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assriels · 28 days

Text

here i go again

pairing: cassian x reader x azriel

summary: your half of the bond snaps and you’re faced with a choice.

word count: 4.7k

warnings: more of cass’s inner monologue speckled with az and reader’s thoughts as well, some brief mentions of sexual content!, angst angst angst

a/n: i truly was not planning on writing a part two but the love that everyone has shown me on the first part has inspired me :’) ty everyone for making my first fic posting so memorable; ALSO because i’m a sucker for happy endings, i will be writing an alternate ending for this story that is not as angsty i promise

(banners by @/cafekitsune!)

part one

When the bond first snapped, Cassian had initially tried to continue on as normal, engaging in his usual banter and friendly affection that your relationship ordinarily dictated. But as the days stretched into weeks and then months, he wasn’t sure he could keep a lid on his emotions for any longer.

Six months, normally a small blip of time in a near-immortal’s life, felt like an eternity. Six months of picking up the scraps of his broken heart was torture of the purest kind. Six months of clinging to every ounce of affection you offered him, playing it over and over in his mind to placate the urges the mating bond so desperately wanted satisfied.

Occasionally, he’d gently tug on that golden string tethering him to you, but he’d be met with an endless, empty void; the bond hadn’t snapped for you. And maybe it never would, Cassian caught himself thinking more times than he’d like. Maybe your love for Azriel was so powerful it overshadowed anything that the mating bond could offer you.

Azriel was your chosen mate and maybe no Cauldron-born matchmaking could override your unyielding loyalty and dedication to the male you spent the last twelve years loving.

Maybe Cassian was destined for loneliness in perpetuity, forced to watch his mate – the one person he loved more than life itself – live in immortality with someone who was not him.

The night of Starfall, Cassian had taken your advice and met Feyre’s friend, a beautiful high fae female who had become a regular at Feyre’s studio. They’d hit it off that night, and eventually spent the night tangled beneath the sheets of Cassian’s massive bed.

And while Cassian couldn’t deny the charming allure and beauty of this female, she wasn’t you. He wanted her, absolutely he did, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t slept with others in the past while his heart belonged truly to you. But it was like the mating bond had imprisoned his desire, reserving it for the one person who could satiate it.

He couldn’t even finish that night, and an ugly mix of humiliation, guilt, and disappointment swirled in his gut for the next few days, even as his one time lover graciously accepted his onslaught of apologies and assured him it was alright, that it happens, that she wasn’t offended. Through it all the bond was screaming at him.

Wrong, wrong, this was all wrong.

Cassian quickly disposed of the notion that he could just ignore the bond after that night. If sex and distraction were going to do nothing to keep his desperate need for you at bay, Cassian was forced to find alternative means for managing this newfound revelation.

And so, despite the brief moments of hope the snapping of the mating bond sparked in him, Cassian resolved to continue his journey of getting over you. Admittedly, though, it was becoming increasingly more difficult, as if the bond was becoming impatient and was spurring him to make bolder and bolder moves towards you.

But Cassian was nothing if not respectful and he couldn’t ever imagine telling you of the bond and forcing your hand to choose between him and his brother. So, he slowly titrated his daily dosage of you, gradually spending less time with and around you in an effort to relieve himself of the aching pain of his longing. He was mindful of his words and actions, not wanting to clue you in to the raging conflict between his mind and his heart; he disguised his purposeful avoidance of you with excuses that he had suddenly become overwhelmingly busy.

It was a tactic he knew wouldn’t last for long, but it might give him enough time to figure out what he should do next.

But ever the keen observer – having picked up a thing or two from spending so much time with the Spymaster of the Night Court – you noticed the change, however slight, in Cassian’s behavior. At first, you had fallen for his ploy; with newborn fatherhood forcing Rhys to be partially out of commission, it made sense that Azriel and Cassian had been busier than usual.

As Nyx grew, however, and both Feyre and Rhys were more adjusted to life with a child, Rhys had resumed his usual duties – but Cassian was still busy as ever.

It only took one passing comment from Azriel for you to begin perseverating on the idea that maybe Cassian was avoiding you. Az had confided in you once about Cassian’s constant denial of his invitations to spend some time together despite the arsenal of ideas that Azriel threw at him.

Drinks at Rita’s? No... A flight around Velaris? No. Lunch with Rhys? No. Training? No.

Azriel lamented that every conversation ended with Cassian hastily making an excuse to exit; it wasn’t like him, and it was beginning to get concerning.

So, you decided to test the theory yourself.

It was a lot more difficult getting Cassian alone than you thought it would be, which was strange in and of itself. Your past with him had lent itself to many occasions where you’d find yourself alone with Cassian on an errand, training, eating meals. But lately, it was like Cassian was a ghost, disappearing as soon as you had your sights on him, seemingly vanishing out of existence before you could even mutter a greeting. It seemed like everywhere you were, Cassian had pressing business elsewhere.

(Once you had walked into the kitchen, and Cassian had left in the middle of making himself a meal, mumbling something about Rhys needing his help, his half cut vegetables abandoned on the counter.)

You had every intention of cornering him with Azriel’s help, but before you could execute your sneaky plan to ambush him during training, you quite literally bumped into him on your way from the library to the dining room; clearly, he hadn’t anticipated that you’d interrupt your usual perusal of the House’s libraries to make yourself a snack.

Cassian fumbled for words, flustered and taken aback at the suddenness of your presence, still unused to the heightened feeling of his emotions around you.

You were about to interrupt his awkward stumbling, but a feeling so visceral, so outrageously all-consuming flooded every nerve in your body and you felt like you would collapse onto the floor. It was like the world had suddenly decided to start spinning in the other direction, scrambling your sensibilities, and the only thing tethering you to your reality was a thin golden string that led you directly to Cassian.

Cassian was your mate? And by the feel of it, the bond had already snapped for him who knows how long ago. Why did he not say anything? How long had he known? What the fuck?

The questions repeated themselves incessantly in your mind before you had the wherewithal to erect the strongest mental shields you could as you made flimsy excuses for why you needed to leave. Funny how, as soon as you had the opportunity to speak to Cassian alone, you were the one spinning white lies to explain your sudden departure.

If Cassian had felt your awareness on his side of the bond, he didn’t let on, only stared bemused after your retreating figure.

You wound through the maze of hallways in the House with such precision that you had to have set a record for how quickly you made your way from the dining room to Azriel’s study; you hadn’t even meant to go there, body habitually routing its way to your lover in moments of distress.

Azriel.

Your heart twisted painfully at the thought of him, and you contemplated not telling him or Cassian that you had felt a bond whip into place. But you knew that would be a disservice to all parties involved in this sadistic twist of events.

You would talk to Cassian, have a discussion, figure out what this meant for your friendship and his and Azriel’s brotherhood, but you needed to collect yourself and unscramble the tangled web of thoughts knotted in your mind before you did any of that. You needed to talk to Azriel.

You stood outside his study with your forehead pressed to the door, not yet having the courage to open it.

In the past twelve years you’d been in a relationship with the Shadowsinger, you had many conversations exploring the what if’s of your future. The notion of the mating bond snapping between you and someone else – or him and someone else – had been something you both considered. Neither of you were naive enough to assume that it would be as simple as just choosing each other – what with the intensity of the mating bond – but neither of you really thought that it would happen either, often just assuming that it would snap between the two of you in due time.

You had been so incredibly enamored with each other since the day you met; everything had fallen so beautifully into place that it had been easy to throw all caution to the wind and fall helplessly in love. Mating bond be damned.

You knew that if a bond had snapped between you and anyone else, the choice would be simple. You and Azriel prepared for something like this — the swirling lines of complementary ink on both of your torsos had been proof of that — but never did either of you consider that it would involve the one other person that you both loved almost as much as you loved each other.

You had a long history with Cassian, and though nothing romantic had ever occurred between you, somehow the choice was now infinitely more impossible. It wasn’t difficult to admit that you loved Cassian, you knew him and cherished him for as long as you could remember. But could you love him in the way that the mating bond demanded? Could you love him in the way that he deserved?

Those were questions that you couldn’t answer, too confused as you contemplated the implications of your mate being someone you loved in an entirely different way than you loved Azriel.

So you opened the door to Azriel’s study, seeking safety and refuge with the one person who could help you make sense of this impossible predicament.

One look at you standing in the doorway told Azriel all he needed to know. The time he prayed would never come was finally here. The knit of your eyebrows and the quiver in your lip shattered his usually calm countenance as he tried to ignore the overwhelming feeling of dark uncertainty settling in his chest.

The sad, resigned smile that he gave you as he sat at his desk made tears well up in your eyes. You felt guilty and confused and so, so horrible, wondering what must be running through his mind as he looked at you, understanding intuitively that you had found your mate.

And that it wasn’t him.

You wanted to soothe the fears that were so clearly written all over his face, but you couldn’t find the words, afraid that if you opened your mouth nothing but nonsensical blubbering would come out. But you needed to say something, to explain the overly complicated cocktail of emotions roiling in your gut.

However, before you could even begin to string together a coherent sentence, he crossed the room in three long strides, resting his palm against your cheek as his thumb ran a soothing path back and forth across your skin. Azriel leaned down to kiss away the tears that had escaped before pulling your head into his chest.

The comforting warmth of the body you knew so well worked wonders on your nerves, your mind already clearing itself enough to tame some of the turmoil that had overtaken your consciousness. You allowed yourself to focus only on the feel of the strong planes of his body against yours, losing yourself in the luxury of his embrace.

“It’s Cassian,” you said after a few long minutes.

Though your words were muffled into the fabric of his shirt, Azriel had heard them loud and clear. He almost laughed at the sheer atrocity of it all; how could the Cauldron be so spiteful? You — the greatest love he’s ever known — and Cassian — his brother in all but blood — were mates.

He felt as though the Mother had taken Truthteller and carved a path through his chest, leaving him to piece together the vestiges of his heart after she had stolen you from it. But he wouldn’t let himself fall apart, not when you were so clearly in need of his unwavering stability.

“Does he know?” Azriel cursed the way his voice betrayed him; it sounded so small as it broke over each syllable of his question.

You tightened your arms around his waist, anchoring yourself to the steady thrum of his familiar heartbeat, “Sort of. It’s snapped for him, but I don’t think he’s realized that I know yet.”

Your words hung in the air, heavy and somber. Neither of you said anything, only holding each other as a gentle breeze wafted through Azriel’s open windows. You wondered again what must have been going through his mind, wondered if he was as scared and sad and torn as you were. By the way his fingers trembled almost imperceptibly as his hand ran up and down the length of your spine, you concluded that he was.

Azriel wanted to stay like this forever, savor the moments before either of you had to make a decision. Infinite possibilities raced through his mind, and his heart warred with itself.

He loved you — gods, did he love you — but he also loved Cassian. Knew that Cassian was an honorable male, had a suspicion for years that Cassian loved you the same way that he did. But even then, Azriel wanted to be selfish. Wanted to beg you to choose him because if you didn’t he wasn’t sure what would happen to him.

You had been his lifeline since the day he met you; he didn’t think it was possible to love and be loved the way you had shown him, and he greedily didn’t want to live a life without it.

But he loved you so fiercely that your happiness was paramount, your decision to choose for yourself was of utmost importance and, arguably, was the only thing that mattered in this moment. Azriel couldn’t help but think, though, that you deserved the love and connection of a mate, deserved the love he’d seen blossom beautifully between Rhys and Feyre, and if that meant you’d leave him, then he was glad it would be for Cassian.

“I don’t know what to do,” came your small, rasped confession. You pulled your head away from his chest to look up at him, eyes glassy with unshed tears, “Tell me what to do, Az.”

He gave you that sad smile again (and you quickly decided you hated that you were the cause of this forlorn look of his), his scarred hand coming up to tame the wisps of hair that had clung to your forehead, “I can’t, love.”

After a beat he added, “I think you should tell him, though. Soon. He deserves to know, and you both deserve the chance to…talk about it.”

You knew what he was dancing around saying, knew that he meant he would let you go if you decided that you wanted this mateship with Cassian rather than what you had with him. That it was all in your hands, and entirely your decision. Your heart twisted painfully as you were confronted with the bottomless depth of Azriel’s love for you; he would sacrifice his love and happiness for yours without contest.

“Az…”

“You have me,” he started again, his hazel eyes burning into yours with such unwavering loving conviction you were glad his arms were around you to keep your knees from buckling. “No matter what you choose, you have me. Mating bond or not, I’m yours. If you want to see where things go with Cassian, you should. I’d wait for you…even if you decided you’d never come back to me, I'd wait.”

His heartfelt confession made another round of tears burn your eyes as you nodded. You cradled his neck, pulling him down to kiss him. Both of you savored the familiar feel of your lips moving together in a practiced dance.

“I love you.”

Azriel knew you meant it; even if you chose to explore your newfound mating bond, knew that nothing could ever take from him the parts of yourself you allowed him the privilege of loving. And so he said it back, insistently ignoring the gnawing worry that it would be the last time.

It wasn’t that much of a shock when Cassian felt you tug oh-so-tentatively on the bond the week after he ran into you in the dining room. He had immediately noticed your shift in demeanor, the heat creeping up your cheeks as you made a beeline out of the room despite having just entered. He had felt something change on his end of the bond the moment your skirts brushed past him in your rush to exit. The bond had finally snapped for you, but he couldn’t reach you, your consciousness locked behind steel-reinforced shields.

A rush of conflicting emotion had erupted in Cassian’s chest at the realization, and it took every ounce of self discipline he had to not chase you down. He knew you would need time, would probably want to tell Azriel before anything else, so he waited and ignored the incessant nagging of the bond to seek you out. He would do this right, would leave the decision entirely up to you despite his overwhelming desire for you to choose him.

Truthfully, Cassian didn’t think that you’d open up on your end so soon after it had snapped, and he tried not to read too much into what that could mean. Instead, when he felt that gentle pulse from you beneath his ribcage, he tugged back in acknowledgement.

Cass…?

Your voice flooded every inch of his head and it was sheer bliss to feel you so intimately intertwined with his mind.

Hey, you.

He replied, heart thundering so loudly he worried that you’d hear it.

Can we talk? Meet on the balcony near the library? Maybe in an hour?

Cassian had never been so anxious, had never been so uncertain and nervous and excited in his life. Regardless of what happened — of what you said — he just wanted to see you. His avoidance of you these past few months was nothing short of torture, and just the thought of being near you again in a way that meant something sent Cassian’s entire being into a new plane of happiness.

Wouldn’t miss it, sweetheart.

You didn’t reply, but he felt you send a wave of fondness and appreciation towards him; Cassian felt like a starved man who had just been offered a loaf of bread.

He had intended on getting at least a little bit of work done in the hour before he was set to meet you, but Cassian found his mind drifting to thoughts of you as he flew around the perimeter of Velaris, running through scenario after scenario that could happen. His excitement was overshadowed by the looming possibility that you would reject the bond, and just the thought of it sent bile churning in his gut.

Cassian knew how much love existed between you and Azriel, had seen firsthand how much you both had committed yourselves to each other. Part of him felt guilty; Azriel was his brother and he didn’t want to be the thing that stood in Az’s way of keeping the love that everyone knew he deserved and that you so willingly provided. Cassian’s mind was twisting circles around itself as he thought about how this would end. Because while Azriel loved you, so did Cassian. And he would be a fool to give up so easily on the opportunity to show you just how much you meant to him, how much he adored you.

Before Cassian could make any headway in finding a solution for this impossible situation, it was time for him to meet you. So, Cassian fluttered his wings and made his way towards the House.

You were already standing on the balcony when he landed, pacing as you alternated between worrying your bottom lip with your teeth and biting your nails. Even with confusion marring your features, the golden hour light of the sun encased you in such warmth, that you glowed luminescent, and he wanted to freeze this moment and remember it forever.

Cassian tamed the urge to kiss the worry away from your raw, swollen lips and massage the crease out from between your brows, and instead said, “Hey.”

You looked up at him and stole the breath straight from his lungs with the radiance of your smile, though dimmed no doubt by the anxiety that plagued you.

“Cass,” you started, soft and the slightest bit hesitant. “Hi.”

An awkward silence that never existed between you two settled in the air now, neither of you wanting to be the one to broach the subject you knew tormented you both day and night. You had almost backed out of having this conversation three times within the past hour, but you knew that it needed to be done. For all of your sakes.

“We’re mates,” you said, and Cassian didn’t miss the way your statement sounded half like a question, as if you still couldn’t wrap your head around the notion. He nodded, stating more definitively, “We’re mates.”

Again, another silence permeated the too large space between you and Cassian thought he’d hurl himself off the ledge of the balcony to avoid the palpable awkwardness of it all. This certainly wasn’t what he pictured in his mind when you both finally had the conversation about your mateship.

You cleared your throat stiffly, not quite meeting his eyes as a cute blush betrayed your serious countenance, “I’m not really sure what to do, Cass. I’ve been thinking about this nonstop for the past week and…I just don’t– I don’t know what to do. I really just–”

Cassian aptly noted the way your emotions showed so clearly on your face. Maybe it was because he could also feel you unwittingly sending them down the bond, but he could tell that your stuttering and frantic fumbling for words was wrought from a week’s worth of anxiety and spinning your thoughts over and over in your mind, probably similar to the way that he had been doing for the past six months. He hated thinking that you felt even a fraction of the confusion and pain that he had endured for the past half a year.

Slowly, in the face of your pain stricken confusion, Cassian's resolve to fight for your affections was crumbling.

Your eyes finally met his, and the glassy sheen of tears that marred their usual clarity made Cassian’s heart lurch; how he wished you would never look at him with such an anguished expression on your face.

“I care about you, Cassian. I care about you so, so much,” you said, and he knew you meant it. He saw it in the way your brows twisted together in earnest and the way your fists clenched at your sides determinedly. He could feel the conflict storming beneath your ribs and wanted to do everything he could to chase it away, make it so that you never faced uncertainty for the rest of your days. But he let you continue, his pulse thundering so loudly he almost couldn’t hear you over the rush of his own blood.

“I just–” you trailed off then, unable to voice your thoughts as they were a tangled mess roiling around in your head, ricocheting off the walls of your skull.

What were you even going to say? You thought you had made a decision, thought you would tell him that you couldn’t accept the bond, that you could never leave Azriel like this. But one look at Cassian and the hope he so desperately tried to mask in his eyes left you floundering, the mating bond begging you not to sever it, not to hurt Cassian. You didn’t expect to be at such an impasse; how were you supposed to choose between instinct and desire? Love and connection? Weren’t they all one in the same anyway? But if they were, how could they be split between the two most important people in your life? What a cruel, cruel fate you all had been subjected to.

Cassian watched as you puzzled through your thoughts, and his desire to ease your worry spurred him to action. He knew the decision would tear you apart, would obliterate not only your relationship with Azriel, but his too, even though he knew Azriel would never hold something like this against either of you. But Cassian loved you both too much to tip the scales in his favor at the cost of ruining his family, of hurting you, of forcing you to make an impossible decision and living with the regret of hurting them both.

So, he chose for you. Despite the way that his heart screamed at him, begged him not to reject the bond, he did anyway. He used every ounce of self control he had to hold himself together and remind himself over and over again that this was the right decision. The future with you that Cassian so desperately wanted was a hair’s breadth away, and for a few precious seconds he allowed himself to sit in the bliss of the in-between, pretending that his next words would be I love you instead of—

“I don’t think we should do this, Y/N,” he said, forcing his voice not to shake, his eyes not to water with the pain of pushing you away. “Maybe…maybe the Cauldron got it wrong.”

He hoped he sounded more convincing than he felt. Because how could the Cauldron get it wrong when being near you, loving you felt so right?

The look you gave him at his words was a mixture of relief and…something else that he couldn’t place. Was it disappointment? Regret?

Cassian didn’t let himself dwell on it further because if he did, and if he convinced himself that he saw even a glimmer of disappointment at his rejection in your eyes, he’d take everything back and say fuck it, I love you, give me a chance. So he averted his gaze as you took his hand, iron willpower crumbling at the sweet euphoria that filled his chest at your touch.

“Cassian,” you rarely used his full name, but you did now and he looked up at you and into your eyes. When he finally met your gaze again, you pulled him into a wonderfully tight hug, “Thank you. I– thank you.”

Despite the searing sting your words left on his heart, Cassian let himself pretend that you were his for the last time as he reveled in your embrace, holding you so steadily, so delicately that if you didn’t know he loved you before, you must have known now.

You pulled away after a few moments but kept him close, holding his face in your hands as your thumbs brushed the apples of his cheeks, eyes searching his face in earnest, “You know I’ll always love you right, Cass?”

You knew it was a cruel and selfish thing to say to him, especially because you could feel the echo of his true feelings down the bond that was slowly, painfully weakening at Cassian’s unwanted rejection. But you needed him to know, needed him to understand more than anything that your love for him transcended the romantic and was existing in a plane reserved solely for him. You wanted him to know that you couldn’t ever thank him or repay him for his sacrifice born out of pure unadulterated love for you; you only wished you could do the same for him.

Briefly, you concluded that — in an alternate universe, another life — Cassian would have loved you with a ferocity that put the heat of the sun to shame. But in this life, you couldn’t tear your heart away from Azriel; your love for him was built on the foundational elements of trust and choice, and you would pick him time and time again.

In this life, you would be greedy and accept Cassian’s sacrifice of his own love for yours, and you would damn well make sure it was worth it.

As if he could read your thoughts — and maybe he could now — he nodded and pulled you in again with a parting kiss to your forehead.

“I know," he said, closing his eyes and leaning in to your touch, savoring the fleeting moments that you had been so close to being his, telling himself that he was grateful for the love that you would offer him, even if it wasn't in the way he so desperately desired. "I know."

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theostrophywife · 10 months

Note

Hey! I love your work! I was wondering if you could do a Azriel x reader fic where reader doesn’t know a lot about males and so az (maybe he already has a thing for reader) offers to give her lessons? The more NSFW the better 😉

innocence.

author's note: sorry for being m.i.a. please accept this as my apology gift. largely inspired by this song. you can't tell me that az doesn't have the biggest corrpution kink 😏

it started out innocently enough.

one winter evening after a particularly rowdy wine night, you and azriel laid in a heap at the house of wind, giggling at nothing as the warmth of the alcohol lowered your inhibitions and loosened your lips.

"never?" azriel asked incredulously, his brows creasing in the most adorable way. "you've truly never kissed anyone?"

you pouted, crossing your arms. thanks to cassian and his big mouth, the shadowsinger now knew the true extent of your naivete. growing up in the high priestess's temple in the dawn court, you had devoted much of your life to duty and training, which left little to no room for encounters with the opposite sex.

it never bothered you before. until you moved to the night court and met the shadowsinger. azriel was beyond gorgeous and smart and funny and probably well-versed in the art of seduction, which is more than you could say for your inexperienced self.

"don't tease, az." you groaned, covering your face behind your hands. as if that would hide the flush spreading through your cheeks. "i'm already mortified enough as it is."

"hey," azriel said softly as he gently grabbed your wrists. "it's nothing to be embarrassed about, love."

"you're just saying that to be nice."

the shadowsinger shook his head. "i torture people for a living," he deadpanned. "i am not nice."

you chuckled, which brought a smile to azriel's handsome face. "besides, practice makes perfect. i've seen you go from not knowing how to hold a sword to perfecting the eight point attack in a matter of weeks. kissing should be a piece of cake compared to that."

"kissing and fighting aren't the same thing."

azriel smirked. "it is, if you're doing it right. all it takes is a good teacher." the tips of your ears reddened. “and we all know how fast of a learner you are.”

you snorted. "somehow i doubt that nesta would be into the idea of letting me borrow her mate for lessons." a little frown formed on your face. "or maybe she would. you never know with those two."

the idea formed in azriel's mind before he could think better of it. the shadowsinger hated that he thought of it in the first place, but fuck. you were both a little tipsy and a tiny bit reckless and he'd been crushing on you for far too long and maybe tonight was the night he finally did something about it.

"i could teach you."

you stilled. “what?”

azriel shrugged and put on his most nonchalant expression even though his inner monologue was currently pure turmoil. “i could teach you how to kiss.” he cleared his throat, lowering his gaze to yours. “it might help to practice with someone you’re comfortable with.”

you cocked your head, weighing his words. “you’re…actually serious about this.”

“why wouldn’t i be?”

“well, wouldn’t it make things weird? you’re my best friend. best friends don’t just kiss.”

you had him there. azriel certainly had never offered this unique service to any of his friends before. “i don’t think it’s weird. i think it makes perfect sense. in fact, it’s weird that we’re not kissing right now. best friends kiss all the time,” the shadowsinger deadpanned.

you snorted. “so you and cassian are just having heated little makeout sessions behind me and nesta’s back?”

azriel winked. “i won’t tell if you don’t.”

that earned an earnest little giggle out of you. then you were quiet again, lost in the pros and cons.

pro: you really wanted to kiss azriel.

con: you really wanted to kiss azriel.

what if you were horrible at it? what if you had bad breath? what if you accidentally bit him? what if azriel figured out that you had a pathetic little crush on him and he doesn’t return the feelings and your friendship implodes then you’d have to move back to the dawn court and adopt a bunch of cats just like thesan always teased you about when you were children—

“you’re spiraling.”

you crossed your arms. “am not.”

azriel rolled his eyes fondly. “i can practically see the steam coming out of your ears.” his expression softened as he turned over on the couch, his chin perched in one hand. “you don’t have to if you don’t want to. i just…” the bob of an adam’s apple. “i just wanted your first kiss to be with someone who genuinely cares about you.”

that turned your insides into mush. “oh.”

the shadowsinger’s cheeks reddened. “never mind, it sounds silly now that i’ve said it out loud.”

“it’s not,” you said, sitting cross legged on the sofa. “it’s not stupid, az. it’s really sweet, actually.”

your heart hammered inside of your chest as you faced azriel. his hazel eyes glowed golden under the faelights and a warm flush colored his cheeks a rosy tone. from this close, you could make out the constellations of freckles that kissed his nose and cheeks, its traitorous little trail stopping just above his cupid’s bow. you couldn’t help it. your gaze went straight to his lips. they looked soft, sensual, and perfectly kissable. you wondered if he’d taste like sweet wine.

“y/n?” azriel murmured softly.

“hmm?”

“you’re staring.”

your cheeks reddened and a slight smirk tugged at the corner of azriel’s mouth. “you’re the one who brought up kissing,” you countered, raising a brow. “now i can’t stop staring at your stupid lips.”

the shadowsinger’s smirk grew wider. “my stupid lips,” he repeated. “that you want to kiss.”

“no,” you blurted. azriel raised a knowing brow. “yes. maybe.” you shifted awkwardly. “what if i’m terrible at it? what if i accidentally miss? what if i don’t know where to put my hands? oh my gods, what if i accidentally bite you?”

to his credit, there wasn’t an ounce of judgement on azriel’s face. he’d witnessed your outbursts enough times that he wasn’t even fazed by it. the shadowsinger grabbed your hand and traced soothing circles over your knuckles. “one, no one’s first kiss is great. at best, it’s weird and awkward because you’re just trying to figure it out. that’s kind of the point. two, you won’t miss. just follow my lead. three, the neck or waist are generally safe spots to place your hands.” azriel demonstrated by wrapping your arms around his neck. “lastly, i don’t mind if you bite me. in fact, i might enjoy it.” he gave you a cheeky wink that helped dissipate the rest of your anxious worries.

you chuckled softly. leave it to azriel to make you laugh mid freak out. the shadowsinger smiled and cauldron fucking boil you, the sight of it pretty much sealed your fate.

“so,” you murmured, toying with the loose curls at the nape of azriel’s neck. “what now?”

“that’s entirely up to you, love.”

you blinked. once, twice. the smell of cedar and starkissed night. freckles and rosy cheeks. warm, golden eyes that melted your insides like honey. scarred hands that caressed the side of your face with heartbreaking gentleness.

“kiss me, azriel.”

the shadowsinger did not need to be told twice. he tilted your chin, brushing his nose against yours for a brief moment. azriel took a deep breath like he was savoring the moment, like his entire life had been leading up to this. then he kissed you.

his lips were as soft as freshly plucked rose petals and as sweet as the wine that still coated your tongue. they pressed against yours, gentle and exploring as azriel cupped your cheek. you leaned into him and your fingers found purchase in his silky, dark locks as azriel deepened the kiss. his arm snaked across your back as he pulled you into his lap, his mouth never once leaving yours. the sweet innocent pecks did not stay innocent for long.

the shadowsinger groaned as you nestled into him. there wasn’t an inch of your body that wasn’t pressed against him, but still you wanted more. your hands moves of their own accord and slipped underneath azriel’s cream sweater. his skin felt like a warm summer day despite the fact that it was currently the dead of winter.

“fuck,” azriel growled into your neck.

you pulled away, startled. it didn’t even occur to you that your fingers were as cold as icicles. “shit. sorry, az i didn’t think—“

you slipped your hands out of his sweater, but azriel caught you by the wrist. “no,” he grunted, his voice dark and low and dangerous. “no, don’t stop.”

it was the hottest thing you’ve ever heard in your entire life. even hotter still with the way azriel tugged you to him as though he’d rather die than have you stop touching him. you greedily obliged, taking the lead this time. azriel cursed under his breath as you kissed him again, tangling his curls between your fingers. there was something intoxicating about him—his taste, his touch, his kiss. you couldn’t get enough.

when you finally came up for breath, the shadowsinger looked at you as though he’d been starving for centuries and you’d only really begun to scratch the surface of his hunger. azriel wanted to devour you.

but tonight, he’d settle for a kiss. except, it was anything but.

azriel was fucked.

he blinked, drinking in your lust added gaze and flushed cheeks. you brought your bottom lip between your teeth and it was all he could do to reel himself in. “are…are all first kisses like that?” your voice was hoarse from disuse and utterly sexy.

“no,” azriel answered honestly. “i’ve never had a kiss like that.”

your grin brought out a set of dimples that azriel had long ago deemed as his greatest weaknesses. “and i’ve never had a first kiss, period.”

and you never will again, azriel thought. not if he could help it.

“does that feel good, love?” azriel asked as he pressed a kiss against your collar bone.

you whimpered as his lips trailed between the valley of your breasts. since that first kiss, you and azriel hadn’t been able to keep your hands off of each other. over the last few weeks, the apprehension you felt about your inexperience slowly started to feel like a blessing in disguise. azriel said you were a fast learner, but only because he was such a great teacher.

“gods,” you breathed, clutching the sheets as azriel continued his descent.

“you can just call me az, you know.”

you rolled your eyes at the cheeky male below you. from this angle, he certainly looked like a god. his hair was a tousled mess, dark curls tangled from where you ran your fingers through it. sweat dripped down his shirtless torso, his golden brown skin glowing in the afternoon light. you were vaguely aware that the sun as setting over the horizon, which meant that the rest of your friends would be arriving for dinner, but neither one of you seemed to care.

during the past few weeks, you and azriel continued your lessons. first base was easy enough to master. the two of you put in plenty of hours sneaking off to make out in azriel’s room, the wine cellar, the training pits, and even in feyre’s art studio at the river house once when things really got desperate. it was a wonder that your friends hadn’t caught you yet. there had been several close calls with cassian. mostly because the male was a nosy busybody.

second base took a little more work. you were terrified at first. you and azriel had been making out in your bed for what seemed like hours before you finally mustered up the courage to slip your hand into his trousers. the shadowsinger made a sound that was half growl and half purr and for a split second you were afraid that you’d hurt him. when you voiced your fears, azriel was quick to reassure you.

