that he loves you out of him
Will give you things he "happened to find" that reminded him of you.
Will give you gifts but pertends that he didn't put any thought into it, but he did
A brat... that's all
If you offer him cuddles he will act like he doesn't want any
If you stop the cuddles, he will complain
He will demand your affection like a cat
Sandrone
She stares, a lot...
I believe she makes puppets and dolls in your image
She takes you to her workshop
Has you stand still so she can compare materials against you, to find the best one that look closest to your features
Will have nice clothes for you to try on
Will use you as a dress up doll
Puts makeup on you as well
Another that loves you as a possession
When will sit you on her lap at every possible time
La Signora
She is one of the few that loves you as a person
Due to her still greving Rostam she isn't very open with you, at first
When she does open up to you, she will almost suffocate you with love
If you aren't on Sandrone's lap, you're in hers
She will share the knowledge she got from her time in the akademiya
I think she remembers stuff from her life as a Mondstadter
She will sing songs, or parts of songs, she remembers
You are the only person she shows her scar to
She'll give head pats, nose kisses, and neck kisses
She will dance with you or watch will Colombina and Capitano
Tartaglia
This man... where do I even begin
He will try an fight you
It's a way for him to see your strength
When he isn't trying to fight you, he acts as a scary guard dog
Will spoil you
Takes you to meet his family
He is extremely possessive of you
Loves you as a person
Will beg you to show off your powers
He marvels at you powers
Brings you something from every nation he goes to
He makes you go along with the lie he tells Teucer
Pantalone
Is the only normal one
Between him and Sandrone, your closet is overflowing
He likes to take you to shopping
If you feel bad about asking for something due to price, he'll buy it anyway
Will buy you stuff for dancing and any other hobbies you have
Has mini fashion shows with you as the model, sometimes Sandrone is there too
Has you sit near him when he works
Will give cuddles, just ask
Likes to spoil you
Thinks you deserve the best because you're a god
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Could I request a smutty Rhys x reader? Reader and him have had a stressful week and they haven’t been able to have time to each other where it didn’t involve work and he finds reader taking a bath at the moonstone palace and he joins her? Just gentle bath sex with softdom! Rhys🫡🫡
I’m very sad we didn’t see a lot of the moonstone palace in the books. I fucking loved that place. I have to many smutty ideas involving that palace and I might send them through to you eventually lol 🫡
the Moonstone Palace is probably where I'd want to live in acotar tbh, like quiet with beautiful views and magicked to stay warm? yes please. thanks for the request, love💜
Mountain Views
Rhys x Reader smut
Warnings: smut below the cut, oral f!receving, overstimulation, praise kink (holla), p in v sex, minors dni, not proofread
With a content exhale, you settled into the warm water of the tub. It was your first opportunity to relax in weeks, and you made the most of it, lighting candles and filling the bathwater with rose petals and scented oils. The only way that the moment could be better is if your mate was there to relax with you. The most comfort you could find in your life was when Rhysand was by your side, providing a warmth that went beyond physical.
You leaned over the edge of the pool-sized bathtub, admiring the view of the snowcapped mountains while you sipped on a glass of wine. The Moonstone Palace was the perfect place to get away when you were in need of peace and quiet, its openness allowing you to feel at one with nature while the magic kept you warm inside. You smiled to yourself as you gazed at the stars, so visible from your secluded haven.
The sound of a door clicking open inside brought you out of your daze, the faint smell of citrus and rain filling your senses as you heard the soft footfalls of your mate approaching. You turned away from the view of the mountains to find a better one - Rhysand stood before you, biting his lip as he took in your naked form as he removed his own shirt. You set your glass of wine to the side, leaning against the far edge of the bath as you lifted yourself slightly from the water, giving Rhys a better view of your chest dripping with water. You winked at him as you purred, “care to join me, my love?”
Rhys let out a soft laugh, already removing his pants and stepping into the water. “Oh darling, I have plans for what I’d like to do to you.” He stood in front of you, taking your glass of wine to drink from it himself as he stared at you appreciatively, trailing his other hand slowly up your waist, over your breast, stopping to lightly hold your throat as he tilted your chin up with his thumb. He polished off the wine, setting it down to bring his hand to your waist, pulling you fully against him where you could feel his hard arousal against you.
Rhys leaned down to kiss you, grinding his length against you to elicit a gasp from you that allowed him to slip his tongue through your lips, rolling it in tandem with his hips. He pulled away, moving his hand from your throat to wrap around your hair as he moved his other hand to pat your leg, urging you jump. You obeyed, wrapping your legs around him as Rhys brought his lips to your neck. “Good girl,” he murmured against your skin, kissing and sucking your neck, leaving a bruising mark on your pulse point as he walked the two of you to the side of the bath, lifting you out of the water to sit on the edge.
Taking your wrists in his hands, Rhys lifted them above your head. “Keep those up there,” he purred, gently pushing you to lay down against the tile floor. The contrast of the cool tile to the heat of the water made you gasp, writhing against Rhys’s hold as he spread your legs open. Rhys tutted, “stay still, darling, if you want to be rewarded.” You quickly righted yourself, biting your lip as you gave your best effort to stay how he’d positioned you.
Rhys chuckled darkly, “good girl.” He traced his fingertips along your inner thighs, causing you to clench, gasping as you struggled to stay still underneath him. Rhys lowered his head, pressing a soft kiss against your clit, earning a whimper from you. “Rhys, love, please touch me,” you whispered, slightly wiggling your hips in his hold. He kissed your clit again, this time latching on to suck softly as you mewled at the touch. “As my mate wishes,” he purred before diving in. Rhys sucked and licked your clit with fervor, pinning your hips to the tile as he dipped his tongue inside of you, his nose brushing against your bud as he did so. You were a moaning mess beneath him when he finally moved his mouth back to your clit, bringing up two fingers to curl inside you as he worked you at a brutal pace. You reached your high quickly, screaming his name as he continued his abuse on your pussy. Your legs were shaking as you came down from your high, Rhys still sucking your clit as he added a third finger.
You gasped, trying to push his hands away. “Fuck, Rhys, it’s too much,” you gasped at the overstimulation. Rhys didn’t let up, instead murmuring against your clit, “I told you to keep those hands above your head, darling. Give me one more, I know you have it in you.” He curled his fingers against your walls as he licked your clit, tongue flicking back and forth in a wicked way that had you convulsing beneath him as you reached your second orgasm of the night. Rhys allowed you to rest a moment, murmuring praises to you as he kissed every part of your body that he could reach.
You caught your breath just as Rhys’s hands travelled to your waist. “Are you ready for me, darling?” You nodded, sitting up as Rhys helped you back into the water, your legs wrapped around his waist as he moved the two of you back over to the edge of the bath and turned you around. You were again taking in the beautiful view of the mountains when Rhys bent you over the edge of the water. “Hold on tight, darling,” he whispered, kissing behind your ear as he slid into you. You both moaned at the sensation, Rhys waiting only a moment before he began thrusting into you. You could tell he was holding back, and the both of you needed more after the stressful weeks you’d had. You gripped the edge of the bath as you pleaded, “harder, Rhys, please.”
He complied immediately, thrusting into you at a pace that had you falling limp in his hold, chanting his name like a prayer as he hit the perfect spot every time. When Rhys brought his hand down to your clit, you immediately unraveled for the third time that evening, screaming for no one but you and the mountains to hear as you fluttered around him. Your orgasm sent Rhys over the edge behind you, moaning your name as he came inside you.
He pulled you against his chest, littering kisses to your neck and shoulder as he pulled you to the bench in the water where you sat in his lap. You laid your head against his chest, the two of you admiring the view as Rhys kissed your head, the two of you basking in the peaceful moment with each other.
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middle of the night.
masterlist
(azriel x reader)
author's note: inspired by middle of the night by loveless. i'm pretty sure i blacked out 90% of the time i spent writing this so please enjoy.
warning: smut. smut. and more smut. i can't warn you all enough.
summary: when you're forced to share a room with the shadowsinger at the moonstone palace, sleep is the last thing on either one of your minds.
“Do I have to share a room with her?””
The shadowsinger crosses his arms and frowns, the permanent scowl etched on his face setting in even deeper while he glares at you from across the room. You roll your eyes in response, leaning against the pale stone wall for support while removing the death traps strapped to your feet. You had half a mind to take a page out of your High Lady’s book and chuck the heels directly at Azriel’s head.
“Oh relax, shadowsinger. This wicked witch has no plans of tainting your innocence in the middle of the night.”
Beside you, Cassian tried and failed to suppress a snort. Azriel shot his brother a withering glare, which the Illyrian general returns with an apologetic smile. While you weren’t exactly keen on sharing a room with the shadowsinger either, his reluctance and aversion made it that much more enticing. Besides, it wasn’t like you had a choice. With Keir renovating the Moonstone Palace, you and your friends were all required to double up. The mates would obviously share, leaving your options between Azriel, Mor, and Amren.
You assumed that Mor would room with you, but the blonde picked Amren in a swift act of betrayal and winked as she left you to deal with the shadowsinger. Traitor.
“I’m sure you two can manage to get along for one night,” Rhys says with exasperation, weary from the earlier festivities.
Visiting the Court of Nightmares was always an ordeal and tonight was no exception. Eris had been invited to the All Hallows Eve ball and the High Lord had tasked you with obtaining information about his dealings with Keir. With the help of a tight fitting dress and a few flirtatious smiles, Beron’s heir was nothing but putty in your hands by the end of the night.
Not only had he divulged his plans of opening trade between your courts, but Eris also inquired about your diplomatic ties to the west, which told you that the Autumn Court intended on extending business to the Continent. It was an overall successful mission and all you really had to do was bat your eyelashes and dance with the handsome lordling.
Still, those waltzes had really done a number on your feet and you were ready to collapse into the nearest available bed, shadowsinger be damned.
“Will you please just stop being a giant Illyrian baby and do as we’re told so I can finally get some godsdamned rest?”
Azriel huffs in annoyance and stalks away in the direction of what you assumed would be your shared quarters. Dangling your heels in one hand and the heavy skirts of your dress in the other, you bid Rhys and Cassian good night before following after the Illyrian warrior.
“Try not to kill each other,” Rhys calls over his shoulder.
“No promises, Rhys.”
The High Lord mutters a prayer under his breath as he and Cassian head towards the opposite side of the palace. With a sigh, you push open the door that Azriel had disappeared into. To your annoyance, you found him sprawled out on the bed with his hands behind his head.
“Absolutely not,” you say, stalking into the room and discarding your shoes onto the wooden floor. “You’re not getting the bed.”
He sneers, sitting upright to face you. “Can you at least attempt not to make a mess everywhere you go?” Azriel strides over to the door and deposits your shoes by the wooden dresser where his boots were currently neatly perched. Peculiar male.
His dark head perks up as he stands to his full height, towering a good foot over you. “And I am absolutely claiming the bed. First come, first serve.”
You snort. “Yeah, I’m sure you know all about coming first.” Striding over to the ornate vanity by the window, you settle into the wooden chair and began pulling out the jewels pinned to your curls.
Azriel rolls his eyes. “Do you have to be so crude?”
The crimson slash of your smile is nothing but predatory as you shake your unbound hair over your shoulder. “My apologies to your virginal ears,” you retort with dripping sarcasm.
The Illyrian warrior sighs as though the fate of the realm rests solely on his shoulders. Nothing in the entirety of Prythian irritated you more, but that was just the nature of your relationship with the shadowsinger. To say that you and Azriel didn’t get along was a massive understatement. Pairing you two together was like dropping a lit match onto a field soaked with gasoline. Someone was bound to get burned.
“I meant what I said about our sleeping arrangements,” you announce, meeting Azriel’s gaze in the mirror. “I will get that bed one way or another. I didn’t endure a night of blisters just to sleep on the floor.”
Azriel scoffs. “You weren’t complaining when you were on the dance floor with Eris earlier.”
You made a show of gathering the jewels into a neat pile while glaring at him. “Well, I’d be pretty shit at my job if I were. At least the Autumn lordling made it worth my while.”
“Clearly, you have no problem fraternizing with the enemy.”
A surge of magic crackles through your fingertips. It wasn’t like you enjoyed flirting with Eris. Sure, the male was handsome and charming, but you took your job seriously and you didn’t appreciate Azriel questioning your motives. You knew that playing the political game at hand was necessary to keep the Night Court safe.
“I haven’t forgotten who Eris is for one second, but unlike you, I’m able to control my emotions so I can gather intel for the good of this court.” You rose to standing and though you barely reached Azriel’s shoulders, you didn’t balk from his intense stare. “Would you rather have me maim our honored guest?”
“It sure as hell would’ve been less sickening than having to watch you two fawn over each other all night.”
You pause, taking in his features. The cold mask of indifference faded away and you could see the tension in his jaw as he spoke. A slow smile spreads across your face as realization dawns on you.
“Are you jealous, shadowsinger?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Azriel exclaims. “Why would I ever be jealous of Eris?”
You shrug, fully reveling in the irritation flashing across those hazel eyes of his. “Maybe you have a crush. I mean, I can’t say I blame you. I heard that Autumn Court males have fire in their veins and that they fuck like it too.”
Azriel gapes at you, shadows peering over his shoulders in amusement. There were only a few things in this realm that you enjoyed more than the sight of his flustered expression. The feared spymaster of the Night Court blushing like an innocent maiden thanks to your dirty mouth.
“The filth that comes out of your mouth would bring the males in Illyria to their knees.”
You smirked. “Good, it puts them in the perfect position to kiss my ass.”
Despite himself, Azriel laughs. It was full and rich, the sound reverberating through your skin as his laughter filled the room. You realize with a jolt that tonight was the first time you've actually heard his real laugh. Maybe that’s what possessed you to say what you said next.
“I am serious about taking the bed, whether you’re in it or not.”
