f1-05-writer

[f1-05-writer]

🍻 beer and bad decisions 🍻

pairing: best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: you've been hooking up with your best friend, steve rogers, and when he walks you home after his birthday celebration, you end up drunkenly making out against your front door—which leads to some reckless decisions.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, pwp, porn with feelings, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, just the tip, drunken kissing that leads to sex (both are clear-headed by the time they get to sex though), consent checks, enthusiastic consent, dry humping, vaginal fingering, thigh riding, nipple play, cockwarming, sex toys, dirty talk, daddy kink, breeding kink, praise kink, brief degradation kink, begging teasing, pet names (sunshine, baby), aftercare, happy ending

word count: 7.3k

a/n: after angsting all week about what i was going to write for steve rogers' birthday, i had a stroke of inspiration yesterday and then i worked on editing this fic today—and i'm getting it posted just in time!! i really, really, really love this fic ☺️ i wanted to do something with 'drunk makeout session' and 'just the tip' and this idea came together so well it actually surprised me! it might be my favorite birthday fic for steve that i've written yet! so i hope y'all enjoy ♡

A cool breeze swept through the dimly lit Brooklyn street, rustling the leaves of the trees lining the sidewalk and chasing away some of the July humidity that clung to the late evening air. 

An errant gust brushed along your legs, flirting with the edge of your dress as it swirled around your thighs. It teased you, as if hoping to catch your attention.

But you paid the summery breeze little mind. You had more important things to focus on, like drunkenly making out with your best friend, Steve Rogers, against the front door of the Brooklyn brownstone where you lived.

His big body was curled around yours, his thick, muscled arms feeling like bands of steel as they held you tight to his broad chest. His palms cradled your body, fingers splayed and digging into the bare skin of your back where your dress dipped low.

You could feel his need in every point of contact where he touched you, his hands clinging to you like he was afraid you’d be swept away on the summer breeze if he loosened his hold even a little bit. 

The way he held you made you feral, ravenous. You’d never get enough of Steve Rogers, and if he let you go—even for a moment—your body would combust, leaving only ashes and devastation in your wake.

A moan dragged its way up your throat, spilling into Steve’s kiss.

He slipped his tongue past your lips, messily licking the filthy sound from your mouth. His hands slid down your spine, bunching in the sweet sundress clinging to your curves as he hauled you even closer, until there wasn’t any space remaining between you.

Steve’s rumbling groan tasted like beer and bad decisions, and you gulped it down eagerly. 

The heady flavor of him went straight to your already hazy mind, making the edges of your mouth curl into a smile, before you met his tongue with your own, kissing him like you were starved for him.

Your fingers trailed up over Steve’s broad shoulders, reveling in the strength hidden just beneath the surface, before diving into his soft, blond hair. You raked your fingers through it greedily, mussing it up the way you’d wanted to all night. 

It had been torture to keep your hands to yourself at the bar where all your friends had assembled to celebrate Steve’s birthday, but you and your best friend were still keeping your hookups a secret. You’d both agreed not to tell everyone and risk blowing up the friend group until you knew what you had was real. 

It had occurred to you, though, while you’d been playing the part of the dutiful best friend and merely watching as Steve politely shrugged off the attention of other women that you were kidding yourself. What you felt for him was plenty real. 

But you weren’t ready to have those thoughts yet, so you’d drowned your feelings in beer and tried to have a good night at your best friend’s birthday party.

Steve didn’t make it easy to not think about him. You caught him staring at you across the crowded bar too many times to count throughout the night, even as his friends tried to get him drunk by buying him birthday beers. 

No matter what, though, Steve’s eyes always found you, and when the time came for everyone to go home, he’d insisted on walking you back to your Brooklyn brownstone. 

You’d hardly lingered even a moment at your front door before you were kissing your best friend, abandoning the pretense that you didn’t want his kiss more than you needed air.

“Invite me inside, sunshine,” Steve growled against your mouth, his hips grinding the hot, hard length of himself into your belly. “Or I’m gonna fuck you against your front door.” 

He sucked your lower lip into his mouth, dragging a whimper from you that had another, feral growl rumbling in his chest. 

“Unless you wanna give your neighbors a little show?” he mumbled against your lip, laughter in the warmth of his tone. 

You knew he was joking, but you still snorted at his suggestion. Your neighbors weren’t the type to take kindly to such a performance, but that wasn’t the real reason you didn’t like the idea—you didn’t want anyone else to see that side of Steve Rogers. 

He was all for you.

“No way, Rogers,” you shot back, your voice dripping with breathy excitement even as you tried for a teasing tone. “This show’s all mine,” you said, your hand slipping down his chest and palming his cock possessively through his jeans.

Steve’s hips kicked forward, grinding his hardness into your palm. He tried to kiss you, but he let out a groan so tortured, you began to take pity on him.

“You wanna—” you started to say, then you remembered something crucial and a bolt of sense shot down your spine. Your body stiffened in your best friend’s arms. 

Immediately, Steve eased back, giving you some space and straightening up so he could catch your eye. You’d known each other a long time, long enough that you could read the question in his blue eyes without him having to voice it.

“I don’t have any condoms,” you explained, your voice filled with anguish. “We used them up last week and I forgot to get more.” Hope made your body thrum as you asked, ���Do you have any?” 

Your best friend grimaced, his expression one of misery, and all the hope you’d felt a moment ago shattered. Steve’s head dropped, his forehead pressing to yours as he confirmed what you already knew.

“I don’t,” he said. “I meant to pick some up and forgot.”

You hummed in resigned acknowledgement, but even with that knowledge hanging in the air, you couldn’t seem to untangle yourself from Steve’s arms. 

Your nails raked idly through the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and you breathed in the comforting scent of him—the cologne he always wore and the leather of his jacket. 

Steve didn’t pull away either, holding you in his arms while his hands skimmed lightly up and down your back. Eventually, they settled on your waist, his fingers groping lazily at your soft curves.

Without saying anything, your bodies drifted closer together, as if your hearts and hips were magnetized and there was nothing either of you could do to resist the pull. 

Steve’s bulge brushed teasingly against your belly, and heat surged through your body, making you suck in a sharp breath as you pressed closer on purpose. 

He was so big, his shoulders so broad. His hardness was so hot and thick against your stomach.

You and Steve had been hooking up for a few months—ever since that fateful night when you’d leaned in to kiss him on the cheek after he’d walked you home, and you’d ended up kissing him on the lips. 

Even so many weeks later, you weren’t sure if he’d turned his head or you’d somehow missed. Personally, you suspected it was a combination of both, your bodies giving in to the attraction you’d both kept secret for years. 

But it didn’t matter, because that accidental kiss had led to more, and the two of you had been hooking up every chance you got ever since.

And that meant you knew all too well how good Steve’s cock felt inside you while he was wearing a condom—and you imagined he probably felt even better bare. 

In your opinion, your best friend’s cock was perfect. 

He was big and thick and filled you so good, stretching you out to make room for him without hurting you. And if it was that good when he wore a condom, you knew that letting Steve Rogers bury his cock in your cunt without anything between you would be amazing.

It could even be life-changing…

“Y’know there’s plenty we can do without condoms,” Steve said, tearing you from your dangerous thoughts and towing you back into the moment. 

His big hands were sliding around to your ass, his fingers digging in so he could hike you up against his thigh, which he pushed between your legs. 

“Bet I could get you off without even putting it inside.”

Steve’s smirking mouth found yours and he kissed you deeply, his lips sliding slowly against yours as he guided your hips to rock against him. He knew exactly what he was doing, angling you just right so your pussy dragged against the hard denim of his jeans and the thick muscle beneath. 

When your clit bumped against his hip, you tore your mouth from Steve’s with a gasp, but he only let out a low growl and chased after you, drinking down the sound like a starving man. 

You moaned your pleasure into your best friend’s mouth, feeling the tantalizing breeze swirling around your bare legs, teasing against the heat between your thighs. 

Already, you could feel yourself making a mess of your panties, soaking through the thin fabric to the point that you worried you’d leave a wet spot on Steve’s jeans with how tightly your soft, sodden pussy was pressed against his leg.

You knew Steve was right—he could absolutely make you come just by having you hump his thigh, but it was a special day and that didn’t seem good enough.

“But it’s your birthday,” you whined, pulling back enough to pout up at your best friend, giving him your best pleading, puppy dog look. “I want to give you more than some dry-humping, at least let me give you a birthday bj.”

“Baby,” Steve cooed admonishingly, sending sparks of pleasure dancing in your head. “There’s nothing dry about what I wanna do with you,” he rumbled, his hand sliding down your ass and slipping under your dress, finding the drippy slit between your thighs from behind.