“i’m not in pain, love.” azriel said, his voice strained and breathy. “trust me, i feel the complete opposite.”

“tell me how to make you feel good, az.”

the string of curse words that fell from his lips were so filthy that it made you blush. the shadowsinger guided your hand over his cock and you nearly gasped at the impressive length. azriel was hot and hard beneath your touch, his wings flexing as you grasped him in your hand.

“loosen your grip, love.” azriel adjusted your hand, motioning for your fingers to relax and mold against him. you mimicked his movement, eliciting a low rumble out of the shadowsinger. the competitive part of you awakened, eager to make azriel groan like that again. you gazed up at azriel through your lashes with determination. “gods, don’t look at me like that y/n or this lesson will be over before it’s even started.”

heat erupted in your core, but you shook the desire away. this was about azriel. you wanted to make him come undone for once instead of the other way around. “show me, az.” you said. “i want to see how you touch yourself.”

“cauldron boil me,” azriel muttered under his breath. “you’re going to be the death of me, y/n.”

you watched as he gripped himself and pumped at a steady pace. he slowed down the movements for you and you studied each flick of his wrist as though you’d be tested on it later. as sinful as it was, there was something heavenly about watching azriel stroke himself. your hands itched to touch him. once you felt confident enough, azriel let you take over.

azriel’s eyes rolled back as you pumped his shaft, carefully watching the rise and fall of his chest. his heavy breathing filled the room and it quickly became your favorite sound in the world.

you felt a strange rush of power witnessing azriel in such a vulnerable state. his lids were heavy with lust, golden eyes barely visible from the ring of onyx swallowing up his irises. you thought he looked pretty like this, his head tilted back against your headboard while his lips parted to release a shallow breath every now and then.

"you have no idea how good that feels, love." azriel grunted. you tightened your grip, spreading the bead of precum over his tip. your little improvisation was met with a moan that seeped into your bones.

"how good, az?" you teased.

those long lashes of his kissed the tops of his cheeks as his eyes fluttered close. "fucking amazing," azriel declared. "keep going, love. don't stop, please. gods—"

"you can just call me y/n, you know."

azriel growled in response before pulling you in for a heated kiss. his hips thrust up to match your pace as his tongue parted your lips. he swallowed your moans, devouring you like his life depended on it.

“just like that, love.” azriel said in appreciation. “you’re doing such a good job, y/n.”

the praise affected you more than you thought it would. you were always seeking positive feedback when it came to your work, especially in training, but this was something else. it only encouraged you to keep going at a faster pace until azriel was coming undone in your hands. the sight of him losing control would forever be etched in your mind.

the more azriel gave, the more you craved. not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well. the whole thing may have started as a practical way to tackle sex, but as time went on, it started to evolve into something else entirely.

until the lessons weren’t really just lessons anymore.

if you had to pinpoint the moment when everything changed, it would have been a few days after winter solstice. azriel had been away for a mission and was unable to make it home for the festivities. throughout the night, you kept finding yourself fidgeting and glancing at the empty seat beside you. at one point during dinner, cassian squeezed your hand and smiled sadly.

“i’m sure he misses you too, y/n.”

the gravity of those words hit you full force when you found azriel standing in the doorway of your flat. he was still dressed in his combat leathers and dark circles formed underneath his eyes as though he’d flown nonstop from wherever he was to get back home. before you could stop yourself, you rushed at him and nearly knocked him into the street from the force of your hug.

“i know, love.” azriel murmured softly into your hair. “i missed you, too.”

one bath and two cups of hot chocolate later, you found yourself curled up on the sofa as snow fell softly against the windowpane. you set your drink down on the table and turned to face azriel.

“so, i was thinking…”

the corner of azriel’s mouth quirked. “that’s never good.”

you tossed a pillow at him and rolled your eyes. “i was thinking that maybe it’s my turn to teach you a lesson, for once.”

the shadowsinger looked intrigued by that. “oh yeah? and what do you want to teach me, love?”

“i’m going to teach you how to sleep, az.” you pointedly stared at his bruised eyes, which only made him chuckle in amusement. “because judging from those bags underneath your eyes, you’re no expert in the matter.”

“i don’t get a say in this, do i?” shadows peered over his shoulders as though they too yearned for rest.

“nope,” you said cheerfully, dragging him off the couch and into your bedroom.

azriel let you bully him into getting underneath the covers. he tucked his wings to the side as he faced you. “what’s so great about this thing you call sleep, then? seems pretty boring to me.”

“well if you’d let me demonstrate,” you said impatiently before tugging him towards you. azriel chuckled and scooted closer. “i’ll have you know i’m a world class cuddler.”

“yeah? prove it then, love.” azriel teased.

the shadowsinger watched in amusement as you bossed him around. first you made him lie on his stomach and then pulled him to your chest. as much as he enjoyed teasing the absolute hell out of you, he couldn’t help but murmur in satisfaction as he rested his head in the crook of your neck. even his shadows seemed to enjoy bathing in your warmth and breathing in your jasmine shampoo.

“mmm,” az mumbled sleepily. for the first time in gods knew how long, he felt warm and safe and content. “you’re bossy as hell, but comfy too.”

“i know, you stubborn giant bat baby.”

the shadowsinger snorted. “giant bat baby?”

you rolled your eyes fondly. “shut up and cuddle, az.”

azriel burrowed himself further until his body heat warmed every inch of your skin. “that’s the good stuff,” he declared, brushing a soft kiss against your collarbone.

“told you i was good,” you said with a smile. azriel couldn’t even argue. with your hands massaging his scalp and your legs intertwined with his, the shadowsinger would’ve agree to anything you said.

“the best,” he hummed against your skin.

this was dangerous territory. with your other lessons, it was easy to shove aside your feelings because pleasure made it hard to think about anything else. but with azriel laying on your chest and clinging onto you like this meant something more…you could no longer avoid that pesky voice of doubt.

you were in love with azriel.

you had been for a long time.

shit.

“y/n?” azriel asked, cutting through the turmoil of your thoughts. his wings draped over the sides of your bed, relaxed and at ease.

“yeah?”

his golden eyes found yours in the dark. for a second, he stared at you like he was trying to commit every detail to memory. the shadowsinger opened his mouth like he was going to say something important, but he gave a tiny shake of his head and smiled.

“good night, love.”

in that moment, you knew azriel had your heart in the palm of his hand. “good night, az.”

azriel knew it was only a matter of time before these lessons came back to bite him on the ass.

he had been so eager that first night. mostly because he'd had a crush on you for so long and it was finally time to do something about it. the shadowsinger knew that he probably should've just told you how he felt, but he didn't want to shatter this delicate thing between you.

after all, these were just lessons. for all he knew, he was just your practice partner. it wasn't really all that different from sparring. except your weapons where your lips and your hands and your fucking smile that made his heart skip a beat every time you so much as grinned at him from across the room.

gods, he was so fucked.

the reality of it didn't fully hit him until that disastrous spring night.

the two of you had perfected third base eons ago. azriel knew how to make you cum with his mouth using a combination of expert tongue flicks and help from his shadows. nothing brought him joy like your shaking legs greedily wrapping around him as he ate your pussy like a man starved.

azriel thought he found the key to happiness until you returned the favor and went down on him.

finding restraint was hard. reeling his desire in while you knelt before him with your lips wrapped around his cock was nearly impossible.

"like this?" you asked, licking a stripe along the underside of his cock. azriel thought he was going to come right then and there when you looked up at him through your lashes, determination burning in your gaze.

you had always been intense. azriel knew that much from months of training together, but he didn't expect you to approach sex with the same competitiveness. you put your all into everything you did, which is what made azriel fall for you in the first place. he just didn't think you'd take the same approach when it came to sucking his dick. not that he was complaining.

in fact, all he could really do was moan.

the shadowsinger attempted to pull it together long enough to utter a coherent sentence. he had to at least attempt to say something helpful. you were putting your trust in him. he liked knowing that he'd been your first everything. now he just had to muster up the courage to tell you that he also intended to be the last.

he tried. he really did.

that night in his room. laying in bed with your legs tangled together. the soft spring breeze billowing through your curtains. azriel watched as you propped yourself up on your elbows and turned towards him.

"so, what now?" you asked.

azriel's brows furrowed with confusion. "what do you mean, love?"

you tilted your head, biting down on your bottom lip as you mulled over what to say next. it was one of your many little quirks that azriel adored. "i mean, what happens now? we've pretty much covered all the bases. except for one."

sex. you hadn't had sex yet. azriel knew this would come up sooner or later, but he had hoped it would be the latter. while it was easy to pretend that the lessons were just lessons to him, azriel couldn't do that with sex. it had always been hard for him to separate his feelings from the physical act and as much as he wanted to make sure that your first experience would be with someone who loved you, it wouldn't be fair to have sex without telling you the truth.

"i don't think that would be a good idea." as soon as the words left his mouth, azriel knew it was the wrong thing to say. he could tell that much from the look on your face. "i just mean, we shouldn't rush into anything."

"rush?" you asked incredulously. "azriel, we've spent the last three months doing anything and everything under the sun except sex."

"and it's been great," azriel said, trying to reel the conversation back in. "the lessons. trusting each other. but i just think you should take a step back and consider if you're truly ready."

that intense gaze he loved so much suddenly felt like the sweltering sun that azriel couldn't wait to shy away from. "you were my first kiss, az. my first everything. i think i've made it pretty clear on where i stand." you paused for a second, scanning his face. "oh my gods. i didn't even think to ask if you wanted this."

you were up before the absurdity of that statement could sink into azriel. if he wanted this? he'd never wanted anything more in his entire life.

"they were just lessons," you murmured to yourself while gathering your clothes. “how could i be so stupid?”

"y/n, please." azriel pleaded, not entirely believing what he was hearing. he nearly tripped over his own bedsheets as he followed you across the room.

“no, az. i’m sorry, i thought—“ your eyes brimmed with tears. the sight broke his fucking heart. “it’s not your fault. i just assumed—“

“that i’m in love with you?” azriel asked, gently gripping your wrists. you froze, wide eyes pinning azriel in place. “because i am, you know. i’ve been in love with you since the moment we met. this past few months, it’s killed me to pretend that whatever this is between us is just lessons.”

your gaze softened. “why didn’t you ever say anything?”

azriel chuckled bitterly. “because i’m a coward. i was scared that you might not feel the same way, so i settled for whatever scraps you were willing to give me.”

tears filled your eyes again and azriel was scared he’d fucked it up again, but you wiped your cheeks and cupped his face. “you deserve more than that, azriel.”

“i know, love.” he bowed his head. “and you deserve more than just lessons. that’s why i don’t want to have sex. not unless you know what this means to me. if we do this, there will be no one else. not today, not ever. i may be your first, but i also intend to be your last. if you’ll let me.”

a stray tear fell down your cheek, but it was a happy one this time. “if you haven’t noticed, i’m totally crazy about you, az. i think i’ve been in love with you longer than i wanted to admit.”

“can’t blame you,” the shadowsinger said. “i’m totally lovable.”

you smacked him in the chest, but azriel only laughed before he kissed you. really kissed you. it felt like you were floating on air.

gods, you loved him. you really did.

you smiled into the kiss. “i love you, az.”

the shadowsinger kissed the tip of your nose. “i love you too, y/n.”

“so…no more lessons, right?”

azriel shook his head and scooped you into his arms. “no more lessons. i want the real thing this time.”

#friends and family we are gathered here today to fucking YEARN #i missed az and i m back with a bang #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel fic #azriel smut #azriel fluff #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #acotar

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readychilledwine · 2 months

Text

Lost Bonds pt 3

Summary - After the second war, an unexpected bond with Y/n Archeron, and repairing all he's lost, Tamlin is shocked with news from the very female Rhys has been protecting from him.

Warnings- alcohol use, implied affair,implied smut, sex magic/sex pollen

A/n- Everything will be explained to y/n and wrapped in a mostly pretty bow in Part 4 on Tuesday 💚

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 4

Tamlin sat in silence, nursing hard alcohol as Rhys reappeared before him hours later. “It explains a lot,” Rhysand said softly as he sat. Tamlin pushed the Winter Court Scotch Rhysand's way. “I swear we didn't know, Tamlin.”

“So Feyre admitted it?” Rhys nodded, staring into the bonfire Tamlin had going. “She's not truly happy anymore, Rhys.”

“We know. She hasn't been happy since she watched Cassian and Nesta fall in love and their mating bond grow, then Lucien and Elain, then Amren and Varian, Eris and his wife. Mor and Emerie.” The High Lord threw back a heavy drink. “Then Azriel found his mate. And now she feels like she's an obstacle to his happiness, he feels she's a burden but refuses to let her go. He wants both."

Tamlin hummed, ignoring the flaring anger at the idea of his mate being treated like a second choice, like a burden. “How did she end up in Spring?”

Rhys sighed and looked down. “She wanted to get away from Azriel. They had gotten into a fight while he was training her. She wanted to go somewhere she'd be loved and safe unconditionally.”

Rhys paused, eyes locked on the stars. “It's funny, you know, Feyre painted their dresser drawers to fit their personalities and they've predicted their mates too.” He drank heavily again, eyes watering slightly. “Feyre painted the night sky on hers and became the stars eternal. Nesta's was bathed in flames so red the closest match we could find to recreate the dresser was Cassian's siphons, and we watched that scene during the war with that so called God, silver flames blazing and reflecting the red of my brother's armor. Elain's danced with sunlight and flowers. Her and Lucien the heir of the fucking Day Court,” Tamlin couldn't help the laugh that came with that sentence, nor could Rhys. “They live in Helion's largest garden in a cabin.”

“And y/n?”

“A raging storm and blooming trees.”

“And yet you all keep her there. Where she isn't destined by the Mother to be and where she is screaming for freedom.”

“Feyre isn't prepared to forgive nor forget.”

Tamlin rolled his eyes, purposely pushing every moment he had done something to make up for what he had done into Rhysand's mind. “I believe I have more than atoned for my sins against the female that started this all on a lie. The female who ended my curse should have been my mate, Rhys. That's why I fought so hard. Why I protected her even if my methods were ideas from my father and blind trauma. Did you not explain that to her?"

Rhys avoided answering, torn between the part of him that knew Tamlin was correct and the mating bond screaming to protect and defend inside of him. “I'll start sending her to you as an emissary. If the bond snaps on her end, we go from there. And Tamlin,” the High lord took his former friend's chin into his face. “Be grateful. Be grateful you didn't hear y/n's neck snap, that you didn't watch her be tortured for 3 months. That-”

“I watched the woman I loved go through all of that. Then I watched my mate be forced into an ancient world creating pot because i trusted the wrong female,” Tamlin took back the Scotch, drinking enough to burn his throat. “I think we understand each other more than you are willing to believe.”

Rhys nodded, looking away. “Y/n likes her bed made with 3 blankets so she can sleep with the window open at all times. She thinks white flowers are the prettiest. She likes chocolate way too much for a normal person.”

Rhysand's jaw tightened before he continued. “Do you remember how my sister use to scrunch her nose really hard when she was thinking?”

Tamlin chuckled softly into his hand, picturing her little face so clearly. “Y/n does the same thing.” It was a quiet confession, one that could have came with an apology, but the two of them has accepted the words “I'm sorry” would never be passed between them many years ago.

“So you've kept her from me because she reminds you of Stella?” Rhys just nodded before winnowing away.

Tamlin felt his lip twitch when you first appeared two months later. Rhys was either stupid, or fatherhood had made the male forget to look at a calendar. You were here for a 3 day weekend visit to discuss trade between Spring and the Night Court.

A 3 day weekend that fell on Calanmai. Tamlin was shaking as he led you to the chambers he had built just for you. Chambers his Lady would reside in when or if they were choosing to sleep in separate beds.

He realized he would have to keep you in the manor tonight, but excluding a guest from a court's most important holiday was considered a major offense. He thought about calling for Rhys, calling to remind him what today was, but he knew, at least he thought he did, that you would stay inside. It had worked with Feyre, after all. He had stopped searching for her when she wasn't easy to get to. Surely it would be the same for you. The magic would switch and call to another. He'd be able to ignore the scent of lilac, gooseberry, and fresh parchment.

He pushed open the door and watched your face with a deep breath held in his chest. “Tamlin, this room is too nice. This is clearly meant for someone with high standing. It's across from yours, I can't-”

“These are guest quarters for a high-ranking guest,” the lie came so smoothly. “You are a high-ranking guest. Get settled. I'll have a handmaid come get you for tea.” He shut the door behind you, going back to preparations and letting the kitchen know he needed tea made.

Your guest room was fit for a queen, not a guest. A large walk-in closet sat willed with dresses, an island in the middle with drawers for jewelry. A standing mirror with ornate patterns of florals and vines sat unused, untouched. The bed was massive, possibly larger than the one you shared with Azriel, and it had soft satin sage green sheets, a fur throwing blanket lining the foot. 4 posts came off the bed, a light cream colored fabric and curtains creating a canopy and optional privacy. A vanity sat, empty and waiting for its lady to fill it with oils and lotions.

He had clearly put you in a Lady's quarters. A safe place for her to be away from her husband. Something you had asked Azriel for since his bond with Gwyn snapped, and you two had begun drifting apart. Something he continued to deny you as tensions grew between you two.

You entered the door opposite of the closet and felt your heart begin to dance. The bathroom was stunning. White and grey marbled floors, a sunk in tub large enough for two, accents of that same soft green and gold. It was what the tub overlooked that made your heart truly flutter, though. It overlooked a garden and the forest. Elain would have killed for this view, but instead, you sat on the ground, crossing your legs, and you took it all into yourself. Hogging the moment and soaking in it.

Nightfall came quickly, and Tamlin had warned you of what would come. You had made the choice to stay inside even though a pang of jealousy reared its ugly head.

You had no claim to him. No ownership over his body, his choices. It didn't change the emotion, though, as you laid your hands over the edge of that tub and watched fire make shadows dance across the leaves.

He had warned you that you may feel tugging, a pull urging you to come outside. He had asked that you ignore it, and Cauldron, you were trying. You were ignoring that growing warmth in your stomach, the haze setting into your mind. You tried to focus on thoughts of the fight you and Azriel would finish when you got home. Of the way you would crawl into a separate bed from your husband as soon as he fell asleep, still smelling like Gwyn. You tried to focus your thoughts on your marriage and how it was slowly crumbling below you after his actions.

But those tugs were growing stronger, aching in your chest with desire and need. You jumped as the door to your room slammed open, and Tamlin growled. He seemed more beast than fae, mind lost in whatever this ritual had done to him. “Tamlin?”

Your voice shook him enough as he kneeled down in front if you, broad chest exposed and covered in swirling paint. “Y/n,” his voice was strained as he struggled to keep his eyes on your face. “Should have sent you back.” He was grounding out each syllable. “Fucking Rhysand.”

You felt it again, a harsh tug on your chest before warmth and dedication flowed into your body. You gasped at how close it felt and his eyes grew wide. “You can feel it?”

“Feel what? That tug?”

He nodded almost desperate as he lifted you out of the water and searched for something. He came back with your robe, wrapping you in it before trying to lead you somewhere. “Tamlin, where are we going?”

“The Cave.” His voice wasn't his own, but another tug came. That ancient echo spoke again, making you shiver.. “I won't allow this vessel to settle for less than his mate.”

His mate. You almost froze, making whatever held Tamlin's body stop and throw you over his shoulder. “Close your eyes, and feel,” it commanded as it walked you out the front door.

The cave was filled with the sounds of sex, the scent of magic, arousal, sweat. Tamlin laid you on a bed at the center of it, eyes blown with lust. You felt it then, that string binding your souls, holding you together like missing pieces to a puzzle. He was himself again now, looking down at you with hesitation. “I will let you go if you ask, little rose.”

Your body was humming, mind lost as your eyes began to water staring into his. “It's just mindless sex,” you repeated words you'd heard since Azriel's bond snapped. “It means nothing to you.”

Tamlin's brow knit, those green eyes aching with sorrow for you. “It means everything. You mean everything to me," and he crashed his lips down onto yours.

General Taglist:

Lost Bonds Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish

@impossibelle @fxckmiup @applerubyy @awkardnerd @sleepylunarwolf @macimads @esposadomd @stormhearty

#acotar #acotar x reader #tamlin #tamlin x reader #tamlin x y/n #tamlin x you #tamlin acotar

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azrielsdove · 3 months

Note

Rejected is one of my fave fics to date, so I have to ask if I can get a Cassianx f reader where the reader has gone through something tragic (what that is totally up to you) and Cassian helps her through it and while healing the mating bond snaps? (Feel free to play with this idea how you see fit)

Safe

Warnings: Violence, Description of attack on reader

***

Cassian was holding you tight against him, flying as quickly as he could to the House of Wind. You could feel each heavy breath drag from his chest, the panic radiating from him. You stared unblinkingly into the night, still comprehending what had just happened.

He landed on one of the balconies, running to the kitchen and yelling for anyone who may be there. He placed you so delicately on the table, laying your too-still body down. Azriel came running, eyes widening as he took in your form in front of him. “What happened?”

Cassian was rummaging through the cabinets, pulling healing supplies out in a wild manner. “I shouldn’t have let her go down there alone.” Azriel looked at him, cocking his head in confusion.

“Cass,” he tried again, “what happened?”

You became aware of the steady drip, drip of your blood landing on the floor below. The realization brought the searing pain in your side and arm back, the sudden feeling of pain almost causing you to wince.

If you had the care to.

Cassian brought the supplies next to you, hands shaking too hard to thread the needle. Azriel took it from him, preparing to stitch you up himself.

“She wanted to go down to the city, get a few drinks and walk around. It was late, I know what kind of people prowl around at that time.” He shook his head, as if that would make the sight of your bloodied body disappear. “I left her in a shop to run to another, just for a minute. She must have left, and-“ His voice broke, shaking sobs racking over his body. Azriel paused stitching your wounds, placing a hand on his friend’s back. Cassian sucked in a deep breath before continuing on. “I went back and noticed she was gone, so I started looking around. I didn’t think anything bad had happened until I caught the scent of blood. I ran, finding her in the shadows between two buildings. Like that.” He buried his face in his hands, ashamed that something like this could happen to you.

Azriel stayed quiet, resuming the careful stitching of your wounds. You hardly felt him, mind still stuck in that little alley. The male who had attacked you, trying to get money. You didn’t understand why he had been so violent. Rhys paid you well enough that you would have easily handed over whatever he wanted, had he just asked. Instead he plunged a knife into your gut, and when you tried to fight back he sliced it down your arm. He ran without even taking any money. He attacked you for truly, no reason.

Azriel was saying something to Cassian, forcing him to calm down. Cool water brushed against your now stitched wounds, washing away the dried blood on your skin. Soft bandages were carefully placed over you, more words shared that you didn’t catch. Someone was scooping you up into their arms, carrying you to your room. You were placed on the bed, warm covers wrapped around your aching body. A vial of something was poured down your throat, and before sleep took over you noticed one of the males placing a chair next to your bed. A glimmer of red was all you saw before falling into a blissful, dreamless sleep.

***

Your head was pounding. You winced as you opened your eyes, sunlight streaming through the windows. Within a second the curtains were pulled shut, your vision adjusting to find Cassian standing by them. He shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “How are you, uh, feeling?” You stared blankly at him, trying to remember what had happened. He cleared his throat, eyes not quite looking at you. He seemed…guilty?

“What happened?” You asked, wincing at the soreness of your throat. Cassian looked up to the ceiling and swallowed deeply.

“You were attacked when we were in town,” he said, his voice quiet. Your brow furrowed as you tried to remember. You could recall being in the shop with Cassian, and then him leaving to run into another. Not much after that-a sudden flash of memory ran through your body. You gasped as if you could feel the blade digging into your stomach again, the males hand tight around your throat. You instinctively curled into a ball, ignoring the sharp pain in your side at the action. You were going to be sick.

Cassian came to your side, reaching a hand out to comfort you. You yelped, rolling over and off the side of the bed. “Please don’t touch me,” you whispered, tears pricking at the back of your eyes. All you could feel was that males hands on you, digging in your pockets and threatening your life. Cassian looked like you had stabbed him, but he respected your wishes.

“Would you like me to get one of the girls?” He asked quietly, hands held tight behind his back. You nodded, still cowering from the floor. He ducked his head in response and went from the room, determined to find someone else to comfort you.

After what felt like hours of you sitting, shaking on the floor, the door pushed open. Mor ran in, immediately diving to sit by your side. “Oh, sweet girl,” she soothed, looking over you. “What do you need?” Her eyes bore into you like she could see what you were thinking. You couldn’t help the tears that slid down your face as you leaned into her, allowing her arms to wrap around you. She held you tight against her, running her hand through your hair. “You’re safe,” she murmured over and over again, reminding you that no one would harm you up here.

Mor held you as long as you needed, soothing you until your tears slowed. She helped you back into your bed, tucking the covers snug around you. “I am going to go get you something to eat and drink, okay? Would you like me to have someone wait with you?” Her eyes were wide with worry, clearly remembering what it feels like to be in such a vulnerable state. You shook your head, feeling better enough to be alone for a few minutes.

You sunk into the warmth of your bed while she was gone, replaying the night of your accident over and over. You and Cassian at the shop, Cassian running to a neighboring one, you going to meet him. The male jumping out of the shadows, dragging you backwards into the alley. The way you tried to scream as he wrapped his hand around your throat, threatening you if you made any noise. Your desperate plea that you would give him whatever he wanted if he just let you go, that you work with the High Lord and can get him anything, just please, please, please let you go. The feeling of the knife in your stomach, the sharp pain burning through your body. How you tried to fight back and he sliced down your arm, ripping muscle to keep you subdued. The darkness coming, Cassians voice yelling….

You rubbed your hands furiously over your eyes, trying to banish the memories away. You didn’t want to think about it anymore. You couldn’t think about it anymore.

Mor returned shortly after with a small plate and glass of water, sitting by your side until you had finished both. “There,” she said, taking them from you, “much better. I’m going to give you something to help you sleep, if that’s okay?” She held up a little glass vial, one you recognized from the night you were attacked.

“Okay,” you answered, reaching to take the drug from her. Anything to keep those thoughts away. You took it in one drink, breathing deep as the dreamless sleep took over once again.

***

“You cannot hide in here forever.” You glared at Mor standing at the foot of your bed, hands on her hips.

“I can do what I want,” you shot back, crossing your arms firmly in front of you. She threw her hands up in exasperation, turning away from you.

“I can’t help you if you won’t help yourself.” You knew she was angry, tired of trying to bring you back to life. You didn’t care. You were happy to lay in bed and hide under your covers, stealing bottles of wine from Rhys at night.

“No one’s making you help me. You are free to leave whenever.” Your eyes burned, dry from the lack of sleep or proper nutrition. Mor turned back to you, fire in her eyes.

“I understand you went through something traumatic, but you don’t need to throw your life away due to it.” She stared at you, waiting to see what you would say. You pushed yourself out of the bed and walked to the door, opening it wide.

“Then leave, Morrigan. I don’t need a gods damned babysitter.” You made a big show of bowing by the door, gesturing her to go. She shook her head and stormed out, turning on her heel before you could slam it shut.

“Rhys won’t let you live here forever, rotting away. Figure it out.” You stuck your tongue out at her, ignoring her shout of frustration as she stormed away. You happily closed and locked the door behind her, walking over to your nightstand and grabbing the wine on top of it. You drank deeply, forcing any guilt away.

The wounds on your physical form had healed, but the mental ones were still strong. How could you tell Mor, who had overcome the most horrific things, that you couldn’t get past what happened? That you had nightmares every time you closed your eyes about that male, that you couldn’t sleep or think without it haunting you. It had been weeks since your attack, and no one expected you to be taken down so badly by it. You stumbled over to one of the windows in your room, sitting on the bench in front of it. You’re pathetic, you thought to yourself, taking another drink. No wine spilled on to your waiting lips, prompting you to investigate the bottle.

Empty.

You cursed, knowing tonight you would have to leave your room in search of another. Fine. Whatever. You would do anything to keep your feelings away, your memories dampened.

You were pondering how best to sneak out when a loud banging at your door made you jump. You sighed, knowing it was someone to yell at you. You walked over, opening the door with a sickly sweet smile on your face.

The smile dropped when you saw it was Cassian standing there.

He looked you over, nose wrinkling at the state of you. You suppose you’d looked better, the days-old nightgown and unwashed hair not the best you’ve ever done. “Mor says you’re a lost cause.” You rolled your eyes. Of course she did.

“Why do you care?” You felt a pang of regret at the pain in his eyes, knowing how heavily he blamed himself for what happened.

He took a breath, standing up straight. “I want to help you.”

You laughed.

“I don’t need help, General. Thanks for the offer.” You moved to shut the door, annoyed when he stuck his foot out to stop you. His gaze darkened as he looked down at you, his size intimidating.

“Let me rephrase that. I am going to help you. Meet me at the training ring tomorrow morning, at dawn. If you aren’t there, i’ll be sure to let Rhys know how you spend your nights.” His eyes dipped down to the empty bottle in your hand, his intention all too clear. You scoffed, slamming the door shut on him.

Who does he think he is bossing me around? You think, throwing yourself on your bed. The wine would have to wait.

***

You shivered in the chill morning air, uncomfortable in your now loose-fitting fighting leathers. You were embarrassed to put them on earlier, shocked at how much your body had changed in the last few weeks. You knew you hadn’t been taking care of yourself, but you didn’t think it would be this bad.

You glanced at the doorway again, waiting for Cassian to come. Was he so sure you would bail that he decided to not even show up? Guilt ran over you, ashamed that you had pushed everyone so far away that this was their impression of you. You kicked at the sand under your feet, hot tears filling your eyes.

Footsteps came from the stairwell and your head shot up, quickly wiping the tears that had fallen. Cassian halted at the sight of you, clearly not expecting you to have showed up. He took note of your watery eyes, concern flashing through his own. “I didn’t think you’d come,” was all he said before continuing on towards the weapons.

You trailed after him, shrugging your shoulders. Truthfully, you couldn’t handle the idea of Rhys coming to tell you how disappointed he was. The High Lord had offered you a job when you were struggling, impressed by your intelligence and outside thinking. You were happy to come live here, a far better home than the little shack you slept in. You could handle anger and disappointment from Mor and Cassian, as your friends, but from your boss? The thought had sobered you up, deciding that accepting Cassians help wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

“We will begin with stretching and body exercises, building your strength back up.” He turned to face you, wrapping his hands in training tapes. “Then, we will move on to defense.” You paled at his words, at the reminder of why you needed to learn defensive tactics. The feeling of that males knife in your stomach flooded your senses, your fists clenching tight at your sides. Cassian observed the reaction, his expression softening. “Here,” he said, stepping closer to you and wrapping your hands as well. You forced your hands to stay steady, not wanting him to feel the almost permanent shake in them these days.