Azriel raises a brow, but says nothing as you stride past him on the way to the bathroom. As you close the door behind you, the shadowsinger calls out with an amused voice, “Don’t use up all the hot water, witchling.”
“Bite me, batling,” you retort with mockery, throwing a vulgar gesture over your shoulder.
His dark laughter trails after you as you enter the bathroom. With a hand on your hip, you examine the porcelain tub positioned in the middle of the marble floor, its size large enough to accommodate Illyrian wings. Steam rose from the bath and it was all the invitation you needed to strip out of your clothes.
You carefully unclasp the sapphire necklace hanging around your neck and set it against the counter. Reaching towards the back of your dress, you tug on the button securing the halter top, but it wouldn’t seem to budge. You tried again, attempting to maneuver the clasp to no avail.
After angling your arms in a dozen uncomfortable positions, you let out a sigh of frustration. You were almost tempted to use your magic to unfasten the damned thing, but you were too afraid to ruin the beautiful dress.
An abrupt knock at the door nearly made you jump out of your own skin. “What’s taking so godsdamned long? I’d like to actually bathe and sleep before dawn.”
You roll your eyes even though Azriel couldn’t see beyond the wooden door. “My dress is stuck.”
There was a pause of silence on the other side. Hesitantly, Azriel spoke again. “Do you need help?”
You gaze into the enormous mirror, blowing out a tendril of dark hair from your eyes. The reflection that peered back had a sheen of sweat coating her olive skin and frustration at the inability to undress was written all over her dark kohl rimmed eyes, but you weren’t ready to admit defeat. You'd find a way out of this dress one way or another. Tugging at the fabric once again, you overshot your aim and banged your elbow against the marble countertop with a loud smack.
Azriel curses from the other side of the door. “Oh for fuck’s sake-“ With a frustrated sigh, he stalks into the bathroom and found you clutching your arm in pain. “Just admit you need my help.”
“No thanks, I’m not providing free material for your spank bank.”
The shadowsinger rolls his eyes. “Your stubbornness is going to get you injured.” He came closer, but you took a step backwards and unwisely cornered yourself into the sink.
“I don’t need your help.”
“Stop being a godsdamned brat and come here.”
The authority laced in Azriel’s command made you stand upright. A glimpse of the feared spymaster leaked out then, his hazel eyes beckoning you forth as though he could see right through you. You understood then why his victims always talked. One look and you were damn ready to spill all of your deepest darkest secrets.
Silently, you turned around and suddenly found the ceiling quite interesting. Azriel came up behind you and swept your hair over your shoulder with ease, his shadows sweeping over your skin in a gentle caress. You involuntarily shivered, willing yourself to stay still while his fingers found the culprit of a button.
Through the mirror, Azriel met your gaze. His eyes swept over your form, taking in the tight dress adorning your body. Mor had truly pulled out all the stops for your mission tonight and it showed in the elegant drape of the lace fabric. The high neckline came up to your throat in an uncharacteristically modest cut, but the small opening at the front dipped dangerously low, allowing a generous view of your cleavage. The shadowsinger's eyes traveled down your exposed skin, a slight smirk adorning his lips while you held your breath.
Azriel gripped your waist firmly with his left hand while his right traveled up your back. He took his time, humming softly while his fingers danced up the column of your spine. Even through the fabric, an electric jolt awakened every nerve ending while he painstakingly took his time. Languid and unhurried, his touch brushed the back of your neck and elicited a wave of desire to pulsate in your lower abdomen. Suddenly, your mouth felt uncomfortably dry while your skin burned with a flash of heat. You licked your lips instinctively while trying not to notice the effects of the shadowsinger's touch.
In one swift move, the hook came undone and you barely had time to gather the fabric to your chest to avoid flashing Azriel. His fingers grazed your bare skin before his hand retreated back to his side.
It was only for a split second, but you could’ve sworn that you saw a flash of something predatory in Azriel’s reflection.
“Thanks,” you murmur quietly.
You needed to get away from his touch and the onslaught of arousal it stirred within you.
Turning around, you ran right into the solid wall that was Azriel’s chest. A scarred hand gripped your arm to keep you from stumbling and the overwhelming scent of night chilled mist and cedar invaded your senses. You wanted to blame your sudden outburst of clumsiness on the faerie wine you’d consumed earlier, but it had been hours since your last drink and you currently felt alarmingly sober. As you look up into those familiar hazel eyes, the flush that spreads over your cheeks betrays every bout of logic within you.
Shit. Were you turned on by the shadowsinger?
You’d be lying if you said you’d never thought about it. All the verbal sparring and tension between you and Azriel had been brewing for some time. Sometimes you wondered if all the arguments were just a precursor to your own fucked up version of foreplay.
“Never thought I’d live to see the day that you’re thanking me for undressing you,” Azriel says in a low, cool voice. There was something flirtatious and suggestive in the husky tone of his words, awakening a familiar ache in your core.
You swallow thickly. “Now who’s being crude?”
“Don’t worry, witchling. I never start anything I can’t finish.”
Cauldron boil and fry you, the rush of arousal has shot straight to your head.
Azriel smirks, locking you in place as he leans closer. You hold your breath as his face dips towards yours until only a wisp of air separates your mouth from his. The tension was palpable in the air and you felt a surge of electricity thrum through your veins when his gaze flickers to your lips.
A beat passes as your eyes meet. It would be so easy to give in and allow yourself to taste him, but before your hormone addled brain could make you do something you’d undoubtedly regret, Azriel reaches for the robe behind you and tosses it over his shoulder.
“Hurry up or I’m taking the bed for myself.”
With that, the shadowsinger disappears through the door while you stare back at your reflection once again. You had a crazed look in your eyes and your cheeks were flushed as though you had just finished running up the ten thousand steps at the House of Wind. Shame was written all over your face from the desire wafting off of you in waves.
A cold shower. You needed a godsdamned cold shower.
Apparently, a working hearth was not part of Keir’s plans of renovation for the Moonstone Palace. The cold blooded lizard probably had no need for a fireplace anyways given his reptilian nature. You sighed, wrapping the thick blankets over yourself in a desperate attempt for warmth.
After your much needed bath, you were surprised to discover Azriel setting up a makeshift bed for himself on the floor. Whatever anomaly of sexual tension that passed between you in the bathroom quickly dissipated as weariness threatened to take you under. You were all too glad to climb into bed and let sleep claim you, but the freezing wind had other ideas.
“Will you stop your tossing? I can hear your teeth chattering from all the way down here,” Azriel grumbles in the dark.
“It’s not my fault that it’s bloody freezing,” you respond in equal annoyance.
“Use a blanket.”
“No shit, shadowsinger. If only I’d thought of that,” you buried yourself further underneath the sheets. “Oh wait, I did and I’m still likely to lose a leg to frostbite.”
“So fucking dramatic,” he muttered under his breath. You could hear him rustling in the darkness. Then, a dip in the bed.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Moonlight streamed through the windows, reflecting the red and gold membrane of Azriel’s wings as he stood over you. With his dark hair perfectly tousled and eyes glowing golden in the night, the arousal from earlier came rushing back with a vengeance. Suddenly, sharing the same bed with the shadowsinger felt a little too close to tempting fate. Unaware of your wayward thoughts, he lifted the sheets and gestured for you to make room.
“Scoot over.”
You clutch the blanket to your chest. “Not a chance.”
Annoyance was written all over his face. “I’m warm, you’re cold. Do you want to freeze to death or not?”
It didn’t take long for you to mull your choices over. You were rather fond of your limbs and had no desire to lose them to the glacial temperatures. That was the only reason you allowed Azriel to climb into bed with you, or so you told yourself.
Azriel shifted beside you, trying to settle into a comfortable position to accommodate his large wings. Wordlessly, he pulled you into his arms. His body warmth was deliciously satisfying and you shamelessly pressed against him, effectively using the male as your own personal heater.
“Shit, you weren’t kidding. You’re as cold as ice.”
His arms circled around your waist, pressing your back firmly against him. Azriel pulled the blankets over you, enveloping your bodies in a warm, comfortable heat.
You sigh in relief. “I told you. I always knew Keir was a sadist, but this is another level of cruelty.”
Azriel’s soft laughter fans over the crook of your neck as you unabashedly snuggle into his warmth. “You’re a greedy little witchling, aren’t you?”
You press your cold toes onto his bare legs, earning a yelp from the shadowsinger.
“Brat.”
“Prick.”
You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “I might be a prick, but you’re the one using me for my body.”
“Don’t let it go to your head, shadowsinger. I’d easily cuddle with Bryaxis if it meant not freezing to death.”
That dark laughter again. It swept over you like rumbling thunder and suddenly the temperature in the room spiked. You tense, freezing in place against Azriel’s arms. He must’ve mistook the action for a shiver because before you knew it, Azriel was pulling you closer, the warmth of his hands slipping over your midsection.
“Better?” He asks in a low, husky voice. Was it just you or did his voice dip an octave deeper? Azriel’s fingers hover over your stomach, rubbing soothing circles into your skin.
“Mhmm,” you mumble in response, entirely distracted by the small ministrations he was unknowingly torturing you with.
A small whimper crawled up the back of your throat and you did your best to hide it with a yawn. Azriel seemed entirely oblivious to his effect on you as his hands inch further and further up your ribcage, darting dangerously close to your sternum. Every sweep of his fingers against your skin had you clenching your thighs together.
Mother save you, you truly needed to get a hold of yourself. This was Azriel, for Cauldron’s sake. You hated the male with every fiber of your being. If only your body could get with the program instead of leaning into the sweep of his large hands.
Sleep. You needed to sleep. Whatever delusional thoughts currently running through your oxygen deprived brain would soon correct itself after a good night’s rest.
Shutting your eyes close, you willed yourself to wind down. You would not let horniness dig its sharp claws into you. Eventually, your wired mind gave way to the invitation of hazy thoughts and blurry dreams until you felt a strange sensation.
“Azriel?”
“Hmm?” His sleep coated answer echoes in the darkness.
“Please tell me that’s Truth-teller digging into my back.”
Because there it was, his hardness pressing against your backside.
“Shit,” Azriel curses loudly at the same time that you squirm in place. The sudden movement made you accidentally grind your ass into him and the growl that came out of his mouth was utterly unholy. “Do not do that.”
His hand curls around your arm, keeping you a safe distance away from his erection. You turn over to face him and while you made a conscious effort not to glance down, you still caught a glimpse of the bulge protruding from his underclothes. Azriel sat up and instantly covered himself with blankets, but it was a wasted effort. You’d already seen everything.
You mirrored his movement, pulling yourself up into a seated position and crossing your legs underneath you.
Azriel began to say “I’m sorry” at the same time that you blurted out “It’s fine.”
For once in your immortal life, you found yourself speechless. The only sound that you managed to make was a choked giggle that Azriel instantly glared at you for.
“Now is not the time to laugh,” he grunts.
You hold up your hands. “I’m sorry. I swear I’m not laughing at you. It’s just been a very weird night.”
The flush on Azriel’s cheeks made his golden brown skin glow underneath the moonlight. “No shit,” he blew out a breath. “An unexpected erection wasn’t exactly part of my plans.”
You tried your best to tamper down the nervous giggle rising in your throat. “Can I do anything to help?”
Azriel bowed his head and groaned. “No, I think you’ve done enough.”
“Are you honestly blaming me for your hard-on?” you ask incredulously. Leave it to Azriel to make his erection entirely your fault.
“I wouldn’t have a hard on if you weren’t grinding your ass into my dick.”
“I was cold!” you exclaimed. “Besides, if I was truly grinding my ass into your dick, we wouldn’t be sitting here arguing.”
“You’re making it worse.”
The pained expression on Azriel’s face confirmed the statement.
“I’m just talking!” Crossing your arms, you readied yourself for the oncoming argument. Any chance of sleep had gone entirely out the window. As always, the shadowsinger was being a colossal pain in the ass. “You’re the one shoving your greedy little hands underneath my shirt.”
“We wouldn’t be in this position if you’d stopped your damn complaining. You were freezing. I was trying to help.”
“Well, you helped too much.”
Azriel’s brows rose. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Shit. You’d definitely revealed more than you intended to. “Nothing, forget it. Can we just go to bed?”
“If you hadn’t noticed, I’m not exactly in a resting mood right now.”
“Godsdamned it,” you mutter. The Mother was honestly testing your sanity tonight. “Fine, just think about things that will turn you off. Rusty daggers? Unkempt rooms? Oh, I know. Cassian in a dress!”
He huffed in frustration. “You’re not helping.”
You tittered. “No, you’re right. Cassian in a dress is definitely a turn on for you.”
Azriel grits his teeth. “For the love of gods, stop talking.”
“I’m just trying to help. Clutching your crotch is not going to get us any closer to sleep.”
He rolls his eyes in response. “Please, like I didn’t smell your arousal earlier in the bathroom and in bed. At least I’m considerate enough to not mention it.”
“Considerate is the last word I’d use to describe you. Asshole is particularly high on the list.” You paused, narrowing your eyes as his words slowly dawned on you. “Wait. You could tell that I was turned on earlier? Is that why you kept touching me?” The shit-eating grin on Azriel’s face was response enough. “Oh you’re dead, shadowsinger.”
“You didn’t seem to be complaining when I was doing it.”
“Prick.”
“Brat.”
You stared at one another, cheeks flushed, eyes wild, and chests rising and falling in harmonious rhythm. Whether the palpable tension filling the room was from your verbal sparring or something else entirely, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was that a familiar sensation of desire was now pooling in your core, igniting your entire body with desperate need as Azriel’s gaze dips lower to your mouth.
“I might be a brat, but you’re obviously turned on by it.”
The depths of his hazel irises were nearly swallowed by his blown out pupils. “Shut. Up.”
“Why don’t you make me?”
The expression that bloomed on Azriel’s face was entirely primal. A shock of electricity crackled in the air, summoning a magnetic pull to the stubborn male before you. Warning bells blared within your mind, but you ignored it. The desire surging between you was impossible to resist.