The moment Steve’s fingers brushed against your aching core, you buried your face in his shoulder, muffling the obscene moan that spilled from your lips. Your body flushed hot, your muscles spasming as you tried to hump against his thigh and push back against his fingers at the same time.

Steve was stubborn when he wanted to prove a point, so his fingers pressed deeper, pushing your panties into your drippy, throbbing heat. He rubbed his fingertips along your soaking wet slit, rumbling a sound of deep male satisfaction in his broad chest.

“See, sunshine, you’re already fucking soaked for me,” Steve purred, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “It’d be a shame to let this go to waste.”

Between his fingers rubbing your pussy and his warm breath ghosting over your cheek, your best friend’s touches sent delightful shivers up and down your spine, and it wasn’t long before you were trembling in his arms. 

“Besides, it’s my birthday,” he went on, his voice dropping low so it wouldn’t carry on the evening breeze. “Which means you should let me have what I want—and what I want is to rub my cock against your hot, wet pussy until we both come.”

A breathy little laugh escaped your lips, and your shoulders shook under the onslaught of pleasure your best friend was wringing from your body on your front stoop. 

It didn’t take much thought to realize Steve was right. It was his birthday, and you wanted to give him exactly what he wanted. But that didn’t mean you had to make it easy for him.

“I guess that’s how it works,” you said, heaving an exaggerated sigh. Leaning back, you caught Steve’s eye and gave him a playful smirk to let him know you were joking, and were gratified to see his gaze sparkling with humor.

Then you did the hardest thing you’d ever done in your life—you extricated yourself from Steve’s arms, pushing his hand out of the way and easing off his thigh before digging in your bag for your keys. 

You spun around, grateful Steve still kept his arms looped around your waist since your knees were a little weak, and unlocked the door.

Before you opened it, you cocked your head to the side and turned to Steve, letting your eyes rake over his handsome face as you shot him a flirty smile and murmured, “But just so you know, the offer for a birthday bj is still on the table.”

He chuckled, the sound husky and hot as his hands gripped your hips and he ground his erection into your ass. “Good to know, sunshine—now get this cute butt inside,” he rumbled, pushing you gently through the front door of the brownstone.

You lived on the top floor of the building, which had been converted into apartments, and thankfully, you and Steve knew the way up the stairs well enough that you didn’t have to pay much attention. 

Instead, you could focus on more important things, like kissing and groping each other’s bodies, trying to make the other even more feral. 

You grinned when you felt Steve’s cock twitch whenever your palm or fingertips brushed against it, drinking down his groans of torture, just like he smirked and greedily devoured your moans when he copped a feel under your dress, cupping your pussy possessively in his big hand and making you clench pitifully around nothing.

At the door to your apartment, Steve barely gave you a chance to unlock it before he was propelling you through it and kicking it closed, reaching back to make sure the lock had latched. 

From there, the two of you made quick work of shedding your clothes. Steve helped you drag your dress up over your head, tossing somewhere in the hallway as you stumbled together toward your bedroom. 

His shirt joined it a moment later, and you paused in the threshold of your room, admiring the broad shoulders and golden, sun-kissed skin of your best friend’s bare chest. A dim lamp was on beside your bed, and you took a moment just to appreciate the gloriousness of Steve Rogers. 

After a slow sweep of his body, the urge to touch him struck again, and you crashed back into your best friend, your mouths fusing together in a fierce kiss while your hands continued exploring.

Your fingers trailed across the breadth of Steve’s shoulders, then down the sculpted planes of his pecs until you reached the little divots demarcating his abs. You loved the layer of softness covering his muscles, and the way his waist tapered down, as if inviting you to his cock.

Steve huffed a shaky laugh, his stomach contracting beneath your touch when your fingertips dug hungrily into his abs, and you felt him smile against your mouth. 

With a grin, you suddenly remembered your best friend was ticklish. But before you could exploit that knowledge, he was shucking off his jeans and boxer briefs, letting his cock bounce free, and distracting you entirely from thoughts of torturing him with tickles.

Steve Rogers’ cock was a thing of perfection. You swore it was sculpted by the gods themselves to turn you into a squirming, lustful creature with nothing on your mind besides touching him, stroking him, taking him inside your body. 

If you’d been able to speak in that moment, you would’ve blurted that he could take any hole he wanted for his birthday, just so long as he was inside you. But then you remembered what he wanted, and heat suffused your body, gathering between your thighs. 

Unable to hold back another moment, you reached for him, your fingers curling around the perfect girth of Steve’s cock. He was long and hard, and you knew from experience that he filled you up perfectly, like his body was made to fit your own.

When you gave him a firm, affectionate stroke with your fist, you wrung a pleasured groan from your best friend, his head tipping back and showing off the long length of his throat, his adam’s apple bobbing just for you.

“Sunshine,” Steve growled, his voice a low, delicious rumble that licked a long line of heat down your spine. 

You watched as he gathered himself and reached behind your back. 

With a quick twist of his fingers, he undid your bra and yanked it off your body. The garment had barely hit the floor before his hands were on you again, his big palms cupping your tits, fingers plucking at your nipples. 

The cool air of your room teased across your bare skin, warring with the heat building in your body, erupting in bursts of pleasure everywhere Steve touched you. It felt so good, but it wasn’t enough—you didn’t think you’d ever get enough of him.

So you kissed your best friend harder, your tongue tangling with his as you moaned into his mouth and stroked his cock. His fingers pinched your nipples and pulled, sending sparks of an aching, exciting pleasure through your body, and you mewled loudly, squeezing his cock tight in your fingers.

Steve thrust into your grip, chasing your hand as you pumped his cock in a slow, lazy rhythm. Your mouths slid against each other messily, the kiss devolving as both your moans grew louder. 

Steve’s hands skimmed down your sides, grabbing the plush curve of your hips in a delicious squeeze before slipping his fingers under your panties and shoving them down to your feet. 

Finally, you were both naked, and you pressed close to him, mindless moans falling from your lips as you felt the heat and solid firmness of his body against yours. It felt so fucking good, you could lose yourself in it.

Steve growled against your mouth, pulling you back into the moment as he muttered, “Get on the bed before I toss you down myself.”

A panting laugh burst from your lips even as a bolt of heat shot straight down your spine. The thought of your best friend manhandling you onto your bed was too good to pass up, so you hooked your free arm around his shoulders. 

“Mm, actually I think I’d like to see that, Rogers,” you shot back, an insolent challenge in your tone. To drive your point home, you nipped at his lower lip playfully, satisfied when it had the desired reaction.

With a deliciously deep growl, Steve grabbed the backs of your thighs and tumbled you down onto the bed. Your back landed on the soft blankets, but he didn’t stop there, his hands digging beneath your body and moving you up the mattress until your head hit the pillows. 

A delighted, breathy laugh tore from your lips and you wrapped your free hand around the back of Steve’s neck, dragging him in for another messy, filthy kiss. He licked your laughter from your tongue, your hand still pumping his cock while he manhandled you into the position he wanted.

His hands slid down to your legs, grabbing them and pushing your knees up toward your chest, spreading your thighs until they bracketed your breasts. Then he sat back, his cock slipping from your grasp, and stared down at you, a smirk on his flushed face as he admired his work.

You were folded in half, your pussy on full display for your best friend while he loomed above you like a golden god. You were entirely at his mercy, and you couldn’t possibly be happier.

Steve’s blue eyes were bright and shining in the dim light of your room, all remnants of the drunken haze having been burned away by his desire for you. He looked so handsome—his blond hair mussed by your hands, and his eyes burning with lust for you—that it took your breath away. 

Your heart thumped in your chest, butterflies whirled in your belly, and you knew right then that Steve Rogers was way more than your best friend. He was…yours. 

He was yours and you were his. But what that meant, and how exactly you felt about him, could wait to be unpacked and discussed in the morning. 

Still, you suspected Steve had an idea about what you were thinking and feeling by the way his eyes narrowed on you, darkening when they raked over your expression. 

He’d been your best friend long enough to know you, and somehow, you were sure he knew exactly how you felt—and he felt the same way.

A shaky smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as you stared up at him, feeling just as clear-headed as he looked—if a little drunk on the yearning desire simmering between you. 

Steve smiled back at you, his eyes filled with so much affection, it made your heart feel warm and cozy and secure.

“Ready, sunshine?” Steve asked, his words gruff and tentative. 

You got the sense he was asking about more than just what you two were about to do. But Steve Rogers was your best friend, and you knew you were safe in his hands. So you nodded, your mouth curving into a beaming smile. 