He started you on stretches, your muscles terribly tight after so long without use. You groaned at the discomfort. “Let me help.” You looked at Cassian, hesitant to allow him to touch you. He sighed and held his hands up. “I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. If you don’t want me to, just say no. I won’t be mad.” Your heart squeezed at his words, at the kindness you didn’t deserve.

“Okay,” you said, “you can help.” He instructed you to lay flat on your back and bend your knees. One of his hands wrapped gingerly around your ankle, while the other laid flat against your thigh. He slowly pushed your leg up to your stomach, the muscles flexing as he did. You couldn’t help the small moan at the feeling, the stretch releasing some of the tension in your body. Cassian’s hands tightened on you and you flushed, embarrassed by your reaction. “I, uh, sorry,” you mumbled out, forcing your eyes to the sky.

“It’s fine.” He set your leg back down and moved to the other. You bit your lip to keep from making the same noise of relief, certain you would combust if you embarrassed yourself any farther.

The rest of the morning passed without incident, Cassian leading your body through more stretches. He ended the session with some practice punches, getting the blood flowing in your body. You were properly sweaty by the time you were done, the cool morning long gone under the heat of the sun. “Hey, if you want to join us for lunch, you’re welcome too.” You were a bit stunned by his offer, but a smile ghosted your lips.

“Okay.”

***

Trainings with Cassian were helping you feel strong again. You began to look forward to the early mornings with him, the sessions quickly becoming your favorite time of day. While you were working your body, thoughts of that night disappeared. It was the nights that drove you to the brink of madness, the nightmares still incessant. Some nights you didn’t sleep at all, choosing to stay awake until the first rays of sunlight came out and you could go up to the training ring.

Unfortunately, Cassian was more observant than you would have liked him to be. He began to notice the ever-darkening circles under your eyes and the way you would stumble from exhaustion. His final straw was this morning, as you were doing weapons training. You swung your sword and fell right over at the force of it, narrowly missing falling on the blade itself. “Alright, that’s it.” Cassian hauled you to your feet and practically carried you out of the ring. He brought you down to the kitchen, making you sit as he got you a glass of water. “Talk.”

You looked up at him and sipped your water. “About what?” He shook his head.

“Don’t play with me. Why aren’t you sleeping?” He stared you down, arms crossed in front of him.

You shrugged. “Just can’t.”

“Is it because of what happened?” You stilled. “I know it bothers you, even if you pretend you’re over it.” His eyes bore into your own, drawing the answer from you.

“Yes.” You hated the shake in your voice at the simple word. You hated the pity in Cassian’s expression. He moved to sit down next to you, body facing yours.

“Can I help?”

You shook your head. Not even the sleeping draught was helping anymore. The nightmares seemed to override the magic, coming to torture you no matter what you did. The strain of it all was threatening to destroy you. Cassian carefully cradled your hands in his. “Let me stay with you tonight. I’ll sit by your bed, and if you need me i’ll be right there.” You thought over the offer and decided you may as well try. Perhaps having someone with you would make it easier.

“Okay.”

***

A hand was tight around your throat, a knife digging into your side. “I should’ve killed you that night, sweetheart.” The snarling voice is in your ear, panic overtaking your body. “I’ll just kill you now.” The knife rips across your abdomen and you try to scream, pain radiating throughout your body.

“Please! Please, i’ll give you anything you want, just let me go!” You were sobbing, voice strangled as he pressed his hand harder against you. The knife digs down your arm, rendering it useless.

“I don’t think so, little girl. This is part of the fun.” Your vision was darkening due to your blood loss and he dug the knife into your other arm. You lost the energy to scream, to fight. You crumpled down against the male, blinking into the brighter light outside the alleyway.

“Cass,” you mumbled before all went black.

You shot up with a scream, your fingers clawing at your neck. Strong hands wrapped around your wrists and ripped your arms down. “Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe. You’re safe.” You looked wildly at the male next to you, instinct telling you to run.

He rubbed his thumbs over your wrists soothingly, shushing your thoughts. “You’re safe, I promise. Breathe.” You took a shuddering breath, eyes focusing on his face. Cassian. Tears began pouring down your cheeks as you came out of the nightmare, realizing where you were. He wrapped his arms around you and held you close, pressing soft kisses into your hair. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

You cried until you were dizzy, the exhaustion threatening to take over. You clung to Cassian and buried your face in his chest. “Please don’t go,” you whispered as you felt sleep threaten you again. He laid the two of you down, keeping his arms wrapped around you.

“I won’t. I’ll always be here.” You relaxed in his embrace, breathing deeply. Sleep came quickly, and for the first time in a long time you weren’t afraid of it.

You were safe.

***

Training the next day was the best session you had ever experienced. You felt refreshed after finally getting a restful sleep, ready to tackle whatever Cassian threw at you. You were full of determination, a stark contrast to the shell of yourself you were before.

You were nearing the end of your training session, knives in both hands, when you made a mistake. You stumbled and failed to block his attack. His knife ended up pressed flat against your stomach, in the same spot you had been attacked. You screamed and pushed him away, backing yourself up. “What is wrong with you?!” You yelled, hands shaking.

Cassian dropped the knives he was holding, hands raised in surrender. “You were supposed to block it. I told you, we were going to work on self defense.” You knew it made sense why he would do that, but your anger and fear overshadowed practicality.

“You’re a fucking psycho Cassian!” You threw the knives out of your hands like they were fire.

“I’m trying to help you. That is why we are up here, is it not? To train?” He stepped closer to you, anger of his own rising.

You shook your head. “Do you want to help me? Or do you just like the idea of the poor, weak damsel in distress? I don’t need you to protect me.”

He laughed and moved closer, towering over you. “That’s not what you said last night, when I basically had to rock you to sleep like a babe!” You glared at him, not shying away from his large form.

“You could have left at any time. I was handling it on my own before you came.”

“Handling it? You weren’t sleeping! You were allowing it to take over, turning to drink instead of help.” He moved even closer, your chests brushing with every breath.

“I hate you,” you spat out, even if the close proximity was making you doubt that.

“No you don’t.” His voice was softer, a hand coming to tilt your face up to him.

“I do.” You didn’t sound like you believed it. Especially not as he leaned down closer to you, lips centimeters from yours.

“Is that so?” He teased, eyes dark. Your breathing was heavy, overwhelmed by him.

“Just kiss me already.” The words were scarcely out of your mouth before his lips slotted over yours, his other arm wrapping tight around your waist. You sighed into the kiss, opening your mouth to his. Cassians teeth bit over your bottom lip, a pleased chuckle at the sound you made.

“I’ve been thinking about this ever since I helped you stretch that first day,” he whispered, pulling away to kiss down your neck. “When you made that moan, I knew I needed you.” He pulled the same sound from you now, biting the sensitive skin under your ear. His hand tightened on your waist, a low growl sending heat through you. “You will be the death of me.”

His lips came back to yours, kissing you hard. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held him tight, enjoying the feeling of him pressed up against you. “Cass,” you murmured, body going still. You looked up into his expression of shock that you were certain mirrored your own. “Cass?” A sudden fear rose through you, worry that he didn’t want a bond. Not with you. Was he going to reject it, was he going to reject you, where would you go, what would you do-

Your panicked thoughts were interrupted by him kissing you again. “My mate,” he said, kissing you again and again. You smiled into his kisses, holding tight to him. And you felt it.

As long as Cassian was yours, you would be safe.

***

First of all, thank you so much for your comment about Rejected <3. I love that one and i’m so happy you do too! Second of all, I am SO SORRY this took me so long to do!!! I hope it lived up to what you wanted ❤️ Thank you so much for being patient with me and for requesting this!

#cassian x reader #cassian x y/n #cassian x you #acotar x reader #acotar #acotar x you #acotar x y/n #requests #safe

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writingmuses · 1 year

Text

Love Potion

Request: Based on a request for an IC x Reader, either a sex pollen fic or a magic potion fic (I may or may not do a sex pollen fic in the future 👀)

Elain x Reader, Nessian X Reader, Azriel x Reader, some mentions of Lucien X Reader (maybe I’ll do a prequel?) → a little bit for everyone.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, minors do not engage. Self-pleasure, fingering, grinding, breast play, p in v, biting, mentions of being under the influence. 100% consensual. ANGST.

Use of she/her for the reader. The reader is Rhy’s sister.

Literal Porn with plot for the sake of porn but there is a lot of potential angst to turn this into an actual fic if anyone's interested by the end (so much drama to unpack).

Synopsis: Reader accidentally drinks a love potion. As desire courses through Y/Ns veins, and her inhibitions lower, she encounters the different members of the Inner Court.

Word count: 15.7K (WHOOPS)

-MOR-

“What is it?” Mor asks, gently tapping on the side of the glass pitcher. She brings her hands to her knees and lowers herself down to eye level with the fluid inside. She watches the plum-coloured liquid swirl within the glass, glimmering with tiny flecks of gold, dancing around one another to music that does not exist, suspended in infinite motion.

She must admit that it is beautiful. That, however, just makes her all the more suspicious. Mor blows an annoying stray curl out of her face and swivels to meet her cousin’s eyes. Rhysand’s violet gaze is clouded and dark, full of irritation. That means, Mor notes, that her dearest cousin is already aware of what’s inside the pitcher that has been gifted to her High Lady.

“Yes, Lucien, do indulge my cousin and tell everyone about the swill you have brought into my home," Rhys voice clips. Lucien had arrived at the River House mere minutes ago, holding a large oak tray. On that tray sat the pitcher containing the mystery liquid, one ridiculously bejewelled challis, a single red rose, and, a note addressed to the High Lady:

Dearest Feyre,

I hope you are well and safe.

I apologize for my dismissal of your title as High Lady earlier this year. You are more worthy than any other female I have come across in my many centuries.

I understand now that you would make a wondrous High Lady in any court.

I am sending this note with Lucien along with my finest tea as a token of peace and as a toast to you in your new role. I would love for you to sample the wine and write me back letting me know how it made you feel.

Please do not tell Rhysand of my gift to you, for I fear he would not understand this gesture between friends.

I count the seconds to your reply.

All my love,

Tamlin

Lucien is quite pale. His normally bronzed skin looks ashy and his eyes are sullen. “Rhys… I-I know what you must be thinking.” The male clears his throat, worrying his bottom lip,“I’m sure he just wasn’t in his right mind - or maybe he didn’t know the properties of the liquid. Tam-”

Darkness begins to creep out from behind Rhys, his face stony.“Do not mention that name in my house right now, Lucien. I have half a mind to winnow over to Spring and gut the coward where he stands.” Rhys holds the note in his hands and quickly crumples it into a tight ball. “Do not make excuses for that vile creature.” His eyes burn with fury as he sends the balled up note careening through the air, and right into the roaring fireplace.

Almost all of the inner court was gathered around the two males, standing tense and mystified at this interaction. Everyone is dressed in fine clothes and gathered at the River house for family dinner. “I’m confused,” Mor queries again, “Rhys, please tell us what is happening?”

Feyre approaches her mate, resting a gentle hand on his bicep. He turns to look at her. Their eyes locked in a way only a pair of mates could. The two converse internally, and after a moment, Feyre gasps aloud. “A love potion? Rhys, truly?”

“What the fuck?” Cassian chimes in, brows furrowed, attention turning to the ginger male. “Why the fuck would you bring this to us,” Cassian takes a lumbering step towards Lucien. Mor takes a step forward as well, gripping the General's arm, not in the mood to have dinner ruined just yet. “Were you in on it?” Cassian barks to the son of Autumn.

“Cauldron no!” Lucien slinks back a step, eyes glued to his worn leather boots, trying to dissipate some of the tension in the room. “I brought it here to show you that Tamlin is desperate - and not above resorting to such vile means.” He clears his throat and looks up to Feyre, a small, apologetic smile on his lips. “I brought this here to warn you that Tamlin will likely try again and that you need to be on your guard.”

It is Mor now, who takes another step forward, rage simmering beneath her skin. “Likely story you prick. I’ll-” she starts, but she is cut off by a hand on her shoulder. The High Lady had made her way over to Mor, now gripping her shoulder with a delicate hand.

“He’s telling the truth,” Feyre concludes. She eyes Rhys, another one of their private discussions taking place within the confines of their own minds. “Lucien showed us.”

“Feyre darling is correct," Rhys sighs, "Our dear friend Lucien here, while foolish - meant well.” the anger in his eyes disperses as Rhys nods a brief thanks to the ginger fae. “Besides,” he ponders, “ this love potion would have no ill effect on our dear High Lady.”

“Now how’d you figure that Rhys?” Mor raises a brow at her cousin.

“Because the High Dunce of Spring still believes I have Feyre under my evil spell.” Rhys wiggles his fingers at his mate, dry humour dancing in his eyes. “You see, the particular love potion good ol Tam picked out is called Affectus Revelare, also known as Feelings Revealed." Rhys gestures at the pitcher. "The potion itself is quite rare and rather ancient even by fae standards, which is why I'm not surprised none of you recognized it. Even you Az.” Rhys nods to the shadow singer in the corner. Azriel, who prides himself on his diverse knowledge of poisons, spells and potions, nods in thanks, upset with himself for not having been able to place the potion immediately.

“I think I've heard of it,” Mor muses, all eyes on her now. “It works to remove inhibition. To allow those who drink it to reveal their true feelings? It is strong, and able to cut through most other potions or spells. Which is probably why Tamlin selected it." Her cousin nods in agreement. She continues, "However, to my knowledge, it went out of favour a long time ago because of the side effects.” She turns back to her cousin and he nods in agreement.

“What side effects?” Cassian asks.

“Think of it as a magic truth serum. However, this truth serum removes any suppression of morals and makes its drinker uncontrollably horny.” Rhys says in a strained voice. “Unstoppably so. The only way to get the urges to dissipate is to have a way with the object of the drinker’s strongest affections.”

The jaws around the room hang low. Cassian lets out a startled cough. Azriel is the first to recover from the uncomfortable silence, his shadows flying around his head as he quickly mutters to them. Some of his shadows disappear into thin air, Mor assumes they are presumably off to keep further tabs on the High Lord of Spring.

“So Tamlin thought what? That I would drink this so-called love potion, break the “evil curse” you’ve trapped me under, again, and then come running back into his arms?” Feyre was full-on laughing now and it was contagious. She wiped her eyes as tears formed as she fought to control her deep belly laugh.

“And right into his bed.”

Rhys slings an arm around Feyre’s shoulder and starts to turn her away from Tamlin’s ‘gift’. He kissed the top of her head, a signature smirk returning to his face. His eyes were clear and bright once again. “All that potion would have done is make you find me even more irresistible than I already am," he coos.

“I don’t know how that could be possible.”

“Oh Feyre darling, please, we have company.” Rhys groans and nuzzles deeply into his High Lady’s neck, laying kiss after kiss along her pulse point. He pulls his lips from her neck with great effort, and only after poor innocent Elain clears her throat uncomfortably. “Let’s bring this up to the House of Wind for now, we can further investigate the source of this potion tomorrow. I would be very interested to find out where Tamlin was able to source such a thing.” He nods to Cassian who scoops up the tray and heads towards the door. “Everyone meet back here for dinner in 10.”

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

-CASSIAN-

“I’ll drop this off, I need to pick up Nes anyways. I’ll be right back.” Cassian walks out the door and spreads his wings wide. With powerful strokes, he is up and into the air. In a few short minutes, he touches down on the stone balcony of the House of Wind. Not a single drop of the potion has spilled, and he smiles triumphantly. Nesta sits at the table, a smutty romance novel gripped in her hands. She looks up at him with a smile but worry quickly crosses her face and her eyes drift to the tray in his hands.

“Don’t worry Nes,” he reassures her. “I didn’t get you anything. This was a gift for your sister, I wouldn’t dream of such a sweeping gesture. I know that you much prefers other methods of celebration,” Cassian says with a wink.

“Who’s it from?” Nesta closes her book, and rises from the table.

“From Tamlin, of all males.” He sets the tray down on the tabletop, the bejewelled challis rattling against the pitcher at the sudden movements.

“A gift? From Tamlin?”

“It’s a long story. Let’s head down to dinner, I’ll tell you on the way.” With that, Cassian scoops his beautiful mate into his arms. Her arms lock around his neck as he shoots off into the sky and back towards the River House. The love potion left on the table to be dealt with tomorrow.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

-Y/N-

You winnow out of the sky a number of feet above the House of Wind and begin to make the unceremonious crash down to the balcony. You quickly generate a tiny cloud of sparkling night with a single thought to slow your descent.

I am so running late.

You had been away in the Summer Court for three weeks visiting your dear friend, Tarquin. The High Lord of Summer and you had bonded over your shared love of the ocean, gossip and fruity drinks many decades ago. He now invited you every couple of months for a visit to his vacation villa, where you would swim, eat and share the juiciest, most jaw-dropping tidbits from your respective courts. You are the only one of the inner circle ever to be invited. This, of course, made Cassian infinitely jealous.

You loved your visits with the High Lord of Summer. The weight on your shoulders would slip away, even if it was just for a few days and you would both be free of responsibilities. However, this visit had been mostly diplomatic and unfortunately, you had found yourself roped into weeks of dinners and meetings. Working on updating trade agreements between the courts, while important, had been dreadfully boring. So much so that as you had left, Tarquin made the promise that this trip didn’t count and that you would meet up again in two months' time for a redo.

You feel dead tired. What you truly need is a hot bath and good long sleep. But tonight is family dinner and you are excited to see everyone. No work talk, that would wait until tomorrow, but it was rare to have a moment where we were all together, wine flowing and laughs ringing through the River House. You wouldn’t miss it for the world.

You pass into the dining room and drop your large satchel on the table beside one of Nesta's books. Beside her book, sat a pitcher of tea you assumed Nesta had made for herself during her afternoon reading session. You giggle at the rose laid out next to it. Nesta truly was a romantic at heart. You scoop it up and admired the luscious red of the petals. It was just like Nes to indulge herself in the finer things, especially amidst one of her reading frenzies.

You twirled the delicate blossom in your hand and inhale the scent deeply, when suddenly you hiccup in pain. Looking down at your hand you realize one of the thorns had sliced your finger. You quickly drop the flower and bring your finger to your mouth, sucking the coppery drops of blood. The cut is shallow and heals instantly, the tiny pink scar disappearing right under your gaze. With the flower now forgotten, you turn your attention to the tea.

You quickly scan the room, as if Nesta would appear out of thin air at any moment and berate you for taking what wasn’t yours. The thought made you let out a nervous chuckle. If Nes is putting out fancy flowers with her drink, then the tea she selected must be simply divine.

Don’t mind if I do!

You grasp the gaudy bejewelled challis in one hand and picked up the crystal pitcher with the other. You pour yourself a large cup. As the liquid pours from one vessel to another, you can’t help but admire the way it sparkles and shimmers, almost like stardust suspended in liquid - not unlike your own magic.

With a little cheers in the air, you take your first taste.

A low moan erupts from the back of your throat. Never have you tasted anything so divine. Hints of rose and lavender, honeysuckle and almond, rose and hibiscus. But also something deeper, and tangier, a musk of dark earth and fresh rain. It tasted of desire and warmth, of friction and longing. The flavour overwhelms your senses, and becomes all-encompassing.

You take a second small sip. Another groan involuntarily passes your lips.

Then a third and fourth sip, both larger, more eager.

You take a fifth, and down the rest of your cup.

Now, in a frenzy, you refill the challis and drain it all in one gulp.

Again. And again. And again. It is as if you are in a trance, unable to stop yourself, needing to feel the sweet nectar pass your lips, and slide down your throat. The mesmerising liquid burns deliciously as you drink and drink and drink until the pitcher is empty.

As quickly as it had begun, it was over. With the pitcher empty, your desire to consume was gone. Your hands shake as you place the challis and pitcher back onto the tray. Your memories of what has just transpired are hazy. In one breath all memory of drinking the tea was gone. In the next breath, you remember it is family dinner. You quickly grab your bag and shuffle up to your room. Throwing the bag into the corner, you turn to the mirror to address your appearance. The dress you don is a light sea foam green, a slit running all the way up to your hip bone, and a low V neckline descending down almost to your navel. As it was currently winter in Velaris, you would need to change into some warmer clothes. As you reach around to unclasp your dress, you are suddenly hit with an intense feeling of warmth. Your face flushes and in the mirror you see sweat form at your temples. It lasts only for a second before your temperature begins to regulates, but it was enough to convince you to stay in the cooler summer garment. I must just be tired.

You head back out to the balcony ready to go meet your family. You leap off the ledge and as you enter a free fall, you sigh in relief, letting the chilled air cool you down as you let out a blissful sigh. You catch yourself on a cloud of starlight, pulling out of your free fall and making your way towards the River House.

You land just outside the border of the River House. As you pass through the boundary and up the front steps you are hit again with another wave of heat. This time it is stronger. You brace yourself on the handrail. Did I spend too much time in the sun? you pondered, thinking back on your time in the Summer Court. You had not spent more time than usual.

I must just be overtired from my long trip. Right as you reach this conclusion, the heat rapidly dissipates, returning your body to normal once again.

There was no further time for contemplation as the front door swung open and Cassian comes into view. "Oh, mighty adventurer,” he mocks with a salute, “welcome home!” He bellows loudly. You jump up the last two steps and he immediately pulls you in for a deep hug. Your face buries into the side of his neck. You had missed him dearly while you were away, but of course, you would never tell him that.

But, what starts as a friendly welcome home, quickly changes course.

Suddenly, the smell of sandalwood and crackling embers surrounds you, invading all of your senses. This was Cassian’s scent, something you smelt daily for 400 years, and have never thought twice about. But now all of a sudden, he is the only thing you want to smell. You huff in his scent and feel your body warm and tingle. What the hell? you cry internally. You know you should pull away. But instead, you have the irresistible urge to lick the thick, long column of his neck, and you nearly do. That’s not the only thing that’s long and thick I want to be licking, you muse, and your core throbs. You have no idea what is happening. Cassian, Cassian, Cassian your mind repeats over and over. Lick him, bite him, claim him. You bite your lips, teeth surely drawing blood. Anything to keep your mouth from latching onto him. You need him. You take a shuddering breath, his scent dancing in your lungs as you-

You’re pulled out of your twisted mind as Cassian adds, “Now, get the fuck inside before you catch your death.”

You quickly pull away from the General and look down. You had forgotten that you were still in your summer attire. An outfit that while gorgeous was not equipped to handle the Velaris winter you were currently experiencing. You risk a glance back up to Cassian, he smiles gesturing inside the house. Luckily he didn’t seem to notice the massive loss of judgement you had just experienced. You do not have feelings for Cassian. That much you know to be true, at least not anymore. Right? You reassure yourself once again that you must just be tired, that your brain was playing tricks.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts as you step through the door. You failed to notice how Cassian’s nose flared as you passed him.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Everyone greats you as you enter the dining room. Luckily, your head seems to remain on straight, as no further desire of Cassian clouds your brain. Your brother and his wife offer you both a quick hug, with the promise to debrief tomorrow, you all take your seat at the dinner table. You have strategically placed yourself as far from Cassian as possible, sandwiched in between Feyre and Mor. You hear the chair across from you slide out and you look up to meet the shadowsinger’s eyes as he slips into the chair. You had not seen him when you arrived. But now you see him - more clearly than ever before.

He offers you a small smile. “How was your visit to Summer, Y/N?”

You don’t hear his question. You are too busy staring at his mouth. Plump lips, tinged slightly red from the cup of wine he’s been sipping out of. His tongue darts out, coating his lips in a glossy sheen. You wonder how those lips would feel against yours… against your breasts… against your core. You blink slowly, noticing his lips are still moving. Oh, the things those lips could do. Suddenly, you feel a hand squeeze your elbow. You yelp and turn to see Feyre grasping your arm.

“Are you alright Y/N?” She frowns softly, concern dancing in her eyes.

“P-perfectly” You mutter, blinking rapidly, looking anywhere but towards the shadowsinger.

“Are you sure? Azriel’s been trying to talk to you for a good minute.”

“J-just tired.” You assure them. “Think I spent too much time in the sun.” You raise your shoulders in a shrug, mumbling.

“I’m relieved to hear you’re not intentionally ignoring me,” Azriel quips trying to meet your eye once again.

“Never.” You say, still not meeting his eye, picking up your wine glass and drinking deeply. “Never.”

And it’s true. Normally, you would never ignore the shadowsinger. You had known him for over 400 years and loved him for 200. Being 80 years younger than your brother Rhys meant that you had grown up with the three of them as your primary moral figures. Rhys was your brother who acted like a father, Cassian your best friend, and Azriel your fiercest protector. And you loved them all for 200 years until something began to change. You had developed a crush on Cassian from an early age. With his broad and muscular chest, and his lushes locks, he sure knew how to make a female swoon. But he was your best friend, and that came first. Your bond with Azriel, now that was even more complicated. He had an uncanny way of being able to see you, to truly see all of you. You loved him as something more, something different than the infatuation you felt with Cass. You yearned for Azriel, and for a time you thought that maybe he desired you too.

But nothing ever came of it. Maybe it was because he had watched you grow up? Or perhaps it was because you were Rhy’s little sister? You didn’t know. But you’ve been a grown female for four mortal life cycles, and both of those excuses didn’t hold any water as far as you were concerned.

After 150 years of you pining away while he pined away for your cousin, you finally thought he was seeing you as you are, the female who could obliterate enemies with a thought, the female who held the court together while Rhys was under the mountain, the female who was not just her brother’s little sister, but an equal.

Then the Archerons arrived.

And you loved them all dearly. Feyre making your brother’s heart sing, Nesta having Cassian wrapped around her little finger, and Elain. Elain, who was a gentle breeze on a warm night. A breath of fresh air amidst the fog. Elain. Who was gorgeous and talented and funny. And while you may have thought those things, so did Azriel. You could only assume as he never did confide in you, but his glances lingered. Yours lingered as well, but more so in appreciation, in lust. Not in love as you suspected the shadowsinger’s did.

And there she was now, sitting beside Azriel, looking perfect as always. Hair smooth and glossy. Eyes big and bright, the richest, most delicious shade of brown you had ever seen. A long slender neck and cleavage that heaved tight against her bodice with each breath, as if her milky flesh was a moment away from bursting-

The sound of breaking glass yanked you out of your lustful thoughts. You looked around for the source of the noise before you realize that it was you. Your wine glass once, in your hand was now in 100 pieces on the floor beside you, a small puddle of red wine at your feet.

“Y/N/N are you alright?” Rhys had made his way towards you in the blink of an eye. He snapped his fingers and the glass, and the puddle of red disappeared. He leaned down to your height, pressing his palm to your forehead. “I think you might have a slight fever.”

“I’m so sorry about the mess, I don’t know where my mind went!” Yes, you do. “ I think I must just be overtired.” You offer a tight smile. “Too much sun.” you offer as an excuse. Yes, too much sun and now you’re a delirious fool.

Rhys only nods fondly, “Maybe you should head to bed kiddo.” You’re so eager to get out of there that you don’t even snark back about him calling you a kid.

“Good idea.” You raise from your chair, and you feel the arousal that had been unknowingly collecting at your core, begin to coat your thighs. You had to get out of there before you were scented. Family dinner nights meant everyone was staying at the River House. Luckily for you, that meant you didn’t have far to go. You turn and hightail it out of there, not noticing how the shadowsinger across from you holds his breath as you scurry away.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once you are up the stairs and out of sight, you kick off your shoes and run. You run down the hallway and around the corner to your chambers. You swing open the door and slam it shut behind you. Leaning against the wooden door, you take a shuddering breath. What is wrong with me?

You were no stranger to love and lust. But you had never had quite such a visceral reaction. For so many different fae. At the same time. You are hot all over now and it is as if there is fire in your veins. Your breath is shaky. You need to get a grip. Blinking hard, you make your way to the washroom, and fill the tub with icy cold water.

Your fingers grapple with the claps on the dress, fighting to release yourself. You give up, snapping your fingers, the dress disappearing, leaving you bare, and still burning. You sit at the edge of the tub before quickly sliding your feet below the surface. The shock of the cold hits your brain and for a moment you stop thinking. But it is not enough as you feel another wave of arousal dripping from your core. You know you are going to regret this, but you also don’t know what will happen next if you don’t. You take a deep breath and fully submerge your body. All you feel is cold. Alll you feel is ice. The fire under your skin tames. The lustful thoughts vanish. It is just you and the cold. Relief floods your bones as your face breaks the surface.

You lean your head against the rim of the tub, happy to be rid of your dirtiest thoughts. You lay in the cold water until the warmth of your body has rendered it tepid. You finally feel in control of yourself again. You heave your relaxed body out of the tub and wrap yourself in a fluffy white towel. Tucking the ends under your armpit, you move back into your bed chamber. The towel drops to the floor as you walk up to your wardrobe and pull on a simple silk nightgown, as dark as the night sky, dressing cool to avoid any future heat spells, hopefully.

You hastily scramble into bed and slide under your silk sheets. Exhaustion hitting you. You lay on your back, eyes closed as you slowly drift off to sleep. With not a single thought, your mind is finally quiet.

And then it’s back.

Heart hammering, your eyes fly open. Searing heat spreads through your entire body. Heat radiates from your core all the way to your fingertips. Your desire is bruning you from the inside. The heat wants to be fed, wants to consume.

Wants to be consumed.

Is it that simple? you ask yourself. Would self-pleasure finally rid you of this torment? It had been a few weeks since you had last found release, the time spent in Summer Court kept you too busy for simple pleasure. But it was not like you had not gone this long before, in fact, you had gone much longer and never with any issue. You craved the touch of another, but you suppose your body will hardly care where the pleasure comes from. Your nipples harden at the very thought. Decision made.

Arousal is now weeping from your core as your thighs clench together. As if with minds of their own, your hands pull the sheets off your body, exposing your skin to the night air. Your nipples pebble even harder, straining deliciously against the silk of your nightgown. You palm one of your breasts, the action causing shockwaves of pleasure to roll through your body.

Your other hand comes up and palms the other, a strangled moan leaving your lips. Your fingers dance along your left breast and encircle your nipple over the glossy material of your nightgown. You were still too hot. You quickly pull the straps down your arms. As your nipples meet the cold air, you could weep with joy. Your hands, finally able to touch your bare skin ghost over the sensitive flesh before your fingers are quickly clamping around your left nipple in a tight pinch. Your thighs clench again, as your core pulses, as if with a heartbeat of its own. You give your nipple another delicious twirl.

Your other hand travels down and down and down until it reaches the hem of your nightgown. Without a moment's hesitation, you pull the material up to your waist. Your arousal coats your thighs, as your hand move closer to your core, fingers disappearing between your legs.

The moment your fingers touch your clit, your hips buck wildly, back straining off the bed. Your fingers swirl around it again and again and again, the friction causing strangled moans to escape your throat, hips thrusting up wildly.

Your skin gleams in the moonlight, the heat building inside of you. Your eyes screw shut in pleasure. This time as your hand swirls around your clit, your other hand, still clinging to your breast, gives your nipple a sharp torturous twist. Pleasure and pain unite and suddenly you’re shaking as release barrels through you, your orgasm so intense your whole body shakes as you ride wave after wave of pleasure.