You wanted to taste him.
You needed to taste him.
Against all logic and sense, Azriel surges forward and hungrily presses his mouth against yours. You tilt your chin up to meet his lips, fingers greedily intertwining into his dark locks. Azriel tasted like sin. His lips were soft, plush, and entirely intoxicating. The shadowsinger pulls you closer, his warm mouth pressing kisses onto your lips, neck, shoulder, and whatever surface he could reach.
“You are the most stubborn, frustrating person I have ever met,” he declares as he tilts your head back to allow access to your neck.
“You’re no walk in the park either, shadowsinger.” Your eyes flutter close as he sucks on your soft flesh, leaving marks against your collarbone. “Never in my life have I argued with anyone as much as I’ve argued with you.”
His hands crawl up your spine, pulling you into a tight embrace while you nipped at his neck. “The fact that you’re arguing with me right now, while I’m actively kissing you is a testament of how unwilling you are to let anyone else have the last word. Do you even know how insane you drive me?”
You whimper as he takes your face into his hands. “I can’t even get through an entire day without thinking about you. Your smile, your laugh, your smell. You’re intoxicating.”
He kissed away whatever sarcastic remark you had sitting on the tip of your tongue. Azriel wasn’t the only one feeling euphoric. You were drowning in him, but you couldn’t get enough. The fights, the arguments, the tension - it was all leading up to this. Because the taste of him in your mouth felt like the answer to a question you didn’t even know you’d asked.
“I think about you all the time,” you admit. “It’s absolutely fucking maddening. I think I might be a masochist.”
“You?” Azriel asks in disbelief. “I have been in misery since the moment we met. All those months I’ve spent depriving myself of you, fighting about stupid little things, arguing about anything and everything just to get a sliver of your attention. It’s been torturous, hoping that this feeling would go away, but it hasn’t. I’ve thought about this moment. What you’d taste like. How you’d feel against me. The sounds you’d make,” he pressed an open mouthed kiss underneath your jaw.
A soft moan escapes from your lips and Azriel growls in response.
“Fuck, you have no idea what you do to me.” The guttural sound swept over you deliciously.
“Then show me.”
Whatever restraint Azriel had before was completely unleashed as he took your lips into his once more. His tongue swept over your bottom lip and darted into your mouth, testing and tasting every inch of you. Your tongues swirled and sucked, fighting for dominance as though this was one of your heated arguments. Azriel pulled you into his lap and you straddled him, your thighs resting on either side of his.
His hands wandered underneath your silk negligee, deft fingers tugging at the hem. “Is this okay?” Azriel asks.
You nod, too drunk with lust to even form words.
Azriel smirks. “Use your words, sweetheart.”
You pull the thin dress over your head without hesitation, throwing it behind you with careless abandon. “Is that enough of an answer for you?”
He laughs, taking in the sight of you in nothing but skimpy lingerie. You’d never been more glad in your life that you’d packed the matching black lace set that left very little to the imagination. Azriel cups your breasts in his large hands, squeezing softly as he trails kisses along your cleavage, pulling away to whisper against your exposed skin.
“Such a brat.”
You grin. “You like it.”
“More than you know.”
Azriel finds the sensitive spot beneath your ear and presses open mouthed kisses along your neck all the way down to the column of your throat. You arch against him, displeased to find a barrier of fabric separating you.
You impatiently tug at the hem of his shirt and he smiles into your neck, murmuring softly.
“Whatever happened to not tainting my innocence in the middle of the night?”
“I’ve seen the chains in your bedroom, shadowsinger. You’re definitely not innocent.”
His eyes crinkle with amusement. “Those are for official spymaster business, but if you’re truly that interested, I can make an exception for you.”
With that, Azriel discards his shirt, giving you a full view of the swirling tattoos etched onto his golden brown skin. You trace the Illyrian markings, taking in the opportunity to admire his naked torso.
“Beautiful,” you breathe.
Azriel breaks out into a smile. Not a grin or a smirk, but a smile that made your heart ache. He was so beautiful it was almost unfair.
“I mean it, Azriel. I know I can be an asshole sometimes, but I’ve always thought you were beautiful.”
He kisses you, slow and sweet this time, as though he were savoring the moment. “Thank you,” he whispers tenderly. “I’d say the same about you, but beautiful seems like an understatement. You’re the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen, sweetheart. I’ve thought so since the moment we met.”
You laughed, hiding the blush creeping up onto your cheeks. “Don’t go all soft on me. You hated me.”
“I’ve never hated you,” he says softly. “You’re a pain in the ass and you constantly call me out on my bullshit, but I think that’s what I like most about you. You challenge me and I find your combative personality incredibly sexy. You had me wrapped around your finger the moment I laid eyes on you. I was completely, absolutely fucking done for.”
“I knew you secretly wanted me,” you jokingly interject.
“Didn’t think it was much of a secret. Cassian and Rhys knew this whole time. Mor too, which is probably why she chose to room with Amren tonight.”
If you thought about it, truly thought about it, all the signs were there. You were just too deep in denial to admit it to yourself because once you did, you wouldn’t be able to deny the fact that maybe you felt the same way about him too.
“Why are you telling me this now?”
Azriel brushed a strand of hair from your face, tilting your chin up. “Because, seeing you dance with Eris tonight made me realize that I couldn’t bear the sight of you with anyone else. I want to be the one that you dance with. I want to be the one that you argue with. I want to be the only one to make you smile the way that you’re smiling at me right now.”
“I’m not going to stop being a pain in the ass,” you say with a grin. “And I can’t promise that I won’t argue with you about stupid little things. Most of all, I’ll probably keep on being an annoying brat for the rest of my immortal existence.”
Azriel laughs. “You may be a brat, but you’re my brat.”
The butterflies in your stomach threatened to fly right into your heart. Gods, this male. One minute you were arguing and the next he was turning you into nothing but a mushy pile of a person.
"I want you," Azriel breathes. "And if tonight is all you're willing to give me, I'll take it. I'll take whatever I can get from you, but I'm done pretending like you don't completely consume my thoughts."
"I want you too, Azriel." You caress his cheek, tracing a sharp cheekbone with your thumb. "So fucking badly it hurts. Now that I've tasted you, I don't think I could ever give it up. What I’m saying is, I feel the same way about you too and I’d like to give this a try beyond just this night.”
"Good, because I'm pretty sure you've ruined every other female for me."
You shift in his lap, a grin breaking out on your face when you realize exactly what you were sitting on. “Is emotional intimacy turning you on, Azriel?”
“Fucking hell,” he swears. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”
“Not a chance in hell.”
Azriel grins. “For the record, I don’t expect you to stop being the ill tempered, foul mouthed female that I fell for in the first place. I’d rather fight with you than get along with anyone else.”
His lips ghost over yours. “The only thing this changes is that I now know the secret to shutting you up,” he sucks at the soft skin underneath your ear again, eliciting a breathy moan from you.
“Fuck you,” you hiss playfully, practically melting into his lap.
Azriel grips your waist, grinding his erection into your backside. “If you insist, sweetheart.”
You roll your eyes, greedily licking the hollow of his throat as you roll your hips into him. Two could play that game. Azriel curses under his breath and you decide that it was your favorite sound in the entire realm.
He wasted no time in unfastening the clasp of your bra, releasing your breasts from the lacy constraints. Azriel gave you a wicked grin before pinching your nipple, taking your right breast into his mouth while you moaned loudly. Ever the equal opportunist, he gave your left breast matching attention, releasing each nipple with a popping sound that left your legs trembling.
The last remnants of hesitation faded away as Azriel flipped you on your back. You bounced against the mattress with an amused giggle, propping yourself up on your elbows to watch the shadowsinger crawl towards you. Powerful wings spanned the entirety of his back while his shadows crowned him in darkness like some fallen angel. You knew then and there that this beautiful male would be your undoing.
As if reading your mind, Azriel grinned before pinning you underneath him. His fingers toy with the waistband of the skimpy lingerie, pausing for your permission. You shrug out of your panties and Azriel nearly tears them off in haste.
He spreads your legs open while his dark head disappears between your thighs. Azriel trails kisses on your skin, his hot breath fanning over your already soaking core.
“Fuck, so wet for me already. I’ve been dying to taste you all night,” Azriel licks a stripe of your needy core and your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head. “You taste even sweeter than you smell.”
His mouth was on you again, licking and sucking like he’d been starving for centuries and you were a feast spread out especially for him. When Azriel’s fingers plunged into you dripping wet cunt, it was almost too much to bear. He sucked at your clit and your back arched off the bed. Without warning, he plunged a second finger inside you while you tugged at his hair.
The moans coming out of your mouth didn’t even sound like you. They belonged to someone else, a needy, seductive side of you that no one had ever unleashed. You had no idea how Azriel learned how to do that with his tongue, but you prayed to the Mother that he wouldn’t stop.
It might’ve been minutes or hours since Azriel first started eating you out. You couldn’t keep track of anything else besides the Illyrian male between your legs. Never in your life has anyone made you come from their mouth alone, but there was a first time for everything.
The tension in your needy core unspooled and the warmth of an oncoming orgasm had you gasping for breath.
“Azriel,” you moaned loudly. “I’m so close.”
He plunged his fingers inside you once more, pressing down on your abdomen with his free hand while he curved his digits within your walls. The combination of his mouth on your clit and his fingers in your pussy had you chasing after that familiar high.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Come for me.”
At his words, you completely unraveled. Azriel watched as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, his mouth dripping with your arousal. He licked up every drop before kissing you. You could taste yourself on his tongue and you immediately wanted to return the favor.
As you reached for his boxers, Azriel gripped your wrist. “Another time. Tonight is about you, sweetheart. What do you want?”
“I want you,” you breathe. “All of you.”
His nose brushes against your cheek in a gentle, intimate manner. “Are you sure?”
You nod as his eyes meet yours. From this close, you could make out the golden flecks within his hazel irises. He grins as he kisses the tip of your nose.
“What did I say about using your words? I want to hear you say it.”
“I want you to fuck me, Azriel.”
Azriel kisses you, hungry and desperate as he positions himself over you. He tugs at the waistband of his boxers and mirrors your move from earlier, discarding the fabric over his shoulder. You laugh and he captures your lips once again, hiking your legs around his waist. Azriel moves slowly, filling you up with his length with careful consideration.
He searches your face as you wince, feeling him deep inside you. Deeper than you’ve ever taken. Your eyes water from the sheer size of him. His shadows wipe away your tears and you chuckle, nuzzling into the cold reprieve they provided. Azriel caresses your cheek, whispering encouragement into your ear.
“You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Taking all of me,” he moves slowly. "That's it. Open your eyes. I want to watch you taking every inch of my cock."
Your eyes flutter open as his shadows twine through your wrists, binding them to the headboard behind you. Azriel gripped the wooden post, plunging himself deeper inside you until his hip bones touched yours. He releases a shaky breath, tendrils of inky night pulling your ankles around his waist. The shadows felt cold against your skin and your legs trembled as Azriel traced your lips with his thumb.
"Can I move?"
“Shit, fuck. Yes.”
Azriel chuckles. “Such a filthy mouth with a pretty little cunt.”
“I thought you liked my filthy fucking mouth -“
The air was knocked out of you as Azriel slammed his hips against yours, burying himself deep into your walls. If you ever had a doubt about the correlation between wingspan and dick size, it died at that moment. He plunged into you over and over again, his thrusts hitting the sweet spot with each fluid stroke. Pain and pleasure combined, you were seeing stars as Azriel continued his relentless pounding.
The slap of skin against skin filled the room and the smell of sex was heavy in the air. You clenched your walls around his member and Azriel groaned in response.
"You're so fucking tight, sweetheart. Feels so good. Is your pretty little cunt all for me?" The dirty words flying out of his mouth made you blush uncharacteristically. He rutted into you, holding your hips in place while he watched you squirm in pleasure underneath him. "Can anyone else fuck you like this? Make you beg and whimper for my cock while you clench your pussy around me like the greedy little brat that you are?"
"N-no, only you. Only you could fuck me like this, Azriel."
He smirked, pumping in and out of you slowly. The action was painstakingly driving you insane and you bucked your hips to take in more of him, but Azriel tutted in response. "If you want it, you'll have to beg for it."
Fucking hell. You whined, desperate to feel him thrust in you again. "Please, Azriel. I want you. I need you to fuck me senseless."
Azriel kissed your neck, smiling. "Good girl."
With that, he plunged into you once more, filling you up to the hilt. His control slipped and his pace picked up, fucking you so deliciously that you couldn't even remember your own name. You wrapped your legs around his waist, fingers digging between his shoulder blades.
Beads of sweat kissed his golden brown skin from the effort, giving him the appearance of a dewy, glowy, dark angel. Azriel’s wings flared behind him and you ran your pointer finger over the sensitive membrane. The shadowsinger buckled above you, a deep moan ripping through his chest. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, nipping at your soft skin with his teeth.
“Az?” you ask shyly.
Azriel perked up, catching your gaze. “Yes, sweetheart?”
“Can I ride you?”
His blown out pupils were swallowed by desire as he wordlessly flipped you over. Bracing yourself against his chest, you straddled Azriel and rocked against him slowly. Shadows wafted over you, snaking through your hips as they guided you to ride him in a steady rhythm.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he repeated under his breath while you sank into him.
Azriel’s large hands cupped your ass, guiding you over his cock with a tight grip. The sight of him bucking desperately underneath you while a sheen of sweat coated his perfectly toned form made you smirk. His hands traveled up to your hips, fingertips briefly digging into your skin before softly cupping your breasts.
"You're so big. I love taking every inch of you. I'd never get tired of riding your perfect cock," you say as you grind into him, filling yourself up with the girth of his velvet wrapped steel.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he says huskily.
You smirk in response, slamming your hips against his and taking him in even deeper. Azriel’s hand wraps around your neck, lightly squeezing as you ride him into oblivion. You took his scarred hand into yours and kissed his fingertips.