“Ready, Stevie,” you answered sweetly, tilting your hips up and holding your legs spread for him, giving him your pussy the way you’d already given him your heart. 

A grin stole across his face and Steve shifted closer, until his cock slid against your pussy, making you whimper while he grunted at the feel of you.

“Fuck, baby,” Steve groaned, staring down at his cock dragging between your slick folds. “You have the prettiest pussy, ya know that?” 

His hands stroked down your inner thighs, goose bumps raising in their wake, before settling in the juncture between your legs. Using his thumbs, he pushed his cock deeper into your slit, bullying between your soft, swollen lower lips to drench himself in your dripping desire.

“The prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen in my life.” 

His voice was ragged with barely leashed hunger, his blue eyes dark and focused as he stared down at where his cock was splitting your pussy lips open around his thick length. He rolled his hips, fucking against you at a steady, maddeningly slow pace.

“Steve,” you cried in a keening whine, lifting your hips up off the bed to roll against the underside of his cock. Your fingers clawed at the blankets of your bed, desperate to cling to something while he drove you wild.

You could feel every hard ridge and throbbing vein on his shaft, could feel the way the flushed tip bullied your clit as he pushed through your folds over and over and over again. You could feel the way your slick coated his hard length, making him slide more easily against your hot, needy cunt.

“Fuck,” you cursed, your body writhing on the bed. Your lips moved, words spilling from your mouth before you could even think to bite them back. “Oh god, daddy, you feel so good.”

A low, delicious chuckle sounded above you and you cracked your eyes open in time to see Steve flicking his gaze to your face. He wore a crooked grin that only highlighted his flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.

“Already calling me daddy, baby?” he teased, leaning down until he was hovering above you, his thumbs still pressing his cock as deep into your slit as it would go without pushing inside your tight hole. “I’m not even inside you—usually you don’t go dumb for me until I’m balls deep in your hot little pussy.”

Steve’s words sent a rush of heat through your body so devastating, your spine arched up off the bed and your eyes rolled back in your head. A loud, throaty, obscene moan wrenched from your lips, and you could feel your cunt clenching pitifully around nothing. 

You were so lost in the reaction of your body, your mouth opened and you spoke again without thinking. 

“Put it in, Steve,” you panted, still squirming beneath his larger form. With great effort, you opened your eyes and met your best friend’s gaze. “Just the tip, just a little bit. Please.” 

At your pleading words, Steve went completely still. 

You expected him to shut you down—gently, of course—so you were surprised when you saw the conflict in his eyes. 

His mouth twisted with desire, and his gaze turned scorching as he stared down at you. But his brows were pulled together, a divot of uncertainty marring his handsome face. 

“Sunshine,” he growled, his voice a deep, delicious rumble as he shifted above you, planting his hands on the mattress on either side of your body so he could lean down close to you. 

His eyes searched yours for a moment before he went on.

“I don’t… I genuinely don’t know if I’ll be able to stop,” he confessed, his words rough and blistering, like he’d dragged them from the depths of his soul. “I know how good you feel with a condom—like fucking heaven wrapped around my cock…”

He trailed off, his fingers smoothing over your cheek before trailing down to trace along your lower lip. You stayed still, your breath caught in your throat, mesmerized by the sight of your best friend wrestling with your request for him to fuck you bare. 

“If you let me put it in without a condom, even just the tip, I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to stop myself from pushing all the way in—from pounding into your cunt until I make you come on my cock and fill you up with so much of my seed, you’ll be leaking for the rest of the night.”

Shivers zipped through your body until you were trembling beneath Steve, and you had to close your eyes for a brief moment while you collected your thoughts, which had been scattered across your bedroom floor by his filthy words. 

When you blinked your eyes open, you found your best friend—your Steve Rogers—watching you closely, his brows still furrowed with concern. For a moment, you were so thankful that life had led you to him, because you didn’t want to be in this moment with anyone but him.

You knew it was risky to have bare sex. You were on birth control, but you knew there was always the possibility that it failed, which was why you used condoms. 

But in that moment, you didn’t care about the risk half as much as you wanted Steve to fuck you bare. And once you allowed yourself to want that, you wanted it so fucking bad. 

You wanted Steve to fuck you raw and come inside you, fill you up until his seed spilled over. 

Besides, you reasoned with yourself, if the worst happened, you knew your best friend wouldn’t abandon you. You’d never felt safer than in Steve Rogers’ arms, and you knew that if you got pregnant, you’d figure it out together. 

So you let a smile curl the corners of your lips and you turned your head, pressing a sweet kiss into the palm of Steve’s hand. He’d been cupping your face, his thumb stroking your cheek, while he waited patiently for you to make your decision. 

You could still smell the faint trace of beer on your breath as you exhaled against Steve’s palm, and you remembered what you’d thought when you were drunkenly making out against your front door—he tasted like beer and bad decisions. 

Maybe someone else would say your decision was a bad one, but you didn’t care. It was yours, and it was Steve’s, and you were excited to make it together. 

“I trust you, Steve,” you whispered, turning your face back to him. You stared deep into his eyes, showing him the surety of how you felt. Then you let your mouth curve into a playful smile. “What’s a little birthday breeding between friends?”

Steve’s expression was inscrutable for a moment. Then a grin broke across his face like the sun emerging from behind a cloud, and he huffed an amused laugh. 

Ducking his head, he stole a kiss from your lips before pulling back to hover above you again.

“You’re ridiculous, sunshine,” he murmured, nothing but affectionate teasing in his tone. He pressed his forehead to yours, and you stayed like that for a moment before he spoke again. “We’ll get the morning after pill tomorrow, yeah? I’ll take care of you—we can watch all those silly movies you like.”

Happiness bubbled up inside you and it spilled out in the form of a goofy laugh, which you silenced by wrapping your arms around Steve’s shoulders and dragging him down for another kiss. This one was slower, sweeter, the two of you savoring each other as the heat between you began to build again.

“You’re the best, Stevie,” you said sweetly on an exhale, your lashes fluttering as your eyes opened. You met Steve’s gaze above you, trying to fight off a flirty smirk as you taunted him. “Now, will you put it in already?” 

Steve huffed a surprised laugh, stealing one last kiss before sitting back up on his knees and shooting you a good-natured glare. “Remember, sunshine, it’s my birthday—so be good.” 

At the steely, commanding growl in your best friend’s voice, you lost the fight against the smile trying to spread across your face. You grinned up at Steve as you settled back into the pillows on your bed, spreading your thighs wider and using your arms to push your tits together, offering them up for your best friend.

“Yes, sir,” you purred, watching Steve’s gaze rake appreciatively down your body until it fixed on your cunt, where his cock was still wedged between your folds. 

Before you could tease him any more, Steve pulled his hips back and pushed forward, dragging the hard length of his cock through your drippy, messy pussy lips. 

A moan tumbled from your lips, and your hands found their way to your tits, your fingers pinching your nipples while Steve slid his cock through your slit, coating himself in your slick juices. 

He thrust against you a few more times, his pace slow and controlled, driving you wild until you were whining and writhing beneath him, staring up at him with heavy-lidded eyes.  

“Please, daddy,” you panted pitifully. “Just the tip.”

Steve’s eyes flicked to yours, so much heat in his gaze that you felt it burning through your entire body and making your cunt pulse between your thighs. His blue eyes darkened as he watched you, a wicked smirk curving his perfect mouth.

“Ya want the tip, baby?” he crooned, his tone patronizing and a little bit mean. 

A woeful whimper fell from your lips as you nodded your head eagerly, your eyes opening wide and giving Steve your best pleading look. “Please, Stevie.”

His grin widened, turned wolfish, and it was your only warning. He pulled his hips back until the tip of his cock notched at the entrance of your tight hole, ready to give you exactly what you wanted.

Steve paused there, both of you holding your breath. Your eyes locked with his, a hungry, greedy smile curving your lips to match his grin, and then he was pushing forward.

Your chest heaved with a gasp, your tits bouncing, when the thick head of Steve’s cock slid into your pussy. He breached you slowly, making you feel every bit of your pussy enveloping the tip of his cock in your warmth. 

Once he was inside, Steve paused, his eyes sliding closed and his head tipping back. An obscene groan fell from his lips, and it looked like he was having a religious experience. 

You understood, because the feeling of having the hot, hard tip of your best friend’s cock inside you bare was searing itself into your mind.

Time stretched on, and it felt like the entire universe was rearranging itself to lengthen the moment, letting you live in it long enough to savor it fully—and then grow restless for more.

Before you could beg your best friend to stuff you full of even more of his cock, Steve pulled back. The tip slipped out of your tight hole, so he was only pressed against your entrance, and it left you feeling so empty you could cry. 