As you come down from your high, your body trembles with exertion.

But it is not enough.

Breathing deeply, your hand, now coated in your juices slides back down between your legs, and this time, you slide two fingers inside. You thrust in and out sharply. Setting a torturous pace and your fingers sink deep into your cunt, curling expertly inside you. In a matter of moments, you are overcome with another orgasm. Again and again and again, you work your body to climax.

It is never enough.

Your body gives out sometime between the eighth and tenth orgasm, releasing you into a dreamless sleep.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You awaken groggy, and unsure of your surroundings. The fog clears with a couple of blinks of your eyes and you realize you are in your bed at the River House. Looking down you see you are laid out, your nightgown askew and your thighs sticky.

And then it all comes flooding back.

How you pleasured yourself over and over again, the pace never relenting, just like the hunger for release did not relent. You had fucked yourself into oblivion.

But, it appears to have worked. Laying still you realise that your mind has returned to blissful silence once again. Finally free. No thoughts of lust or desire, just calm and slight confusion. Now more awake, you glance out the window and see that the moon is still high in the sky. It was late, but still a long way off until morning.

Confusion still runs through your bones. The intense need you felt earlier had come on so fast and strong, a hurricane of arousal. But it appears that the skies have now cleared, feeling content and more like yourself you huff and slowly sit up. Your stomach growls painfully, starved from the exertion and the lack of dinner. You could also do with a wash. Food first, you decide.

No one should be out and about the house at this hour, but just in case, you slip the nightgown over your head. The material is coated in your slick. Already ruined, you use the dress to clean up the arousal on your thighs. You refuse to think about how good the silken material feels against your inner thighs. You make your way to your dresser, and this time you pull out a pair of plain grey underwear and a long black t-shirt. The t-shirt fell down to your mid-thigh.

You make your way to the door and pry it open slowly, so as not to wake anyone else. Elain also has a room in this wing, and she was a notoriously light sleeper. You begin to pad down the hallway lightly, the marble cold against your bare feet. You feel a cold breeze wafting down the hall. Someone must have forgotten to close the balcony doors, you think. But then again, who would have opened the windows in the middle of winter? Snow had yet to fall, but the cool winter air had definitely arrived. More alert, you slowly make your way towards the open balcony doors, arms close to your sides, fists clenched.

Your arms lower immediately when you see who stands out on the balcony. You would recognize her shapely figure anywhere.

Elain stands with her back to you. She is wearing a blush-coloured pair of wide-legged pyjama pants,a shawl embroidered with flowers covers her shoulders. Her hair is unbound and glows like individual strands of gold. You feel your stomach tighten. She looks beautiful. You shake your head, trying to rid it of any other thought beyond concern. You gently rap your knuckles on the doorframe. Elain, still not fully tuned in to her new fae senses, jumps and spins around quickly. Her hand comes up to clutch onto her heaving chest. You could see her breath slow when she sees who it is, hand falling back down to her side.

You make eye contact with her, deep chestnut eyes meeting your own. And then her chest starts heaving again, and it takes all your strength to keep your eyes from wandering. You look up at the night sky instead.

“Elain, honey what are you doing out here, you’ll catch your death.” She looks at you nervously as you approach. Your feet tingle in protest at the cold stone beneath you.

“Erm- nothing. I just needed some fresh air,” you reach for her hand. She laces her hand in yours, eyes squeezing shut, “and some quiet.”

“But it is-” oh. Oh no. She had heard you. Your cheeks flush scarlett as you try to pull away. “Elain, I am so, so sorry. I didn’t realize I was so…” You trail off. Her hand tightens around yours, rooting you into place. Her fingers are frigid from being out here on the balcony for Cauldron knows how long.

“Loud.” She finishes your sentence. “The walls are quite thin.”

“I am sorry Elain for disturbing your sleep. I’m not sure what has come over me. It won’t happen again, I promise.” Are you happy with yourself? Poor, delicate Elain was awoken by the sounds of you touching yourself. Poor, gorgeous Elain had to escape outside in order to avoid hearing the sounds you made. Poor, delicious Elain- and oh did she look delicious. She wore a thin white camisole underneath her shawl. She wore no bra underneath, her nipples rock hard from the biting winter air. Oh how much you wanted to devour her.

You freeze again and fight against your mind. Not again. Not now. But it is Elain’s next words that have your lustful thoughts winning once again.

“I wasn’t sleeping.” Elain’s eyes met yours again, darker, more intense. “You, pleasured yourself for over 2 hours, did you know that?” Her sentence tumbled out. “Two hours without stop. Two hours of sheer pleasure.”

“Again, Elain I am so sorry but we should discuss this inside, we’ll catch our deaths out here”. You go to pull her along with you, back into the warmth of the hallway. She releases your hand.

“I never have, you know.” Her voice sounded far away now, mind far away.

“Never what Elain?”

“Never-” She trails off again. You finally catch on, and the fire within your belly reignites.

“Never touched yourself?” She lets out a slight giggle at your question and looks down at her slipper-clad feet.

“No, I’ve definitely tried to self-pleasure.” She shakes her head. “In fact I tried just tonight, listening to you.” It is your cheeks that burn red hot now. You swallow deeply at her confession. Did she touch herself to the sound of you? “But,” she continues, “I’ve never been able to make myself…reach completion. Never. I don’t know if there’s something wrong with me. I want to, gods do I want to. But, it just never happens.” Her voice shakes, and as she looks away again, you can see her eyes shining with tears. “I have been getting a lot closer with Lucien. I do think he is an honourable man.. Male, I mean. But I do not wish to saddle him with a mate who does not know what she is doing. He has lived centuries, and I do not even know how to please myself, never mind him.”

“You do not owe him anything, you know? There is nothing wrong with you, and if he is truly a good male, then he will not be bothered by any experience you do or do not have. There is so much more to a relationship than sex.” She is one of the most perfect creatures in existence. That male should be so very lucky for dirt under her shoes never mind anything else.

“I do know that. I do. But, I think this is something I have to do for myself first. Before I look towards a future with Lucien.”

“What is it you need to do?” You lick your lips.

“I want to feel good like you made yourself feel.”

“Do you want me to make you feel good, Elain?”

“I want you to make me feel alive.”

And then she is vaulting towards you, hands grasping your shoulders, and then her lips are on yours.

She tastes of jasmine and honey. A taste you never thought you would experience. But here she is, this perfect female, and Cauldron she was kissing you. Her plump, rosy lips are soft and firm. Her nails dig gently into your shoulders, and you can now smell her arousal, sharp and heady. Your core clenches in response. Your arms come around and encircle her waist, pulling her body tight against yours. You can feel her nipples against your own chest. She is freezing, and burning all at once.

The kiss ends and she pulls her lips away. Foreheads pressed together she looks at you through her brows. Your eyes meet and understanding passes through you. Your heads give a little nod, and she nods her own in response. Your hand finds hers and you gently pull her over to the corner of the balcony, to a long chaise lounge, the cold forgotten. She sits gently, legs swinging up onto the chaise, head tilting back, exposing the pale tender flesh of her neck. Her shawl falls off her shoulders. You now stand at the edge of the chaise, eying her up and down. You can feel the desire within you trying to surge, to consume. But you reign it in. This is not about you.

It is all about Elain. ”Let me bring you back to life,” you say as you gently spread her legs, and crawl up in between them. You align yourself perfectly, foreheads touching once again. “If anything is too much El, you let me know.” She nods again and tilts her head until her lips meet yours. The second kiss is slower, and more passionate. Her lips part and your tongue slides in, dancing upon hers.

After an eternity you separate, a thin trail of saliva connecting you. You pepper kisses to her cheek, her nose, and her chin, working your way down her throat until you arrive at the place just above her collarbone. Your lips clamp onto the sensitive flesh, and you hear Elain moan in response. It is music to your ears. As you lap at her neck, your fingers begin to trace down the length of her torso, eliciting sighs and pleasure. You run your fingertips gently down the valley between her breasts, down past her navel and along her hip bone, stopping at the hem of her camisole. Your mouth comes away and you make eye contact once again. Elain is in control, and you pause, waiting for her consent to continue.

“Please.” Her breath is coming in quick pants as she begs. Your fingers grab the hem and Elain leans forward and lifts her arms. You make quick work of pulling it over her head, tossing it to the side. Her skin glows like the stars in the sky. Her large breasts are firm and aching to be touched.

Elain’s teeth clench at the exposure to the cold, but the moan that follows is enough to spur you on. Your mouth trails more kisses along her collarbone and down between her breasts. Elain’s hands wind into your hair, holding you close. You look up at her and wink, and then your lips enclose around one of her perfect, pert nipples. Elain lets out a breathy gasp at the sensation of your hot mouth upon her breast. Your tongue swirls around her peak, a chorus of gasps and moans spilling from Elain’s lips.

Your lips detach with a pop, and the cold air blows against the wet bud. Elain lets out another sharp gasp and she cries out “More. Cauldron please, more!” Her chest is heaving. One of your hands comes up and cups her other breast, and you slowly slink down the chaise. Your tongue trails against her skin as it follows the same path your fingers had made, down between her breasts, all the way down to her navel. Your tongue swirls around it, the thin trail of saliva igniting Elain’s skin despite the cold. You continue your path down until your lips reach the hem of her pants. You breathe deeply. “You smell so gods damned good El.” Her hands untangle from your hair and go to grab the hem of your shirt, you quickly stop her. “This isn’t for me El, this is all for you. Let me make you feel good.” Elain nods, briefly and her hands relent, moving up to cup her own breasts instead. You pull the tie on her pants gently and hook your thumbs into the waist. You see a patch of wetness on the crotch of her pants and your question is answered as you gently pull them down her legs. No panties.

Her pants and slippers are now discarded and you take a moment to drink her in. She is exquisite. Her hair lays around her like a halo of gold. Her skin shines as bright as a star. Her hands work her supple breasts and her eyes are lidded and dark with desire. Your eyes skim lower, to her round hips, thick and shapely. And then your eyes fall to the patch of dark curls above her core, and then further still to the glistening arousal coating her thighs as she squeezes them together.

You move up to capture her lips in yours once more before you drift lower again. Your hands grasp her thighs and you gently spread her legs. She is so beautiful. You bend her knees and they part, on either side of your head as your mouth approaches her sex. You blow a gentle breath across her clit, and you see her cunt pulse in response. “Gods, Y/N, please. Please!”

Your hands wrap tighter around her thighs and you taste her. The salty taste of arousal pulls a groan out of your own throat. Your tongue circles her clit, and one of her hands finds your hair again, and her hips buck in response. Her thighs clamp around your head, as you suck her clit hard. You pull her even closer, your tongue travels lower, and traces around her opening, before diving in. Thrusting your tongue in and out of her core, she is moaning your name like a prayer, hips gyrating against your face, fucking your tongue deeper inside of her. She rides your tongue hard, in a state of euphoria.

Breathless, you pull your mouth away and you move back up to her lips. “You taste divine.” You say simply and then your lips are on hers again, and she is moaning from the taste of her own slick upon your tongue. One of your hands smooths gentle circles against her cheek. “Still with me?” you ask. She nods and catches your lips again. Your hand trails down her side, giving her hips a gentle squeeze before drifting through the thick soft curls guarding her core. Your hand slips between her legs as your fingers circle her clit. A new wave of arousal drips from her cunt as your hand moves further down. You hold her gaze as your finger slowly enters her. Her teeth clamp onto her bottom lip and she groans.

You start slow and quickly gain speed as her hips rock against your wrist. Meeting you thrust for thrust. You add a second finger and spread her deliciously. Fingers curl inside her, meeting the spongey flesh that makes Elain scream.

“Oh, oh, gods, yes, yes,” you hear Elain gasp over and over again. You lower yourself back down as your other hand grips her pubic hair tight, your thumb goes to her clit, rubbing at a relentless pace and you watch her come undone.

She screams in such pleasure, again and again, her core clenches around your soaked fingers. Her juices squirt and coat your t-shirt-covered chest. You continue to circle her clit, extending her orgasm as long as possible. She comes down from her high, her pants slowing, and you withdraw your hands. You lean up and capture her lips with yours once more.

“Are you ok?” You ask. Looking into her eyes, you see they are alight with pleasure and joy.

“What does this mean?” Elain worries her bottom lip.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything El. This was about you finding yourself through pleasure.”

“Gods, Y/N that was- that was perfect”. A smile now shines brightly upon her lips. “Thank you-” You cut off her thanks with another quick peck on her lips.

“Do not thank me Elain Archeron. Thank yourself for deciding to put your body and your pleasure first. If anything I should be thanking you for allowing me to come along on this journey with you.” Her smile is mirrored on your own face. “Lucien is going to be a very lucky male, El. You are perfect in every way.”

Sitting up now, she throws her arms around you, squeezing you tight. She pulls away and looks down at the dampness coating your shirt. “I was not aware women- I mean females could do such things.” She traces the dark stain slowly, running her fingers along the slopes of your breast.

“Some do,” you confirm, “if encouraged enough. Everyone is different, and I know that if you decide to, Lucien will worship everything about you.” She smiles again and pulls you in for another hug. You knew that this was not the start of a fling or romance with Elain. But instead, it had been a self-awakening, and she had allowed you to lead her through it. You were beyond honoured to help.

“But how do you know that he- Lucien will like it. Like me.”

“I have a confession of my own El.” You clear your throat, praying to the cauldron you weren’t about to say the wrong thing. “Lucien and I are about the same age. When we were growing up, we met on occasion at different events, and quickly developed a rapport.” Elain quirked a brow. “We, well, we fucked. A lot.” Elain’s jaw drops. Your core clenches at the memories. Lucien’s mouth on yours, on your cunt. His member thrusting in and out of you, sloppiness and uncertainty turned to precision and strength as the years went on. You fight to tamper the flames of arousal within yourself. This is not the time or place. “We were each other's firsts and we experimented over the years. But that was well over three and a half centuries before you were born. It was so long ago that I don’t want you to think anything of it! We are friends now, have been for the last 300 years, nothing more, I promise.” And it was true.. The memories you had made together, were definitely special, cherished, and enough to turn your crank some days, but the actual male, was your friend and was now mated to another. “What I am trying to say, is that I can guarantee that you are everything he will ever desire.”

“Me and Lucien both lost our virginity to the same female?” she questions finally. You nod, eying Elain again. Hoping beyond hope that she does not take the news badly. To your surprise, she begins to chuckle, which turns into a cackle, which turns into a full-body fit of laughter, and you find yourself joining in. You both laugh and laugh while holding each other close. Eventually the fit winds down and with a few last giggles, Elain sighs, “I’m not sure why, but it seems very fitting.” You hum in agreement.

Elain’s eyes drooped in relaxation and exhaustion and she lays her head on your shoulder.

The next moments happen in a blur. You help her to her feet, gather her clothes and you both make the quick, and risky walk back into the hall and into her chambers. Luckily the hallway is empty.

You sit her on the bed and start a fire. Heading to her bathing chamber, you wet a cloth with warm water. Returning to find Elain still perched on the edge of her bed, you gesture for her to lean back. She obliges and you begin to cleanse her skin gently. Nothing save for respect and adoration floats between you now. You tuck her naked body gently under the covers and kiss her forehead. Swiping your thumb against her cheek you whisper softly, “Good night El. Sweet dreams.”

Her eyes crack open and you hear her mumble, “Are you sure you don’t want me to try-”

You shush her. “This was a big moment for you El. I expect nothing in return.” She smiles again deeply.

“Thank you, Y/N. Thank you for helping me find myself.” With that, Elain drifts off to sleep and you head out the door and back to your own chambers.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back behind the closed door of your room, you stand frozen. The last few hours of your night running through your head. From the moment you arrived at the River House, something was different. You were different. Less… restricted. You’d felt no such feelings while away in the Summer Court. Your mind races, searching for an answer but coming up short.

It was then that your stomach let out a loud growl. You missed dinner. You had been on your way to the kitchen when you encountered Elain. You scoff at yourself and your forgetfulness. You pull the shirt stained with Elain’s juices over your head, letting it join your previously discarded nightgown on the floor. Your panties were damp, but with the way the evening was progressing, you figured you’d end up just soaking another pair later, and opted to keep them on. Strolling over to your wardrobe for the third time tonight, not bothering with another shirt or nightdress, you pull on a simple grey robe. The material is thin but warm, enough to reheat your body after your outdoor escapade.

Feet still bare, you head back out into the hallway and slowly pad down the empty corridor. You make it halfway down the stairs before you hear it.

“Are you going to be a good boy, for me?” a female’s voice floats from the kitchen. You grip the railing and take a fractured breath.

“Yes, my Lady. I promise I’ll be such a good boy.” Your core clenches as you recognize the low gravelly voice. For Cauldon’s sake. You should turn away, head back upstairs and forget the words you had just heard coming from the kitchen. But some unknown force, the same force that had emboldened you all night, urges you forward. Each step has your stomach clenching in anticipation.

Eventually, you arrive at the threshold to the kitchen and your jaw drops.

In the centre of the room sits Cassian, arms tied behind him to the back of his chair. His wings flare lightly to the sides. He is dressed in nothing but a pair of black undershorts. His bare back is to you, muscles rippling as he squirms, testing the limits of his bindings.

On the counter is Nesta. You take in her figure and decide that they do indeed call her the Lady Death for a reason. Nesta lays atop the counter, body barely covered by a tight blood-red nightgown, garters on her thighs and red stilettos on her feet. Her hair is twisted into a crown of braids. She lays on her side, head propped up on her hand. In from of her sits a bowl of strawberries. Her hand dances above the bowl before plucking a strawberry from the pile. She brings it to her lips, tongue darting out to taste the berry. Staring into Cassian’s eyes she takes a bite. You and Cassian gasp in unison.

Nesta’s head jerks in your direction and her steely eyes lock on yours. Caught in your act of voyeurism, you want to look away, look anywhere but at the female, shame should be bubbling through your veins. But it isn’t. You feel no shame. Only desire. Desire spreads through your body, a familiar feeling over the last few hours. Your cunt pulses with every second you stand there, rooted in the doorway, staring at the scene in front of you.

“Who is it Nes?” Cassian questions, trying to gauge his mate’s response to their intruder. You know he could break his binds easily if necessary. Something glimmers in the eldest Archeron’s eyes. Her nostrils flair and her lips quirk in a smirk.

“I’m surprised you can’t smell her yet.” Nesta answers, pushing herself up and into a seated position. You can see Cassian’s back shift as he takes in a deep breath.

“Y/N.”

Fuck. They can smell your arousal.

“I’m sorry for the intrusion,” you have no idea where the sudden confidence has come from and you surprise yourself as you continue, “I seem to have interrupted a late-night snack.”

The two mates lock eyes again, a whole conversation happening without words. Nesta eventually breaks the stare and returns her eyes to yours. “You’re looking a bit peckish yourself Y/N. You’re welcome to join us.” Mother above. “Come,” Nesta holds her half-eaten strawberry out towards you, “come have a bite.” Your gut tightens.

Your feet move before your brain can fully process what you are doing. It takes you 10 steps to pass Cassian, still tied to the chair, and another 3 to reach Nesta’s outstretched fingers. She parts her thighs so that your body can slide in between them. You gasp as her hand comes up to grasp your chin. Your legs tremble as Nesta leans in and whispers, “you are hungry, aren’t you?”

“Starved.” You manage to choke out.

The tension is palpable as Nesta brings her strawberry up to your mouth. She traces the bow of your lips with the strawberries dripping flesh. “Open.” She commands. You do as you’re told and you take a bite of the tender fruit, its juice dancing on your tongue. It is Cassian now who lets out a low groan. In a moment you are flooded with sandalwood and lust as Cassian’s arousal hits your nose, and surges throughout the room, mixing with your own. You finally look over to the Illyrian, and what you see makes you hold your breath. A male who normally exudes strength, the General and Commander of your brother’s armies, Lord of Bloodshed, reduced to a squirming mess. Lust glows in his eyes and he looks from Nesta to you.

“What do you think General?” Cassian squirms again at the use of his title. “I think she is still hungry, don’t you agree?” He lets out a low whine and his hazel eyes lock back on yours, both a reflection of lust and desire.

“What do you say, Y/N?” he asks, voice low. The innuendos vanish as he probes you for further confirmation. He is making sure you are truly consenting to join in on whatever this was. You lied to yourself when you were shocked by your lust for Cassian earlier this evening, as you did in fact find him incredibly attractive, only more so now that he was entirely whipped by the bewitching Lady Death. It took you less than a second to answer him, the desire you had walked hand in hand with all evening flaring within you.

“Yes,” you say.

Nesta’s hand curls more firmly against your chin, turning your head back to hers. “Delectable,” she says. And then her lips are ghosting yours, breath mingling as your eyes flutter shut. You feel her tongue trace the same path of the strawberry, up and around the bow of your lips, and sweeping across the small gape of your mouth.

Your hands instinctively come up to encircle her waist.

Nesta’s lips leave you immediately, and you feel her arm reach down and give you a sharp smack on your ass. The sounds reverberate through the kitchen. You let out a hiss and your eyes fly open. “Unh unh kitten, no touching,” Nesta says, as she pulls your arms back down to your sides “don’t make me punish you.”

You’re pretty sure your eyes roll into the back of your head at her words, and your thighs clench as wave after wave of desire crashes in you. “Yes, my Lady,” you murmur back. You hear Cassian let out another low groan as he shifts in his chair.

“There’s a good kitten,” Nesta smiles, “now why don’t we give the General a little treat.” You hum in response. Nesta spins you around so that your back now falls against her. Your head falls into the crook of her neck as you eye Cassian once again. He looks up at the two of you through hooded eyes. You tilt your head slightly to the side and inhale Nesta’s scent of steel and pomegranate. “I want you to ride his thigh,” she says and the world stops for a moment. You stop breathing and you’re sure that Cassian does the same. Are you really about to do this with your best friend? The step forward you take is answer enough. You’re only another foot away from the Illyrian when Nesta’s voice rings out from behind you again, “Oh, and kitten,” you can hear the smirk in her voice, “drop your panties.”

“Yes, Lady.” You reach under your robe and slowly slide your panties down your legs. You can see the dark patch made by the arousal now coating your thighs. Panties on the floor, the room is awash with a new wave of your potent arousal. Another low growl tears through Cassian’s lips.

Cassian sits with his legs spread. His thighs are thick and muscular, the tanned skin shifting as you approach. Now standing in front of him, you quickly shift so that one of your legs is on either side of his left leg. Using his shoulders for leverage, you slowly lower yourself down onto the General’s thigh. The heat of his leg causes your breath to hitch. Cassian whimpers as the juices from your bare cunt weep onto his leg. You begin to move then, slow torturous gyrations as you get a feel for the large corded muscle beneath you. As your core soaks the General’s leg, you begin to pick up speed, rocking back and forth as the pleasure builds.

“Good girl.” Nesta approaches you from behind. “Isn’t she being such a good Kitten, General?”

“Mhm,” Cassian grunts, “so good.” His breath is coming out in pants, just as forceful as your own.

“And Kitten, isn’t the General being such a good boy?”

“Such a good boy,” you squeak out, your clit rubbing against his muscle.

“I think he deserves a little treat.” From behind you, Nesta reaches between you and Cassian and palms his engorged member, straining painfully in his underwear. Cassian bellows in relief at the touch. Nesta’s fingers dip below the hem of his shorts and pull them down. Cassian’s cock springs free, slapping his stomach. His cock is massive and rock-hard. Long, and girthy with thick veins running along his shaft, his tip a dusky pink. It pulses in time with your ruts against his leg. Your nails dig into the soft flesh of his shoulders as your pupils blow wide with lust. Nesta pumps his shaft once, then again in rapid succession before her hand releases her mate's member. The General whines at the loss of contact, rutting up into the air, desperate for friction, precum gathering at his tip. You don’t dare indulge him without permission from your Lady Death, but your cunt throbs at the thought of punishment.

Nesta’s hands now travel to your body. Her nails graze up your thighs, against your curved hips, and up to your shoulders. She squeezes them gently before her hands travel further, up your neck and into your hair, brushing it all to one side. Her mouth lowers to your neck and she licks a long strip up your sweat-soaked flesh. She hums in delight at the taste, nuzzling the crook of your neck as she whispers into your ear. “Do you like looking at your best friend’s cock, kitten?”

You let out a breathy moan, not able to form any words as you ride the General’s thigh into oblivion. Nesta tuts and her hands grip your hips painfully, stopping the delicious friction. It was your turn to whine in protest, core aching at the loss. “Use your words kitten.”

“Yes.” you whine, as you try to regain momentum. Nesta squeezes your hips harder.

“Yes, what.” Her tone is sharp.

“Yes, Lady.” And then you are free again, hips moving wildly as you chant Yes, Yes, Yes.

“Good kitten.” Lady Death places a kiss at the corner of your mouth. “You’ve seen his. Now it’s your turn to show us yours.” With that, her hands descend between you and the General once again, travelling to the tie at your waist. With a sharp tug, the rope comes loose, and your robe opens. Your nipples harden at the exposure.

Cassian groans and the tip of his cock weeps at the sight. Your breasts rock back and forth in time with your thrusts. Cassian pulls on his restraints, desperate to touch them, to touch you. “Please.” He moans. The General bucks into the air again and again, “Please, Please Lady, Please”.

Your hips gyrate faster, and you feel your release approaching. Nesta, still behind you, leans down and bites the lobe of your ear. “Come for me, kitten.”

And then you are toppling over the edge. Your orgasm rips through you and you scream in delight. The General is right behind you, wings flaring and release thundering as he cums all over your chest. Your hips do not slow as you ride out every wave of pleasure. The three of you were so lost in the moment you had not heard the approaching footsteps.

“What the Fuck is this?”

Your hips still, and from your position on Cassian’s lap, you open your eyes gaze dragging over the tips of his wings and to the doorway.

And there stands Azriel, shadows swarming around him in a frenzy.

“Az.” you croak, voice horse from screaming. The look of astonishment and anger in his eyes have you trying to stand up, to go to him and try to explain, but Nesta keeps a firm pressure on your shoulders, keeping you astride her mate. Confusion runs through you as you look up to meet her eyes, and youquickly understand her actions.

Cassian’s wings currently shielded your naked body, now dripping in his cum from Azriel’s view. As if in understanding, Cassian’s wings flare a little wider, ensuring full coverage of his mate and yourself.

“Brother,” Cassian replies, trying to keep the fucked out tone from his voice, “I do believe you’ve caught us at a bad time.”

“Y/N? What sort of sick-, Why would you-, You know I-, Y/N, really Cass?” Azriel tries to form a coherent sentence.

It’s Nesta that responds. “She is not your property, shadowsinger. You do not own her.”

“You took advantage of h-” Azriel roars.

You roar right back.

“I wanted this Azriel! I wanted this with every fibre of my being. All three of us chose to be here. Nesta is right, you do not own me. We are three consenting adults. The only one who has no right to be here right now is you.” Your gaze pierces his, and you can see the hurt on his face. “Now, get out,” you spit, and he disappears into his shadows without another word.

With the shadowsinger gone, Cassian’s wings lower, and your head falls to rest on his sweaty chest. "Well, fuck me." Cassian grunts, his nose burying into your hair. You feel his chest rise and fall, the powerful thumps of his heart slowing with your own.

“I believe she just did, my dear mate.” Nesta muses, she slinks around the pair of you, coming up behind Cassian, and resting her head on his other shoulder. Your mixed arousal hangs heavy in the air, a reminder of the dalliance that had played out in the kitchen of the River House.

You want more. You want to feel Cass’s lips upon your own. You want to lick the sweat down his pectorals and taste the cum that was now pooling between your breasts. You wanted to feast upon Lady Death herself, and to have her feast upon you, to feel her sharp tongue against your cunt. This new development in your relationship felt natural. It felt right. You wanted to spend hours exploring the line between pleasure and pain, exhilaration and humiliation, domination and submission. You want more, and you can see in their eyes that they want more too.

But the tone has shifted, and you have Azriel to thank for that.

You sit up straight and push your wobbly legs up into a standing position. Cassian hisses as the air blows across the cooling slick left behind on his thigh. “Y/N,” he mumbles, “that was-”

“Incredible,” you finish for him, “that was pretty damn incredible.” You pull your robe closed and retie the stay at your waist. Nesta leans down and unties the bindings on her mate's wrists, he too rises to a standing position, retucking his spent cock into his underwear. Nesta slides her arm through his and the mates regard you appreciatively.

“I hope you don’t-”, Nesta trails off, words like glue in her mouth, “have any regrets?”

“Never,” you confirm. “My only regret is that we were interrupted.” You stare at the small smile that replaces the concern on Nesta’s features. You lean up and give them both a kiss on the cheek. “Good night my Lady. Good night General”. You stand back and give them a wink, “Let’s do this again soon, yeah?”

Come daylight, there would likely be some serious conversations to be had. But that could wait. For now, you turn on your heels and make your way back to the stairs.

“We’ll see you soon, kitten.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-Azriel-

Azriel winnows himself out into the estate gardens. His mind races and his shadows swarm, blocking out the light of the moon. His scarred hands are shaking, and with horror, rage or sadness he is unsure.

Cassian and Nesta… and Y/N?

He is baffled by what he saw transpiring in the kitchen.

He had been out on an after-dinner patrol and had arrived late into the night. He was used to the carnal activities of his brother and his mate and was keen on ignoring their sounds of pleasure when an unfamiliar cry of indulgence had piqued his interest. A third? he had wondered. But as his morbid curiosity had propelled him forward, he had realized that the new voice was not unfamiliar in the slightest. It was the voice of all his desire. The voice that had lived in his mind and in his dreams for the last 250 years. He reached the threshold to the kitchen and his worst nightmare was confirmed.

There had sat Cassian with his back to him, hands tied to the chair behind him. Nesta stood in front of him, a devilish grin on her face as she watched the events unfold. And there, saddled between the two, was Y/N. Her eyes closed, she violently rocked back and forth atop Cassian. He could not see what was happening in its entirety from behind his brother’s wings, but he could smell the heady scent of arousal oozing from every pore of the trios' bodies.

Azriel had watched Nesta lean over and whisper something in Y/N’s ear.

And then Y/N and Cassian were coming undone. Azriel stood, unable to move as he watched the female he loved, cum atop his brother. He couldn’t take it.

“What the Fuck is this?” The question tore out of his throat before he could stop it.

And then you had opened your eyes and whispered his name, and for a moment he allowed himself to imagine what it would have been like to be in Cassian’s place. To have felt you come undone for him…on him…with him.

But she hadn’t been with him. Y/N had chosen his brother and his brother’s mate of all the Fae in the Gods damned Court. He could not recollect the words he had spoken after that, anger and despair had blinded him. He was going to be sick.

He shoots up into the sky and heads to the House of Wind. He needs to be away from them all so that he doesn’t do anything else he would regret. His wings flap hard and fast, the cold air slicing against their membranes painfully. Good, he thinks to himself. He lands on the balcony at the House of Wind too soon, and he drops hard onto the marble floor. He needs to hit something so that he doesn’t hit his brother in the face.