“Beautiful,” you repeated.
"So fucking perfect. I love watching you ride me. Feels so damn good," He sat upright, letting you roll your hips into him while his forehead pressed against yours. “Such a good girl,” Azriel hummed into your neck. "Is this pussy mine?"
"It's yours, Azriel. All yours."
Your movements were slow and languid as you melded together. From this angle, the curve of his member hit your cervix with perfect precision. You didn't even know sex could feel this good. Never had anyone else coax and tease and make you submit like he could. At this point, you couldn’t tell where Azriel began and you ended.
The grip around your neck tightened, cutting off your circulation at just the right amount to feel pleasurable. "Gonna come for me again, sweetheart?"
"I want you to come, too. I want to feel you filling me up."
“You fucking kill me when you say things like that. I'm so close, but I'm not coming until you do too. Can you do that for me?"
He swept the dark curtain of your hair over your shoulder, taking you in with tender eyes.
“Yes,” you rasp. “So fucking close.”
Azriel flips you over gently, his thrusts sloppy and waning as you both lose yourselves in each other. You moan his name so loudly that it would be a wonder if the whole palace didn’t hear. His fingers rubbed circles onto your sensitive clit and pushed you over the edge.
Just as waves of pleasure slammed into you, Azriel moaned your name into the night like a prayer. Together, you rode out the high as skin slapped against skin.
Azriel spurted into you, filling you to the brim with his orgasm. His lips found yours and pressed a gentle kiss against your mouth. The gesture was oddly intimate, more personal than the fact that he was currently balls deep inside of you. The act of coming together was entirely euphoric. For the second time that night, you found yourself seeing stars.
The shadowsinger pulled out of you slowly, taking great care not to disturb your extremely sensitive sex. Azriel rolled over in bed, your panting breaths the only sounds filling the room while you both recovered from the strenuous effort. Afterglow cast a shimmering haze over the both of you and you were content to bask in it while Azriel settled in beside you.
Despite the fact that he'd just given you two orgasms in a row and undoubtedly fucked you into next week, Azriel blushed as you turned over to examine him. Coming down from the high of the best sex of your life, you smiled at his bed hair and swollen lips. Azriel grinned shyly, resting his head on the pillow as he faced you.
“Fuck,” he said with a laugh. “That was…”
You nodded in response. “Fucking amazing? Remind me to thank Mor for rooming with Amren.”
Azriel smirked. “You can thank her in the morning. We’re gonna have an early start, so try and rest sweetheart.”
He pulled himself out of bed, eliciting a groan of protest from you. Azriel chuckled. “I’m just getting a towel to clean up. No need to be a brat,” he adds with a wink.
You stuck out your tongue, but watched in appreciation as Azriel’s naked form walked towards the restroom. He looked back at you, raising a brow at your blatant ogling.
As promised, Azriel cleaned you up with a warm towel. Since your negligee was nowhere to be found, he draped his own shirt over you and smiled at the sight of the fabric nearly swallowing you whole. Azriel pulled you into his arms and you rested your head on his chest like you belonged there all along. Despite the wind howling outside, you no longer felt its cold sting. The shadowsinger’s warmth and wings cocooned you in his safety.
You yawned. “Goodnight, Azriel.”
Azriel presses a kiss to your cheek, enveloping you into his arms. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
The banging at the door is the first thing that greeted you the next morning. The second thing was Azriel’s sleeping form. The shadowsinger had an arm draped over your stomach, his naked chest rising and falling as he snored. You could’ve watched him all day if it weren’t for the repeated, aggressive knocks echoing throughout the room.
“Get your ass up, Az. You promised you’d train with me this morning.”
Azriel opened one eye, groaned, and pulled you closer to him. “If we ignore him, maybe he’ll go away,” he says in a gravelly morning voice that sounded so incredibly sexy that it nearly sent your heart into a cardiac arrest.
“This is Cassian we’re talking about. He once eavesdropped outside your door for a whole hour because he thought you had a female over.”
The pout on his lips was so adorable you wanted to kiss it off. Gods, what the hell was this male turning you into?
“Well, I do have a female over right now and I much prefer her company over training with my brother.”
Another bang. “I can hear you in there. I know you’re awake.”
You snorted. “I can get rid of him if you want.”
Azriel propped his head up in one hand, surveying you carefully. “As amazing as last night was, I don’t want to force you into anything you’re not ready for. If you want to wait to tell the others, I would completely understand.”
With the way Azriel was looking at you, it was almost like he was shyly asking you if you truly meant what you said last night. This soft, nervous side of him was entirely new to you, but you could already tell that you’d grow to like it.
“When have I ever done anything that I didn’t want to?” you ask with amusement. “It’s sweet, Az and I appreciate it, but this is our friends we’re talking about. They’re the biggest group of busybodies to ever grace this realm. Besides, I’m not one to keep secrets. I’m all in if you are.”
Azriel breaks out into a smile, genuine and tender, just for you. He places a chaste kiss on your lips. “I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge, especially if it’s you. I’m all in too, sweetheart.”
You grin. “Good, because I’m about to kick Cassian’s ass for waking us up so godsdamned early.”
The shadowsinger leans back, watching as you pad across the room. The cold air bites at your bare legs, but Azriel’s shirt kept the rest of your body warm. Swearing, you fling the door wide open while Cassian nearly stumbles over the threshold.
“What the hell do you want, Cas?”
“I- you -“ His gaze quickly scans over you. At his brother’s shirt covering your body. At Azriel’s dark head peeking out under the covers. The gears in his mind seemed to put the pieces together as he let out a hoot. “Fucking finally!”
He flags someone down in the hallway. Mor and Amren peek their heads into the room, a smile breaking out on both of your friend’s faces.
“You owe me twenty gold marks, boy,” Amren states.
“Well technically, Feyre’s guess was the most accurate,” Mor supplies.
As if summoned by her words, the High Lord and High Lady strolled past. Rhysand’s brows disappeared into his hair line as he took you in. Beside him, Feyre’s eyes widened before she dragged Nesta into the fold.
“I told you I was right.”
Nesta groaned, grumbling under her breath about losing twenty golden marks to her youngest sister.
“You guys bet on this?” you ask incredulously, half offended that your friends were this invested into your love life.
“Oh, please,” Nesta says with a roll of her eyes. “You two reeked of sexual tension. It was inevitable. The fact that it took you this long is the only surprising thing about this whole situation.”
“Kinda reminds me of us, Nes,” Cassian says with a grin.
Nesta shakes her head, but you clocked the fond smile on her face.
“Get a room, you two,” Rhys teases playfully.
“Save it, Rhys. You and my High Lady were just as unbearable during your honeymoon phase,” Mor shoots back.
You place a hand on your hip, shaking your head in disbelief. “Are we done having this fucked up little gathering?”
Azriel saunters up beside you, his tousled hair sticking up in a dozen different directions. Shadows twirl into your hair while he casually drapes an arm over your shoulder.
“Can we take a rain check, Cas? We’re a little busy.”
The Illyrian general’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head as he nods. “Of course, brother. You two look like you need the rest.”
Rolling your eyes, you shot Cassian a vulgar gesture. The rest of your friends snickered, attempting to hide their beaming smiles at the sight of you and Azriel side by side. You simply shut the door on your nosy friends, knowing that they would undoubtedly hound you for details later.
As you turned around, Azriel pressed your back into the door, taking you completely off guard as he kissed you hungrily. You kissed back with fervent passion, smiling against his mouth while he hoisted you in the air. Wrapping your legs around his midsection, Azriel kept a steady grip on your waist while he peppered kisses onto your cheeks.
"What was that for?"
Azriel shrugs. "Just saying good morning."
You chuckled, tangling your arms behind his neck and kissing him once more. "Good morning."
Azriel responds by lifting you in his arms bridal style as though you weighed nothing. He discarded you into the bed with ease, pinning him underneath you once more. You giggle, kissing the tip of his nose and reveling in the peace and quiet. It was ironic to think that mere hours ago, Azriel was complaining about sharing this exact room with you.
Now, he kissed you deeply, awakening every nerve in your body. With his body pressed flush against yours, Azriel smiled.
“Now where were we, sweetheart?”
tags: @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @gxdsmonsters @ofelia-writesxox @harmeetk @chickmeowt @bankerfrog @ktmylady
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Under a Star-Flecked Sky
Author's Note: This was supposed to be some Rhysand x Reader fluff, but the depression brain-rot got the better of me and I wrote some angsty, post-UtM Rhys moments instead (don't worry there is some fluff at the end). My baby just needs a hug, and honestly I think SJM did him dirty by brushing his trauma Under the Mountain under the rug.
Warnings: Mentions of Amarantha, Rhys' Post-UtM Trauma
Summary: You're Rhys' mate, having already been with him before the Mountain, and are navigating Rhys' healing journey as best you can.
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The bed was cold; the realization jarring you from the deep clutches of sleep. Your bed was never cold, not when your mate was in it. Rhysand ran warm, your own personal heater, usually spending the night curled around you, cocooned inside the safety of his wings, but those great wings and the male attached to them were nowhere to be seen. His side of the bed empty, the sheets rumpled, blanket haphazardly clinging to the side of the mattress like he'd flung it off in a hurry, even though you hadn't heard him get up.
You sat up, shivering in the chill coming through the open windows, the satin curtains billowing in the autumn breeze. It would be too cold to leave them open soon, a fact you knew often put your mate on edge, especially after...
You called for him down the bond you shared with your mate, worried. It had been a couple months since Rhys had returned home to Velaris after Amarantha; the nightmares had been constant the first couple of weeks, at one point they had gotten so bad he'd started spending the night at the Moonstone Palace, claiming he had work to do to avoid you and the rest of the Inner Circle from seeing him like that, but with some help from Madja and some other healers in the city he'd been able to get a handle on it. Usually. Some nights were worse than others. You'd tried to be as supportive as possible, even going down to the Library to read up on ways to help. There were calming teas you'd started making for him before bed, the recipe tucked in one of those old books, but you suspected Rhys drank it just to make you feel like you were helping, the cup still half full on the bedside table. You'd drifted off shortly after handing it to him last night.
When there was no answer down the bond, you crawled out of the bed, dragging the blanket with you. The black silk slip you wore did nothing to stave off the cold, you'd worn the birthday gift from Rhys down to its threads over the years he was gone. He'd offered to buy you a new one--multiple in more colors--but you'd refused. It was your favorite, you'd find some magic to keep it held together if you had to. Still, it was the wrong time of the year for it, and you opted to stay warm under the blanket instead of pausing to change into something else as you left the room in search of your mate, still calling for him down the bond.
He gave no answer, his end silent. As silent as it had been for the last 50 years, that great, formidable wall of adamant shielding him from you.
You bit your lip as you checked each room in the house, all empty, save for the one Cassian was snoring in at the end of the Hall. They'd started taking turns sleeping over, keeping an eye on their brother. Azriel had stayed the night before, Mor the night before that. They stole your wine and played old board games until the early hours of the morning, trying to get Rhys' to laugh, or smile at the least. He didn't do a lot of that these days.
Your heart clenched painfully in your chest. He'd been through so much and half the time he'd just shut down and shut you out, unable to explain what had happened. What she had done to him. Most nights you wondered if there was a way to let you into Hell, just so you could kill her a second time. You'd had a long time to think about what you'd do if you ever had the chance to get your hands on her. Not that it mattered in the end, you'd never been able to get into the Mountain. You'd failed him then and it was starting to feel like you were failing him again now as you all but sprinted through the house.
It took longer than you would like to admit to notice that the balcony doors in the living room were open. Rhys left the windows open, never the doors, even if Velaris was the safest place in Prythian, he'd never leave you vulnerable like that, not unless he was nearby.
Tears pricked your eyes, your lower lip bleeding from how hard you'd been biting down on it as you stepped out into the frigid night air. The lounge chairs and tables along the edge were all empty, no glass of Rhys' favorite whiskey in sight.
Your heart thundered in your ears, thoughts racing. Where the hell was he? Had something happened? Was he in danger?
You were about to start calling his name in desperation before a shifting tile on the roof caught your attention. One of the pieces had been knocked loose--a new occurrence because you'd had to replace them after a drunk Cassian had tried to do a back flip off it last week.
Clutching the blanket around your shoulders with one hand, you used the other to pull a chair over to where the corner of the roof hung over the balcony, and carefully climbed up. The townhouse roof was not as steep as the Palace roof, or even the cabin in Illyria, where you and your mate used to sit and talk about all his plans for his city and his people.
That ache in your chest returned tenfold as you spotted your mate, sitting at the highest point of the roof, knees to his chest, wings wrapped around himself to fight against the cold. His head was tucked against his knees, ebony hair covering his eyes. This was not his spot to stargaze. This was not like all those times you'd sat together, whispering your dreams to the stars, so hopeful and eager for the future. This was not the ambitious and hopeful High Lord who had swept you into the glittering world of the Night Court and mapped out a future among the stars with you all those years ago. You had gone to the cabin in Illyria only once while he was away, and the loss of him, the bond so quite and empty and cold in the place you had formed it had been so devastating you'd almost ripped the place apart one wood plank at a time. At the time you had been so sure you had lost him forever that you'd nearly ripped everything you had built together apart in your grief. You had left all those dreams you shared in those woods and vowed that you would never whisper any prayers to the stars ever again. Not if their heir was gone and their reflection in his violet eyes would never look your way again. You had stopped dreaming in his absence. Nights like this you wondered if he had too. Perhaps the Mountain had taken more from both of you then you dared to admit, even to each other. What good were dreams if the stars no longer listened, if they would no longer answer you?
It was an easy climb to him compared to all the other roofs you had climbed to sit with him in the past, even with the blanket still clutched around your shoulders.