A whimper of protest tumbled from your lips and Steve cooed your nickname soothingly as he pushed the head of his cock back into your snug cunt. You moaned your appreciation, your nails digging into his taut forearms while he held himself above you.

“Christ, baby, you feel so fucking good,” Steve groaned, rolling his hips in steady, measured movements so he was fucking you with only the tip of his cock. “Your pussy’s so warm and tight—it feels like you’re sucking me deeper, sunshine, do you want me deeper?”

“Nngh, yes, please,” you cried, your arms hooked around the backs of your knees, keeping your body folded in half because you knew if you let go, you’d drag Steve deeper into your pussy in an instant. “Gimme your cock, daddy, stuff me full—please, Steve, I need it!”

“Then take it, sunshine,” Steve growled, thrusting into you another inch, his eyes closing as he reveled in the feeling of your tight heat wrapping around his cock. “Fuck, so good, baby. You feel so good on my cock.” 

“Steve,” you wailed your best friend’s name on a choking sob, pleasure sweeping through your body in dizzying waves. “You’re splitting me open—oh god, it feels so good, daddy, I want it all!”

Steve was burying his cock deeper with every roll of his hips and it felt so scorchingly good. His hot, hard cock was spearing into you, rewriting the very fiber of your being to etch himself into your soul—and you welcomed it happily, eagerly. 

“Please, Steve, give it all to me! I need it—I need your cock, please!”

“You want it all, you’ll get it all, baby,” Steve grunted, his hips snapping forward with a vicious thrust. The move pushed his hard length all the way into you, so you were completely connected in the most intimate way possible.

Pleasure surged through your body in a devastating swell, and a scream fell from your lips when Steve finally filled you up to the hilt. His cock was stuffed so deep in your pussy, you could feel his balls nestled against your ass. And it was exactly what you needed.

“Thank you, daddy,” you sobbed in pleasure, your mind scattered in the wind, your hands reaching blindly for your best friend. “That’s s’good—so full, ungh, yes.”

Steve chuckled, leaning down and gathering you up in his arms. His mouth found yours and he kissed you sweetly, sucking on your swollen lower lip before licking inside your mouth. His tongue stroked against yours, wringing a soft moan from you before he pulled back.

“Thank you, sunshine,” he murmured, the warm tone of his voice so drenched in affection it penetrated some of the blissful haze filling your head. “Feeling your precious cunt wrapped around my bare cock is the best birthday gift anyone’s ever given me—you feel like heaven, baby, like you were made just for me.”

“I was, Steve,” you babbled, your heavy-lidded eyes blinking through the fog of pleasure to focus on your best friend. “I was made for you, and you were made for me—you fill me up so good, Stevie.”

Your words dissolved on a whine, your hips writhing beneath Steve’s big body, wordlessly urging him to move and fuck you. 

With another sweet kiss that stole your breath, Steve took the hint. His hips pulled back a little, then he rocked into you, his cock splitting you open all over again. He cradled your head in his hands as he rolled his hips, fucking you in deep, firm thrusts. 

Your tits bounced against his chest, his warm, taut muscles rubbing the puckered peaks of your nipples, and you arched your spine to get more of that delicious friction. Needing him closer, you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, and you clung to him, your fingers tangling in his soft, messy hair. 

But it wasn’t enough. You didn’t know if you’d ever get enough of Steve, get close enough. You wanted to be wrapped around him, pressed so tight it felt like you were one.

So you curled your legs around the backs of his thighs, using the leverage to meet his thrusts and drag him deeper into your body until you were nearly fused together. The two of you were little more than tangled limbs and writhing hips, your cunt grinding down on Steve’s cock as he throbbed inside you.

And all the while, your mouths stayed slanted together, even though you were long past being able to kiss. 

You tasted beer on Steve’s breath as he panted into your mouth, and you moaned your pleasure right back, smiling wildly when he licked the sound from your lips. 

Nothing about this was a bad decision, you decided. It couldn’t be, not when it felt so fucking right. 

“Fuck, baby, ‘m getting close,” Steve rasped against your mouth, one of his hands cupping the back of your head. He curled the fingers of his other hand around the curve of your shoulder, holding you in place while he pounded into you. “Tell me what you want, sunshine.”

“Come inside me,” you gasped, tugging on his hair until you could look into your best friend’s eyes. “Breed me, Steve, fill me up over and over until your seed is dripping out of my achy hole.”

Your best friend’s eyes darkened so much they were nearly black, his handsome face twisting with feral hunger as he fucked you harder, rutting deep inside you with his thick, heavy cock. 

“You’re such a filthy fucking slut, sunshine,” he growled, staring deep into your eyes, his gaze reverent and wild, “And so fucking perfect.”

His fingers brushed against your cheek with a surprising gentleness, and then he was stretching his arm out, fumbling with the drawer in your bedside table while he held your gaze with his own. 

Your heart lurched in your chest when you realized what he was looking for, and your pussy squeezed excitedly around his cock. “Daddy,” you breathed, need dripping from your tone. 

The way you sounded made Steve’s lips curve into an arrogant smirk, but he had every right to be arrogant. He knew exactly how to use that perfect cock of his, and he knew that pairing it with the toy in your bedside table would thoroughly ruin you.

“You’ve been such a good girl for daddy, sunshine, I’m gonna make you come so hard,” Steve promised. 

He snagged the small, but powerful vibrator from the drawer and brought it toward you. With deft hands, he slipped it down between your bodies, wedging it against your clit and holding it steady while he fucked you. 

“I wanna feel your greedy cunt milking all the seed from my balls, baby—gonna fill you up and breed you good.”

Then, Steve pressed the button on the toy and it came to life, sending wickedly strong vibrations straight into your clit. 

Sparks danced across your vision and you sucked in a sharp breath, your body careening toward your release at breakneck speed.

Between Steve’s thick, perfect cock filling your cunt and the vibrator pressed to your clit, you never had a chance of holding on to the edge. Your best friend pushed you over and the tension in your body snapped, sending you into free-fall as you came apart on his cock.

A strangled scream tore from your lips and your body clenched hard, your cunt squeezing so tight around Steve’s cock, he grunted loudly. 

The flash of his feral grin and the hungry spark in his blue eyes were the last things you saw before your eyes rolled back in your head and you lost yourself in the ecstasy of your release.

Your body convulsed with pleasure beneath Steve’s heavy form, and he groaned his own need, his hips rutting into you as he chased his peak. He found it only a moment later, the vibrations from the toy and the tight squeeze of your throbbing pussy too much for him.

Steve came with a roaring groan, tossing the vibrator onto the blankets before wrapping you up in his thick arms. His hips shoved flush against yours, his cock filling your cunt as it twitched and spilled his seed against your cervix. 

You were still gasping for air, the waves of your release crashing through your body. You could feel him throbbing his load into you and you moaned softly, tugging on his hair until his mouth found yours for a messy kiss. 

You kissed as your bodies writhed together, eking out every last bit of pleasure from your releases. 

Even when you were both spent, Steve’s body slumping down on top of you—as much as he could without crushing you—you kept kissing. You made out for long, languorous moments until your mouths finally slowed to a stop. 

“I’ll never get tired of kissing you, sunshine,” Steve murmured against your lips, one of his hands cradling the back of your head while the other stroked your thigh soothingly. “You taste so sweet, like sunshine and summer breezes.”

You laughed breathily into your best friend’s mouth, voicing the thought you’d had earlier in the night, when you’d been making out against your front door. 

“You taste like beer and bad decisions,” you said, swallowing the grunt of protest from your best friend. “And I love it, Stevie—I never wanna kiss anyone else.”

A slow smile curved the corners of his mouth, pressing his happy grin into your lips, and it wasn’t until he spoke that you realized what you’d said. 

“You love it, huh, sunshine?” he teased, rolling onto his side and dragging you with him, hiking your thigh over his hip so his cock didn’t slip from your pussy. “Is that the only thing you love, baby?” 

Steve pulled back, giving you a mock serious look, the edges of his lips fluttering as he held back a smile. He looked so devastatingly handsome, his cheeks flushed pink, his blond hair mussed, his blue eyes sparkling with humor and affection. 

“It’s my birthday,” he said in an overly serious tone, fighting to keep the stern look on his face. “So you gotta tell me the truth.”

You knew what Steve was asking of you, but you weren’t ready to confess your feelings for him just yet. So you rolled your eyes in an excuse to look away from the all-too-knowing gaze of your best friend, and shook your head at him.

“Just shut up and kiss me, Rogers,” you hissed with little heat, wrapping your fingers around the back of his neck and dragging him close. “Besides, your birthday’s probably over by now,” you mumbled against his mouth, nipping playfully at his lower lip.