Azriel stalks his way through the dining room with the intent of heading up to the sparring ring, when a shadow curls around his ear. Stop, it whispers, not right. The table. Azriel whirls back around and surveys his surroundings. His eyes narrow in on the table. On the table sits a book, likely left by Nesta, and the tray Lucien brought. The tray that holds the love potion. Correction, the tray that held the love potion. Azriel seizes the pitcher off of the tray. Empty. His mind races once again. Who would have taken it? Why not take the whole tray, the pitcher at the very least? Maybe, Cerrdiwen or Nuala dumped it out? No, they haven’t been up here today. Azriel has no idea what is going on.

His nose twitches as it perceives a faint scent. He turns back to the tray inspecting it closely. The jug and challis were bone dry, with not a drop of the elixir left. The note was long gone, burned to ash by his brother upon Lucien’s arrival earlier this evening. He turns his eyes then to the rose. The rose, which upon further inspection housed thorns coated in a thin layer of dried blood.

Y/N’s blood.

Y/N who was been at the Summer Court until right before dinner,

Y/N who had missed the discussion about the contents of the pitcher,

Y/N who had likely stopped by the House of Wind to drop off her bags before joining the family at dinner.

Y/N, who he had just been riding Cassian into oblivion.

“Fuck.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-Y/N-

You once again find yourself leaning against your bedroom door.

“What the glorious fuck was that?” you ask aloud, letting out a nervous chuckle. You had just participated in a three-sum with your best friend and his mate. Your best friend and his mate. Cassian and Nesta. The General and his Lady Death.

The names alone make you shiver.

The memory of your core ground against Cassian’s well-muscled thigh, Nesta whispering sin in your ear makes you clench your teeth, and your thighs. You let out a frustrated moan. This lustful hunger just won’t LEAVE, and the chance of further ministrations was halted by that winged fuck, Azriel. Azriel, whose eyes you had held as you road out your climax. Azriel, who had looked devastated as he saw you astride his brother. Had he been devastated? You wondered, or disappointed.

He has no right to be disappointed in anything that you do. He held no claim to your body, or to your heart. Well, he held no claim to your body and if he had known about the space he occupied in your heart, after all this time, and still had not acted upon it, well then he did not deserve even a sliver of the adoration you felt. Let him be disappointed, it was none of your concern.

He was none of your concern. Not his thoughts of your activities, nor his distaste for your actions. His glowing eyes did not deserve to behold you. His plush lips did not deserve to taste you. His rough fingers did not deserve to slip below the waistline of your panties, and-

Another frustrated groan tears through your throat as your knees quake, thighs snapping together, desperate for friction. You push off the door with a huff, walking towards your bathroom. You need to wash Cassian’s seed off of your body. You undo the tie at your waist and allow the now cum stained garment to join the others on the floor. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remember that you had had panties on when you entered the kitchen. You can only hope that Nes and Cass had grabbed them during clean-up.

You draw yourself another ice-cold bath and submerge yourself fully. The cold water distracts your mind as you scrub your body and hair. Once you are thoroughly cleansed, you step out of the tub, wrap yourself in a fresh towel and you make your way back to your damn wardrobe. You pray to the Cauldron that this is your last outfit change of the night. You pull out a blue pyjama set with tight but pliant shorts and a cropped camisole. Not bothering with undergarments you quickly pull your clothes on and flop onto the bed.

You pull the covers up to your chin, mind blissfully blank from the cold bath… Until those glowing hazel eyes and sensuous lips hurtle around the walls of your mind. You think of his toned chest, glistening with sweat in the sparring ring, the curve of his wings as he holds himself with deadly precision. His intoxicating scent of night-chilled mist and cedar is almost upon your tongue as you imagine what it would be like for the shadowsinger to interrogate you like one of his prisoners. Cauldron boil me. Your hand travels to the hem of your shorts, and then lower still to your already slick slit. Your fingers easily find your swollen clit, and begin to swirl around it delectably. Your other hand comes up to palm your breast, when suddenly you hear a knock at your door.

Your fingers still.

You don’t answer, hoping that the nuisance will get the hint. You hear another sharp knock at the door, followed by a muffled voice. “Y/N, please let me in. It’s important.” The slight rise in his tone, has you muttering a quick ‘enter’. The door swings open and the shadowsinger slinks in, a fae light bobbing behind him.

His nose is immediately overwhelmed with scent. The heady scent of your arousal was emanating from every surface in the room. It was intoxicating the spymaster, your scent driving him to the edge of his wits.

An edge he is quickly pulled back from as he smells his brother’s scent intermingling, as well as the scent of another, Elain. He eyes the pile of soiled clothing on the floor, the evidence that confirms his suspicions. “Gods, Y/N.” He clears his throat. “I know you were not feeling yourself tonight, but-” he starts. Your eyes widen in surprise.

“Incorrect shadowsinger,” you stare at him, “I feel more myself than I ever have. Just more-”

“Free of inhibition?” he supplies.

“Suppose I was. What concern is it of yours?” Your lips purse.

“I figured you deserve to know what was happening.” Azriel moves to your bed, sitting on the edge. He reaches into the pocket of his leathers and produces a single crumpled red rose. All of a sudden forgotten memory floods your mind. A pitcher full of plum-coloured starlight. The burn of it on your lips, down your throat. You remember drinking and drinking until there was nothing left. The urge you felt to drink, warped and resurged as the desire for Elain, for Cassian and Nesta, and for Azriel. Your hand twitches at the thought, fingers still primed over your clit.

“So what was that mystery beverage, you all so lovingly forgot to label?”

Azriel snorts before replying, “Affectus Revelare.”

“No shit?” Bewilderment shines in your eyes.

“It’s a love potion of sorts-”

“I’m well aware of its side effects.” And you were, having heard stories of its potency from your brother. “I had just never seen it in person.”

Azriel huffs, trying hard to keep his face void of emotion. “I’d assume then that you know that any intense feelings of pleasure you acted upon while under its influence, were no fault of your own.”

“Let me make one thing absolutely clear, Azriel.” Your voice cut like glass, eyes as sharp as steel. “Anything I did tonight, I did because I wanted to. The bullshit spell does nothing but bring to the surface feelings I already have. I have no regrets about what I have done or will do tonight.” Azriel looks as though he is swallowing a mouthful of marbles.

“Right,” he hastily stands, “I suppose now that you are feeling…better, I should probably let you get some sleep.” He treads to the door, head low, shadows tight against his silhouette.

You should let him go, let you both stew overnight, and then try talking again. It is the smart thing to do. In spite of that, you curse your horny mouth as it opens and words fly out, “Who says I’m feeling better?”

He freezes two paces from the door. Whipping around to face you again, his eyes are alight with panic. You pull your stilled hand out of your shorts and sit up. The blanket pools at your waist, your puckered nipples on full display from underneath your shirt. Your hand, still coated in your slick shines under the fae light. He looks from your face to your chest, to your sex-slicked hand and back again. He blinks and his nostrils flare, likely scenting the new wave of arousal that was coursing through your veins.

In a flash he is back at your bedside, the back of his hand coming up and resting on your forehead. He is mumbling to himself. Cauldron, he’s having more mood swings than I am. “Care to share what the Hell you’re doing Azriel?”

“It must have been laced with something else,” he grimaces, “another tonic or elixir maybe. Something to increase potency,” he swallows. “Did you… finish when you were in the kitchen?”

“You were there, Az… You saw me… You know I did.”

“Well, it’s not a matter of your partner reaching completion. If Elain and Cassian both-”

You were unnerved that he knew about Elain as well. “Az, what are you trying to tell me?”

“Maybe you need to, erm, try again? Or perhaps, it is Nesta and not Cassian you truly desire? Perhaps if you-”

“Azriel. Stop with your nonsense ramblings.”

“No, Y/N. You don’t understand! Something must be wrong. Your desires should be satiated by now. Once you bedded the true object of your affection, the potion was supposed to wear off.” His eyes met yours, and you could see that his mind was running a mile a minute. He was still upset, but now concern sat at the front of his mind.

“I assume you tried with Elain first, and when that didn’t relieve your symptoms, you finally gave in to your basal instincts and realized it was Cassian, not Elain you truly desired.” Anger clouded your vision as he continues to spew utter garbage. “But you should be feeling better after your session in the kitchen. I should wake Rhys, perhaps he-”

You vault up to a kneeling position, shoving him with both hands. He staggers back a step.

“The hell you will! Do. Not. Wake my brother. What would be your plan for that anyways? ‘Oh Rhys, wake up! Your sister can’t stop fucking the other members of your Court! Oh please Rhys, come and get your little sister under control before she gets her horny over us all’ Ya, great plan Az.” Your eyes are burning with rage now, and your cunt pulses with a heartbeat of its own. You were yelling and you couldn’t make yourself stop. “Even so, everything I did tonight was something everyone involved consented to. There was no primal urge forcing me to finger fuck myself for hours, to fuck Elain, to ride Cassian. It was me. I wanted those things, and they wanted them too. And it was beautiful and passionate, and intense. I desired them all, hell I still do.” You take a deep breath. “But, did you, even for one second use your tiny brain to think that maybe Elain or Cassian or Nesta aren’t the dominant object of my affection? You stupid Illyrian brute.”

“Who’s left Y/N? Who? Who could it possibly be? Amren? Lucien?” Azriel’s hands fist into the blankets on your bed, his shadows flying, his words disjointed as his mind can’t stop racing. He doesn't notice that he too is now yelling. “Oh, it’s Lucien, isn’t it? I know you used to fuck but come on-”

“IT'S YOU, YOU INSOLENT ASSHOLE.”

Time stops as you watch the shadowsinger’s mask crack. You see a hundred different emotions ripple across his face, joy, wonder, thrill and love? But then you also see, confusion, anger, jealousy, betrayal, sorrow, and disgust. “Y/N,” he whispers, voice horse and cracked, “Y/N, you don’t want me- you can’t want me.”

“For Cauldron’s sake Azriel, I have loved you for the last two centuries! I wept and pined for you as you obsessed over Mor, and then I agonized over you as your affection turned to Elain. Not that I can blame you-”

“I have no interest in Elain.” He declares, eyes locked on yours. “I never did.”

“Bullshit.” You snort, “I’ve seen the way you stare at her, the way you follow her around-”

“I stared because you stared, Y/N. I followed because you followed. Elain is lovely, but it was you, not I, who obviously fell for her charms.”

You are at a loss for words now. Your jaw twitches. What does this mean? He wasn’t watching Elain. He doesn’t love Elain. Your entire body felt aflame. Sweat was gathering at the base of your neck leaving your hair damp. You wanted to combust, thigh trembling at this admission. Your nipples are taut, pressing tightly against your top. Your breath is shaky, “What are you telling me Azriel?”

“I-I, okay look,” Azriel grinds his teeth, “It doesn’t matter. What I’m telling you is that you are mistaken. It is not me you want.” He takes a step closer to you, his knees grazing the edge of your bed.

“Oh, I’m mistaken?” You lift yourself higher on your knees, edging closer to the Illyrian in front of you.

“Yes.”

You can feel his breath on your face.

“Then prove it.”

His lips crash down onto yours. The kiss is hard and rough, but his lips are as soft as velvet. His hands are at your waist, and he is pulling you up until you are flush with his chest. You gasp, and Azriel’s tongue surges forward into your open mouth, dominating your tongue with his own. Your hands snake up to his hair and pull hard at his black curls, bringing his body even closer to yours.

You pull both of your bodies back towards the bed, lips never separating. You work to unfasten his leathers, as you do. Agile fingers make quick work, and soon his chest is bare and heaving, his tattoos stark against his skin under the fae light. Tiny scars dance across his torso as his muscles ripple, and he pulls you to the head of the bed. He kneels above you now, one knee between your legs, hands resting on either side of your head as he braces himself. He begins to pull away from the kiss, so you nip his lip, a shrill whine leaving your throat. A bead of bright red blood wells on his lip. His eyes open, and you see that his pupils are blown wide. He watches your tongue dart out to lick the crimson ichor. His mouth clashes with yours once again, his body pinning you to the bed, as the coppery tang of blood mixes in your mouths. The elixir in your veins sings at the taste of his blood. Him. The very taste you craved.

You roll your hips against him and you can feel the bulge in his pants. Azriel growls, and he brings a hand down to your hips to halt your movements. His hand then travels up your body, leaving a burning trail up to the edge of your shirt. His hand stills for but a moment and you lift your back off of the bed in answer. Your lips separate once more as his hands pull the thin material up and over your head. He beholds your naked flesh as if he were a male damned to the gallows. As if you would be the last sight he sees. You hear him mutter under his breath, a plea or a prayer, but you can’t quite make it out.

“Az.”

He unleashes himself on you.

His lips devour yours, a battle of teeth and tongues. His mouth moves down your neck, leaving hard wet kisses in his wake. He reaches the crook of your neck, mouth suckling your skin. His teeth brush the bruise that is forming there. And then he is clamping his teeth into your flesh. The force of the bite makes your body tremble. The sharp pain causes a scream to rip through your lungs, your hands fly up to grasp his shoulder blades, your nails shredding against his skin. The pain fades to a deep throb, pulsing in time with your needy cunt.

Your neck stings as his mouth pulls away. He offers you a smirk and you can see your blood in his mouth. He’s on you again, lips trailing down your collarbone to the valley between your breasts. His tongue trails lazy strokes against your dewy flesh before his lips clamp around one of your pert nipples. He groans at the taste of your flesh, his tongue flicking against it. You let out a shriek of ecstasy, your hips bucking up against his groin. You thrust against him, desperate for friction. His hand gives your other breast a rough squeeze in response.

“Please Az. I need you.” You were gasping the words, stuttering with every hard suck, “I need you inside me. Now.”

His lips leave your breast with a diabolical pop. “Patience, little one.” A small smile graces his lips, “Not until I’ve tasted your sweet cunt.”

The weight of his body leaves you, but before you can question him, you feel two strong hands clamp around your ankles, pulling you to the edge of the bed. Azriel’s thumbs hook into the waistband of your shorts, and they quickly join the pile of discarded clothes on the floor.

You lay completely bare before him. He spreads your legs, and he falls to his knees, eyes in line with your dripping cunt. Your arousal has seeped down your thighs and to the bedsheets below. He utters your name in worship as he lowers his mouth to your core.

He feasts like a man starved, drowning in your arousal as your thighs clamp around his head, your core pulsing with the need to be filled. His tongue flicks against your clit, sending shockwave after shockwave of pleasure through you. His scarred hands clamp around your thighs as he pulls you impossibly closer. His tongue thrusts into your hole and you see white. You are so close to the edge, so close to climax.

“Az-. Az! Please, Please Cauldron, please. I’m close.” You’re moaning, pulling at his hair to make him look up at you. “Please, I want to cum with your inside me.”

His fingers lessen their grip, and his mouth leave your sex. His lips are glistening with your juices, as his hands travel to the buckles at his thigh, removing the sheath containing Truth-Teller, next he works the ties of his boots and pants, both are quickly discarded. With a tug of his undershorts, the Spymaster of the Night Court stands before you in all of his glory, and he is magnificent.

His cock throbs against his stomach as he watches you watch him. He fists his rock-hard length and he looks at you with a question burning in his eyes, giving you a chance to turn him away. But you need him, you burn for him.

“I need you inside of me Azriel.” You can feel the head of his cock brush against your folds, your head falling back and you whine at the contact, “Fuck me. Gods fuck me.” His cock rubs against your sex a few more times, your slick lubricating his length, and then he is slowly pushing inside of you.

Your cunt stretches, and you’re not sure if you’re moaning in pain or in rapturous pleasure. He stills for a moment, halfway inside you, letting your body acclimate to his thick member. He leans down and leaves a chaste kiss against your lips.

“Ready?” he asks, voice low, strained with the effort to remain still.

“Yes.”

He pulls his cock out all the way out, and with a buck of his hips, completely sheaths himself inside of you. Again and again, his hips slam against yours, cock pistoning in and out of you. His cock fills you completely, your cunt stretched as far as it can, and each vein along his shaft rubs deliciously against you. The tip of his cock brushes against your spongey tissue and you whail in bliss.

“Harder.”

He complies, his hips fracturing against your pelvis, driving him further inside of you. Your hands reach around and grab his ass, driving him even deeper. The fae lights are flickering in and out, the bed is shaking, cracking against the wall, and you are screaming, and screaming, insane from the pleasure.

You plummet over the edge, wailing his name as your orgasm cleaves you in two.

Azriel follows you over the cliff, his wings flare wide, and he lets out a roar as his thick cum paints your insides. His pace begins to slow as he continues to thrust in and out, prolonging your pleasure. He stills inside of you but doesn’t pull out immediately, taking his time to fully unsheath himself, savouring the feeling of you around him.

“Y/N…” his voice is hoarse. He starts to pull away, but you just lean in and capture his lips with another kiss.

“Let’s talk about what this means later Az. For now,” your eyes shine bright in the moonlight and it takes his breath away, “for now, can you just hold me?” He nods and swallows hard. Shimming up to the head of the bed, you both slide under your covers, he tucks you into his side, arm draped around your waist. Your head rests on his chest, and you breathe in the scent of his sweat and musk.

You can feel his come slowly trickle down your leg.

You feel complete and satiated. The roar in your veins from the potion has gone, left in its place was love. Your eyes feel heavy and you begin to drift off to sleep. “Told you so,” you mumble. You’re fast asleep now, and miss the look of regret that crosses the Shadowsingers face.

Hours later you awaken to an empty bed.

#elain archeron #nessian x reader #nesta x cassian x reader #nesta x cassian #elain archeron x reader #cassian acotar #cassian x reader #lucien x reader #azriel x reader #acotar #acotar fanfiction #love potion

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harrystylesfan2686 · 5 months

Text

Would you rather...?

Pairing: Cassian x Reader.

Summary: Trying a new game at game night raises some questions about feelings between friends.

A/N: hehe. First time writing for Cass. Sorry in advance for the mistakes this one's not edited. Here's the part 2.

Masterlist

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Game nights with inner circle are always fun. We've had this tradition of holding a game night every month and everyone had to attent it. No excuses.

After the war, it had taken time for everyone to loosen up, given the stress of the aftermath of war and of a certain archeron sister thats causing too much of a troube. We push aside all of it for just one night and just have the fun and refreshment we most definitely deserve.

But after a while the games get boring...

"I am not playing charades," Feyre begins and turns to Cassian. "or cards," She looks at Mor. "And definitely not Truth and Drink, again."

"Yes, please. It's boring now." Rhys adds.

Cassian eyes flickering between all of us and looks actually offened when he sees we all agree. "Oh come on, we play them every time!"

"Exactly." Amren rolls her eyes. Azriel silently nodding.

"But- it's a tradition. We always play cards at least once." He looks at Mor, his eyes silently begging her for help. But when she too shrugs, his jaw drops and he looks truly hurt. He pouts and crosses his arms in front of his chest, huffing like a child who just got his toy taken by his parents. My lips tug up at his adorable face.

Deciding to interfere, I sit up and say,"How bout we play a new game?". This gets me everyone's attention.

"What kind of game?" Rhys speaks everyone's questions.

"I don't know, um...," I search for a different kind of game. My eyes snapped to Feyre,"Do you remember that time we talked about your human life and you said there was a game that you and your sister's would play when you were little?" Her brows twist in confusion. "Mor was there too. Remember something like 'this or that' I think."

"Oh I remember! 'Would you rather?'" Mor exclaims. Feyre nods in understanding.

"Let's play that." I smile to everyone.

"How?"

"It's really easy. All you have to do is place two situations in front of somebody. Any two situations and the person has to choose one from those." Mor answers Rhys.

"What if the person doesn't choose from the choices given?" Cassians eyes show interest.

"Not allowed. They have to. It's a mandatory rule of the game." Feyre replies.

"Alright but what kind of situations are we talking about?" Cassian raises an eyebrow and everyone's suspicion grows at Mor's smirk.

And there begin, probably the most disgusting and interesting game they're played yet.

"Would you rather always have bad gas or always have really dry mouth?"

"Dry month." Feryre winces at the thought of having to former.

"Would you rather wear a constantly changing outfit or a constantly changing hairstyle?"

"Clothes. My hair are too good to be changed." Rhys smirks.

"Would you rather be reincarnated as a sea Animal or a land Animal?"

"Sea. At least there'll be quietness there." Azriel glances at Cassian to which cass tries to flick his head, fails and earns a flick to his head instead, earning laughs from everyone.

"Would you rather date your best friend or someone you don't know?"

Cassians question comes out of nowhere and I have to think about it a bit. Ignoring everyone's stare, I look into cassian's eyes and answer,"best friend." A moment passes and no one speaks. Something flashes in his eyes but is gone before I could register what is was and he averts his eyes.

"Would you rather be smacked in the face with a fish or farted on?"

"Smaked by a fish." Mor gags at the latter choice.

"Would you rather wear illyrian leathers for the rest of your life or wear a pink frock for the rest of your life?"

"The pink frock! Are you kidding me? The leathers get too hot." Everyone laughs at the image of cassian in a pink cute dress, they imagine.

"Would you rather have a huge booger hanging out of your nose for the rest of your life or a pimple on your forehead for the rest of your life?"

"Oh gods. A pimple. Definitely." Feyre throws her head back, laughing at her mates answer.

"Would you rather have you tounge pierced or tattooed?"

"Why should any of those things be on tounge?" Azriel winces but decides peirceing doesnt sound as bad as a tattoo on a tounge.

"Would you rather be born without knees or without elbows?"

"Oh elbows. Because how else will I be able to walk over my enemies ashes?" Mor gives a smug expression.

"Cassian," Mor has that evil glint in her eyes, she has when she's about to do something devilish. "Would you rather kiss Y/N or Nesta?" She smirks.

"Oh I am not answering that." Cassian scoffs. "Nono, nono. You have to, remember, it's mandatory. Right feyre?" Mor's smile widens when Feyre nods.

Everything silences. I expect everyone to get awkward but am shocked to see how they all look at cass, awaiting his answer.

I meet his eyes, scared and a little excited. I swallow when he clears his throat, obviously trying to enlonger his time.

"Oh would you look at that. Its been so long since we've been playing." He suddenly stands up. "I'm soooo tired." He fake yawns. "Well I'm gonna go to sleep. Got early morning training tomorrow." He starts towards the door as Mor yells out,"What no! You haven't answered yet!" But her words mean nothing as he is already out the door before anyone stops him.

After a moment of silence from his sudden disappearance everyone starts agreeing to the fact that it is quite late. I have to admit, we have been playing this all night. I didn't realise where time went.

Although I am a bit sad about not getting the answer to the last question, I don't let it show on my face as I wish everyone Goodnight and go to my own room. Laying on my bed I think that cassian will definitely choose Nesta if given the chance.

But maybe, just maybe, there is a chance that he chooses me given how he was looking at me earlier.

I guess we'll never know.

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#acotar #acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #acotar fluff #cassian x reader #cassian #cassian x y/n #cassian x you #cass x reader #acotar x reader #fluff #game night #inner circle x reader #inner circle

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danikamariewrites · 5 months

Note

Could I possibly request a fluffy Rhys x reader celebrating his birthday?

I found out that Rhys’ birthday is November 20 and he is one of the very few in the SJM universe where we actually know what their zodiac signs are lol

Happy Birthday

Rhys x reader

A/n: I also just found out it’s Rhys’s bday so cheers to the bday boy!

Warnings: suggestive, fluff

Rhys reached out for you, wrapping his arms around your middle to pull you on top of him. You giggle and place small kisses on his neck.

Your mate squeezes you to his chest. “Good morning my love.” Rhys mumbles out. “Happy birthday Rhys.” You sit up, straddling his hips and tracing his face with your fingers. You look down at him with a small smile pulling at the corner of your lips.

Love twinkling in your eyes as you drink him in. Your mate. Husband. Love of your life. The most powerful high lord. And he’s all yours. You planned on appreciating him all day making sure he knew how special and loved he truly is.

“I can’t believe the Mother blessed me with you 537 years ago. I love you baby, so gods damn much.” Rhys is beaming up at you with that same soft, loving look. He gently grabbed your wrist turning his face to press a kiss to your palm.

“Thank you darling. I love you too, more than you’ll ever know.” You lean down to press your lips to his full ones. It starts slow, sending an overwhelming amount of love down the bond.

Before the kiss can get heated you move across his cheek, down his jaw and neck. You trail your tongue down his torso, kissing and nipping at him down to the band of his boxers.

—

After your euphoric morning in bed you took a bath together where you pampered Rhys. Washing his hair and giving him a massage.

You had Cassian and Azriel take Rhys out for brunch. You wanted them to avoid the cabin since you were setting up for the two of you tonight.

Elain and the twins were making his cake, Feyre was helping you with decorating, while Mor and Amren went to pick up his gifts.

You paused for a moment to take in the hustle and bustle of the house. Everyone is happy. Like there isn’t a single thing to worry about.

Good. They all deserve peace after everything the family has been through. Especially Rhys. You didn’t think he’d be here for this. You didn’t think you’d ever see him again.

You felt tears pricking your eyes. You wipe them with the back of your hand, placing one of Rhys’s many cards on the mantle.

Feyre wraps an arm around you pulling you from your thoughts as you adjust the other cards. “Y/n, what’s wrong?” You look at her, a wide grin on your lips. “Nothing, I swear. I’m just…I’m really happy. Thank you for all your help today it means a lot.”

You hug each other tight. “I’m happy to help. He deserves a good birthday.” Pulling back from Feyre you give her another smile. “I’m happy you’re here Fey.” “Me too.” She whispered.

—

The boys came home around sunset. From their overly joyous attitude you could tell they had a fun time going on their bar crawl of Velaris.

Dinner was a wonderful time. The twins out did themselves with the meal, Elain’s cake was delicious, and the toast his brothers gave brought tears to your eyes. You could tell Rhys felt loved surrounded by his friends and family.

He wraps an arm around you placing a kiss on your temple. “Thank you. All of you. I am truly grateful for you all sticking by me through everything. And to you, my mate,” he says sweetly staring at you with unending adoration. “You celebrate me every day but today you’ve gone above and beyond! Thank you darling.” His lips meet yours in a soft kiss.

“If anyone deserves it it’s you baby. To Rhys!” You say raising your wine glass. “To Rhys!” Everyone around the table cheers, raising their own glasses and taking large swigs of their drinks.

As the night started to wind down and everyone headed to bed you kept Rhys in the living room. Standing from the couch you hold his hands, pulling him up. You give Rhys a mischievous smirk. “What are you up to my little vixen?” He teases. “You’ll see.” You tease back.

Darkness envelopes the two of you, transporting you through space and time to your home away from home. Rhys looked around seeing the ambiance you had spent all afternoon setting up. He smirks down at you again. “Is this my second gift of the evening?” He drawls.

You let out a hum, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I grabbed a few bottles of the good wine, why don’t you go to the bedroom and get ready for me, yeah?” Rhys growled with anticipation. “Anything you say darling.” Walking down the hall Rhys throws a smirk at you over his shoulder that tells you not to take too long. You smirk back as he uses magic to slowly shut the door. Seductively unbuttoning his tunic as he disappears. You had never rushed through the kitchen faster.

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bunnyshideawayy · 1 month

Text

cassian. great man, wonderful friend, absolutely terrible mate.

we have seen Nesta’s sisters, who arguably have less of a reason, defend her more than Cassian has ever thought about. HELLO?

my issue with cassian acosf and onward is that we are truly expected to believe they he deeply understands Nesta when he’s been shown time and again to never stick up for her and never fully trust her. he does nothing to help her over come and face her traumas / depression, she’s left to do that on her own, but best believe he’s down to fuck and make her hike! (no sarah sex and physical exercise are not cures)

after reading the entire series once and now twice seeing Rhys threatening anyone who dares breath wrong in Feyre’s direction under the guise of just “protecting his mate” i find it extremely hard to believe cassian allowed or even sides with anyone who speaks ill of/to Nesta or threatens her- all of which Rhysand and most of the IC (besides her sisters and Az) do, most of the time while directly in front of cassian in conversations he’s involved in. the most he does is…pout a little? throws a hissy fit? the two times i can remember him even remotely stick up for Nesta he immednantly backtracks as soon as Rhysand pushes back, both times the final decision being put in Feyre’s hands, this continues even into CC3 (and let’s thank the mother Feyre loves her sisters which is something ik yall nesta haters can’t stand.)

let’s move onto something i know yall don’t want to talk about, his verbal abuse. “oh but nesta also said-“ we know what she said, that is not the point. if this man knew all along nesta was his mate and truly wanted to help her heal from her traumas and depression why did he take every chance he could to provoke her? Nesta called Rhysand an asshole, and he IS especially to Nesta, and instead of keeping silent as he does when Rhys/the IC harshly critique her, he immediately gets angry and in her face to defend him. funny he can’t do that with her, his MATE? or let’s talk about this scene

oh okay! that’s totally something you say unprompted to your mate who is severely depressed and traumatized because she won’t eat! she’s totally not shaking because she’s triggered! then to add the lecture “we’ve been here before, too” oh okay! so you admit you know what she feels like (very doubtful although i’m not going to compare their traumas, both are valid he just does not understand her like he thinks he does) it’s patronizing and a little frustrating. she doesn’t want to be there in the first place, purposely throwing a sensitive subject in her face will not magically motivate her or cure her- she is simply doing what she has no choice in. she has been stripped of all autonomy, humanity, and “normality”- she feels alone and valuable in a way she as never felt before and she has NO HELP. none!

i’ll end with the hike. yay more physical activity as punishment- but if i said that was abuse yall will bring up the pregnancy so ill do it for you! Yes, Nesta was wrong to tell Feyre THE WAY SHE DID, she had every right to tell Feyre about her own body and pregnancy, it just shouldn’t have happened the way it did. everyone knew it was wrong to keep it from Feyre, even Cassian, so instead of forcing her to hike a mountain as punishment to ware her down mentally and physically he couldve stood up for both Feyre and Nesta to Rhysand the moment he threatens to KILL NESTA. a simple “hey buddy you knew it was wrong to keep that from Feyre you can’t kill my mate for telling her even if it was out of anger” would suffice. not once during their entire hike or during her breakdown does he reassure her, not even when she is tearing herself apart because she doesn’t feel worthy. don’t even get me started on what happens in CC3.

over all i think Nessian is great and they have some great moments, the end of ACOWAR lives rent free in my mind but i am incredibly disappointed with Cassian. i do feel like Nesta deserves better from everyone (besides Feyre and Elain who, again, are the only ones who i truly believe love her unconditionally.)

anti nesta’s this is not a safe space for you.

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fieldofdaisiies · 2 months

Text

Strokes of Fate | pt. 2

paring: Feyre x Rhysand | type: fluff | words: 3,2k words | warnings: none | masterlist

"You?!" Feyre‘s eyes widen in surprise, arms falling to her sides.

Simultaneously, an expression of utter confusion spreads over Morrigan‘s face, gaze sliding from her friend to her cousin.

"I am just as surprised as you are." Rhysand’s violet eyes brush over her body, his voice still as polished and sensual as the last time. "But I have to say, I am very delighted to see you again."