Rhys didn't look up. You weren't even sure he'd heard you. Still, you lowered yourself to sit next to him, the worry swirling in the pit of your stomach only beginning to settle as you took in the jasmine and citrus scent of him. This was the part where you said something witty, threw the blanket around him and chastised him for leaving you alone, but maybe those were games for the people you were before. The last time he hadn't heard you coming, too caught up in his own head to hear you, he'd flinched so hard his powers had knocked a bookshelf over, panic flooding the bond. He accidentally showed you a flash of red hair and pointed nails, scratching at his back before he'd ripped the memory away and locked himself in the bathroom. You'd been trying to find ways to avoid doing it ever again.
It was a long, tense few minutes before Rhys lifted his head off his knees just enough to look at you. "Did I wake you?" His voice was raw, like he'd been screaming.
You wanted to touch him, to hold him in your arms and stroke his hair and make it all better, as his touch had always done for you, but everything was so different. Sometimes you were sure he let you hold his hands because he knew you wanted to, not because he wanted to.
It had been a long couple months, you'd been weighing and measuring every word, trying not to startle him, trying not to make him feel any guilt or shame. He had saved you, and your family, had given everything he'd had to ensure that she didn't taint any bit of your home, you owed him a solid front, a shoulder to lean on. You had not spoken of how scared you had been, how cold and empty and wretched you had felt for every moment of the last fifty years. You'd crafted a nice mask for the court to see, holding steady in his absence, not taking it off, even after his return in hopes that it would ease his burden. But the words came tumbling out of you, the tidal wave of emotions bubbling up and bursting out in a rush, "You scared me."
He sat up a little straighter, pain flashing across his star flecked eyes.
"The bond was quite," tears pricked your eyes. "Cold. You wouldn't answer me. You'd shut me out." It was that last bit more than anything. You could handle the nightmares. You could handle this new version of your mate, because truth be told there had been times you weren't sure he was ever coming back, whatever shape he was in was irrelevant in the long run as long as he was alive. All the newness, the unease and uncertainty, the new quite version of him was easy to handle. But the quiet, knowing he'd shut you out again...
"I know that you need time, and space, and I'm trying to give that to you, Rhys, but..."
He unfurled his wings enough to wrap one around you, an arm sliding around your waist to pull you against his side. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he whispered against your temple, planting gentle, feather light kisses against your skin as you buried your face in he crook of his neck.
He was here. He was safe. This was real. All things you often had to remind yourself of.
"Please don't shut me out like that," you whispered, the tears falling freely down your cheeks. "Not again. I can bear a lot, Rhys, but not any more of that."
His wings came back around to cover both of you as he stroked a hand through your hair. Still, aside from a few more whispered apologies, he didn't speak, didn't attempt to explain himself. You tried to tell yourself it was fine, he didn't have to explain, he'd earned the right to keep whatever he needed to to himself, if he wanted to tell you he would. But he still had not lowered his shields, did not project anything down the bond. A part of you wanted to scream, grab onto that tether that linked your souls together and shake it like you could somehow force life back into it. Maybe things would be better if you could. Maybe they'd be worse. You tried to tell yourself this was enough.
"There are things," he said finally, his voice pained like he was having trouble putting it together, no sign of that silver tongue of his. "Things I can't... can't talk about."
You laid your hand over his heart, feeling the uneven beat. It was rare for Rhys to be so obviously anxious.
"Things I won't talk about."
"It's not healthy-"
"No," he growled, tightening his grip on your waist to keep you from pulling back to look him in the eyes. By the uneasiness of his breathing you thought he might be crying himself. "You do not need to know. You will hear enough of my sins from everyone else."
Sins, as if he had done any of it willingly, as if he'd had any choice in it.
"You didn't have a choice," you began.
"It doesn't matter," Rhys countered. "That is not the story they will tell."
He would be the villain, the little lackey that did her dirty work, the monster that ripped people's minds apart for his evil queen. You'd heard the story in the High Lord's meetings over and over again--and worse, especially from Beron and Tamlin. "I don't believe anyone else's stories. I don't care what they think you've done, or why you'd done it. I don't care, Rhys, because it's not true."
He buried his head in the top of you hair, a shuttering breath ripping out his chest.
You shot as much understanding and love down the bond as you could, hoping some of it would eventually break through that wall between you. "I love you, I'll always love you, Rhys, nothing will change that."
His wings tightened around you, soft moonlight shining through the soft membrane, highlighting centuries worth of nicks and battle scars. You longed to run your fingers over them, familiarize yourself once again with the patterns and feelings you had forgotten in the last fifty years.
"But how are we supposed to move forward if we don't talk to each other?" You whispered. "I miss you. I miss talking to you. You're my best friend, my mate, we promised to always be honest and open with each other."
You twisted to be able to look at him, pulling away just enough to catch the glimmer of tears in his eyes. You reached out gently to wipe one off his cheek and he shuttered at the contact.
"It doesn't have to be tonight. Or tomorrow. Or next week. I know that you need time, and I am not asking you to give me details you don't want to, but there's gotta be some way for us to talk to each other again, isn't there?"
He tilted his head to kiss your fingertips. "I'm sorry, I know I've hurt you," he murmured against your fingertips, his lips soft and warm against your chilled skin. "I'm trying." He moved his lips to your palm, placing featherlight kisses on the way down, his offering of another apology, as if to tell you he was sorry you had to be there to wipe away any tears. He'd been like that before, but not this bad.
"I know," you said, "but in the mean time, can I at least have a thought for a thought?"
He hummed against your palm. "You first."
"I'm thinking we really should have put in more comfortable roof tiles," you said, twisting against the tile that was biting into the underside of your thighs.
He shifted and pulled you to sit in his lap with a huff of what was almost a laugh. The shift in conversation was good, kept you both from spiraling further into all the uncertainty the future still held. If you couldn't talk about the past, at least there were things in the present to talk about.
"And I'm thinking," you added as you settled against his strong chest, his heartbeat a bit more steady against you now. "That you make a very comfortable seat."
"That's two."
"First one was free," you say, resting your head against his shoulder.
He was quiet for a long moment, just the two of you wrapped in each other under the stars.
"I'm thinking..." his arms wrapped around your waist, his hands finding yours so you could intertwine them. "That I clearly need to get you some new socks, your feet are freezing!"
He was clad in nothing but his underwear, you only now realized, and you had instinctively wrapped your legs around his, seeking any kind of warmth you could find. There wasn't a full sleep set between the two of you.
You couldn't help but laugh, even if this wasn't how you'd hoped the conversation would go, at least it was a conversation. "You know I hate sleeping with socks on, that's not fair."
"Slippers than," he conceded.
You intentionally brushed your cold feet up the side of his leg. "Fuzzy ones. And only if they're bright pink."
"Ridiculous," he huffed, "but if you insist."
"I want them to look like cats too."
"Pink cats?"
"Pink cats."
"Pink cats it is then."
You grinned at that. "We can go to the Rainbow tomorrow for them?"
"First thing in the morning," he promised as he settled his chin on your shoulder.
"We should go for breakfast. There's a new bakery on the Sidra. Well, new as in neither of us have been there, it's technically been open for awhile."
"You didn't go?"
You two had met in a bakery in Illyria, had fought over the last chocolate croissant until the shop owner had kicked both you out for scarring the other customers, it had become something of a weekly tradition to find which shop in Velaris had the best ones since. "I was waiting for you."
The arms around your middle squeezed a little tighter.
"I have a list of things for us to do, actually. A lot changed and I thought if, maybe I kept making a list it gave the Mother a reason to bring you back to me." It felt stupid, now that you'd said it aloud that you had hoped depriving yourself of a chocolate croissant would somehow force the Mother to bring your mate home, but you had been desperate, you weren't always thinking clearly.
Rhys nuzzled into the side of your neck. "Thank you, for waiting." You knew him well enough to know he wasn't talking about the bakery or the croissants.
"I would have waited a thousand years for you," you whispered.
"That's a long time without chocolate croissants," he teased.
"They're worth the wait," you replied, hoping he knew you well enough to know you weren't talking about croissants either.
He merely hummed understandingly as he settled against your shoulder, his breathing evening out against your back. You relished in the rise and fall of his chest, of his warm breath against your throat. He was alive, he was here, he'd made it home.
"What else is on this list of yours?"
"There's a new dinner cruise around the Sidra, an art exhibit in the Rainbow, three new plays," you counted them off on your fingers, trying to remember all of them now. Sleep was beginning to beckon again, your eyes heavy, speech slowing. "The Night Orchestra is coming back into town, you missed them twice. There's a new ice cream shop to try..." there was something else, but your mind was growing hazy. A yawn escaped you.
Rhys tried to stand, but you grabbed frantically at his wrists. "I'm ok. Wanna stay here with you."
He settled back against the roof, laying back now with you tucked into his side. The blanket had gotten twisted between the two of you, doing little to keep out the bite of the roof tiles. You didn't care.
"Oh! There's a new place that sells some lacy things I think you'd like," you mumbled as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck and breathed in deep.
"For you or me?" He teased.
"For you to rip off of me," you said.
He kissed your temple, "We'll definitely have to stop there then."
You were trying your hardest to keep your eyes open, really you were, but they were growing heavier and heavier, the stars over head blurring in your vision. Maybe you had been wrong to stop wishing on them, despite all your pain, your mate had still returned to you, that dream had still been answered.
"We're gonna be ok, you know," You murmured into his neck.
"You think so?" He whispered.
"I'll wish it onto every star I see until it's answered," you vowed.
Rhys gripped you a little tighter, you gripped him back, eyes drifting shut fully now.
"Maybe I'll start making wishes again too," he said in your ear. You hoped, as you drifted off, that the stars heard him and would answer this wish too.
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❄️️Warm my heart pt. 8 (end)❄️️
Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/ The Darkling x fem! heartrender! reader
Summary: Winter Fiesta at Christmas? Great idea. After all, there is no better opportunity to end the drama that has been going on between you and the general than at a huge ball thrown by Lantsov.
Word Count: 3,6k
Taglist:@aoi-targaryen @budugu @flostvs1508 @chelseyyouraverageluigi ~•♤♤♤•~ Aleksander Morozova’s Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~
~•♤♤♤•~ Part 7 ~•♤♤♤•~
You liked Christmas, but the winter fete that preceded it was a terrible event.
Especially since this year you weren't leaving to visit your brother right away, and in the next few hours you were going to find out whether the man you gave your heart to was really an immortal, power-hungry monster who would stop at nothing to achieve his goal.
In hindsight, you would probably prefer to endure the snark and rudeness of your grandparents and your siblings.
You took a shaky breath as you walked out of the Little Palace. At the exit, you met Fedyor and Ivan, who reconciled after Ivan promised to meet his family. The bastard knew it would be impossible this year, so he agreed, but as long as Fedyor is happy about it, then you are too.
Fedor's worse half separates from you as they reach the great hall of the king's palace.
You and Fedyor blend in with the crowd of other Grisha. You manage to grab a glass of champagne and sip it while watching the people around you. You unconsciously look at Alina, which Fedyor immediately notices.
"Are you waiting for the big show?" he asks, referring to the little show of power Alina and Aleksander were about to do.
Luckily, you missed out on being a circus monkey at the party this year (you suspect Aleksander didn't want to anger you more), so all you had to do was try to get through the last few hours as pain-free as possible.
"I can't wait." you say sarcastically, grabbing something sweet from the snack table. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice your friend smirking. "What is it? What did you do?"
"I? Nothing at all," he lies, leaning on the table and grabbing something to eat.
"I know you too well for you to lie to me. I've seen this conspiratorial smile more than once. What's going on?" you ask, looking at him carefully and expectantly.
Before you can push him further to speak, Genya joins you, saving the man from your further investigation. She shows you some Inferni tricks. When you look away, they both exchange knowing glances, and Fedyor silently thanks her for saving him.
"You look pretty." Genya comments, turning to you as the three of you eat the sweets. Take advantage of the opportunity while you can. In the Little Palace, you rarely ate anything other than those nasty herrings. "I like your earrings. Moonstone, right?"
"David made them for me. Initially, they were supposed to be… something else, but he had enough material to make me earrings as well."
"Yes, he is very talented. And what was most of it he spent on making?" she asks curiously as you three walk to a more distant part of the room where there are much fewer people.
"A ring."
"A ring? I don't see any on your finger."
"It wasn't supposed to be for me. Christmas gift." you explain vaguely.
The ring was supposed to be for Aleksander... no proposal or anything else. He recently lost his ring, so you asked David to make him a new one, practically the same as his old one but with a piece of moonstone inside.
"Oh, I see. You know, David told me that the moonstone has… a very special meaning," she says teasingly.
"Really? And how often do the two of you talk like that?" you ask just as teasingly, and she blushes too.
You both laugh, and only now do you notice that Fedyor has also disappeared somewhere, leaving you and Genya alone.
"May I ask who that special gift is?"
"I... I haven't decided yet." you tell her what is actually true.
This evening was to decide everything. That evening, Aleksander was to put his plan into action. If he really decided to use Alina in his plans... you had a backup plan ready. Which you hoped you wouldn't have to use.
You notice Aleksander as soon as he enters the room.
And you are speechless at the sight of him.
At the sight of his black kefta embroidered with red threads.
He gives you a short, meaningful look and goes to greet the royal family. You turn immediately towards Genya with a questioning look, and she simply shrugs.
"He wanted a matching kefta." she explains, but she frowns at your growing excitement. "But I want you to be careful. He's… a powerful man. Even if you tamed him a little."
You are going to deny her words, defend him, and say that he is not as bad as everyone makes him out to be, but you are speechless for the second time when soon after Alina enters the room in a black kefta with gold embroidery.
You shake your head, laughing bitterly.
"Apparently not." you say, staring at Alin with envy. The bitter bile of jealousy and hurt wells up inside you as you try to focus on your anger rather than the tears welling up in your eyes.
Genya stares at her as surprised as you, searching for someone in the crowd.