Steve chuckled, his warm breath ghosting over your skin and making you shiver. His hand slid up your thigh and groped your ass, holding your hips tight against his body, making sure your pussy was keeping his cock warm until he was ready for another round.

“Guess I’ll have to wait until next year to get the truth out of you, huh, sunshine?” Steve asked teasingly, a laugh in the warmth of his tone. 

Instead of answering, you slanted your lips to his and kissed your best friend with all the love you had for him. 

You felt him take a deep breath, his arms tightening around your body, crushing you to his chest as he kissed you back, showing you he felt the same. 

The words and confessions of feelings could come later. For the rest of Steve Rogers’ birthday, you were happy sharing nothing more than beer and bad decisions with him.

[f1-05-writer]

welcome to the hard deck

hello friends 💙

I have a couple perpetual WIPs, so I don’t know that requests are necessarily open, but if you ask me for Hangman/Coyote content, I can be bullied very easily. my current masterlist is under the cut 🥰

Most of my works include smut, and even if they didn't, I reblog a lot of it—this blog is not a space for minors. if you are not over 18, or if your age is not in your bio or a pinned post, you will be blocked.

FICS

As a rule, if it's a Reader fic, it's going to be in second person, but no use of "Y/N" inline (nothing against that, just not my speed). My f!Reader characters are meant to be body and race inclusive, but I am a plus sized, mixed, no-longer-in-her-early-twenties gal so my characters will be slanted that way!

~~ asterisks indicate smut ~~

BOB x NICOLE

i want to love you till it’s devastating (in progress, 1/3) // bob pays a visit to a new tattoo artist

BOB x READER

as if it doesn’t turn you on, just to say it* // reader convinces bob to dress up as Hot Priest for halloween...and he gets in to character

do you wanna make somethin' of it* // our favorite WSO has a side hustle, as quinn’s favorite cowboy.

it'd be a sweet situation* // reader convinces bob to let her listen as he records a new audio...and can't help but get involved

COYOTE x READER (sometimes known as "cross")

santa baby (ben an awful good girl)* // Javy is in costume for a christmas party on base, and maybe they have sex on the santa throne

your love is the love i need * // Javy told a white lie to his mother, reader is in love with him anyways, so plays along

HANGMAN x JULIE

california coast in your green eyes // Jake falls in love with Bob's older sister

i'll carry my bags just until I can hold you again *(in progress, 4/5) // a second chance thanksgiving romance with fake dating, family drama, and jake x jules.

except for maybe you, and your simple smile * // The morning after Payback’s bachelor party, Hangman shows his girlfriend how much he appreciates her. 

HANGMAN X READER

can’t unfeel that * // jake and his FWB ignore their feelings and discover a breeding kink

I know you want it, do-si-don’tcha * // hangman and his girlfriend walk home in the rain, and warm up back at the airbnb.

kinda might, sorta like, love you a little bit * // jake and his FWB ignore their feelings and explore her choking kink

out of the blue, clear sky * // jake and pilot!reader refuse to be out-southerned

talk with my hands, maybe take it real slow * // jake helps take care of reader's new tattoo...and some other things

start the new year right * // jake and reader are stranded in a motel on new years eve, with only one bed

the best me has his arms around you //  Jake and his girlfriend share a slowdance after Javy’s wedding. 

you stole my heart right off of my lips * // jake and his girlfriend explore his admiral kink

yours * // after returning stateside just in time for Javy’s wedding after a long deployment, Jake and his girlfriend make up for lost time.

ROOSTER X READER

i was supposed to sweat you out* // reader is totally not jealous that her FWB is being hit on at the hard deck.

my forever, every day* // rooster and his girlfriend get sidetracked on a drive down the PCH

PLAYLISTS

songs to fall in love with your best friend (coyote x cross)

songs to fall in love with your WSO's sister (jake x julie)

songs to fall in love with your tattoo artist (bob x cole)

[f1-05-writer]

Sticky Situation [Band!Azriel]

SUMMARY: With the summers heat blazing a little too hot, Azriel struggles to keep his grip on control when it comes to you and an ice pop. (1.6k)

WARNINGS: swearing, smut; dirty talk, blowjobs, spitting, Az having a very vivid and sinful imagination.

A/N: it’s been a hot minute since I’ve given you guys anything new so here we go! This is a rewrite of an old fic for a previous fandom I used to write for. I've wanted to play about with a band AU for a little while and thought rewritting this to Azriel would be a good place to start.

Azriel’s head often finds itself wedged in the gutter when certain things have the potential to be taken in a different, more suggestive way. He doesn’t exactly go out of his way to find dirty innuendos in people’s conversations, his mind just willingly takes him there before an innocent thought can come first.

Oftentimes, Azriel will try to hide his amusement at the dirty thought; purse his lips and bow his head to hide his growing grin and mischievous eyes. But there are also times where Azriel doesn’t bother biting his tongue and giggles like a relentless schoolboy who doesn’t know a thing about sex.

But Azriel knows all the things about sex. It’s never been a secret that he’s well experienced in that department, though often stays quiet when the topic rises through casual conversation with friends. Azriel is private about a lot of things when it comes to keeping his personal life out of the public eye and he often takes the same approach when it comes to discussing past sexual partners with his friends after a few drinks.

Tonight isn’t much different. Everyone is back in the studio after a long day of Azriel’s angelic voice and Cassian shredding the guitar. You joined them almost four hours ago after work and since your arrival, the little studio has only grown hotter and hotter and you’re borderline sweltering.

You’ve all had a couple of drinks (not that they were allowed in the studios) and your cheeks have been burning from the effects of the alcohol for over an hour. You’re laying on the floor, knees bent and feet flat as you pat the beat to Azriel’s song on your stomach. Azriel sits on the sofa beside you, flared trousers and that yellow t-shirt. He’s gazing down at you, a lazy grin on his lips and brows slightly raised as he nods to the beat.

You’re about to reach the best part, the beat that sets your body in blazes of fire when the music is abruptly switched off and you’re sitting up with furrowed brows and tightly pursed lips. Nesta stands at the doorway, paper bag in her hand and a golden grin on her lips.

She empties the contents of the bag on the end of the sofa, six red and blue popsicles bouncing off each other. You squeal in delight, your heart fluttering in the excitement of finally having something to cool your heated state down.

You waste no time to tear the wrapper from a cherry flavoured lolly, your fingers gripping the end of the stick as you bring it to your lips. Azriel grimaces as he watches everyone do the same, squirming at how the icy treat already begins to melt in the stuffy air of the little studio booth.

Azriel eyes the spare one up but decides against it. The last thing he wants is a sticky hand and a brain freeze. He decides he’ll just sweat it out. But as he turns back to you, your eyes are fluttering closed and your lips are stretched deliciously around the lolly as you sink your mouth down on it until your lips close again around the base.

His throat feels dry and he can feel himself struggling in his loose pants. Azriel watches you slowly pull back off it, a soft hum sounding through your chest as a wet kissy noise punctures his ears and your eyes flutter open again—soaked, pink tongue darting over your swollen lips.

His mind is reeling, his cock stiffening and oozing. What the fuck? Azriel’s always adored you as a person. A bubbly personality and a radiant smile. You’ve always been a close friend of his, someone he often confided in and could trust and vent to. And he’s always found you attractive, but never once has he looked at you like this and he doesn’t know what to do.

Your eyes are hooded and somewhat heavy and he knows it’s from the effects of the alcohol but that dirty part of him is wondering if that’s what you’d look like fucked out on his cock. Oh, God… what’s gotten into him? Azriel can’t shake the thoughts from his head, though. The more he tries, the stronger they are, the clearer he can see his little fantasy play out in front of him.

You’re on your knees, just inches from where he sits. Your hair is a mess and your skin is dotted with a sheen layer of sweat and fuck does he want to taste you. Your lips are swollen from the icy treat and it drips down your thumb just a little. You’re caught in conversation with Nesta but you dip your head down and your undoubtedly skilled tongue laps up the juice.

Azriel just about loses it, standing abruptly and leaving the studio booth. He ignores everyone’s calls, only one thing on his mind: you. His cock is growing harder with every rushed step he takes and as he bursts into the bathroom, he tugs his pants down and slides the bolt across the lock.

His back is pressed against it, head thrown back and his hand is around his cock in lightning speed. Heavy breaths flutter through his chest as he squeezes his generous length. He feels dirty, sinful. He shouldn’t be getting off to the thought of you sucking his cock like you sucked the lolly, but he is and the wrongness of it all makes it even more exciting.