He chuckles, the sound a low, guttural purr. "Or let me rephrase that: I am delighted the big girl could take care of herself and get home safely."

She really, really needs to fight the urge to flip him off. Or to be even a little more immature and slip out if her shoe and toss it at his handsome head, completely ruining his perfect, rich person hairstyle.

"And I am delighted that the rain didn’t ruin your immaculate appearance or heart your ego," Feyre instead fires back, a triumphant grin on her lips now. But it vanishes quickly - the moment Rhys opens his mouth again.

"Thank you very much for the compliment, I appreciate it a lot. Especially coming from you, an artist who has an eye for beautiful things." Amusement glows so brightly in his eyes, it reminds Feyre of the stars in the night sky. And his smile, nothing but cocky and taunting could -would- make her knees wobble under different circumstances. Not right now. Now, it makes her bristle.

But if she had met him under—

"You know each other?" Mor asks, her tone a hint incredulous. Her gaze ping-pongs between her cousin and her friend, the papers in her hands long forgotten.

"Briefly," Rhys comments and then steps aside, revealing the now blank wall behind his office desk. "But not important now. You think you can work your magic there, Feyre?"

A million ideas already spark in Feyre‘s mind but it is a painting that someone commissions so she needs to ask him first what he would like to see. What kind if picture he would like to have.

"I think I definitely can. But first of all I would like to know what you would like to see? What are you ideas? Wishes? Visions?"

A flicker of impressiveness passes over the CEO's face.

"Visions," he ponders out loud and rubs his palm over his chin. "Why don’t we sit down together and figure out my visions." He extends his hand, gesturing at the black sofa. "Let me offer you something to drink." Not a question.

Feyre claims a seat on the black couch, crossing one leg over the other. "Just a water, please."

He grabs a jug from the desk and fills up a glass. With a smile and the tilt of his chin, Morrigan gets her cue, and walks to the glass door. "I‘ll leave you to it then. If you need me, you know where to find me, cousin, Fey."

With wide steps, Rhys strolls to the couch and claims the seat next to her. He gives her a sidelong glance and smiles. She is beautiful - utterly beautiful. Breathtaking. So breathtaking he truly needs a moment to catch himself - no one has ever knocked him of his feet quite like her and that confuses him.

Handing her the glass, Rhysand’s eyes touch hers. "I want something…it‘s difficult. I don’t want something that I connect with work. But something that represents me?"

Feyre almost wants to blurt money, but she keeps calm, nods a little and waits for him to continue. But he doesn’t. Not immediately. Rhysand tips his head back and closes his eyes for a moment. He exhales a deep breath and Feyre watches the heavy rise and fall of his solid, chest - the sculpted muscles are even visible through his white shirt.

Greek god, sparks in her mind - that’s what she would also connect with him. But thank God, her mouth stays closed. Again. Saying that out loud…she would leave and never return.

"It is hard to describe it," he mumbles and folds two fingers over his mouth.

"Think about what makes you happy? What brings you joy? Who brings you joy?"

Rhysand immediately thinks of Az and Cassian - his brothers, not through blood but through what is in their hearts.

But as much as he loves them, having a painting of the three of them in his office…he‘d rather have this at home. Maybe he’ll just ask Feyre again for a painting — it would be a phenomenal chance to see her again and—

A chuckle leaves him - has this young artist already bewitched his heart? After a few minutes of talking to her. That seems impossible. But he can't deny the fact that she intrigues him. Immensely.

Feyre has noticed the shift in his demeanour, the corners of her lips quirking up. "Do you know it? Do you know what you want?"

When he meets her gaze, he indeed knows it.

"Sometimes I just look at the stars and…listen. I manage to block out everything else - no noises from the city, no bustling crowds, no loud thoughts." He inhales deeply. Feyre’s focus is on him. "I think I want a sky full of stars. A night sky. One that is not touched by city lights, not ruined by them. You think you can do this?"

Feyre nods eagerly. "Of course I can do this." She is excited and loves the idea. "I like concept."

It is wonderful . She had no idea he would be so…so thoughtful and would like something so…simple.

Rhysand slowly leans back, arms braced on the backrest of the couch. He runs his gaze over once again, silent admiration etched upon his features.

"Tell me something, darling," he starts, his voice nothing but a purr. "Have you always wanted to be a painter?"

"Yes." The answer comes as quick as a shot. "For as long as I remember, I’ve always wanted to be a painter."

He smiles and it is heartwarming. Feyre reaches for her glass and takes a sip. "What about you? Did you always want to become…an owner of a company?"

He huffs a laugh, the sound bittersweet. "Honestly, no. But I had no choice. My father owned this company and before him his father - my grandfather was the founder of it. I had to take over."

Feyre wants to tell him that there is always a choice and that it is bullshit that he had to do it, but the look in his eyes tells her that if there truly had been another option he would have chosen it.

She wants to ask about his father, but Rhysand is faster.

"So little Feyre was also already a painter? I bet your family refrigerator was covered in your paintings and drawings."

"It was," she hums, recounting the memory of her mother’s eyes lit up each time she drew something for her - one of the few moments were she showed affection for her youngest. But Feyre shakes off these thoughts and instead says, "I remember once being so bored, I painted on the little cupboard my sisters and I had in our room." She chuckles and a look of nostalgia passes over her face.

"Elain loved it immediately. Nesta was a bit shocked at first but then loved it as well."

Rhysand smiles, loving how her face lights up at the mention of her sisters.

"So I guess, I‘ll make a few sketches. Then I‘ll send them to you and start painting?"

"No."

"No?"

"I want you to paint here, Feyre."

Feyre’s eyes widen. "In your immaculate office?"

He laughs, the sound rich and amused. "Yes," he says, "in my immaculate office. I have enough space here and it will be much easier than to transport the painting here once it is done."

It makes sense. Somehow it does. But painting with audience? She doesn’t know if she likes that, but she agrees anyway.

And so, Feyre returns the next day, is led into his office by Morrigan whom she chats with a bit. Rhysand is in a meeting and will only get here later. Feyre likes this, knowing she has a bit of time alone.

She unpacks her colours, all her utensils, and with a pencil she starts to outline a sketch on a canvas.

"Good morning, darling." The low rumble brushes her skin like a feather.

"I see, you're already working."

"And I see you have a very good eyesight."

Hand holding a cup of coffee, the other stuffed into the pocket of his pants, Rhys walks to his desk, gaze sweeping over her, halting and then he chuckles. He sits down, brings the cup up to his lips and drinks. His chest warms oddly. Not due to the warm brew, but due to her presence and then hint of teasing in her voice. It is nice having her here, he thinks.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

Feyre returns a few times in the following days. On Monday to start with the base. On Wednesday to finish the base. And on Thursday to start with the details. And once again on Monday to continue with the details.

She is focused, sitting crossed-legged, nibbling on her lower lip and there is definitely colour on her nose. Her adorable nose—

Rhysand shakes his head. What has this female done to him. He breathes a chuckle, the end of his pen between his teeth, watching her over his screen.

She truly is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen and he has seen many women in his life already. But she is—

"How old are you?"

The sudden and slightly loud and sharp question startles the artist and Feyre meets his gaze with slightly widened eyes. "Twenty-one," she tells him. "Why?"

"Shit," Rhys says, the curse slipping through his lip before he can stop it. "You are incredibly talented for your age."

"Talent has nothing to do with age, mister." She laughs a little, trying to brush off the compliment but a blush still graces her cheeks.

"How old are you?"

"Guess." He smirks.

Feyre lifts her brush and tabs the clean end of it against her chin, acting like she is deep in thought. "Hhhm, I would say fifty-five." She grins at him.

A low growl parts the CEO‘s lips. "Careful, darling."

But Feyrelaces her face in innocence. "What? Are you not fifty-five? Are you older?"

A guttural laugh that sends a chill down her spine leaves him. "Cruel, wicked thing."

Her answering laugh is hoarse, smokey like a fine whiskey and it not only does things to Rhys‘ heart. His blood heats and his tongue pokes out, licking over his lower lip.

Her eyes follow the movement, but Feyre quickly says, "How old are you then? Really?"

"Thirty-three."

"Well, I was close," she quips and her focus moves back to the painting, starting once again. He has to laugh to himself and also eventually tries to focus on his work. The stress is on tries. Because he fails. Because she -Ms Feyre Archeron- is a huge distraction. But not an unwelcome one. He likes having her here. It is a wonderful distraction in all honesty.

And so the days pass, Feyre returns and keeps being a distraction. Not much work gets done on Rhys' side, but the painting is nearly finished by the end of the second week and the CEO hates this.

Because it means she won’t return here again. He won’t have her sitting in his office anymore, painting and chatting with him. And that thought…it makes him sad and his heart feel somehow cold.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

The last day, the day she finished the painting is inevitable. And Rhys wants time curse all the Gods and the universe for letting him be stuck in meetings the whole day, not getting a single chance to spend at least five minutes with Feyre.

He will only see her again the next day. They will hang up the painting and he will pay her. That is it.

And there last day together was wasted due to him not being present. Or so he thinks.

"You are still here?“ The tone in his voice reveals his honest astonishment. It is Thursday evening, already past eight, the city outside already entering the night.

Feyre tips her head back, meets his eyes and nods. Then her gaze moves back to the large canvas in front of her.

"I am adding the very last touches." She smiles. Rhys watches her.

"No boyfriend waiting for you at home who might get worried now?“

He has to shoot his shot, Rhysand thinks and casually leans against his desk. He watches her closely, how she reacts, if her body language gives her away.

"Thank god, I don’t,“ Feyre chuckles, eyes not once leaving the painting. But then she lifts her eyes, a wicked glint in her eyes when she meets his. "Thank god, I no longer have him waiting for me at home."

"Him."

She lifts her hand, brush in-between two fingers, and waves him off. "Not important — or no longer important."

A chuckles escapes the CEO and he crosses his arms in front of his chest. "He sounds like wonderful guy."

Feyre huffs. She dips her brush into a new bowl of paint, and continues with the task at hand. Until—

"Oh god, you want to go home?!"

Not exactly a question, rather an observation. She sits back on her heels, eyes wide open, shame coiling in her gut. Oh god! She is keeping him here and he wanted to leave already and she completely ignored it.

But Rhysand shakes his head. Feyre ignores it and bounces up on her knees. "I am so sorry. I completely forgot about time and I—"

"Darling." His purr interrupts her rambling. He hasn’t seen her that giddy before which makes him think she must actually feel bad about the keeping him here. Which is, to put it into his words, absolute bullshit. He was working until now anyway. He often stayed in his office until that hour.

Rhysand smiles at her. "Are you hungry?"

She wants to say no, but obviously her traitorous stomach must release the loudest growl on the whole universe in just this moment.

"I guess that is answer enough," he laughs and looks so delighted and happy in this moment, almost as if having dinner with her sounds like one of the best things to happen to him this evening. Unbeknownst to Feyre, it truly is.

"If you insist," Feyre smiles and slowly rises to her feet. She stretches her sore limbs from having knelt on the floor for hours and Rhys can't avoid to marvel at her.

"Pizza?" he quickly asks to distract his brain and finds her eagerly nodding at him. "Then pizza it is."

"Yes!" she silently cheers but he hears her and has to laugh quietly to himself, searching for his phone and dialling the number he, by now, knows by heart. "Any preferences?"

She has already made herself comfortable on the couch, her feet resting on the small table, a contented smile on her lips. "Surprise me."

And he does. He orders what he thinks she might like, or rather hopes and prays she will like. His own favourite pizza. She has to like it.

And when she moans around the first bite, he knows he made exactly the right decision.

"God!" Feyre expresses, speaking with her mouthful. She doesn't mind and neither does Rhys. "I have never eating anything better. This tastes like…everything."

His heart warms and he smiles around the bite he is currently taking. "I am glad it does."

"Maybe you are not only rich, spoiled… You can't be that bad, if you have such a great taste in pizza." She grins and Rhys really fights the urge to flip her off. He only bites down on his lower lip and gives his head a shake. "I feel honoured about this compliment."

They exchange a few things about their lives, and for quite a while Rhysand talks about Cassian and Azriel which Feyre loves to listen to. Then the topic moves to Amren, who created the former painting for his office.

"Where do you keep it now? Won't she be disappointed that you took it off?" Feyre asks.

"Nah," Rhys says and closes his pizza box. Feyre does the same, placing it on top of his. "I'll keep it in my guest room in my apartment. The room she often sleeps in when she stays in this part of the city, so all good."

Feyre chuckles and wipes her hands down her thighs. With a sigh, she rises from the couch. "I think the paint should be dry by now."

He watches her as she walks over to the place she has been working at for the past two weeks.

"Can I see it? The finished painting. Or do I have to wait for the great reveal tomorrow."

"If you're still in no rush to get home you can look at it now?"

"I'm in no rush," he says in his deep, sensual voice, an unreadable emotion passing over his face.

"No girlfriend waiting for you at home?" Feyre teases, the payback for his earlier question.

His eye gliding over her body, leaving heat in every place they touch. "No, there hasn’t been one in a long time," he finally admits.

Feyre shrugs a shoulder, "Hm."

He ignores her reaction and only looks at her, admiration etched upon his features. She is wonderful, Rhysand thinks.

Mischief sparks in her eyes and she lets her lips curl. "What are you waiting for? You said you wanted to see the painting. I doubt you can see it from where you are standing, Mr CEO."

"Darling," he drawls and grins. "Not only artistically talented but also a smartass." He pushes off the couch and with long strolls walks up to her, hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants.

She grins at him and then turns back to her work of art.

She stands next to the painting, observing it, and has to admit she is very happy with it. A night sky with the moon and a few stars, and one or the other shooting star — nothing special. But for Rhys it is. It is perfect. Better than anything he could have every imagined.

He moves in closer. So close, the warmth of his body reaches her and his breath fans the back of her neck.

"Stunning," he mumbles and is not only talking about the painting. It is truly incredible. A pure and star-covered night sky, not ruined by city lights.

"Look at the stars."

"And listen," Feyre answers, her voice breathy, and when she turns to him, there is a fire in his eyes that she has never seen there before. A fire that also ignites something low in her abdomen.

tags: @girlinglass999 @autumndreaming7 @a-frog-with-a-laptop@honeysuckle-daydreams13 @thelovelymadone @azriels-shadowsinger

#feysand #rhysand #feyre archeron #acotar #acosf #feysand au

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acourtofthought · 2 months

Note

tell me what you think about this...

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1JyAGtTbgNGCdEb2iMbTtMkbUq66vF91z/view

I love your posts, they are divine.

Thank you so much!!!

What I have to say about the google doc is that they did a nice job putting together their points in the format they did!

But I don't agree with any of it.

Az did get Elain a rose necklace after the many mentions of Elain and roses but I wouldn't say roses are more special to Elain than any other flower just because they're symbolic of her.

It was the tulip fields she wanted to visit in book 1, the tulip bulbs she was talking to Feyre about in ACOTAR and it was those flower fields Nesta reminded us she had wanted to visit in SF.

Roses are kind of the obvious answer on "what to get a girl" when you're getting her something flower related , it's the top most purchased flower on Valentines Day after all.

And roses are used for Elain by the author in the same way that she describes Nesta like a wolf or Lucien like a fox. It's fun imagery and all that but not necessarily how the character would refer to themselves.

Roses are beautiful of course but I don't think it was all that clever of Az to select a rose charm when any one of them could have said "Elain likes flowers so I'll bet she'll like this rose necklace!". Had Az himself been clever enough to think "This charm is perfect for her because of how she is constantly sitting by the sunniest of windows and the charm also needs light to come alive" than he would have earned points for that. Or "Nesta underestimates her inner depth just like it's easy to miss with this charm but it's truth will be revealed just as Elain's will!" Instead it's the reader who draws the comparison, not him.

"Nesta, Elain shall wed for love and beauty, but you my cunning, little queen. You shall wed for conquest."

First off, saying Elain will marry Az because he's the prettiest of the bat boys according to Feyre and Nesta is so superficial I can't believe it's even an argument. And what the sisters think of Az has literally no meaning at all compared to what Elain thinks of Az. Feyre might have thought Az was the most classically beautiful out of Cassian and Az but it was Rhys who was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. Elain is the "prettiest" of the three sisters but Rhys thought Feyre was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. When the King of Hybern and Amren (a being 15,000 years old) referenced Lucien's attractiveness, I'd say that if Elain married him she'd have no complaints about the hotness of her mate who is made sexier by a scar down his face which is a testament of how he stood up to Amarantha.

Second.....Nesta talks about how her mother would roll over in her grave to find out she'd married an untitled fae male. When Nesta defied her mother and the expectations she forced on her.....why is anyone under the impression Elain would follow through with what her mother thought of her?

The reason Elain's mother thought she'd marry for love and beauty is because her mother didn't think she was capable of anything else. You'd think a true Elain stan would want to prove that she was worth more than marrying someone just because of her or their physical appearance.

Oh, we're romanticizing "polite, BLAND" smiles now?

Az did go a bit still went Elain entered the room in ACOWAR. Then proceeded to look at Mor with hunger and yearning in the novella. Let's compare that to Lucien could barely breathe when he first got a true look at Elain because she was the most beautiful female he'd ever seen........and how Lucien looks at only HER with longing after that.

Feyre did predict Elain would cling to Az for peace and quiet. But since when does a truly happy Elain want just peace and quiet? Certainly not the Elain who personally greeted each guest at the ball, danced with all the important lords sons, who can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles, who can make friends easily, who stayed up until the wee hours of the morning at the ball surrounded by a circle of friends (flushed and brilliant) when both Feyre and Nesta were over it.

You know what else Feyre predicted? That Amren and Nesta would become fast friends which they did......until they weren't. Amren is not Nesta's found family, Emerie and Gwyn are. So if Feyre got that part wrong.......

In ACOWAR, Elain wanted to go home which was her home in the human lands. If she changed that in SF and called Rhys and Feyre's manor her home because that's been the only real option she's had to call home since being turned fae......why can't that change again in her book?

Nesta didn't find her true home until the book where she ended up with her love interest. Feyre didn't find her true home until the book she accepted her mating bond. Logic stands to reason that Elain will find her true home in her book too.

So I'm supposed to believe that Elain not eating, drinking sleeping or leaving her room for MONTHS until Lucien arrived and demanded they get her outside means nothing but Az who discovered she was a Seer is indicative of true love? Her Seer powers are not a thing that was wrong with her, he guessed the gift she was given. That's like someone giving me a present on Christmas and I shake the box while asking for hints until I figure it out. I'll never, ever, EVER be convinced that Az gave a shit about Elain during her depression considering he was excited to go to the Hewn City rather than stay back to guard Elain at her lowest. Considering he did not once ask Feyre how she was feeling, how she was doing, considering he did not once express concern over her lack of eating, sleeping, drinking, I think it's safe to say him being able to say "you're a seer!" doesn't mean much at all. Rhys was the one to discover Nesta's real power, does that mean he truly loves Nesta?

So I'm to understand that eavesdropping between two people while one is still going through depression and the other is trying for the very first time to reach out through their bond is supposed to be a comfortable situation? It was uncomfortable because Elain and Lucien were forced to sit together while everyone around them was being nosy as fuck. It wasn't a first date or anything but can you imagine trying to have a moment with someone while your two sisters and two others in the household are pretending to be busy while being completely aware they're listening to your every breath?

Feyre only THINKS that maybe Az understood what Elain was going through when she was hearing voices. Just like only Cassian truly understood what Feyre went through after spending years hungry. Does that mean Cassian should be with Feyre instead of Rhys because Rhys never went hungry?

Az has blushed for Elain, Mor, and Nesta in the book. Tharion blushed at Hypaxia. Someone other than Lorcan blushed over something Elide had said. I'm not getting their point.

Of course Elain tells her fucking fiance that having a mate means nothing to her. These are the best arguments they've got? Nesta didn't even want to tell Cassian he was her mate after falling in love and having copious amounts of sex.

Az did say, "what about Elain?". Then just stood there. It was Nesta who stared at him then went running for Elain's tent. And he did say he was getting her back....after Cassian first said he would but couldn't and Nesta laid down the challenge saying no one could make it into his camp. Az does love to prove himself the hero, does he not? Also, Az hid in Feyre's shadows, I'd say she's more responsible for Elain's rescues. Compared to Lucien who was willing to fight his way without power to try to get to the Night Court, the home of the most powerful High Lord ever to live and through Autumn where he knew he had a metaphorical (literal?) bounty on his head.

That was an amazing scene for Elain, was it not? Saving Briar. Saving Az. And something Az never once gave her credit for.

No, Az stayed seated when Eris made mention of Elain. He only exploded when Eris mentioned Mor. I can't believe they're trying to claim Az's anger was "built up".

Yup....CASSIAN offered Elain a knife first, not Az. Glad to know Az just stood by watching someone else do something for Elain first yet again. I guess it's a good thing Mor begged Az, with tears in her eyes, to sit out of battle. Otherwise he wouldn't have bothered offering Elain TT at all.

Her smile did lighten Az's shadows. Just like Az confirming that the shadows tend to vanish around her. Just like they are afraid of the sunlight. Considering he tells us they are his companions....why would he want them to disappear?

Yes....a female always wants to be responsible for making a male think of and being compared to his mother. Super sexy.

OH MY GOD! TRUE LOVE!!!!! She smiled at Az because she appreciated Az making a joke in response to Cassian's comment!!!! Men and women cannot just smile at one another without falling in forever love!!!!!!!!

Yes, so special "I've never participated in one of these" and Az says.......NOTHING. Such exciting conversation!

Az could have been staring at the garden thinking of Elain and her bond with Lucien and how he's jealous of Lucien because why did Lucien get a bond when he didn't. But then he went on to blush at Mor and stare at her with hunger. I don't know....maybe it's just me and my silly little romantic heart but I don't really enjoy a male who is fixated on two women at the same time.

However, if Az was interested in Elain, why did he ask Rhys if he needed to get her a gift than look relieved when Rhys said no?

Did they purposely put the "why not make them mates" under the wrong slide to make it look like it happened later in the series? That was ACOWAR, not ACOFAS. In ACOFAS Feyre tells Elain LUCIEN is a good male and why couldn't she talk to him? She repeats that Lucien is a good male (says nothing of Az) and tells Mor she wants them to be happy. Mor says both Lucien and Elain need time and that they will be happy.

Yes yes, SF. The book where Az gives Elain zero credit for anything, doesn't bother checking on "her", avoids her because HE can't handle her bond, can't admit to Rhys that he's over Mor, can't admit to Rhys that he's not just using Elain for sex, calls her a mistake before talking to Rhys and feels a spark in his chest over another females happiness.

I think I covered it all, right?

#elucien #pro elucien #elain archeron #anti e/riel

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asnowfern · 4 months

Text

Losing My (Gear)Head For You

Summary: With an icy glare at the cocky smirk gracing the male’s face, she rotates on her heels to stalk back to her car, acutely aware of the hushed whispers that follow her.

Racing is a mind game and her opponent just played his first move.

It’s her turn now. ~~~ OR a rival street racer Nessian AU

Rating: M, for Nessian being Nessian😏 WC: 2.6k Listen to Mona Lisa, Mona Lisa by FINNEAS for the vibes✨ Read on AO3

Happy Birthday my darling @witch-and-her-witcher!!! 🎉 🎁 Thank you for being such an amazing and supportive friend! I just want to say I feel so blessed to have you in my life and I appreciate you so much💜 I hope you have the loveliest day ahead (as you deserve)! Please enjoy this little silly, fun AU!

Huge thanks to the always awesome @wilde-knight for the quick beta-read💕

Read under the cut!

The silver car door swings open and the chatters de-crescendos into murmured whispers. The faint scent of car exhaust permeates the cool mountainous air and Nesta has to resist the urge to scrunch up her nose in disdain. Even in the many years she has participated in the battles, she has never truly adapted to the smell.

She ignores the wide eyed looks though a part of her sniffs in disapproval.

The crowd, the noise, the girls. They are too much for an underground street race like this. Far too likely to gather unwanted attention from the local authorities. Yet, she knows the reason for the enchanted audience today.

She gives the organiser a curt nod. Azriel’s lips curls slightly, “Welcome back, Nesta.”

“Some welcome,” she sighs, jerking her head at the whispering enthusiasts at the side of the curb, “these idiots are going to get us caught.”

“It’s all taken care of.” He says dismissively. His eyes spark in amusement as he looks over her shoulders. “Your competitor on the other hand.”

Nesta doesn’t have to turn. The hulking presence eclipsing her in its shadow and the sudden increase in excited high pitch whispers speak for themselves. She bites back a sigh.

“Lady D,” he greets as his shoulder brushes against hers with the lightest pressure, his voice dripping in a cocky swagger.

The spot where clothed muscles made contact warms uncomfortably and Nesta clenches her jaws in annoyance. She twists around to return coolly, “Cassian.”

Cassian, otherwise known as the Lord of Bloodshed for his uncanny ability to mercilessly cut his way through any race course, however perilous, grins widely. The top half of his hair is tied back in a bun, framing the strong cut of his jawline. Hazel pupils gleam bright as a feline predator. They pull blue grey eyes upwards to meet them, like a rising tide gravitating to the moon. Nesta notes the new thin scar that cuts through his left eyebrow and banishes the urge to trace it with her fingers.

“It’s been a while.” He says lightly.

She angles her head in acknowledgment. “I’ve been away for work but I’m back now.”

He hums noncommittally and for a moment, a look Nesta can’t quite identify flashes across his face. Almost soft, tender? It is gone in the next, replaced with a familiar casual lopsided smile. He sticks out a broad hand. “Good race?”

Nesta slips her hand into the grip. His skin is surprisingly soft despite the rough calluses that litter the top of his palms. “May the best racer win.”

Before she is able to release her hand, her opponent yanks her hand inwards, pulling her weight into a hard and massive chest with a soft thud. A few paces away, the cloud of murmurs dissipate. Hot breath tickles the shell of her ear, “May the best racer win.”

Heat rushes to her face and Nesta drops the hand like hot coal, scowling as she draws herself back, her spine straight and rigid. With an icy glare at the cocky smirk gracing the male’s face, she rotates on her heels to stalk back to her car, acutely aware of the hushed whispers that follow her.

Racing is a mind game and her opponent just played his first move.

It’s her turn now.

***

Nesta’s S2K purrs, coming to life with a single rotation of her car keys. A single ignition that lights up both engines: the vehicle and her.

She follows the hand signs of the marshal and pulls up side by side with the bright red WRX. She runs her palms down the circumference of the wheel, her lips flicking upwards. Her eyes remain trained on the raised hands, her feet a light touch on the pedals.

Every fibre of her being is set alight, exhilaration coursing through her veins.

The unpleasant scent of car exhaust, the noisy chattering fangirls, the annoying smirk and touch memory of hard muscles against her chest fades. There is just her, the rumbling engine under her hands, the car she is racing and the careening turns of the mountain pass.

This is why Nesta loves to race: Why she continues to do so even though she no longer needs the cash that saw her through her university days. There is nothing quite like the thrill of the race.

Flag down and Nesta slams her foot into the accelerator. Her car speeds ahead. Next to her, Cassian’s more powerful WRX takes the lead and cuts her in her path with a loud and flashy bang of its exhaust.

No matter. This is Ramiel. It’s the skills of cornering that determines the winner.

Nesta frowns slightly at the slight resistance of her wheel as she begins the downhill course, almost veering her to the left. A muscle ticks at her jaw. Her perfectly tuned vehicle is out of balance.

How is that even possible?

Yet, with the upcoming turns, she has no time to ponder. Only to adjust and adapt.

Just ahead, the brakes of Cassian screech at the braking point. The tilt angle of his car and the slide down the racing line at neck breaking speed tells Nesta that it is a perfect drift. Echoes of a cocksure smirk flits through her head.

With little time to spare, Nesta slams her foot into the brake pedal, her arms spinning wildly with her wheel as she sends the car into full throttle.

She made the turn. With a slight delay in the steering that caused her precious seconds. But she made it.

It proceeds in that manner for the next few kilometers. Nesta grits her teeth to maintain control of her vehicle as her opponent flawlessly executes each corner.

But what lies ahead is the five hairpin curves. A section of the pass that Nesta always excelled at and her chance to bridge the gap in distance. Her hand grips tightly at the wheel and the gear stick.

She barely squeezes between the left corner and the red car but once she is on the inside, a perfect cornering would set her in the lead.

In that moment, Nesta feels her car jerk to the right in pure defiance of her steering. Helpless against the centrifugal force of the sharp turn, her beloved S2K rams into the WRX and bumps him off the road, smashing into the railing. She hears the scream of metal against metal in what is sure to be a bad dent.

She swears and swerves her car slightly to the left, leaving just enough space for a car to get through. Cassian overtakes her and speeds off.

“Fuck!” She slams her hands on the wheel.

***

The hushed whispers fill and corrupt the serenity of the naturesque air. Nesta tunes them out, her attention wholly set on the bright red motor vehicle in front of her. She represses a wince at the large and long scratch that slashes across the car body and the dent in its back fender.

Humiliation burns in her chest.

It is one thing to lose a race but to have rammed into her opponent’s path like a fledgling novice? She bites the inside of her cheek.

Cassian’s face is stoic though the muscle at his jaw feathers. Yet, when he turns those hazel eyes on her, there is no anger, only concern. “Lady D?”

Nesta forces the lump down, swallowing thickly. “I’ll pay for the damages.” She pulls out a pen from the pocket of her jacket and scribbles her contact details on a stray piece of receipt. She lifts the heavy hand and closes thick fingers over the paper. “Just send me the bill.”

Without giving the male racer another chance at speaking, Nesta quickly slides into her car and takes off.

Once the crowd disappears into nothing more than faded dots in her rear view mirror, she exhales heavily. She thumbs the leathered surface of the wheel, brows creasing as she once more feels the resistivity of her beloved vehicle. Impulsively, she turns into a viewing spot at the side of the road, turns off her headlights and gets out.

She leans back, her back and ass warmed by the heated hood of her car. She tilts her head back at the vast blanket of twinkling stars.

She will naturally need to get her car looked at. The tuning works and added costs of repairing the Lord of Bloodshed’s vehicle would mean eating scraps for the next few weeks. The thought of it has her heaving another sigh, her eyes falling shut.

“It’s not exactly safe for a lady to be sitting here by herself.”

Her brows furrow once more at the familiar low drawl. She asks with her eyes still closed, lacking the energy to add much bite into it, “What do you want, Cassian? I already told you I’ll pay for the damages.”

The hood of her car dips with the weight of the other man. Her skin buzzes from the heat emanating from him, “I’m not here about the money.”

She snaps her eyes open, “Then why are you here?”

She spins her head towards him and is immediately struck by how close he is. Close enough for Nesta to pick out the flecks of green and gold in his eyes, to breathe in the spicy and woody scent of his cologne. It is a heady feeling that goes straight to her core and sends blood rushing to her ears.

His eyes darted downwards to her lips for a split second, his lips parting. Then a focus overtakes his face and he pulls himself back just a couple of inches, a more respectable distance, and asks seriously, “What happened, Nesta?”

She frowns. “What do you mean?”