"I don't understand… after all…"
"Don't worry, I understand." you say firmly and coldly, making the redhead shiver. You ignore her, staring at Alina as she approaches Aleksander from behind, surprising him when she smiles sweetly at him. "And I'm not going to be part of this fucking threesome."
You leave Genya alone before she can say anything. You don't stay for the Alina and General show. You just walk out, pushing your way through the crowd and finding the back exit where the fewest guards are patrolling. All you wanted was to disappear into the shadows.
Aleksander looked for you frantically after Alina approached him. But he doesn't see you anywhere. You left Genya alone, and he wasn't able to spot you in the crowd.
He did his little show with the Sun Summoner and left her with her friends. He moved quickly towards the exit, catching Genya's gaze. The woman immediately followed him. They both left the room and went into the corridor, where Fedyor was already waiting for them.
"What happened there?" he asks them furiously. "Who gave her that damn kefta? That wasn't the plan."
"Um… David saw Baghra leaving the Grand Palace."
Aleksander frowns in anger at Fedyor's words. He clenches his fists and takes a few breaths to calm himself down. His mother always had to destroy everything that was good. He should've predicted it.
"And where is she now?" he asks through gritted teeth.
"Baghra?" Fedyor asks hesitantly as Genya gently moves towards him.
"Y/N!!" they both tremble when they hear him shouting. Shadows circle him, giving him an even more ominous look. He sighs when he sees the fear in their eyes, and with a wave of his hand, everything returns to normal. “I meant Y/N.” he says more calmly, slightly embarrassed by his sudden outburst.
"We do not know. David followed her, but she vanished from his sight."
"Vanished?" Fedyor nods. Aleksander immediately thinks of his mother. Only she and he knew the exact location of the hidden corridors in the Grand and Little Palace. She had to take you. Convince you finally that he is a monster. "I want our men at every exit gate around the castle, at every exit and entrance, and at the sewers that lead from here. As soon as you see her, you are to capture her and alert the rest."
"Baghra or Y/N?"
"Both!" he says angrily, walking towards the exit of the palace. "And you two are to guard the Sun Summoner. I don't want her to disappear too."
He doesn't go far before Ivan catches up with him with the news that there was an attack on Alina. He freezes in his steps. It cannot be split.
He can either look for you or protect the Sun Summoner.
And the choice is simple for him.
You kept your hand pressed tightly to your mouth to keep from making any sound as you walked down the hall of the Grand Palace. Tears flowed freely from your eyes, somehow making their way through your hand and into your mouth so you could taste the saltiness of your defeat.
He chose Alina. Actually, both of you, but what difference did it make? You made it clear to him that you wouldn't be just another pushover in his life, just another face among many others. You wanted everything or nothing. Nothing half-hearted, no half-truths, and no being THE OTHER WOMEN.
As you walk and cry, you don't notice something suddenly moving in the shadows, and listening to the heartbeat of someone who might be hiding in a secret passageway in the hall is the last thing on your mind right now.
That's how someone grabs you tightly by the arm in an aching hug and drags you along with them to the hidden exit of the castle. You struggle and freeze, both shocked and irritated, as you see who caught you.
"Baghra? What the hell do you want?" you ask irritably, not wanting her to see you like this. You pull your hand from her grip and wipe the remaining tears from your face.
"I'm helping you, child. Do you think Aleksander won't send people after you who will lead you back to him like some pet?"
"I don't need your help." you growl, backing away from her in anger.
"You think so? So c'mon. Go, run away by yourself. I am sure he will find you. Maybe he will even put a collar on you too. You, Alina and Aleksander will have so much fun together."
You stand still, listening to her words like poison. You shake your head and turn to face her, watching her smirk with spite.
"You know what? I'm not surprised that he... that he thinks what he's doing is right. If he told me even a little bit of the truth about himself, then I know how you treated him. How you shaped him. So don't be surprised that your son became what he became when all you showed him was how to take advantage of other people and how to not care about anyone but his own goals and needs. Maybe if you hadn't run away from all those who are supposedly not worthy of your attention and hadn't taught him the same things, he would have turned out completely differently. Maybe if you saw him as something more than a creator of the fold, a Black Heretic, everything would be different. And don't worry. I can handle everything perfectly on my own."
You leave her in the secret corridor and don't look back as you return to the main halls of the Grand Palace.
Aleksander was furious. No one saw you, no one could find you. He ran out of the Little Palace and headed straight for the stables. You had to sneak out somehow. He hoped that maybe he would ride his horse around the area and find you.
He doesn't wait for the horseboy. He approaches his horse and saddles it quickly and expertly. He has his foot in the stirrup when he hears movement near the entrance.
"Are you going somewhere?" you ask, leaning against the entrance with your arms crossed.
He freezes, blinking a few times, making sure you're not some sort of vision, ghost, or other creature tormenting him. When he realises you're standing there in your body, he jumps off his horse and runs towards you. He hugs you to his chest and buries his nose in your hair. He lets out a shaky breath, inhaling your scent.
"Saints, where have you been?" he asks, not letting you move away from him. He needs to feel you close.
"On the way. Far from here. I turned back when I heard that there was an attack on Alina. Did anything happen to anyone?" you ask worriedly, moving away from him. He doesn't let you go far, just enough to look at him.
"I… I don't know." he admits, embarrassed, and you frown, looking at him in disbelief.
"How don't you know?"
"I left. I left Ivan, Fedyor, and Zoya in charge. I… I had to find you."
His confession makes your heart melt, and you bite your lips, holding back the sudden urge to kiss him. Your brain gets back on track as you start to think again about how your friends and other Grisha handle another attack on Sun Summoner.
"We have to come back to them." you tell him as you somehow manage to get out of his grasp and turn towards the exit.
"Wait... please." he says this and quickly overtakes you, blocking your only escape route. You stare into his dark eyes for a moment before shifting your gaze to his horse, which is watching the two of you closely. He doesn't let you take your eyes off him for long. He gently grabs your chin and forces you to meet his pleading gaze. "Talk to me."
"About what? We have nothing to talk about." you say, glaring at him defiantly.
Common sense screams at you to run away from him. He wasn't just the red flag; he was the whole red carpet. But how can you leave him when those dark eyes look at you so pleadingly, when he clings to you like to the anchor, like to the only thing that holds him sane?
"If that were true, you'd be on your way, far away. I know you could get through all those people I put on guard, even me. If we didn't have anything to talk about, I… I wouldn't be looking for you like a mad man, leaving the Little Palace in such a situation without my supervision. You know that."
"Why are you wearing a kefta with red embroidery? Why did Alina replace her blue one with a black one? You can't have a cake and eat it at the same time, Aleksander. I want... I want to be the only one for you... as you are the only one for me, even though this shouldn't happen. Even though I know what you did, but... I can't help seeing you as... as someone more than my general or the Darkling. I... please, just don't prove me I am that naive to love you."
You lift your head to look at him just as he leans down to capture your lips with his.
You stand there in shock for a moment, but you respond to his kiss with equal parts fervour, passion, and need. He wraps one hand around your waist, and the other gently cups your cheek, tilting your head to a different side to give him better access to your mouth. You moan into the kiss, grabbing the lapels of his kefta and pulling him even closer to you.
The thought occurs to you that he looks good in red.
His cold fingertips tease the hot skin of your neck as he begins to undo the buttons on your kefta. A shiver runs through you as you break away from him, realising that you two still have a few more things to explain before you can finally let yourself lose yourself in him.
"Wait, wait." he listens to you and immediately pulls away from you, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. He licks his lips and is about to ask you a question when you interrupt him. "Nothing happened. You didn't do anything wrong; I just need to know. What about Alina? And the fold?"
"She means nothing to me. She is nothing compared to you. She is just a means to an end, and I… might have changed my plans a little bit."
"What do you mean?" you ask, crossing your arms. He sighs and looks at you for a long time before answering.
"I'm not known for making noble decisions. But know that everything I do—everything I wanted to do—I did for Grisha's sake. And I admit... these were not good for everyone. I wanted to seduce Alina. Make her trust me, make her rely only on me, and take advantage of her. But then I promoted you. I needed help with the papers—someone who wouldn't question my authority and for whom Grisha's well-being was as important as mine. And you ruined all my plans after the first day when you argued with me about sending our people through the fold. I... for the first time in hundreds of years, I had someone who wasn't afraid to say what she thought. Someone who respected my opinion even if she didn't agree with it. I felt that… that I didn't have to be this monster around you, that I didn't have to keep up my image. That I don't have to be a Darkling for you to respect me. And I know I'm far from being a good man, but with you... with you, I remember what I was like before all this happened, before this whole thing with the fold. What I was fighting for. What I believed in. I thought that that man died a long time ago, but with you, I am... I can be just my old self. The one I really missed. The only one of many of my... well, version of myself that I didn't play or create for survival purposes. I live with you. Not just keep fighting to survive for the better times. So please believe me that when I say I love you, I say it from the deepest truth, from the remnants of my heart that I still have after the centuries I have lived. The remnants that you picked up and brought back to life, my little almighty heartrender. You don't have to want me back. I don't suspect you will… just please don't leave. Don't leave me again alone in my darkness."
And what can you say? What can you do other than go up to him and kiss him like you've never kissed anyone else? You don't know who is more surprised—you, him, or that damned horse neighing in the background, ruining your perfect moment. But you don't care. You kiss your shadow summoner and try to convince him that, from now on, he will never be alone. At least as long as you breathe.
"I have something for you," you say later that night as you lie in his arms in his bed.
After your little make-out session, you returned to the Little Palace and took care of everything. Baghra was gone, Alina was safe (with Mal returning after Aleksander had abandoned his search for the deer), and everyone in the palace had somehow survived another attack.
"I don't need anything except for you to stop squirming so much," he murmurs into your neck, tightening his grip on you as you try to reach for your kefta, which is discarded on the floor next to the bed.
"Aleksander!” you squeal, laughing when he touches the sensitive spot on your waist, making you tickle. "Don't you dare." you say, seeing his malicious look. "I'm serious. Tickle me, and I'll fly out the door, not caring who sees me naked."
"I'll remember that." he huffs, offended, and buries his face in your neck. His beard tickles your skin, and even more tickles your sensitive skin, where he left a few hickeys on it.
You somehow manage to reach into your kefta and take out a canvas pouch. You place it on Alexander's chest, smiling excitedly as he pulls away from you gently and takes the item, examining it in his hands.
"What is it?"
"Your Christmas' gift. Open it."
He doesn't question your order. He pulls you towards him so that you're sitting between his legs and leaning against his chest. He hugs you, holding you close to him and resting his chin on your head as he opens his pouch and selects a ring. You feel him hold his breath, and his heart speeds up.
"Don't worry; I'm not proposing to you. I'm not crazy enough to do it so quickly. Besides, I'm quite a traditionalist when it comes to this. I'll wait for my ring. I just know you lost yours somewhere and… I thought it would be a nice gift."
"Is this a moonstone?" you nod at his question.
"Do you like it?"
He doesn't answer. He places a kiss on your head and hands you the ring. He sticks out his left hand, obviously wanting you to put it on his finger.
You do it with trembling hands. It looks good on his finger. And the possessive thought crosses your mind that he is truly yours now.
"I have nothing for you, milaya. You'll have to wait before I pick up your gift from David and Genya." you turn around in his arms with a smile.
"I already have my gift. You let me warm your heart. That's all I wanted." he gives you that charming smile and kisses you. You smile against his lips, feeling his arms around you again as he pins you to the mattress to shower you with kisses again, hickeys and all his attention, whispering against your skin with every kiss how much he loves you and needs you.
And in the morning, you find a beautiful black kefta with red embroidery and a ring that matches the one you gave him. And as you hear his heartbeat against yours, you decide it's the best Christmas you've ever had.
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These Violent Delights | Chapter Two
Summary: A High Lords meeting goes awry and you find yourself thrust into the foxes den.
Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!Reader (brief mentions of Azriel x reader)
Word Count: 6.4k
Chapter 1 of These Violent Delights on my Masterlist
The Hewn City’s state rooms are ugly, you think as you stalk the emissary of the Night Court through the winding, narrow corridors of Hewn City. The palatial chambers had been carved into the dark stone of the mountain by the Gods of old; and the high, domed ceilings are held in place by onyx pillars decorated with twisted carvings of beasts and fornicating demi-gods that line the Gothic archways.
Lurid, ill-fated omens, you think.
Harbingers of your undoing.
The emissary appointed with escorting you is adorned in ceremonial robes; a fine damask tunic in a deep indigo silk that is almost iridescent in the artificial light. You fall into step with him as he approaches a set of gilded iron gates. Two armored sentries fall into rank as you cross the threshold of the council chambers and you offer a courteous nod to the sentry as he meets your eye.
The antechamber of The Moonstone Palace is plunged in a suffocating blue-darkness with only the silvers of silver faelight, like artificial stars, to light the faces of the High Lords. The atmosphere is oppressive and the smell of hemlock and moonflowers stain the stagnant air. For a few moments, while you’re lost in thought, the world is silent and still. Feigning peace. But there is no peace. Not here, where the eyes of every High Lord in Prythian are upon you.
Hewn City is a dark mirage. A metropolis of hedonistic desire and vulgar frivolity
It is here in the dark that you find yourself adrift; lost somewhere to the sea of time. You abandon yourself to the tide of memory. The happy recollections of your childhood; to the thought of home. Someplace far from here, where the sunlight touches your skin and the smell of salt from the coast becomes tangled in your unbound hair. Somewhere, in the recesses of your mind, where you know your mothers love and your fathers face is something more than a mere memory.
It occurs to you that this is a home that never existed.
Home had always been burning; the acrid smell of woodsmoke beckons you like a funeral pyre and your salt-cracked lips chafe and bleed in the wake of blistering winds from the violent sea. And that’s the thing about mothers, you and she exist as some wretched mirror or one another; as hatred and guilt.