Azriel’s eyes flutter closed, shaky breaths slipping past his lonely lips. His lashes lay delicately across his cheekbones and his scarred, ringed fingers send chills up his spine. He reaches his thumb around to his tip, smearing his arousal across his head and jutting his hips defiantly into his fist.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he rasps, and behind his closed lids, he can see you on your knees for him, pretty lashes fluttering as you stare up at him with your dainty hand wrapped around his throbbing dick. He feels himself twitch in his hand at the sight. His imagination has always gotten away with him.

“So pretty for me, baby. Such a good girl,” he sighs breathlessly, chest heaving and beads of salty sweat begin to dot across his tattooed skin. 

He sees you smirk up at him, a sinister glimmer in those innocent eyes. He can feel your tongue smooth across his shaft before your lips curl around his head. He can feel you sink down on him, the velvety feeling of your soaked cheeks as they hollow around his length, feel his tip nudging softly against the back of your throat.

“Fuck,” he drawls out, spare hand clenching into a fist and his head rolls back again. He wants to reach for your hair, to grab a handful and tug, force your face further down his thick cock but you’re not there. He pumps himself faster, adding a generous squeeze to his base as he twists expertly, imagining the way you’d rub what you couldn’t fit in that heavenly mouth of yours.

“Good girl, baby. Keep sucking for me, just like that,” Azriel’s dick is throbbing, head pinky-purple and his knees are jittering. His tip is leaking uncontrollably, his cock soaked from his own arousal and he wishes to fucking God it was your spit or the arousal from your pussy instead. His jaw falls slack at the thought.

Now he can’t get your pussy out of his head. Can’t stop picturing your swollen lips and pulsing clit. The image is so fucking vivid; the idea of him peeling your thighs apart and inhaling your sweet scent, spreading a finger through your soft folds and swirling his digit around your arousal, spreading the wetness all over your cunt.

Azriel’s pace picks up and he can feel a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach. He keeps going, faster and faster. He can imagine teasing your little hole, wrapping his lips around your nub and sucking the sweet moans out of you, fucking a finger in your tight cunt and curling against that spot he knows would have your toes curling.

Azriel can see it all, your full breasts bouncing, nipples pearling and chest heaving. He can see you throwing your head back, your jaw-dropping slack and filthy fucking moans slipping from that sinful tongue. He can almost feel how tight your pussy is, how wet and warm it feels around him. He can hear the sounds drumming through his ears; your cunt squelching with every thrust as you suckle his fingers into your warm mouth.

He can imagine you begging him for more, desperate and eager. “Need your cock, baby. Harder, Azzy. Fuck!” His cock spasms in his tight grip, his face reddening as the veins in his forehead and neck begin to pop. Azriel’s a grunting mess as he chases his high, can see you back on your knees again, grinning up at him as you milk him for everything he has.

His vision is white, eyes closed but he can still see that devilish face with the halo over your head, wrapped around those red horns. “Ugh, fuck,” he cries out, falling back against the door and he cums, long and hard; thick ribbons of white arousal, his knees buckling as he gasps for breath through his high.

In his mind, he’s come all over your face and you’re licking it all up, jaw wide and tongue awaiting a taste impatiently. But when he opens his eyes, his hand and fingers are soaked in his salty arousal and he’s fucked, trying to ease his breathing as he blinks away the white spots of pleasure and focuses back on what’s real.

His cock softens in his hold, arm aching and as he releases his dick, his fingers stretch and strings of his pleasure are found laced between his fingers. Azriel sighs out a fucked laugh and does nothing to bite back the smile that makes its way on his face.

Guess he ended up with a sticky hand after all.

Thank you for reading!! If you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a reblog and leaving some feedback!! <3

[f1-05-writer]

Prim and Proper - Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Some suggestiveness

Masterlist of Masterlists

Summary: Y/n and Azriel get dressed for a party at the Court of Nightmares in their own special way.

Author's note: This has been sitting unfinished in my drafts. Time to get it out into the world.

The taste of metal seeped onto your tongue, the bite of iron grating against your teeth as you held a pile of pins between your lips. You sat in front of your vanity, hair gathered up in your hands as you tried to create something of a shape. 

Shadows, cool, black fingers, gently slid up your back, whispering against the expanse of skin before gripping your chin. One by one you let the pins fall from your lips where they were caught by spectral hands. 

“Thank you, Azriel,” you said with a smile. You didn’t need to turn to know your mate, and husband, had appeared in the room. He was, always, silent as mist and moved like it too. Once there, and in another instant, gone. 

“Thank the shadows.” Hands, scarred and corporeal, brushed against your shoulders. “They needed no commands from me.” Azriel smiled, leaning against the vanity when he moved in front of you. 

The scent of his latest fight against Cassian still clung to his skin and leathers. His knuckles were bruised and split — an injury you knew would disappear before you even stepped foot outside of Velaris — and a faint red mark tinged his high cheekbones from where he’s been struck. 

“Do you need help with that?” He asked coyly. You spit out one last pin. It fell against the marble countertop with the plink of rain on a tin roof. Then you dropped your hair, shaking out your arms as your hair fell down your back. 

Azriel’s eyes traced you hungrily, and he couldn’t help the disappointment in his stomach when that wide expanse of bare skin disappeared behind the curtain of hair. But perhaps it was a good thing. He’d have a hell of a time keeping his fists to himself if any male eyed you in your strappy dress. 

You draped an arm over the back of your chair, eyelashes fluttering up at him in a way that made his heart stutter. Seventeen years of knowing you, and three years mated, and you still pulled at his heartstrings like a puppeteer. 

“That would be lovely. But!” You held up a hand before he could walk any closer, then pointed towards the bathroom door. “Shower first.” 

Azriel huffed, stealing one quick kiss before slipping into the bathroom. 

Steam billowed out from beneath the door, rolling over the floor like white caps over a beach. Azriel combed back his hair, towel sitting loosely on his hips as you busied yourself with makeup. The smile you’d adopted while brushing blush over your cheeks became real as Azriel rested his hands on your shoulders, stealing a kiss along the curve of your neck before you could say anything. 

He put up your hair and you helped him with the buttons of his dress shirt, especially the pesky ones that lined the slits below his wings. With that done and out of the way, the real work could begin. 

“Three inches or four?”

“Three. The four-inch one is too heavy.” You touched a strand of hair that Azriel had purposefully left out of its arrangement. For framing those beautiful eyes, was what your mate had said. “I want the hair to last if it comes to a brawl.” 

“Smart.” Azriel smiled and spun the thin, three-inch dagger in the air before sliding it into its sheath and then into your hair. The ends that showed looked decorative — beautiful — and discrete, but he’d seen you pluck out a male’s eye with a needle — you could do far more damage with this. He then added a few pearl pins — also using for stabbing people in the eyes. 

“I have a surprise for you,” Azriel murmured against the curve of your ear. 

You hummed in curiosity, then your brow shot up as he gently laid a new pendant necklace against your chest. 

“Raskel finished it in time?!” 

“He did indeed. You’ve got twelve shots.”

You fingered the teardrop shaped pendant, hearing the faintest clatter of hair thin darts within it. You raised the fuller, blunt end to your lips before aiming at the wall and blowing. A sharp, thin whistle followed by the faint plink of the dart hitting the wall made you laugh with glee. 

Azriel smiled adoringly. “Now you’ve got eleven.” 

“That’s eleven of Keir’s males if he decides to test us tonight.” You winked back, for the darts held a poison concentrated enough to kill a fae… if her aim was true… which it always was. 

They traded teasing remarks and began a heated discussion about Sellyn Drake’s newest novel — the author’s first foray into historical fiction — all the while trading daggers and hidden poisons and the odd cutting wire here and there. 

“I like Hellvin Thorv best,” Azriel said from his position on the floor. He slid the sheath up your thigh, tightening it until you nodded in confirmation and slipped a simple silver dagger into its rightful place and flung your skirt over top. 

You clicked your tongue half in disapproval. “You would like him best.” 

“What is that meant to mean?” He asked in shock. 

“Nothing.” 

You helped him put on his thin, leather gauntlets with the hidden blades tucked against his forearm, buttoned up his shirt, and helped lace together the corset he wore, each of the boning channels hiding a knife thin as a feather but stronger than steel. You’d designed it for him, much to Raskel’s chagrin as he was the one who made your creations come to life. Raskel loved to moan and groan about the injustice of it all, but he did love a challenge… and gold. 

As a final touch you made Azriel sit down in your vanity chair before climbing into his lap and holding his chin in a gentle grasp as you lined his eyes with kohl. 

“I would like to see us back in this position at the end of the night,” he sighed. 