“You are a better driver than that. A few months wouldn’t change that. I saw you in the turns before the hairpin too.” He searches her face, “It’s the steering, isn’t it?”

The heat leaves the tips of her ears to travel to her chest, scorching it with a familiar burn. She snaps, “Mind your own business.”

Careful hazel eyes study her for a moment before he abruptly stands and turns away, whipping out the phone from his back pocket.

“Hey Az, could you come get my car and drop it off at the workshop for me?”

Surprised, Nesta lifts her head and props herself on her elbows, keeping her eyes trained on the back of the racer.

“Yep, yep. Just over the peak viewing spot.”

More grunts and a gruffed laugh before he hangs up, “Thanks, bro. I owe you one.”

She greets him with a raised brow when he turns back to her, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Alright, light her up.”

She blinks, a little too owlish for her liking. “Excuse me?”

He rubs his hand fondly over the side of her S2K’s windshield, his next words seem like they are intended more for her car than her. “Let’s find out what’s wrong with her, shall we?”

Yeahh, the way he keeps his gaze focused on the car, running his hand up and down lovingly, almost cooing, “Yeah, we’ll fix her right up.”

Unable to keep down the laughter that is bubbling up her chest, it escapes her in a half stifled mix of a snort and a giggle. It draws Cassian’s attention. His eyes are round when he glances up at her, touched with surprise and awe.

“What?” She asks sarcastically, “Should I give you two some room?”

The tender look disappears and his face splits into a white grin. His reply comes out in a low purr, “Oh, sweetheart. Don’t you know there’s always room for three?”

She chucks the keys in his face.

***

There is something strange about being seated in the passenger seat of her own car. To not feel the purring vibration under the soles of her feet but to instead see the steering wheel handled by large veiny hands instead of her own slender ones. Yet, with Cassian at the wheel of her beloved silver, there is also nothing more natural.

His expression sharpens as they approach their first corner, anticipation visibly lighting him up, the muscles of his forearms flex delicious lines.

Brake. Clutch. Throttle. Clutch. Throttle.

It would have been a perfect racing line, a precise balance of speed and distance. An unfairly perfect execution for a driver used to the power boom of the WRX. Instead of the smooth drift, the car jerks and shakes its passengers.

Cassian’s brows crease and says after they made the turn. “Your car is out of balance.”

“I could’ve told you that.” She returns drily.

The edges of his mouth curve upward, “Touché.”

They drive back to Windhaven in relative silence, turning into a garage a short distance into the quiet city. The car halts next to an obnoxiously familiar red WRX.

Nesta waits expectantly only to realise Cassian remains still and silent. She scrunches her nose, “You can return the car to me now.”

He turns the key in the ignition to shut down the engine and flashes her grin, “I’m fixing your car.”

She resists the urge to drop her jaw. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs. “You need your car re-tuned. I have a workshop and skilled mechanics to do it. Sounds like a win-win situation to me.”

Nesta frowns. No, it doesn’t. It doesn’t even remotely make sense.

She states flatly, “You’re my rival.”

“I’m not about to sabotage your car.” He says exasperatedly with raised arms, her keys glinting in the artificial white fluorescent light of the building. “I’ll take good care of her. Or is it a him?”

She stares at him, silver blue eyes meeting hazel in narrowed skepticism. At last, she accepts with a sigh, “He is called Bryaxis.” Her lips curl into a small smile, “Take good care of him.”

***

Cassian slides up the length of her body and kisses her deeply, the weight of his body against hers is a delicious pressure she suspects she will never tire of. She wraps her legs around his waist to tug him closer.

The thick hard length of his arousal strains against the confines of his pants and rubs against her core, still sensitive from her recent climax. She digs her heels hard into his clothed buttocks, ruining his pants with the smudge of her release.

“Nesta,” he pants, breaking the kiss. Stray inky black curls that escaped his bun fall to her face, caressing her skin with the lightest tickle. He stares down at her, pupils swallowing hazel, reminiscent of a solar eclipse.

Nesta lifts the edges of her mouth into a sinful smile and tuts, “Not until you win this round.”

For a stretched beat, Cassian is completely still, save for a twitch from his aching erection, begging to be released from its fabric prison. She raises one arched eyebrow as she dips her hand to teasingly palm and stroke the hard length.

Admit defeat. Silver blue eyes order with a sparkle.

He growls but uses his arms to push himself off the backseat. His voice is rough and gravelly as he promises darkly, “I am going to get back at you for this.”

The words curl deep within her belly, inciting a heated flame. It burns low and steady as they each settle into their respective driver’s seat.

The engine of her S2K roars to life and settles into a low rumble. Nesta smiles. Her world narrows to the careening turns of the mountain pass, the quiet, empty roads, the loud red car next to her with her equally loud driver, the feel of the low purring beneath her fingertips and the taste of her release on her tongue.

Cassian’s baritone voice reaches her through her ear piece, “Three.”

The air rings with twin sounds of motor revving. She continues, “Two,”

Then, in unison. “One.”

End

A/N: My research for this fic was limited to my car loving husband who gave me car suggestions for Cassian (powerful and flashy Subaru WRX) and Nesta (slightly less vroom-vroom but requires better control Honda S2000), and watching clips of Initial D and basic racing techniques for dummies on YT. Please close one eye(or both) on any inaccuracies/misrepresentation!

#nessian #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar

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impossiblescissorspeachpaper · 11 months

Text

i’ll follow you anywhere

prompt nine: what if?

I hope everyone has enjoyed Elriel Month- I’ve loved it!! The sheer number and quality of all the content everyone created, shared and loved has been incredible! I love the elriel community so much. I have so many fics to still catch up on so if you have any I missed, please let me know! Many are already on the tbr :).

I’ll also be putting up a little EM Masterlist soon for anyone that missed any of my fics and would like to catch up 🥰

So, something a little different for this prompt. Sometimes, during moments of agony, it helps to go to another place and make up stories. This story was born from one such time when I was struggling through my own spin class. It’s trashy, enjoy 💚

*******

Angel Face was back.

She’d just walked in, scanning her tag at the front desk, offering the muscle clad guy behind the reception desk a dazzling smile. He truly did look dazed, his eyes following her curvy form all the way across the gym to where the lockers were.

Azriel glowered. He wanted to go and punch him in the face for staring at her like that. Not that he could talk, or blame him. Angel Face in form fitting workout tights threatened to send grown men to their knees.

Him. He was grown men. It threatened to send him to his knees.

Every time he caught sight of her at the gym, Azriel lost IQ points. His brain turned to marshmallow in her presence. He couldn’t help it.

He'd been coming to this gym for years with Rhys and Cass. It was central to all of their apartment blocks, clean enough, and had all the equipment they needed. Five and a half months ago, though, Angel Face had walked in for the first time.

He had no idea who she was, where she had come from, what her name was. But she was fucking beautiful. She had the shiniest hair he had ever seen, and her eyes, God. Her eyes! If he could dive into them and swim forever, he would. And she always smiled. She had an air about her that was so…warm. He could just tell she was warm. She was like the fucking sun, and he couldn’t help but bend toward her light.

At first, she had started coming alone, her AirPods visible in her ears when she tied her hair up in that high ponytail that knotted his stomach and did salacious things to his thoughts. That ponytail made him want to run his tongue over every inch of her body and see what part produced the sweetest sounds.

But she had since made a couple friends, of course she had. Who wouldn’t be drawn to her? She was the fucking sun.

Azriel watched her greeting those friends with a bright smile, her head tilted back in laughter as the twins she had started working out with conversed with her across the massive floor.

It was 5:45pm, which meant Angel Face had come in for a class. Whenever he saw her here in the evening, it was always for one of the classes taken up on the mezzanine floor of the gym.

“Az. AZRIEL! Earth to fucking Azriel!!” Cassian’s voice broke his little hopeless bubble of lust.

Azriel startled, tearing his eyes reluctantly off the brunette beauty, remembering he was supposed to be counting Cassian’s reps. “Yeah, twelve. Good job.”

Cassian huffed out a final rep. “Don’t act like you were paying attention to me you prick. I’ve been bench pressing for at least four minutes. Twelve reps my fucking ass. Worst spotter ever,” Cassian grumbled, placing the barbell back on the hooks himself and sitting up from the bench he was supine on.

“You should have known better brother,” Rhys grinned from the neighbouring bench, a set of heavy dumbbells gripped in his fists as he finished his set of chest flys.

“Wifey just walked in,” he finished, his face split with a shit eating grin, violet eyes sparkling.

Cassian followed Rhys’ gaze until he spotted the object of Azriel’s attention, her long golden-brown hair flowing down her back in soft waves, clad in a cute powder blue crop and tights set.

“Oh my god,” Cassian lamented with a long-suffering eyeroll, “stop being a pussy and just go talk to her. Put us all out of our misery.”

Azriel finally peeled his eyes away from Angel Face, reluctantly turning to his brothers beside him. Cassian’s look of annoyance overshadowed by Rhys’ utter fucking glee. Even though he encouraged others to stay out of business that wasn’t theirs, Rhys was the captain of the meddler ship.

“Women don’t come to the gym to be hit on Cass. That’s fucking creepy,” Az retorted. As he had many times before.

“And you staring daggers at her fucking ass isn’t?” Cassian pointed a thick finger in his face, his mouth tilting up in a crooked smile.

“If you don’t go over there, I fucking will.” He’d fucking do it too. Bastard.

Azriel wasn’t sure if Cassian was so perturbed simply because it had been almost six months that Azriel had been quietly obsessing over the gorgeous brunette without making a single move, or, if he just wanted his spotter back. He took chest day very seriously.

Azriel simply stood rooted to the spot, going through every scenario possible; talk to her and possibly come off as a gym creep, or never talk to her and live with that regret forever.

Women really hated being hit on at the gym, didn’t they? But then, what was he going to do, pine after her forever? And it would be forever because he was certain he’d never find another like Angel Face.

It didn’t seem like such a bad idea, pining. Except the thought of never knowing her name would haunt Azriel for eternity.

He could offer to help her with her workout? No, that was even creepier. He could walk past and smile, that shouldn’t be too hard. She might strike up a conversation with him, she seemed friendly and outgoing enough. But what if she didn’t?

Fuck. Why was he acting like a scared teenager? Go, Azriel. Go and fucking talk to her, you pussy. Put one motherfucking foot in front of the other and go.

“Do you think he short circuited?” he heard Rhys murmur from behind him.

“Either that, or fantasy has taken over reality and he’s half-way through fucking her brains out in the locker room in his mind,” Cassian answered without missing a beat.

“I can fucking hear you, assholes,” Azriel shot over his shoulder, still not taking his eyes off the side of Angel Face’s profile as she milled about the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her class to start.

“Oh good,” Rhys drawled, “we haven’t lost him completely.”

Just then, the group fitness instructor came waltzing out in lycra bike shorts and tank top, her headset hooked around her neck as she greeted her class. The group followed, ascending the stairs onto the mezzanine floor, taking their places for their class.

Angel Face started heading up, still animatedly laughing with her friends, her delicate hand resting on the banister as she followed the group.

“Ahhh. Too late bro, maybe next time,” Cassian mocked behind him, knowing very well that it was just another example of when Azriel had not gone over to talk to the woman he’d been lusting over for months.

Fuck. Azriel exhaled harshly, running a scarred hand through his hair. It’s not that hard!

Before he could change his mind, Azriel grabbed his water bottle off the floor and jogged over to the bottom of the stairs where the latecomers were still piling into the group fitness room.

“Oh, so now you decide to make a move?” He heard Cassian squawk behind him, his arms splayed about wide as his voice boomed across the gym floor “Az! Who’s gonna spot my next set?”

“You’ve got tweedle dum right there,” Azriel retorted, spinning to face his brothers as he jogged backwards, pointing a scarred finger at Rhys. His brother’s violet eyes glimmered as he laughed at the quip.

Darting up the stairs to the group fitness room Azriel halted suddenly as he came face to face with a room full of stationary bikes. Fuck. Spin class?

Turning desperately to his brothers for help, a look of utter horror on his face, he was only met with their smug fucking expressions, challenging him silently from the level below. He couldn’t back down now. Fucking spin class.

Wandering into the room cluelessly, he spotted Angel Face in the third row, slowly rotating her legs, her feet already strapped into the pedals, the bike to her left still unoccupied. Here goes fucking nothing.

Striding over to the bike, he placed his water bottle in the holder and sat down, and immediately leapt back off. What the fuck was up with this seat?! Was it supposed to be this uncomfortable? And his knees knocked painfully into the handlebars. He groaned. He did not belong here.

“You’re tall, you’ll need to adjust your position.”

The voice that spoke was silken and soft, like a breeze dancing across the delicate petals of a rose. It melted his insides whilst simultaneously igniting them, if that were possible.

Snapping his face to the right, he was pretty sure he looked deranged. His mouth was agape, flapping noiselessly like a fucking fish out of water.

Holy fuck. Angel Face also had an Angel Voice.

She was so stunning up close. Her eyes were like molten chocolate. She had the prettiest nose. He spotted a little beauty mark under her left eye, high on her cheek bone that he had never been close enough to see before. Marry me.

Realising his mouth was still hanging open like an imbecile he snapped his jaw shut, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Yeah. Right.”

Climbing back off the bike he stood beside it, eyeing off all the knobs and levers. He yanked what he thought would adjust his seat height. Nothing happened. Fuck. Maybe he should just walk back out. Why was this was so fucking awkward.

“Twist it first, then pull.”

Azriel gulped. She didn’t mean it to be sexual, she didn’t mean it to be sexual. Don’t make it weird, you fucking bastard.

Following her instructions, the seat eased and allowed him to adjust the height.

“It should reach your hip bone, keep going,” she assisted from beside him. “You might want to pull it back, away from the handlebars too.

Azriel just nodded, eyes roving over the frame of the bike.

“That lever there,” she pointed, “flick it to the right and slide the seat back,” she supplied with a smile, sensing he was lost.

Azriel swallowed. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” she replied, her smile blinding him with the light she emanated around her.

Fuck she was so beautiful. He couldn’t help but stare. He also knew he was making this interaction anything but normal. Say something. Say something and stop making it weird. JUST. SAY. ANYTHING.

“Azriel.”

Oh my god, did he just blurt out his name like that? That wasn’t even a sentence. SHE DIDN’T ASK!! Abort! Abort!

Alarms went off in his mind, but he schooled his face into one that he hoped conveyed a cool, calm demeanour. He was sure he just looked like a blubbering fucking idiot.

Angel Face just looked back at him, mildly perplexed, her perfect brows knitted together delicately.

He cleared his throat again. “I’m Azriel. That’s my name.”

Holy fuuuuuck dude just shut up!

She smiled back at him kindly. “I’m Elain. It’s nice to meet you, Azriel.”

Azriel’s mind went utterly blank. He was pretty sure he looked mentally deranged right now but how could he possibly function like a normal human being when Angel Face— Elain— had just uttered his name for the first time ever. So casually. Azriel. Like it belonged on her lips. Like she had wrapped her tongue around the L many times before. He couldn’t wait to hear her say it again. He wanted her to say it for the rest of his life.

Just then, the instructors voice boomed across the room, having hooked up her mic to the speakers. Taking a seat back on his bike, Azriel winced.

The bike seat truly was the fucking worst, it felt like it was making its home way too high up his ass. And he felt too big to be allowed, leaning like that towards the handlebars. Were they supposed to be so low? But he was here now, and he was doing this… the shit you do for love.

Fifteen minutes later, Azriel was in agony. Sweat was dripping down his back, and the bike seat had truly set up camp in between his ass cheeks.

Elain barely looked like she had broken a sweat. She was still smiling, somehow still able to sing along to the songs the instructor played at some points.

Another thirty minutes later and Azriel was straight up dying. He was certain blood had been cut off to his nuts, surely rendering him infertile.

Bye-bye kids, the family jewels were crushed when daddy went chasing after mommy. His breathing also rattled embarrassingly. Fuck, he really needed to work on his cardio.

Elain on the other hand looked radiant. She didn’t sweat, she sparkled. She fucking glistened and looked like the blinding sun after a storm. He looked like the storm. A drowned rat in the storm. That couldn’t breathe. Holy fuck, how did she do this three times a week?

“Good job everyone, up off your bikes and stretch it out!”

The fitness instructor looked way too fucking chipper for someone that had just conducted a forty-five-minute torture session. Azriel’s eyes threw daggers at her as he unstrapped his feet from the pedals and gingerly stood up on shaky legs. His ass felt violated. That was gonna hurt tomorrow.

Grabbing his ankle, he tucked his foot up toward his behind, stretching out his quad, the pull causing a slight wince.

“It’s always hard the first few times,” came Elain’s kind voice from besides him, one foot hooked on the bike seat as she leaned forward to stretch out her hamstring. She bent over her outstretched leg, her body lithe and strong. Her cheeks were delicately flushed from her exertions, her chest glistening beneath a thin layer of sweat. He was going to burst at the seams.

“I admit, I didn’t think it was going to be that hard.” Good job Az. Finally, a full sentence. Albeit a slightly pompous one, but a full one all the same.

Elain chuckled. “Men never do.”

Azriel’s face fell. Fuck, she thought he was a pig. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

“Oh! No! that’s not what I meant, only that— I just assumed. Fuck.” A scarred hand ran through his hair, tugging at the ends as his mind scrambled for the words to make it better.

Elain just laughed again, that light, breezy laugh fluttering over his anxiety.

“I’m just teasing,” she continued with a mischievous smile, her eyes lighting up with mirth as she reached for her towel and water bottle, preparing to head out.

Panic clawed at his chest; he couldn’t let her get away. Not yet. He’d barely spoken to her.

“I’ll see you around, then?” He blurted, throwing the question out desperately, like a buoy uselessly floating in the roughest of seas.

Elain glanced at him over her shoulder, her big brown doe eyes wide, a sparkle winking in them like she had a secret.

“I hope so. Have a nice evening, Azriel.”

Her lips lifted into an adorable, crooked little smile before he watched her turn around and walk out of the class. Her svelte curves swayed deliciously, the light sheen of sweat across her skin only adding to her ethereal glow.

I hope so.

She hoped to see him around.

He smiled. It was worth it. The last forty-five fucking minutes was worth it. She now knew he existed.

I hope so.

Azriel was on cloud fucking nine.

Rhys was finishing his last three reps when Azriel floated back over to them. Literally floated.

Cassian nudged his brother, nodding his head in Azriel’s direction, and Rhys sat up, both watching their quietest brother make his way back over to them.

Azriel’s hair was dishevelled, beads of sweat running down his temples and his tank top was drenched. Absolutely fucking drenched. But the bastards’ face the epitome of wistful bliss as he wandered over to them at the squat racks where they had continued working out.

Noting his dopey expression, Cassian gave Rhys a disbelieving look, pointing a thumb at Az as he asked, “Do you think she blew him in the locker room?”

Rhys snorted, face lined with mock concern, and waved a hand in front of Azriel’s glassy eyes.

“Honestly, it looks more like he’s been lobotomised. Maybe Angel Face is a neurosurgeon from 1941?”

They only knew Az’s girl as Angel Face, since that’s what he always sighed when she appeared at the gym. The hold this girl had on his brother was something else. It was kind of cute though, he’d never thought Azriel would be the kind of guy to be down so bad.

“Fuck you guys,” Azriel retorted, but it had no bite, a goofy grin spreading across his face. Cassian had never seen him so…giddy. It was fucking hilarious.

“Did you ask her out, then?” Cassian prodded, growing impatient and needing to know what had happened.

“Her name is Elain,” Azriel stated, like it was the most important thing in the world. This fool was truly on another planet right now.

“And?” Rhys prompted, hoping for something juicier than her name.

“And she said she hopes she sees me around.”

Cassian and Rhys both groaned, turning back to their workout, clearly resigned to the fact that they won’t be getting any exciting news today.

Azriel just smiled.

*******

Elriel month tag list:

@waternymphia

@shedoessoshedoes

@nightcourtseer

@tealeaves-and-rosepetals

@jasmineandshadows

@zdenkah

@dottielovegood

@casuallivi

@azrielslight

@ultadverb

@tswaney17

@batboyazriel

@duskwhisperer

@thoughtsaboutshows

@mardereads19

@a-frog-with-a-laptop

@123moiaussi

@reverie-tales

@britishwings

@glasscupsss

@gracie-rosee

@massiveattackangel

@thesistersarcheron

@dreamsandwings

@shadowflorecita

@elainsweetcobalt

@demarogue

@lesolehabitantdelalune

@elrielbaby

@happy-go-lucky-fangirl

@nivem565

@broodybatboy

@edanmaia

@booksnightowl

@saz-griffin

@swankii-art-teacher

@elriel-month

#elriel month 2023 #t writes #elriel #acotar #elain archeron #azriel #elriel month #elain x azriel #elriel fic #acotar fanfiction #elriel modern au

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bearbluebooks · 2 months

Note

prompt! gwyn was excited about a new training technique and bursts into azriel’s room only to see him…

My FIRST PROMPT!! First of all thank you so much for this. I was struggling with writers block and this made me so excited to start writing again. I truly hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it <3

The Shadowsinger’s Secret(s) - Day 7 @sjmromanceweek

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4044

Read on AO3 or under the cut.

Snow slowly drifted from the night sky.

The icy cold created treacherous layers of ice on the stone floor of the training ring. Despite Cassian’s incessant pleas to “Respect the sacredness of the training ring”, several weapons were still scattered throughout the wide expanse. Before Gwyn picked up one of the discarded daggers, she rubbed her hands together in a desperate attempt to create warmth. Tonight’s temperatures were so low, that small white clouds escaped her already numb lips with every exhale.

Afternoon slowly made way for the darker colors of night. Gwyn always believed there was something calming about the obsidian cover of night. As if magic became more palpable when stars brightened the sky. Constellations, falling stars, and infinite mystery left unexplored- what could be more magical than that? Gwyn still pondered the question when a demanding voice pierced through the quarry, “Don’t stay out too late, and don’t you dare become better at dagger throwing than me.”

Nesta and Cassian had even more pressing plans. Tonight was Lupercalia, a human holiday that celebrated love. As soon as Elain casually dropped its existence during dinner last night, Cassian’s excitement was palpable, “Nes, I will finally take you to my favorite restaurant,” his puppy dog eyes the perfect show of his elation. Nesta’s gaze showed less excitement and more indifference, “Buy me a present and I’ll come.”

“Oh, come you will. I’ve been reading, too,” he countered, “And tonight, I will be your present, when I feast on you like Sherman Steelborn in a Dragon’s Tale.” Gwyn’s stomach churned at the vivid imagery Cassian’s statement evoked. They had just read that book in their weekly Smut Sisters book club. “Leave some mystery for the rest of us, Cas,” Gwyn begged before she rolled her eyes at the smug look on Cassian’s face. The whole scene made her almost happy she didn’t have a Lupercalia of her own tonight. Almost.

Gwyn shook the memory off when she averted her gaze from the sky to her friend, “We both know that ship has already sailed.”

“You should be the one to stay longer,” Gwyn challenged over her shoulder.

Her friend paused in the door with a hand on her hip, “Or maybe I should be getting private lessons from the Shadowsinger too,” Nesta exclaimed before the door closed with a heavy thud.

All smart retorts left her brain, only her mouth remained open.

Shit.

Gwyn’s cheeks flushed red. And this time it was not because of the icy cold.

Training sessions had become more frequent in the last couple of months. And she did find herself counting down the minutes until she could see those hazel eyes assessing her every move. Or when she could feel those strong hands demonstrate how to position her hands for the best trajectory- during which she (allegedly) feigned inexperience once or twice, just to feel those calloused hands on her bare skin. To feel those sparks of electricity erupt over her entire body.

One of those nights Gwyn fell into his strong arms after a particularly difficult combination of movements. When they were so close they shared a breath. The longing and vulnerability in his eyes was something Gwyn couldn’t stop thinking about.

At night, under the safety of her blankets, she replayed that moment often- the way his hand felt on her waist, or how his eyes darted between her eyes and her lips, when his mouth curved up slightly, and how his cedar smell ingrained itself in all of her senses.

All of which happened under the cover of night. When everybody was long gone- or so she thought.

Gwyn forced herself to move on. She could think about all of that later.

She would undoubtedly hear about it later too.

Busybodies.

Tonight was for training.

Tonight she would finally learn how to beat the Shadowsinger.

Tonight she would win the bet and rub that arrogant smile off his face.

Every training session ended in Azriel either hovering over her, strapping her hands to her back, or pinning her body beneath his. It had its advantages. Heat still rushed to her core at the memories. But Gwyn was nothing if not determined. And tonight she was determined to win.

Every trick he taught her, he could anticipate.

What he didn’t anticipate was her discovery of an ancient book with knowledge not even the Shadowsinger was privy to. Knowledge so secret not even Merril knew about it.

Earlier that day, Gwyn had ventured to the fifth floor in search of one of Merril’s books ‘The Multiverse and its Animals’, when Gwyn’s eye caught something even more interesting, ’50 ways to slay your opponent’. The urgency in Merril’s voice made Gwyn pause for a second before she reminded herself I only know 15 ways to slay an opponent and grabbed the book.

As soon as she finished her work for the day, curious eyes studied the book until she reached the page titled ‘Paranza Corta’. The section stated a fighting technique that focused on short thrusts. The trick was to let your opponent get close enough to let them think they had the upper hand before you would hit them from below with a multitude of targeted strikes.

She knew in her bones it would finally allow her to beat the Shadowsinger.

She could see the surprise in his beautiful hazel eyes become replaced by awe.

She could already see him become speechless- not because of his usual preference for silence, but because he couldn’t find the words to speak.

She could already taste the victory.

Those thoughts fueled her.

They set her body aflame despite the icy cold threatening to numb her fingers.

Still, all evening this particular technique proved difficult to master.

Impossible even.

She couldn’t figure out how to get close enough without getting killed in the process.

Every practice run stopped before she could even reach the target.

Irritation seeped into her bones. She couldn’t figure out why it wasn’t working. It made her wonder if Azriel would have been able to figure it out. Of course he would have, she thought to herself with an eye roll and a smile.

He had centuries of knowledge and experience on her.

But she had determination.

Hours passed without any improvement.

Cold snowflakes slowly turned liquid on her overheated skin. Frustration threatened to burn all rationality until nothing but ashes of failed determination remained.

With one steady breath in, one pause and one exhale, she turned the anger into fuel when she focused on her strengths.

Before she started again, investigative eyes took in the scene unfolding in front of her. Muscle wasn’t the problem. Nor was speed.

Suddenly it clicked.

Without wasting time she took up her starting stance a few feet away from the target. Quick and careful steps brought her closer and closer to the wooden puppet taunting her. Just before she got close, she dropped low, putting all her weight on one foot as she slid towards the wooden monstrosity. Then she channeled all her weight into both legs, as she pulled herself upwards, and stabbed, stabbed, stabbed the puppet.

A laugh so maniacal any sane person would call question her sanity resounded in the wide open space.

Then the steadying pull of reality replaced the overwhelming sense of euphoria.

Azriel didn’t see it- he wasn’t there and neither were his shadows.

Suddenly it didn’t feel like a victory anymore.

The clunk on the floor signaled her exit before her mind clued her into her movements.

Gwyn still couldn’t completely wrap her mind around an omniscient house, yet she was very grateful for it now.

“Where is Azriel’s room?” she asked as she turned her gaze towards the ceiling, then the walls, and the empty space around her, before she accepted that omniscient probably meant omnipresent too and steadied her gaze in front of her.

A familiar miniature Pegasus suddenly appeared in front of her. A loud squeal was the only welcome she could muster before the little creature started walking into the corridor. Soft clicks of hooves filled the silence in the hallway, then down a pair of steps, until it finally stopped in front of a huge door.

When it reached its destination it disappeared into a pink cloud of smoke.

Gwyn was sad for its quick exit before she remembered her mission.

Without knocking she stormed into the room where she exclaimed “I DID IT” with her arms raised high into the air.

Shadows swarmed her vision in seconds.

A desperate plea in a familiar deep tone resounded “Gwyn what are you-“

When the shadows slowly cleared, no awe was to be seen in those hazel eyes she so longed to see. Instead, she saw shock, shame, and confusion staring back at her.

“I’m sorry!” Her hands mirrored the statement as she placed them in front of her eyes to offer him belated privacy.

She clearly interrupted some kind of private moment.

She was ready to turn around and leave as fast as she came, but curiosity was a hard trait to ignore. Especially when one found themselves in the same room as an enigmatic Spymaster with an apparent secret.

Slowly, she lowered her hands to reveal the dark-haired male who was lying in bed with his wings splayed widely on both sides. Soft candlelight made it difficult to see, but not impossible. The walls were as black as night, and the multiple knives covering the walls gleamed like silver stars. The bed was huge. Big enough to fit three Azriel’s and maybe one Gwyn.

“A Pirates’ Search for Love?” She tried to say in her most serious voice. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t help the laugh that erupted from her small frame. The feeling was so unbridled and intense that she couldn’t remember the last time she laughed like that.

“I thought you didn’t like smutty novels?”

He implied as much every time he intruded on their sleepovers, with his arms crossed in front of him as he leaned against the doorframe in such a way he could be the main character in one of their novels.

“I don’t like Selyn Drake, I never said I didn’t like the genre,” he countered. “Males read them too. They can be useful,” he challenged with a smirk that confirmed every word of his previous statement. Cassian had proved as much yesterday, she had just never expected Azriel to be one of those males too.

When her eyes drifted lower to look at the author who apparently doubled as an instructor, her eyes caught the large hand covering an even larger body part.

Her eyes grew as wide as the hazel ones looking back at her.

“Shit. Shit shit shit I didn’t mean to-“ Azriel stammered as he jumped out of the bed with hurried movements, unsuccessfully trying to close his pants in the process.

Suddenly, another melodic laugh just as heartfelt filled the room. “Were you practicing immediately?” she asked in between laughs.

Azriel’s eyes looked equally hesitant and intrigued.

“I was,” he answered honestly. His eyes remained determinately focused on hers. As if her next words would decide his actions- not his own desire, not his own hopes and expectations, but her.

Life was dynamic. Gwyn knew growth was equal parts bravery and devotion. Just like her time spent in the training ring, learning the Paranza Corta. Where one day frustration fueled her veins at her inability to wield a seemingly straightforward concept. When- even though she felt the desire to succeed in the deepest part of her soul- she failed. So she tried again. And failed, again. When doubt started to creep in and threatened to affect her self-worth. When she could see herself succeed, but something prevented her at every turn.

Until one day something clicked.

Her relationship with sex was much the same way. Only what clicked was reuniting with Azriel on that same roof, many years ago.

Bravery and devotion, she reminded herself once again.

“Can you show me?” Her feet already took her closer to where he was standing next to the bed. Two of her hands covered his previously occupied one, as she repeated “Show me.”

“Gwyn-“

“Show me.”

With a whisper, she added “Please.”

His eyes remained determinately focused on hers. She knew what he would find. Nothing but equal resolution and confidence, just like he saw in the training ring every night.

There was not a male in the world she trusted more. Not a male her body craved more. Not a male who made her feel as safe as the one standing right in front of her- who looked at her with the trepidation and vulnerability he expected to see reflected in her eyes.