You’ve been thinking of your mother a lot as of late; something in your dreams, the echoing of a coming storm. A fine line between love and hate. It is something strange and prophetic that makes your skin crawl uncomfortably from your body.
In a flurry of movement against the black you are brought back to the present as you take your place amongst the ranks of the Inner Circle.
The silhouettes of the other High Lords, that had been flickering wildly against the dark stone of the mountain, cease to move. Cease to be, as shadows envelop the room, melting into the darkness as Rhysand glides into the room his violet eyes glinting in the dark. His eyes shine with a cold violence that draws you from thought and the visions of a home long forgotten turn to ashes in your trembling hands. He’s dressed all in black and violet, his tan skin looks pallid in the low light. By his side Feyre’s skin looks as though it is wreathed in starlight against the backdrop of the twilight-- you catch the scent of chamomile and moondust in the air.
It smells like Nyx you think, smiling lightly to yourself at the thought of your nephew.
A tremor of dark power ripples through the air and you feel the shift in the atmosphere when shield after shield locks into place around each High Lord and his retinue of courtiers. The shield that Rhysand had already placed around the Inner Circle; made stronger in response. Night magic glitters in the air like stardust and you swear you can taste it on your tongue. That same cold rage and an essence of icy violence fortifies you against the hostility in the room and you school your expression to remain neutral when you seek out a pair of strange amber eyes in the crowd.
A gentle warmth burns though your chest and your eyes scan the crowd.
Eris Vanserra moves like a predator; resolute and obstinate. Amber eyes burn like fire glow in the dim light and each of his long strides are punctuated by the echo of boot clad feet on the marble. In this light, his face is almost ethereal. Unearthly even. Set in a painfully neutral expression as he slinks through the halls of the city below the mountains of Velaris. Eris Vanserra burns bright against the other Lords of Pryhtian; his copper hair, like burnished gold in the dim lights, and his eyes. Those fucking eyes. Haunting and evocative as he meets your gaze with a feline smirk.
It is a wicked, false thing, that glitters with malice.
He watches you with a wrathful sort of reverence. He is so very lovely, even in the pallid light. Even as his father and brothers flank his sides like a pack of hungry foxes; hungry and baying for blood.
You watch him carefully as Eris takes his seat at the foot of the large black table, he’s careful to make a show of the way he languidly reclines in his chair, rolling his shoulders back and angling his hips in such a way that the whole room is displayed to him at once.
It’s almost voyeuristic in nature.
That summons a storm within you; a violent, lonely, sort of thing, that washes over him with the force of a raging tempest down the scarcely accepted bond and his eyes, glittering and amber in the dying light, finding yours again. For a moment, Eris Vanserra sees himself through your eyes; for the first time in centuries he doesn’t hate the man staring back at him.
By his side Eris’ mother’s skin looks as though it is wreathed in fireglow against the backdrop of the twilight-- you catch her dark glassy eyes and she smiles softly at you. There is a deep sorrow there, in the depths of The Lady of Autumn's eyes, that feel kindred to you.
A shared pain, perhaps.
Turning as Rhysand and Feyre push further into the darkness of the antechamber, you are drawn from thought once more.
The rest of The Night Court look like some savage celestial army as they enter on a night-kissed breeze. Cassian and Nesta look like warriors hardened by war and ruin, all dressed in black and faces coloured with cold caution. They’re followed by the Shadowsinger, who is shrouded in dark wisps of shadow and his skin glows golden against the dark. His face is set in an unreadable expression, though, when your eyes meet a flash of recognition flashes in those hazel eyes.
Rhysand stops dead in his tracks when he regards the High Lord of Autumn.
Beron Vanserra; cruel and tyrannical, keens when he notes the flash of surprise in Rhysand’s violet gaze. His eyes simmer with a dim fire as his eyes land on you. Beron’s teeth are like crow-picked bones as he offers you a feral smile.
“We weren’t expecting you, Beron.” Feyre’s voice is distant and cold as she speaks to the High Lord and his sons.
Rhysand rises to his feet from his throne, waving his hand to the attendants, “Fetch the High Lord and his Lady a seat.”
The attendant presents Beron with a chair and he settles between Helion and the Lady of Autumn, neither Helion nor the lady seem to acknowledge each other but you can feel the shift in their demeanors as Beron’s ire sparks in his eyes. He doesn’t even spare The Lady of Autumn a glance before he moves on to inspecting his fellow High Lords.
You pay Beron no heed and instead your eyes find the Lady of Autumn as she settles into her seat beside her husband and eldest son. The Lady of Autumn is like one of Feyre’s paintings; arresting and darkly beautiful. Her romantic eyes are shaded in the colors of sunset; a warm amber that looks almost golden in the low light and her dark auburn hair glitters in the dying fireglow and her eyes-- so rich that you get lost in their glassy depths. Those haunting eyes. They’re Eris’ eyes you realize as they meet yours. Though she doesn’t linger long she gives you a soft smile before returning her gaze to her long slender fingers that twitch in her lap. They’re adorned with many gold rings and crystals that she wears like armor to fortify her against the hostile atmosphere.
You see something of yourself in her you think, looking down to your own attire. An opulent and finely boned corset, cinched so tight, that even breathing feels like a luxury and the heavy black damask that covers you in swathes of pleated fabric acts as barrier between yourself and the many eyes in the room that trail over you without care or warning.
“Nor was I expecting to be here,” Beron drawls, “But alas, it seems we have business to discuss.” Beron’s fire rages dangerously against the black. Torrid and angry, his face unflinching and cruel as he turns his gaze upon Rhysand. Something treacherous passes between the two High Lords at that moment and something in your chest begins to stir like a storm inside of you.
A warning of a coming storm.
“Rumor claims that your allegiances are elsewhere, these days.” It is your voice that counters and Beron croons. The High Lord of Autumn assesses you keenly, his gaze shifting-- from the darkness of your eyes-- down. To the sulk of your lips. Further still to the exposed slope of your shoulders and coming to rest on your chest, where the swell of your breasts spills over the corseted bodice of your gown. His eyes darken luridly as his eyes meet yours again. Beron Vanserra scrutinizes every minute detail of your dark armor; every errant hair, every nervous twitch of your jaw, every flutter of your dark lashes.
It’s disarming the smile that spreads across his handsome face and his eyes shine with a maniacal sort of joy that sparks a wave of fury that runs through you like water-- and you swear you can feel Eris’ own fiery rage in answer.
“And what would you know of my allegiances, girl?” The false smile he offered is soon replaced with a deep loathing in Beron’s eyes that practically burns through you.
In a way, it feels strangely comforting to feel his ire.
To feel anything at all that isn’t paralyzing dread or hirearth for a home to which you will never return.
Helion waves a scar-flecked hand in front of him, “Let’s just get on with it, shall we?”
The High Lord of Day glows with the radiance of the golden sun and he looks at you with such a strange mixture of boredom and curiosity that almost seems like reverence. He doesn’t dare look at The Autumn Lady in her seat though you notice the careful glances she makes towards him in those spaces between the seconds when no one is paying much heed.
“I know you met with rhe Prince of Rask.” you say and all the idle chatter in the room dies at once. “And he’s working with the Koschei, isn’t he?”
Beron opens his mouth and you brace yourself for the torrid flames of his wrath. You see the violent delight dance across Beron’s eyes and Rhysand just holds his stare. Hold it with a face like icy death. And beneath the surface you see untempered wrath as it ripples beneath his carefully curated mask. A sharp pain in your chest has you seeking out Eris at his father’s side. His face is the picture of cataclysmic rage; writhing and burning in those eyes.
To anyone else Eris Vanserra is the image of infernal rage. A righteous son to a wronged father. But to you-- all his fear comes home to you.
A warning fire.
“Never mind, we can discuss the happy news of your heir’s birth another time,” Beron smiles again at Rhysand and Feyre. It is Feyre who regards him with a snarling fury at the mention of the son she had almost died to bring into the world.
She would give her life again if only to protect him from the clutches of a tyrant like Beron. Of that you were certain.
“I believe we have business to discuss?” Beron questions again when no one responds to his taunt.
All the eyes in the room turn to you when you loose a laugh, “I didn’t realize we were in the business of discussing plans with our enemies.”
Eris Vanserra looks as though he might just vault over the table and silence you himself. His eyes smoulder in the dark and the scathing look he sends your way is enough to make you weak in the knees.
“Make no mistake girl,” Beron muses, his eyes sparking with feral delight, “I am not your enemy,”
“You are advised to keep it that way.”
In that moment you are bereft of every thought and sound in your mind as the room stills.
Rhysand and Feyre falter and look between you and The High Lord of Autumn-- and his heir.
Your mate.
Eris himself remains poised, his fingers wrapped around the arm of the chair, the wood straining under his cruel grip until his knuckles turn as pale as the sea foam that swirls atop the Sidra.
It is the Shadowsinger who rises from his seat in response, “Threaten her again, old man-- I dare you.” Azriel’s voice wraps round you like cold death and you can’t help but stare impassively as he places his body between yours and Beron. The flicker of flame is smothered by Azriel’s darkness.
Beron sits in his chair without so much as a word. Though you see the taunt in his eyes as he looks at you again. Azriel’s imposing figure still stands over you, a scarred hand that strokes languid circles into the skin of your shoulder. The bond in your chest hums violently.
“Call off your dog, Rhysand.” Eris’ voice is dangerously low as he eyes Azriel.
Rhys shrugs, smiling faintly “Very well,” he muses.
Azriel takes his seat beside you, though his scarred fingers remain fixed on the arm of your chair.
“Tell me, Azriel?” Eris laughs coldly, his voice devoid of any humor and he opens his mouth to speak, “Does it pain you knowing that both of your brothers have been given a sister as a mate?”
“And yet the Mother still deems you unworthy of a Mate -- desitined to pity fuck the spare sister.” Eris muses with a lilt of his voice when he realizes he has the upperhand.
A twinge of heat in your chest from the bond makes your scowl deepen.
Azriel blinks at first, his face twisting in rage before rising to his feet once more, barrelling over the table with an inhuman growl. Azriel grips Eris by the lapels of his emerald tunic. Coming together in flashes of flame and smoke as they struggle against one another. Eris swings a leg over Azriel’s thigh bringing them both tumbling to the floor, while the other High Lords watch on with varying degrees of amusement and frustration on their faces.
Your face heats under the scrutiny. Unable to move or speak-- your stormy facade rendered useless as the tears begin to well in your eyes.
You are a storm-- but in the face of their wrath there is naught you can do but watch and abide.
Rhysands commanding voice cuts through Azriel’s cursing and Eris’ insults. The room falls silent as the males pull away from one another. Azriel’s nose is bloodied and his hair falls around his face in messy strands. Eris’ lip is split, spilling crimson along the column of his throat. You trace the line of scarlet as the droplets stain the neckline of his white shirt. You can hear his heartbeat as it flutters wildly. His eyes meet yours and a look of resignation and shame crosses them for a moment; obscuring the perfect amber of his gaze.
Azriel wipes his blood on his leathers; wears it like armor as he turns to Eris “Something to remember me by.”
Azriel spits the words like venom at Eris whose face radiates with a dark and fiery wrath.
Feyre looks between the two males and then to you; her face softens then as she regards you. Your hands shaking wildly, and a heartbeat like an echoing war drum, the bond in your chest singing a mournful song as it rages inside you.
You look utterly devastated.
She’s not used to seeing that kind of defeat on the face of her elder sister; the sister who had weathered so much, always headstrong and ardent, who had suffered every injustice with a straight face-- she hadn’t quite prepared herself for the type of sorrow that realization would bring with it.
Taking in the scene unfolding before you-- the descent into violence and the blood that pools like rubies at Eris Vanserra’s feet you loose a shaky breath. “Enough--enough” You wave your hands between Azriel and Eris.
The males both take a tentative step away from one another and further from you.
“Who shares my bed is of little concern, I assure you, My Lord,” You insist firstly, setting your shoulders straight and facing them now with all the stormy determination you can feign in that moment, “from what I’ve heard you yourself have quite curious bedfellows.”
Beron sneers and scoffs from his seat at the foot of the table at the insult. A lie, at that. If anyone does share Eris Vanserra’s bed they are a mystery to you.
“Preferring the company of hounds - or so I am told.” Azriel adds.
And in truth you and Azriel haven’t so much as locked eyes since that night in Hewn City. After the mating bond between you and Eris had made its home in your chest you hadn’t been able to think about anyone or anything else.
Just him. And those amber eyes.
“We are here because once more someone is threatening the tenuous peace we have established here,” Helion nods his head thoughtfully and Thesan, who had remained silent throughout the whole ordeal looks at you with genuine encouragement and utters his agreement. Kallias and Vivianne remain silent and imposing on the other side of the table.
“It is our duty-- our privilege-- to ensure Prythian and its people are not ravaged by war again.” You look to Kallias then, unimpressed by the needless violence that had passed but somehow enamored by your words.
“Hyburn took so much from us-- from all of us.” You say, gesturing around the table and the High Lord’s faces are all shaded in sympathy and regret for all they had lost, “and Amarantha made slaves of you all.”
You cast a glance to your sister; who had fought and died for these great men and their courts. And to Rhysand who had subjected himself to being her plaything. Something like grief flashes in those violet eyes that sparks a storm in you.
“I will not be a slave again,” You vow and you notice then how all the High Lords seem rapt withal as you speak to them, and the storm inside you rages on, “to anyone.”
The tensions around the table seem to dissipate when Helion raises a chalice and smirks fondly at you and it seems that they see you as more than a bed warmer to a dark God or the mate of some High Lord’s heir. Talons scrape menacingly along your mental shields and Rhysand’s dark presence makes itself known to you. Bed warmer? Darling you are a storm-- everyone here knows it.
A force to be reckoned with.
The rest of the meeting seems to come to pass as intended, laborious hours of negotiating and political games as you come to terms with each High Lord in turn. By the time the moon hangs in the sky like cut quartz, almost all of the High Lords have already departed, leaving only The High Lord of Spring and The Autumn Court’s entourage.