“Then let’s hope no one tries anything tonight.” You pressed your lips against his neck leaving a berry red stain. 

“Leave it,” Azriel said when you went to wipe it off, then grinned at the expression on your face. “Let them remember which female I belong to.” You left two more marks on his jaw, just to reinforce the message. 

“Shall we go, Husband?” You asked, standing to your feet and holding out your hand. 

“We shall.” He squeezed once before sliding his arm around your back and squeezing your hip. 

Rhysand and Feyre were the center of attention at the Court of Nightmares with their glittering jewels and chins raised high. Cassian’s voice was loud and grating to unfamiliar ears, and Nesta’s eyes shone like two ice chips, flashing like spotlights as they raked over the crowd. But everyone knew it was the silent pair furthest back from the front of the dais that needed to be feared. The ones made of shadow and darkness that could disappear and reappear seemingly at will. 

Keir caught your gaze once and shivered much to Azriel’s delight. He tipped his head to the side ever so slightly, letting the room catch the smear of lipstick on his neck. The male gritted his teeth and fled out of view. No one would dare raise a hand in defiance so long as you and Azriel graced their presence.

[f1-05-writer]

MASTERMIND (viii)

EIGHT - THE GREAT WAR

SUMMARY: A child of light and dark, you are the Night Court’s best kept secret. After decades spent in hiding, you yearn to stretch your wings. But you quickly learn that freedom comes with a price, as you find yourself trying to outfox the fox in his own den.

PAIRING: eris vanserra x reader

WORD COUNT: 8k

SERIES MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: language, graphic violence

If there’s one thing you’ve learned over the past few months, it’s that healing is not a linear process. Rather, it’s a winding, uncharted path, full of twisting overgrowths and thorny setbacks. And just when you caught glimpse of bright, shining light filtering through the trees ahead, the tattered bond buried deep in your chest plucked you from your path of progress and dropped you right back where you started: in the thicket of heartbreak.

But this time, it feels different. It’s not physical pain that consumes you, that crawls underneath your skin and burns you from the inside out. Rather, it’s an overwhelming sense of numbness. For this time, there’s a shattering finality to it all.

It’s that numbness that grants you the ability to get dressed this morning. Each movement is mechanical as you reach for clothes that feel foreign against your skin and slip into your role once more. It’s a façade you know all too well: the resilient, erudite female who hides the trembling little girl within. You clutch the silk fabric of your dress in your fists as you stare at your reflection in the mirror. For a moment, you almost believe the image staring back at you. But inside…Well, inside. That’s the question, isn’t it?

 As you walk through the River House, you let the numbness guide you: steady, unrelenting. You’re not naïve—you know this is the eye of the storm. You know that the pelting rain and howling winds are coming. But at least for now, you’ll take shelter within the boarded-up windows of your feeble heart. So, with a steady hand and a fog in your mind, you push open the dining room door to your awaiting court.

The quiet chatter comes to an abrupt halt as a cohort of curious eyes turn towards you. The rapid thumping of your heart is distant in your ears as you move into the room. Rhys opens his mouth to speak but pauses as he drinks in your detached nature. 

“It’s done.”

The words pass through your lips, but don’t quite reach your ears.

A palpable tension fills the room. The burning gazes of your friends prickles your skin, but you shrink further into the haze of your mind. 

“I delivered what you asked. It’s done,” you repeat in that same cool, unrecognizable tone.

The High Lord’s mouth opens and shuts again. You feel like a pariah in this room, but by the grace of the eye of the storm, you are shielded from their unintentional ostracism. Finally, Rhys nods sharply.

“Thank you,” he says simply.

The silence that follows is deafening, filled only by the shuffling of Cassian and Azriel’s chairs. Feyre’s concern radiates like a beacon, but you can’t bring yourself to look in her direction for fear of crumbling. Amren’s silver eyes narrow, but she holds her sharp tongue in check, for once.

Rhys reluctantly tears his gaze away from you and sweeps over the room. “Well, we should get moving, then. Time is of the essence.”

The two Illyrians scramble from their seats, and if the circumstances were different, you would laugh at their thinly veiled discomfort. Amren rolls her eyes and swiftly exits the room. You follow closely behind, effectively avoiding any further probing from your High Lord or Lady. The lush marble walls and expansive windows seem duller than usual as your body moves on autopilot down the hallway. Amren pushes the doors of the grand meeting hall open, and your heart skips a beat. Chin up. Eyes forward. Shoulders down. Just like you’d practiced through your sleepless night. Like clockwork.

The scuffing of boots against marble sounds muffled as you follow Amren and take a seat at her left. Rhys and Feyre take their spots at Amren’s right, with Azriel and Cassian on their opposite side. The Inner Circle of the Night Court forms an unbreakable wall of power and unity at the head of the table—an unspoken display of the strength of your court.

You take one last steadying breath—chin up, eyes forward, shoulders down—before the High Lords filter through the doors one by one, each cloaked in their own unique brand of arrogance and power.

Tarquin is the first to arrive. He greets your court with a sharp nod, his turquoise eyes piercing as always. Helion follows closely behind, a lazy smirk dancing upon his plush lips. With each High Lord that arrives, breathing becomes a little bit easier, and the muscles straining to maintain your posture relax. This is fine. Kallias and Thesan are next to enter, each male followed by their own small entourages. You’re okay. 

That is, until Beron Vanserra’s glowering presence fills the doorway. The all too familiar sinking feeling returns as he strides in with his usual, ugly sneer. His cold eyes sweep the room before landing on you, a malicious grin curling at the corners of his mouth. Beside him, Bastion leers openly, his russet eyes glinting with that same viciousness he had cornered you with at the ball the night before. Two other Vanserra brothers with flaming red hair follow, and the door shuts swiftly behind them. The Night Court straightens in their seats as they all come to the same conclusion. Eris isn’t here. You clench your jaw so tightly you think your teeth may splinter. Why isn’t he here? Was last night truly the end of—

Chin up. Eyes forward. Shoulders down.

The metaphorical storm above you looms closer, but you hold steadfast to your mantra to keep it at bay.

“Such a fine day for politics, don’t you think?” Beron’s voice slithers through the room. He glances at Rhys, then at you, the sneer deepening. “Unfortunately, Eris couldn’t make it. He sends his regards.”

Something cold breezes over you, enveloping every inch of your exposed skin like a gust of wind. Your eyes flicker towards the stained-glass windows, but they are sealed tight. Your heart stutters painfully against your ribs, but you don’t so much as flinch. Instead, you sink into the numbness and meet Beron’s menacing gaze with your own.

“And what of Spring?” Helion asks.

You don’t need to look over to your right to see Feyre stiffen in her seat.

“Probably wallowing in his own self-pity like the beast he is,” Amren snaps in her typical, callous fashion.

Tamlin’s absence is damning—a testament to how far he has truly fallen since the war and Feyre’s…abruptdeparture. For a moment, no one dares to speak. But never one for pleasantries, Beron has no trouble interjecting.

“Why bother with a treaty if one of us is too busy licking his wounds to show up?”

“Tamlin’s absence is unfortunate,” Rhys replies in his ever-diplomatic manner, “But we are more than capable of negotiating terms that will benefit all of Prythian.”

Helion tilts his head, his golden eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Are we to assume Spring is no longer a player in these discussions, then? And if so, what will become of the court?”

“Tamlin received word of this summit, just as you all did. His decision not to attend certainly warrants discussion,” Rhys says, “but what we need right now is unity—and that’s what this treaty is about.”

Helion’s finger-tapping halts, and he leans forward in his seat. “Unity, Rhysand, sounds nice in theory. But let us not forget that Tamlin isn’t the only one who may find this arrangement…unpalatable.”

You involuntarily bristle as Beron’s grating voice cuts in once again. “Curious, isn’t it, how you sidestep the topic, Rhysand—especially when it is your High Lady who brought Spring to ruin.”

“We’ve gathered here to discuss the terms of a peace treaty between our courts, not to taunt one another,” Feyre snaps. Despite the scowl on Beron’s face, her firm tone holds an unwavering authority. “The unrest in human and Fae land alike grows with each passing day. We cannot afford for instability to spread.”

Tarquin nods thoughtfully. “A treaty won’t fix everything, but it’s a step in the right direction. Without it, the mortal realm may turn their sights on us.”

“Stability is key,” Thesan muses in agreement.

“A leash, more like it,” Beron snorts, “Let’s not waste time pretending this is some noble pursuit for the good of all. We all know this treaty is about self-preservation. And I, for one, don’t plan on sacrificing my court’s interests for some grand, childlike ideal.”