One of her hands moved to cup his cheek, she knew it was not her who needed reassurance at that moment.

“I trust you.”

His eyes turned contemplative. As if he was finally considering her request.

“I want you.”

That last sentence seemed to thaw some of the icy walls he had built around himself. As if her words were the fire that allowed some of the coldness to disappear.

Her other hand moved to the part she knew he was trying to hide.

“Show me.”

When she slowly moved her hand up and down the bulge in his pants, his breath caught in his throat.

His gaze roved over her body- to the tightness of her Illyrian leathers, emphasizing all of her curves. To her chest, which she slightly uncovered in the training ring when heat threatened to overtake her concentration.

The intensity with which his hazel eyes observed her, made her dare to move closer to the point where they were standing so close they shared a breath. “Show me,” she whispered before she placed a soft kiss on his neck.

He tilted his head slightly to match her height. His gaze slipped to her lips.

She would only have to reach up to do what she dreamt about more times than she cared to admit- the way his lips would feel against hers (rough) the way their lips would fit together (like puzzle pieces) the way he would take her breath away (literally and metaphorically).

What she didn’t expect was the satisfied sigh that escaped her mouth when she finally returned to earth.

When she looked into his eyes to assess if she ruined the moment, she saw nothing but surprise and awe.

Before she could fill the silence he placed a large hand behind her neck and pulled her closer. Another searing kiss turned the world to black in a way his shadows never could. A world filled with wonder and perfection.

Nothing else existed except for his lips and that moment. Where eternity seemed to exist, whilst no time passed at all.

It started chaste and delicate. Before it turned more hungry and desperate. She pushed him to the bed with one determinate hand. The moment it took to land on the bed was much too long, and she already missed his lips.

When she looked into his eyes, intrigue and lust stared back. Which made a heat she’d never felt before spread through her body- like a flame and he held the match.

Nothing else existed in the world except for him and her instincts.

With confident strides she walked over to where he hungrily observed her from the bed, his eyes grew so big, that his pupils overtook the hazel she loved so much. His back was firmly pushed into the mattress. Gwyn moved to the bed where she placed two of her legs next to his hips. She felt powerful. And with the way his eyes took her in, she felt desired too.

She took one of his fingers in hers and allowed him to trace a path from the opening of her Illyrian leathers up, to her mouth. His eyes tracked every movement. When she put his thick finger in her mouth, she made sure to suck on it lightly, before she let it go with a loud pop.

Azriel was speechless, save for the heady groan that sent electricity up Gwyn’s spine.

There was something else she wanted to do tonight. Something else she wanted to see, to touch, to feel.

In one swift movement, she took up the space next to him where she sat on her knees, assessing the gorgeous male before her.

His pants were still unbuttoned. She allowed her hand to roam freely. “Gwyn.” Her name was a pledge and a prayer on his lips. “Azriel” she answered in equal devotion. She allowed her fingers to trace the patch of obsidian hair down towards the edge of his underwear.

His hands forcefully fisted the sheets next to his hips in a way that made them turn white. It was as if he didn’t allow his body to act on the same instincts that guided Gwyn in all her movements. Her hands slightly shook, as she removed the iron grip on his sheets, and took his much larger hands in hers. She could feel the grooves that graced his hands. One of her fingers softly traced them when shame colored his eyes.

It made her wonder if he was ashamed of his hands. It seemed impossible because she loved his hands.

Defiance and adoration made her lift his hands to her mouth and place soft kisses on every groove. Every mark of shame. Whilst she wished she could do the same for his heart, his soul. She wished she could soothe every horrible thing that ever happened to him, and pray to the altar of his past whilst she made a promise to always be there for him in the future by choosing him every day.

His eyes slowly shifted from shame to a calmness she rarely saw reflected in his eyes.

Before she continued she placed another kiss on his lips.

His hands moved to cup her cheeks- to keep her steady.

When his tongue darted over her lower lip, she happily complied. The kiss was deeper. More ravenous than before. As if he finally allowed himself to have her just like he wanted to.

Without breaking the kiss, she moved her hand lower. She felt his body slightly shiver with the suddenness of the touch before he leaned into it. She traced a path from his abdomen to the edge of his underwear.

“Is this okay?” she asked before she continued her path down.

“Y-es,” he stammered as his hips bucked into her touch.

Her heart leaped in her chest. She could feel her excitement resound in the increased beats of her heart. With uneven breaths, but steady hands, she moved her hand to slide into the softness of his underpants where a less soft cock greeted her.

Her eyes widened in surprise and admiration. His cock was huge. She could barely fit it in her hand.

“It must have been a good book,” she smiled as she looked up at him.

His voice was low when he finally found the words to answer her, “That’s all you.” A corner of his mouth lifted when he ended the sentence with a wink. She didn’t need a mirror to know a red flush grazed her cheeks at the way his words made her feel. Or the warmth it spread throughout her body.

“I haven’t even done anything yet,” she teased.

“My cock says otherwise.”

Intrigue and fascination made her wonder what else she could do to his cock. She tightened her grip around his cock, as she lowered her head to rest next to his ear as she whispered “What is it saying now?”

He moved his head to look into her eyes, his voice was even lower as he forced out in between hurried breaths, “That you know me well.”

Her movements were restricted by his pants.

Even though it was the last thing she wanted to do, she removed her hand from his hardening cock when something akin to a whine followed her abrupt exit.

“Was that a whine?” she said in between laughs.

With a shrug of his shoulders, he answered without any hint of shame, “Me and my cock love having you close.”

With a playful roll of her eyes, she signaled to his pants.

“Oh.” Skillful hands removed his sweatpants in less time than it took for him to utter the single syllable.

Only his underpants and t-shirt prevented her from seeing his entire naked glory. Her hands moved on their own accord when they took hold of the underside of his shirt and swiftly lifted it up.

Many nights she wondered what hid under the carefully constructed armor. Some days, when it was especially hot, hints of swirling tattoos were uncovered. Maps of obsidian art she memorized as if they were Merrill’s research. Then there were his tight Illyrian leathers which hinted at muscular arms, ones she often fantasized about.

She allowed her eyes to rove over his body- to take in every muscle. Every swirling tattoo. Every patch of obsidian hair. Wherever her eyes roamed her finger followed. His body slightly shivered under her touch. “Beautiful” she whispered.

His eyes lit up and the resulting smile made him even more beautiful. Gwyn’s heart grew to a size she didn’t hold possible. It made her want to give him every last piece of her.

There was only one last barrier between them. One she uncovered with shaky hands. Larger ones found hers in an instant. Although his hands had a slight shiver too, they provided a steadiness Gwyn hadn’t realized she needed at that moment.

Slowly, so slowly, they pulled his underpants off, and within seconds his half-hard cock sprang free.

Azriel’s gaze didn’t wander towards his large member as Gwyn’s eyes did, instead, they remained determinedly focused on her.

Words escaped her. So she took his hand in hers and guided him towards his cock too. “Show me,” she repeated her earlier words.

His grip tightened, as he moved Gwyn’s hand up and down his cock in rough strokes. His breath hitched at the movement.

When she had as good a grip on his preferences as she on his cock, she lowered down to whisper in his ear, “Let go Az.” She didn’t know if she meant his grip or his restraint either. Maybe she meant both.

His eyes remained focused on her before his hands moved to cup her ass. Her lip darted out to lick her bottom lip. His eyes tracked the movement with such hunger it made her bend down and kiss him again.

When he used his strong grip to knead her ass, and said “I have been wanting to do this for a long time”, she couldn’t help the moan that escaped her lips. He swallowed the sound with another searing kiss that sent electricity to her core.

A desire to give him equal pleasure overtook her body. In equal curiosity and wonder, she lightly used her fingernails with her next stroke up and down his shaft. “Fuck,” Azriel groaned into her shoulder. It made his cock twitch in her hand.

Interesting.

It made her wonder what else she could do.

She closed her hand around his cock fully and made sure to pump him with as much force as she thought he could handle. “Fuck, I’m close, let me-“

“Let me,” she repeated as she seductively bit her lower lip.

His eyes widened with a desire so overwhelming it made the ache between her legs grow to an almost painful degree.

He was so close too- his breaths turned panting, more desperate.

With her other hand, she slowly lowered her zipper, revealing more and more naked skin until her breasts were freed from the constraints of the Illyrian leathers. His eyes caught the movement. His gaze turned ravenous, desperate, euphoric.

His hips bucked into her hand but her movement never slowed, as his head fell into her shoulder, and his hair tickled her in the process.

“FUCK,” Azriel groaned so loudly Gwyn was sure there was no room for any secrets tonight. But that didn’t matter.

Tonight was for victories.

And this victory, Azriel did see.

#gwynriel #gwyn x azriel #acotar #gwyn acosf #gwyneth berdara #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #a court of silver flames #ao3 fanfic #acotar alternate universe #valentines day #sjmromanceweek2024

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c-e-d-dreamer · 10 months

Text

I Was Enchanted To Meet You: Part One

A/N: Happy @elucienweekofficial lovelies! I'm super excited to share this fic with you all! I'll be posting a new part every day for the remainder of Elucien Week! Now, when I last watched Disney's Enchanted, it was so clear that Elain IS Giselle and Lucien IS Robert (and Cassian is absolutely the himbo prince and Nesta is Idina Menzel), and nothing says Magic, today's prompt, like that movie, right? So, hopefully, everyone agrees and everyone enjoys :)

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Next Part

Elain

The music is light and melodic as it floats around her. It twists around her limbs like a warm, summer’s breeze, like sunlight, filling her chest with a blooming warmth that digs its roots deep between her ribs. Elain follows the steps with ease, gliding across the floor and twirling around with each swell of the song.

But it’s the hand at the small of her back, the other one that’s equally warm and steady clasped with her own, that truly draws Elain’s attention. There’s something so familiar yet unfamiliar in the feel of them against her body, in the way they curl around her fingers. Something that settles deep in her veins, that leaves her feeling safe, that has her feeling like home.

She twirls around again, and a face comes swimming into view, and those eyes…

Elain wakes with a quiet gasp, her eyes snapping open. She blinks a few times, her heart still fluttering away in her chest, before her surroundings come back into focus. Sunlight spills in through the open windows and into her cottage, long golden streaks bouncing off the wood, leaving shimmering spotlights across the blankets on her bed. Just outside she can hear the sweet songs of the birds of the forest, ready to start their morning.

“Elain?”

Elain glances to her right and smiles when she finds that Pip has climbed up onto her bed. The chipmunk tilts his head in concern, wide eyes blinking up at her.

“Oh, Pip,” Elain sighs longingly, holding her hands to her chest like she can still feel those hands curled around her fingers. “I had the most wondrous dream. There was a prince and we were dancing to a beautiful melody.”

“A prince?” Pip asks, hopping across the mattress to follow Elain when she gets up from the bed.

“Yes, and he had these eyes…” Elain’s steps pause in the middle of the room, that final image of her dream flashing across her mind like a swirling mist she can’t quite grasp onto. “He was my true love. I’m sure of it.”

“Well, we’ll just have to find him then. What did he look like?”

Elain hums consideringly, settling her hands on her hips. She tries to think how best to describe her prince, how to paint a perfect picture of everything that he was, but her mind keeps coming up blank. There simply aren’t the right words when it comes to that face, to that feeling that had washed over her so surely and taken up roots between her ribs even still now that she’s awake. He was everything, but that doesn’t really help or answer Pip’s question. But then an idea strikes her.

“We’re going to need some help,” Elain declares, striding over to the window of her cottage.

Cupping her hand to her mouth, Elain leans out the window and sings a tune, the forest around her quick to answer the melody back to her. She steps back just as her forest friends begin to crowd around the cottage and to clamber in through the window. Rabbits and squirrels and deer and bluebirds and foxes all flood into the space, peering up at her with wide eyes and wide smiles, clearly all happy to see her and excited to help. It has light warmth swelling and pitter pattering away between her ribs, so lucky to have so many forest friends.

“Oh, I’m so glad that you all can help,” Elain tells the animals gathered, making sure to smile at each and every one. “We’ll need to gather all the supplies we can to help recreate my true love.”

“Alright alright,” Pip claps his paws together, having climbed up onto Elain’s table. “Let’s get to work, people! We need to build this true love while it’s still ingrained in her subcranium.”

Pip continues to clap his paws together to get everyone moving, but it works, all of Elain’s forest friends jumping into action. The bluebirds fly to grab the fabric near Elain’s spinning wheel while the rabbits push over her dress form. Elain takes the fabric with a quiet thanks, draping it across the shoulders of the dress form like a jacket. She stands back to admire her work and adjusts the fabric until it’s to her liking, but then a nudge against her hand draws her attention. She glances down to find her deer friends, each with a bundle of white wildflowers in their mouth.

“Thank you so much,” Elain tells them, taking the wildflowers and arranging them so they act as trimming along the makeshift jacket she’s created for her prince.

“How’s this, Elain?” the owl asks, place long, autumn leaves on the head of the dress form so they drape like hair along the shoulders.

Elain smiles widely as she admires the color, almost a perfect match for the shade she remembers from her dream. “Just perfect.”

“And these for the eyes?” one of the rabbits questions, holding up two acorns.

Elain gasps quietly, plucking both the acorns from the rabbit’s paws and holding them up. “How did you know? The color practically burns just like his.” She settles the acorns securely in the makeshift face she’s created atop the dress form, stepping back once more and letting out a happy sigh. “There. He’s perfect.”

“Is he finished?” Pip asks. “Let's see this prince then.”

“Now presenting… my one true love,” Elain announces, turning the dress form around so all her forest friends can see. All the animals gathered ooo and ah, and Elain’s smile grows at their reaction. She turns her own attention back to the recreation of her prince, but then her eyes widen and she frowns. “Oh, no. I forgot to give him lips.”

One of the deer tilts its head confusedly. “Does he have to have lips?”

“Of course he does. How else are we meant to share true love’s kiss?” Elain explains gently before spinning back toward her recreated prince and curling her arms around the dress form. “I’ve been dreaming of a true love’s kiss and a prince I’m hoping comes with this. That's what brings ever-aftering so happy.” She twirls around with her prince, a mirror to the way they had danced in her dream, as she continues to sing, “and that's the reason we need lips so much, for lips are the only things that touch. So, to spend a life of endless—”

Elain’s singing stutters to an abruptive stop when she realizes that none of her forest friends are even looking at her anymore. Instead, each of her friends’ gaze is all but glued toward the window of her cottage, each pair of eyes wide and fearful. Some of the rabbits are even pointing frantically behind Elain, toward that very same window.

It has all of the hairs on the back of Elain’s neck standing up, trepidation flooding through her veins like ice water. Swallowing hard, Elain turns around slowly, coming face to face with what appears to be a giant eyeball.

“I’ve been dreaming of a true love’s kiss,” a deep voice rumbles, Elain’s entire cottage seeming to shake with the reverberations.

A troll.

There’s a troll outside of Elain’s cottage and peering in at her. Her heart pounds away even as it lodges itself firmly in her throat. All of her forest friends quickly flee, and Elain frantically turns in place, trying desperately to decide the best way for her to escape. The loud, crashing sound of splintering wood echoes around her and is her only warning before the large, green hand of the troll breaks through the window and wall of her cottage and reaches inside. Elain just barely dances out of the reach of those grasping fingers and runs for the door, clambering out of her cottage and up the tree it’s built into.

She climbs higher and higher amongst the branches, but one glance over her shoulder and she finds the troll following just behind her. She quickens her pace, racing onto another branch, but as she gets closer to the end, she realizes she has nowhere left to go, even worse when the troll climbs onto the very same branch and the combined weight sends the branch dipping dangerously.

That green hand reaches for her again, and Elain lets out an alarmed cry and squeezes her eyes shut, accepting her fate and waiting for those fingers to curl around her, but it never comes. Confused, Elain slowly opens her eyes again and peers over her shoulder. The troll is still there, his hand still half outstretched toward her, but there’s a sword now lodged into the wood of the branch, pinning the troll’s hand in place.

“Fear not, fair maiden,” a voice comes from below. “I have come to rescue you.”

Elain looks toward the ground and finds a prince astride a horse. Her prince. He’s come to rescue her. Elain’s heart flutters, and she tries to offer her prince a smile in thanks, but the branch beneath her gives a terrifying groan, still unsteady beneath the weight of her and the troll. She’s not sure how much longer it will hold them, so with a yelp, Elain jumps for the closest branch of the next tree. Her fingers just barely close around the bark, and relief washes over Elain as the loss of her weight sends the troll flying through the sky in the opposite direction.

The relief is short-lived, though, as Elain’s grip on the tree branch starts to slip. She tries to curl her fingers tighter, tries to pull herself up and more firmly onto the branch, but it seems to be futile.

“Pip,” Elain calls out desperately.

“Don’t worry, honey. I’ve got you,” Pip tells her, hopping over to the branch and grabbing at Elain’s fingers with his hands.

But it’s not enough. Despite Pip’s and her own best effort, Elain’s fingers finally slip. She lets out a scream as she goes hurtling toward the ground, her whole body tensing up in anticipation, in fear. And yet, the ground never comes up to meet her. Instead, it’s strong arms that wrap around Elain’s body, holding her secure, holding her safe.

Elain blinks her eyes open in surprise and is greeted by bright, hazel eyes peering down at her. Soft, dark curls fall along the prince’s temples and cheeks to his shoulders, and when their gazes meet, a wide smile pulls its way across the prince’s face until a dimple pops in his left cheek, almost a mirror to the scar running through his right eyebrow.

“Are you alright, fair maiden?” the prince asks.

“I am now,” Elain assures him, tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear. “And please. Call me Elain.”

“Oh, Elain. We shall be married in the morning,” the prince declares, taking both her hands in his. “You’re the fairest maid I’ve ever met. You were made…”

“To finish your duet.”

~ * * * ~

Prince Cassian was right. They were to be married in the morning, which is how Elain finds herself clambering out of a carriage in front of the Andalasia castle. She barely has time to admire the gorgeous white stone, the vines and flowers curling up and around the turrets, the bright blue waterfall that sends water cascading down the side of one of the walls. Instead, Elain hurriedly smoothes out the white fabric of her dress, rushing up the front steps of the castle.

“Wait up, Elain,” Pip cries out behind her. “We’re not finished with you yet.”

But Elain doesn’t have time. She’s already running terribly late, and she can’t leave Prince Cassian waiting a moment longer. She doesn’t want to wait another moment either. She’s to marry her true love today. A moment she’s been dreaming about for forever. Two of her bluebird friends fly over her, gently placing a tiara into her hair as she continues to hurry forward.

“Oh, thank you so much,” Elain tells them, pushing open the large double doors that lead into the castle.

Elain is just crossing over the bridge, the church in sight just ahead, when an old woman pops up in front of her. Elain lets out a soft cry of surprise, nearing tumbling backwards as her steps stutter to such an abrupt stop. The woman smiles up at Elain, the gesture showing off her crooked teeth, and Elain can see strands of gray hair tucked beneath the hood of the cloak the woman is wearing.

“What a pretty bride,” the woman says, her dark eyes dancing over Elain’s dress.

“That’s very kind of you,” Elain tells her, trying to side step around the woman. “But I really must—”

“No, wait!” the woman exclaims, grabbing onto Elain’s wrist. “I have a wedding gift for you, my dear.”

Elain tries to pull her arm free, tries to find the right words to say to politely explain that she simply does not have time, but it doesn’t seem to deter the old woman. She continues to lead Elain further away, and Elain can do nothing but stare forlornly at the church, at her prince waiting for her there.

“It’s a wishing well,” the old woman explains, leading Elain to a waterfall of glittering water.

��But I’m going to be late,” Elain tries to offer again. “And all my wishes are already coming true.”

“But a wish on your wedding day is the most magical of all,” the old woman argues, continuing to tug at Elain until they’re standing right in front of that sparkling water. “Just close your eyes and make a wish.”

Elain hesitates for a moment, once again glancing over her shoulder and toward the church, but the old woman’s hand curls around her shoulder, nudging her attention back to the wishing well. She supposes there really is no harm in making a wish, and as the woman said, it would be especially magical to make one on her wedding day. This way she could ensure she and Prince Cassian really do have everything they both want. That they really do live happily ever after. So, with a soft sigh, Elain closes her eyes and clasps her hands together. She allows all her warmth, all her happiness and love and positive thoughts to bloom deep in her chest. Allows that feeling to bleed into her veins and flood all the way down to her toes. Allows that feeling to fill her mind with every dream she’s ever had of true love and happily ever after.

“I wish…”

But before Elain can finish speaking, she falls forward, tumbling down and down into the darkness below.

~ * * * ~

Lucien

“You never cared about Gordie the way I do!”

Lucien sighs softly, rubbing his fingers against his temples and the throbbing that’s begun to take up home there. It has him starting to wonder if he should have ever taken this case in the first place. He had sworn to Eris that he could handle it, that it would be a walk in the park. And now they're arguing over hockey trading cards. Already, he can imagine how his brother must be laughing at him.

“Mr. Vanserra?” Lucien looks up at the sound of his name, finding Vassa sticking her head through the door, the redhead offering him a sympathetic smile when their gazes meet. “It’s time.”

With a nod, Lucien turns back to the other lawyer sitting across from him, raising his voice so he can be heard over the still arguing couple. “I have to go pick up my daughter. Continue at nine tomorrow morning?”

Once the other lawyer agrees, Lucien gathers up his papers and files, shoving them all into his portfolio and standing up from the table. He meets Vassa at the door, and she hands over his work briefcase, both of them rushing toward the front doors of the office.

“I can’t believe after all that you still want to get married,” Vassa comments, her eyes flickering back toward the door and the voices still carrying from within the room.

“It’s different with me and Nesta,” Lucien tells her, taking his jacket next and tugging it on. “We understand each other’s strengths and weaknesses. We know we’re building something strong.”

Vassa snorts amusedly. “Are you proposing marriage or a business deal?”

“Yeah, sure. Laugh it up,” Lucien remarks dryly with a roll of his eyes. “But when our marriage is a success because there's no unrealistic expectations, you'll be jealous.”

“You’re just such a romantic,” Vassa quips back sarcastically as Lucien pushes through the glass doors that lead to and from the firm.

“Of course I am.”

~ * * * ~

Thankfully, Willow isn’t the last child still in the aftercare program when Lucien arrives at the school. She smiles widely when she spots him walking through the doors, quickly grabbing her backpack while he signs her out. He hears the jingle of the keychains she keeps on her backpack before a weight crashes into his legs, little hands curling around his knees, and Lucien has to bite back his own smile.

“Daddy. Daddy. Look what I drew today,” Willow tells him excitedly, and Lucien looks down to see her holding up a picture of her in a bright pink princess dress.

“That’s beautiful, but it’s been raining outside, so let’s put this away for now until we get home, okay?”

Willow nods her head and spins around, so Lucien plucks the paper from between her fingers, kneeling down so he can unzip her backpack and tuck the drawing inside. She grabs his hand in hers when he’s finished, and then they’re heading out of the school and toward his car. He helps buckle Willow into her seat before sliding into the driver’s seat, following the familiar roads that will lead them back home.

“So, other than your princess drawing, how was school today?” Lucien asks, glancing back toward Willow in the rearview mirror.

“It was good,” Willow tells him, her eyes glued out the window and the buildings passing them by.

“Tomorrow, Nesta is going to pick you up and take you to school, okay? The two of you can have some grown up girl bonding time.”

Willow frowns at that, tilting her head in an adorable show of confusion. “But I’m only six.”

“I know, but…” Lucien pauses, taking a moment to swallow hard and tighten his grip on the steering wheel. He still hasn't quite figured out the perfect way to tell her yet, the timing never quite right, but now he's running out of time. Perhaps a band-aid approach is the way to go. “But I’m going to ask Nesta to marry me.”

“What?” Willow asks, her voice filled with shock.

“You like her, don’t you?” Lucien continues, pulling the car to a stop at a redlight and keeping his attention on Willow’s reflection in the rearview mirror. “We all get along, and I—”

“Daddy, look! There’s a princess!”

Lucien frowns at being cut off so abruptly, but he turns his head out the window to see what snagged Willow’s attention. He spots a billboard all lit up with a castle on it, big block letters promoting the local casino. And standing in front of the castle is some sort of animatronic princess in a large, puffy, white dress.

“It’s a real princess,” Willow continues excitedly, and before Lucien can correct her, she’s unbuckling herself and flinging the car door open to clamber right out into the street.

“Willow!” Lucien exclaims, throwing the car into park and wrenching his own door open to chase her down. He catches her around the shoulders, pulling her back against him and to a stop. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“But Daddy look,” Willow argues, pointing up toward the billboard.

With a barely contained sigh, Lucien looks back up toward the billboard, but he has to blink a few times to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. Because there’s simply no way. It’s no animatronic on that billboard, but an actual woman. Her honeyed curls are wet from the rain where they’re piled atop her head in some sort of elaborate updo, and the large hoop skirt of her dress seems to sway with her movements.

“Hello?” the woman’s voice floats down to him. “Won’t you please let me in. Do you know Cassian?”

“Hey, miss,” Lucien shouts up to her. “Are you alright?”

At the sound of his voice, the woman turns around. “Oh, hello, I was just wondering if—”

Before the woman can finish speaking, she loses her footing, wobbling dangerously on the small platform in front of the billboard. In an instant, Lucien rushes forward, holding his arms out like that’s somehow going to help. The woman continues to teeter, the weight of her hoop skirt clearly not helping, before she goes tumbling over the edge with a shout. Lucien’s heart lurches suddenly at the sight of her falling, but luckily, the woman’s hands grab onto the edge.

“Just hang on,” Lucien calls out, eyes darting around for anything that might help.

He spots the ladder that leads up to the billboard, and his attention dances back to the woman, trying to gauge how much time he has to climb up and get to her, but the answer is clearly no time at all. Already, he can see the woman’s grip beginning to slip, the metal platform of the billboard slick from the rain. She’s going to go plummeting to the ground, and Lucien has seconds to try and figure out what he’s going to do.

“Catch her, Daddy!” Willow cries out from behind him, just as the woman finally loses her hold.

Lucien keeps his eyes pinned on the falling woman, rushing to make sure he’s standing just beneath her, his arms outstretched and ready. He gets a mouthful of white, frilly fabric, and then they’re both crashing into the ground. Lucien winces at the pain that flares across his arms, in his knees from where they collided with the pavement, and he splutters around the dress as he shifts until he can finally take in the woman’s face.

He’s greeted by warm, wide brown eyes blinking up at him. Those honeyed curls are a bit of a mess around her face, but her expression is still all soft, pretty angles, a dusting of freckles littered across the apples of her cheeks.

“Thank you,” the woman tells him, offering a kind smile.

“Yeah, sure,” Lucien dismisses with a shrug, clambering back to his feet and helping the woman to hers. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Do you need me to call someone for you?”

The woman frowns in confusion at that, tilting her head and sending more hair cascading down her shoulder. “I don’t think they’d hear you from here.”

Lucien blinks a few times. “What?” Before he can finish with that line of questioning, a loud clap of thunder echoes overhead, promising another lashing of rain. “Listen… I’m sorry. What did you say your name was?”

“Elain.”

“Listen, Elain. We live just around the corner. You can come inside and dry off and then I can order you a car to take you wherever it is you’re trying to go, okay?”

“That’s so very kind of you. Thank you.”

With a nod, Lucien ushers both Elain and Willow back toward the car, making sure his daughter is buckled back in before returning to the driver’s seat. He takes a deep breath as he throws the car back into drive, daring to glance toward the backseat through the rearview mirror. He’s sure this is the craziest—definitely the stupidest—thing he’s ever done. It’s not like him to go around helping strangers, especially in the city, but there’s just something about this Elain. Something in those glittering brown eyes. He just hopes it's a decision he doesn't come to regret.

And besides, he’s only helping to call her a car anyways.

“And what is your name?” Elain asks, her attention entirely on Willow.

“Willow Vanserra. And Daddy’s name is Lucien. Are you a real princess?”

“Not yet, but I will be once I marry Prince Cassian. Today was actually meant to be our wedding day.”

Willow gasps at that, leaning in closer. “What happened?”

“Well, there was this old woman, and she brought me to a wishing well, and I must have looked too far because I fell and fell and then I ended up here.”

“Is that a habit of yours, then?” Lucien teases, pulling into their assigned spot in the parking garage of their building. “Falling off things?”

“Usually, someone catches me,” Elain informs her, her voice almost haughty, as she gets out of the car.

The change in tone takes Lucien by such surprise that he has to press his lips together firmly to bite back a smile. He goes around to the other side of the car, helping Willow out and taking her hand in his, leading all three of them inside and up to their floor.

“But it’s no matter,” Elain continues as they walk down the hallway of their floor. “Because I’m sure that Cassian is already looking for me to take me away from this awful land. And when he finds me, we will finally be wed and share in true love’s kiss.”

Lucien can’t stop the amused snort that tears free. “True love’s kiss?”

“It’s the most powerful thing in the world.”

“Sure it is,” Lucien mutters, unlocking their apartment door and ushering everyone inside. He walks over to their linen closet, grabbing a fresh towel and holding it out toward Elain. “You can dry off, and I’ll call you a car, okay?”

Elain takes the towel with a quiet thanks, using it to press the water from her hair, so Lucien heads for his office. He roots around the papers in his desk drawer until he finds the business card he’s looking for. Diggin his phone out of his pocket, he starts to type in the phone number.

“Daddy, she’s really sleepy,” Willow says, stepping into the doorway to his office.

“What…” Lucien starts before he glances over Willow’s shoulder, noticing Elain now asleep on their sofa. “Oh, no. Absolutely not.”

Lucien rushes past Willow and back into the living room of their apartment, his frustration beginning to flare at the sleeping woman in their home. This is clearly what he gets for trying to do the right thing, for trying to help.

“But Daddy, you can’t make her leave now. She’s a real princess,” Willow argues, hot on his heels.

“She’s not a real princess,” Lucien informs her, trying to keep his voice calm. “Now, will you please go get ready for bed while I handle this?”

Willow lets out a long, withering sigh, but she stomps off toward her bedroom. Lucien waits until the door clicks shut behind her before turning his attention back to Elain. He finishes dialing the car service and tucks the phone against his shoulder while it rings, reaching out with his hand to try and rouse Elain gently. But instead, Elain merely snuffles quietly and curls deeper into herself as she continues to sleep.

Lucien hates how much that small gesture tugs at his heart strings. He hates how much this woman he’s known less than an hour is already having such an effect on him. He hates how something about her seems to spark deep within his soul, urging him to protect, to help, like some long forgotten ancient beast finally waking from slumber.

With a quiet, resigned huff, Lucien ends the call on his phone and grabs a blanket instead, carefully draping it over Elain’s frame. One night can’t hurt, and in the morning, he’ll get her where she needs to go, and that will be that. That will be the end of whatever this is, and he'll send Elain on her way, never to be seen again. He’s sure of it.

—

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#elucien #elucienweek2023 #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #pro elucien #elucien fanfic #elucien fic #elain x lucien #elain and lucien #Enchanted AU #my fic

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