“Where did you find this one, Rhysand?” Tamlin asks, his tone measured and light.
Rhysand looks between Feyre and you smiling lightly, the corners of his mouth twitching as he opens his mouth to speak.
“I heard they found her in a Hyburn cell, after the war was over.” It is Beron Vanserra’s voice that cuts in, “what was left of her anyway.”
“Perhaps we should be asking where your loyalties lie?” It’s the middle Vanserra brother that speaks. His russet curls glow warm in the dim lights and his stare is cruel and malignant as he hones in on you.
“Hyburn whore” It’s whispered, accusatory, on an inhale of breath.
They way it is uttered with an air of repulsion and venom reminds you of those stories told in human villages; of woods women named ‘witch’ by those who do not understand.
People fear what they do not understand.
It seems that Fae are no different than mere mortals in that respect.
“You’d be wise to bite your tongue, brother.” Eris’s voice is a cold echo as all thought and sound eddies out of your mind. Flashes of black and gold as the visions come back to you; those days spent cowering in the darkness of your cell, your feral anger directed at any man who came too close-- all biting fury, canines and claws, and the screams they tore from your like the howling wind over a violent sea.
A fury spreads through you, taking root in the dark caverns of your chest, slowing your heartbeat to a dull aching thud as you lose yourself to it; give yourself over to the tempest of emotion that courses through you. You try to fight it as the first ebbs of that dangerous storm embrace you. Lest you surrender yourself to the tempest; let it open you up and pour out into the world in floods of ravaging power.
It brings forth a storm the likes of which the world has never seen; a thing of ugly rage.
You were born angry, your mother had told you once.
But rage is a learned thing. Your rage. It had been your mother’s first, before that it had her mothers, and her mother before her.
It is an inherited curse; a wicked and wretched thing.
It is a storm enough to drown in.
A howling wind whips around you and for a moment you are standing at a great precipice. From the cliff’s edge, peering down at a violent sea as it coils and breaks against the jagged cliff face of some distant shore, where the world looks as though it is dappled in fireglow, the smell of woodsmoke and bonfires wafts from inland. The sea-soaked wind is so palpable that you taste its salt-kiss on your lips with the ardent fervor of the most savage lover.
There is something sacred in salt, you think.
For a moment you consider what it would feel like; to plummet into the watery abyss. How the sunlight would look as it fractures and splinters on the water's violent surface.
How it might cascade into the murky green depths. A secret held between you and the sea.
“My Lady,” It is Eris’ voice, practically feral and dripping with an aching desperation as he all but vaults around the corner of the dark wood table, parting his brothers with a rehearsed type of brutality as he claws his way to you. His commanding aura draws you closer to him and his pale hand offers a strong and comforting weight on your arm as he takes your trembling palm in his rough hold.
“You’re bleeding,” Eris says, cupping your palm into a fist with his own, applying light pressure to the wound while he assesses it. Turning it over in his tentative grasp. Through your lashes you take a moment to assess him as he towers over you. He’s tall and much broader than you remember but he moves with an inhuman grace. His nose is long and straight and his jaw strong and regal. His amber eyes linger dangerously over the hand cupped in his own. You hadn’t even realized you had stood up. Nor had you registered the blood you had drawn from your own palms until you see the crescent moons, indented in the tender flesh, like a taunt as they stain Eris’ fingertips scarlet as he presses the fabric of his handkerchief to your grazed hand.
“It’s nothing, My Lord,” You say softly, your voice low and you feel his eyes burning into yours; it is a slow, searing ache that almost feels like a kiss. A fragile thing, full of reverence and a strange tenderness. A vein of hurt throbs through you, quickly soothed by the press of his palm to yours.
Eris Vanserra holds a power over you; commands you in a way that should feel unpleasant. The knowledge that you would give yourself over to him if only he asked.
“It is only a little blood.” The words live and die on tongue, they fizzle out just as soon as they are uttered before he is calling for Rhysand -- his voice is swallowed by the din and your heartbeat echoes like a wardrum in your ears and the sound of the violet sea breaks against you and you feel your body go lax.
You wait for the dull ache as your body meets the cool marble of the floor only it never comes; instead your weight is suspended in the embrace of Eris Vanserra’s arms, you vaguely hear your name from his lips before the world turns to darkness.
You feel like lull of his heartbeat as he brings you closer against his chest.
The smell of cedar and smoked bergamot follows you into the abyss.
The room seems to come back to you like the tide; swiftly and cruelly as it materializes before you. It comes back in flashes of the dark; the oppressive pillars of dark marble that hold the domed, onyx ceiling in place, the silver fae lights like pallid stars and the visage of contorting demons and chimera’s like half formed ghosts.
“What happened?” You ask looking around the darkened council chambers; once filled with the idle chatter of courtiers and High Lord’s and their entourage now only the Inner Circle is gathered in the darkness contained between these walls.
And Eris.
He burns golden against the black.
“Well one thing is for certain,” It is Morrigan who stands over you, her shoes shine like rubies in the low light, “You know how to make a scene.” Her voice is light and jovial, laced with concern.
“You fainted,” Feyre says plainly as she sinks to her knees before you. It is then you feel Eris’ solid frame as he radiates warmth behind you, where you are propped against his chest. Your body feels foreign and unlike your own as you move, transferring your weight from his arms and into the arms of Feyre who helps you stand on uncertain feet.
“I’m sorry,” You say earnestly to both Rhysand and Feyre and turning to Eris again to mutter your thanks. He looks displeased at that. The distance between your body in his, the unfamiliarity you regard him with as if you hadn’t just allowed yourself to revel in the feel of his arms wrapped securely around you. “I’m sorry.”
“You should return to your father, My Lord.” You laugh humorlessly, using the hand that isn’t wrapped tightly around the lip of the chair to smooth a hand down the pleats of your gown reflexively.
A knock, resounding and resolute echoes through the chamber and the Inner Circle seem to bristle at the intrusion. Through the blanket of the dark a figure emerges; Keir stands tall with an air of arrogance about him as he steps into the antechamber. His hair is dark and graying and his face, though handsome, has begun to show signs of age. His eyes glitter menacingly as he finds you amongst the inner circle.
“My apologies for the intrusion, High Lord.” Keir says, his voice full of dark promise as a second figure steps from the shadow, “but it appears there is a rather urgent matter that has come to our attention.”
The rooms seems steeped in solemn silence as Beron Vanserra reveals himself through the din; dressed in fine merlot robes and embroidered with gold threads and leaves. He looks like Autumn personified. All fire and wrath as he stalks into the room.
“It appears you have been keeping secrets from me, Rhysand.” Rhys takes a step forward approaching Beron with little regard for the fury that burns behind his hazel eyes. The High Lord of Night laughs cruelly as Beron advances further into the room, seeking out his son, who reaches for you almost without thinking. His fingers flex around your forearm and push you further into Feyre as he steps in front of you both subtly.
Beron looks suspiciously between the three of you.
Beron smiles.
It is not a thing of fondness or affection-- It is dark and laden with malevolence. A whisper of amusement lights in his golden irises and Eris feels like a boy again; alone and afraid as the shadows of his fathers wrath descend upon him.
“You knew,” The High Lord of Autumn charges forward, tearing through Azriel and Cassian, as he raves. His voice is dangerously low and full of malice as he advances towards Eris. His eyes blaze against the dark as he casts his wicked gaze upon his eldest son.
“You knew,” He repeats frantically, “That whore is your mate, and you lied to me.”
Accusatory.
Without thought or care, Eris lunges forward and takes one long stride so that his body shields yours from Beron’s grasp as his fire burns vengeful and angry as it bands around Eris’s arms. The putrid smell of burned flesh brings bile rising in your throat and you feel Rhysand’s shields fortify around you and the rest of the Inner Circle in response.
You wait for someone to do something, but as is the nature of these things Rhysand is not permitted to interfere in the affairs of other courts. And whether he likes it or not, Eris is subject to his High Lord and father.
And as it stands he is a traitor to both.
Eris falls to his knees before you and you feel the bond die in your chest; his scream is something akin to dying. It sears through you, burning like fire until you feel like a phoenix rising from its own ashes as your body moves of its own volition.
“Stop, stop!” You plead with Beron advancing a pace towards him as you pull away from Feyre’s secure hold. Not even Cassian dares hold you back when you claw your way from the safety of his arms, “Please, he didn’t know.”
Beron pays you no heed as his wrath brings Eris to his knees.
“Please.” you beg, your voice aching and angry as you address the High Lord, ignoring the warnings of Azriel and Cassian, “He didn’t know.”
“W-we hid it from him.” Your lie desperately, your voice though strained comes out in violent waves of anger as Beron continues to inflict his fire upon Eris.
Your mate.
In a desperate bid to spare him you beg once more.
“Please, whatever you want, you can have it, I swear it.” And all the fire ceases.
Eris heaves a heavy breath and he collapses in a swath of burnished gold and emerald, strewn lazily against the marble. You sink to your knees beside him, his hands, though shaking, are firm against you as they grasp at the many layers of your skirts as he hoists himself up. Even on his knees he towers over you. His hair drapes like spidersilk over one side of his sculpted face as he peers down at you with dark amber eyes. Despite all the eyes in the room Eris brings a tentative hand to cup your cheek and all his remorse and grief flood down the bond that runs golden and brilliant from your body to his; as if to say no use hiding now, little fox.
Eris rises to his feet before his father who looks on with a mixture of feral delight and complete apathy as Eris’ pain subsides.
Keir retreats into the shadows and with him the air shifts; the room, once shaded in the smell of hemlock and moonflowers, is tainted with something more. Something darker. Earthy.
The smell of wildflowers; smoke-kissed juniper and foxglove, all undercut with the smell of salt and iron.
It occurs to you then that it is the smell of your mating bond.
Beron loses a dark laugh and approaches you slowly, like a predator circles its prey. Deliberate and calculating as he takes your chin in his bony fingers and commands you to look at him. His eyes are much darker than Eris’, so dark that they almost look black in this light and even in his age you admire their depths, haunting and arresting. Beron cuts an intimidating figure, you think as he flashes you a smile that is all Eris.
You sometimes forget how alike father and son are; though Eris is undoubtedly more striking; with his strange amber eyes and baring a broader physique than his father, with strong arms and shoulders and that beautiful copper hair which he had inherited from his mother.
“Anything I want?” Beron muses deathly quiet as he brings you closer to him, so close that the heat of his breath against your face causes chills to rise along the skin of your arms and neck.
“Anything, that is within my power to give.” You clarify, unwilling to be tricked into a more heinous bargain than you had prepared yourself for. Feyre protests loudly, calling your name, begging you to see reason though her pleas are useless against the thunder of your heart in your chest; like the sound of a storm rolling in from the sea.
Rhysand holds his wife by her forearms as she attempts to fight her way to your side.
A bargain offered of your own volition cannot be undone or unmade.
All that’s left to do is come to terms.
Beron smiles again, a saccharine smile that turns your stomach as his free hand cups your hip harshly, his brows rise in question and you realize how he’s looking right through you to his son who stands defeated behind you.
“And if I want you?” You swallow hard as his hand on your hip tightens to a bruising grip.
The High Lord of Night protests and a dark ripple of power separates you and Beron, you stumble backwards until you’re pressed up against the dark wood table as it cuts into the backs of your thighs. Beron laughs playfully and raises his hands in mock surrender to Rhysand. Keir smiles with a sense of sick satisfaction as Beron nods for Eris to join him.
Eris joins his father on the side of the room and Beron inspects him in carefully; scrutinizes every furrow of his brow or the tick of his jaw as charred flesh gives way to pale unblemished skin.
Beron claps a hand over his son's shoulder and offers his half-hearted explanation.
Filling his ear with poison.
“Your mate has deceived you, my son; she is yours by right,” Beron preens like an over-satisfied cat, offering a wave of his hand as he gestures to you, “Is she not?”
Eris swallows thickly and through the bond you can feel his wrath as it burns silent and deadly through you. His fire burns ferocious and wild. Dark and untamed. It ignites a similar storm in the pit of your stomach as Eris regards you with feigned malice much to the appeasement of his father.
His gaze, once soft and vulnerable, is cold and predatory as he takes his time to trail over the swell of your chest and the curve of your hips like a hungry animal.
“She is,” His voice is sharp-edged as he nods impassively to his father, the glimpses of his true self now little more than a trick in the light as he adorns his facade like a suit or armor to spare him his father’s fire.
“You mean to claim her?” Eris questions pointedly. Eris’ eyes move around the room with a careful, almost pensive, precision.
He can’t pretend that he doesn’t want it. Some primal, territorial part of him wants it more than anything. It’s animalistic and carnal.
Wholly perverse.
He wants you, terribly; he aches for you in a way that he has never ached for anything.
And you want him.
But not like this.
Not as a pretty pawn to bring him to heel.
“She will do well in Autumn,” Beron says in lieu of an answer.
Rhysand and Feyre stand firm against the hostility in the room even as Beron approaches them once more. “An alliance between our two most ancient and noble courts,” Beron says in a celebratory manner, his arms outstretched in a show of arrogance, “made strong by the oaths that you will swear to my son and my court.”
“Very well, High Lord.” You acquiesce and Beron smiles as his words hit their mark
You swear that Eris could burn the city to ash then and something in him cools then under your watchful gaze; it burns blue under the surface and you can see it tempering to a cold unmoving stare cast in his father’s direction.
It’s grotesque, the anger that runs hot in his veins that sears its kiss into the place where your body and his are joined.
You seethe. A raging tempest that comes off of you in violent waves of temper that threaten to swallow the room whole. And Beron Vanserra with it. It is almost enough to bring you to your knees before him as your skin burns under his rising fury.
Your eyes meet the strange amber eyes of Eris Vanserra at his father’s side and you think then, that you will happily suffer his fire if burning always feels so profound.
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