A low growl escapes Azriel, but a pointed look from Rhys silences him. “Perhaps you’re confusing peace with submission, Beron,” Feyre quips. “No one here is suggesting we sacrifice our ideals. This is about securing Prythian’s future, and preventing future war should conflict arise again.”

Kallias clears his throat, and you all but shiver as you glance into the icy blue of his piercing eyes. “I agree, but we must ensure that this treaty is more than mere words on paper. It must be enforceable, with clear consequences for any court that violates its terms.”

“Consequences?” Beron’s eyes glint with malice, “And are we prepared to go to war with each other if someone steps out of line?”

The almost gleeful lilt in the Autumn Court High Lord’s tone, combined with Bastion’s nasty smirk, is your last straw. Chin up. Eyes forward—Fuck it, composure be damned.

“That’s the point of the treaty,” you snap. All eyes turn towards you. But despite the scrutiny, you keep your voice steady. “It’s meant to prevent war, not incite it. If we establish boundaries and enforce them through collective action, it only strengthens all of our courts.”

Beron scans you from head to toe with an unsettling intrigue. “And what would you know of war, Scholar? Books and treaties may look neat and tidy on parchment, but the real world is far messier.”

The predatory glint in his eyes is all too familiar. But you’ve faced the fox. And while it may have been a losing battle, you survived. “Books teach us history, Beron. And if history has taught us anything, it’s that unchecked power leads to destruction. This treaty isn’t merely about peace—it’s about survival.”

The room falls silent for a moment. 

“Spoken like a true bookworm,” Cassian murmurs with a small grin.

A ghost of a smile threatens to tug at your lips, but the pride exuding from your friends barely breaches the barrier of indifference you wear like armor. 

Beron chuckles, the sound dark and mocking, and you can feel Bastion’s eyes on you—watching, waiting. The way they look at you feels…wrong. Like they know something you don’t. Like they’ve discovered a secret that should shatter your world. 

“If there are no further objections,” Rhys begins speaking again, steering the conversation towards negotiations. 

But your mind drifts as Beron’s cold gaze lingers on you. You know that Eris’s plans against his father are dangerous. But now…now you realize who deep that danger really goes. And with the way Beron studies you like a book he’s read a hundred times before, you realize that the threat may not just be to Eris. Reluctantly, you tear your eyes away from the eldest High Lord and resign yourself to studying the mahogany wood before you. 

As negotiations continue, you trace each crack, each imperfection, over and over. As if doing so will keep the storm at bay. You sit still as a statue, even as the High Lords take a brief recess. You find yourself so enamored by the wood before you that you barely register Bastion approach in the now empty room.

A shiver crawls up your spine as he dips down. “You’re quite the mystery, aren’t you?” he whispers, close enough that his breath fans over the bare skin of your neck. “I wonder how long it will be before you’re fully unraveled.”

You swallow hard, clenching the fabric of your dress between your fists. For the first time in hours, you tear your eyes away from the table. You meet Bastion’s gaze with a steely calm.

“I’ve never been privy to riddles. If you have a point to make, don’t dance around it.”

He chuckles, and you clench your jaw tightly to combat your unease. 

“In due time, Avicula.”

No.

 The blood drains from your face as your heart simply stops beating. You instinctively reach for the dinner knife on the table before you, but his cold, bony hand wraps around your wrist in a vice-like grip. You jerk back in your chair, but he pulls you flush against him, wood scraping against marbled floor.

“Simmer down, Scholar,” Bastion coos.

“What do you want?” Malice drips from your tone, but you can’t hide the tremor.

He chuckles and leans down even further, close enough that his lips brush against the shell of your ear. “Fame, glory, all the works. But for starters, your full cooperation will do.”

His lips press against your skin in a taunting kiss, and you all but retch at the feeling. “And if I don’t?” you grit out.

“Then Eris will be dead before the next High Lord steps foot in this room.”

Your heart thunders so violently, you can feel it in your bones. 

“You’re bluffing,” you whisper.

“Care to test that theory?” 

His ironclad grip tightens, and you release the knife with a wince. The clanging of the metal permeates the room. You watch with bated breath as he picks up the utensil with a hum, admiring the way the silver reflects the sunlight seeping through the windows. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he flips the knife around in his hand, so it points towards you. “You’re going to smile, sit still, and pretend this conversation never happened.” He traces the serrated edge along your lips. “After this meeting, you’ll go home and read your little books. Perhaps brush up on your writing—it’s a bit superfluous for my taste.” The metal presses against your mouth, just gentle enough not to break skin. “You’re going to keep that clever mouth of yours shut. If you so much as look at your friends with those pitiful eyes, I’ll cut that sharp tongue right out of your mouth. And if you even think about using the pesky little bond of yours to communicate with your High Lord, I’ll have Eris’s bloodied body delivered to your doorstep—after I have my fun with him, of course. Are we clear?” 

Your vision blurs—whether from unshed tears or paralyzing fear, you’re not sure. Your fingers tremble as you dangle tediously from your poorly constructed composure. Still, you suck in a deep, steadying breath. As you exhale a barren smile stretches across the plain of your face. “Enjoy the game while you can,” you say, “Because when it’s my turn to play, you’ll be begging me to put an end to your miserable existence.”

He releases the knife with a chuckle and shifts it back into place, erasing any evidence of your encounter. “You’ll do well to remember that some cages aren’t meant to be broken. Especially not for little birds who fly too close to the flame.” He shoves your chair back towards the table, jolting your trembling body. “Enjoy your evening, Scholar. I have a feeling it will be your last in this court.”

The chatter of the High Lords re-entering the room is nothing more than a distant buzz in your ears. You squint your eyes shut and dig your nails into the arms of the wooden chair, shutting everything out, until all that remains is the tattered bond in your chest. You reach for it, wrap your shaking hands around the frayed edges, and yank hard. It reverberates in the chasm of your chest. You wait, pleading for something sort of sign, some indication that he’s still there. But all that remains is the debris of your shattered heart. 

You inhale deeply, breathing in the weight of it all. And as you exhale, your eyes flick open. You stare straight into Beron’s knowing gaze with a vitriol which rivals his own. Your lips curl into a hateful grin. Not a flicker of fear, not a glimmer of defeat. Only the white-knuckled grip around the arms of your chair betrays the turmoil within.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The moment the doors of the meeting room close behind you, the storm comes crashing down. The blistering wind chills your bones, the free-falling water fills your lungs—but you can’t afford to drown. Not when your life is undoubtably on the line. Not when his life is on the line. And you need to find him before it’s too late.

Aimlessly searching for him will be useless. If Eris doesn’t want to be found, or if Beron has him locked away, no amount of wandering the streets of Velaris will bring him to you. The Vanserras are a clever breed—but so are you.

You slip into the shadows to avoid detection as you winnow to the flat-topped mountain on the northern side of Velaris. You waste no time making a beeline for the library. For the first time in your life, the familiar smell of almond and parchment brings no comfort, because all you can think, feel, smell, is the rage coursing through your veins. Clotho isn’t in her usual spot near the entrance. You know you should wait, but you make the hasty decision to slip through anyways. Ask for forgiveness, not permission.

You all but run down the winding stairs, descending one, two, three floors. A negative energy swirls around you—it’s clear the priestesses are none too pleased by your intrusion. Still, you beat on. You run your fingers along the spines of the old tomes lining the shelves, brushing away dust and time until your hand stills on a thin, leather-bound book. The cover is blemished, the metallic lettering faded to near obscurity, but it hums beneath your fingertips, pulsing with latent power. You yank it free and rifle through the pages, until you land on a section you remember from stories your mother used to whisper late into the night. 

Location Spells.

As your eyes dart across the page, your throat tightens. You remember these spells from your mother. Much to your dismay, her retellings were right. They all require one thing: a personal token belonging to the person you seek. And you have nothing of Eris’s. No lock of hair, no trinket. But…you have him. Or, at least, the unyielding tether buried deep in your chest, even if stretched thin by time and heartbreak. Your mind spins as you skim the text again.

“A drop of the caster’s blood may work if they share a strong enough connection. For example, prior work has highlighted the success of blood of kin.”

Or, the blood of a mating bond.

 It might not be perfect, but with no other option, it has to work.

You grab a map of Prythian from a nearby shelf of atlases and spread it across a table. Your hands shake uncontrollably as you retrieve a dagger from the folds of your dress and prick the tip of your finger. A single drop of blood wells up, glowing faintly in the dim light of lanterns. You glance down at the open book, and scan over the spell. It’s written in an ancient language—one you’re not well-acquainted with. Your furrow your brows in concentration as you sound out each syllable, your voice a plea more than an incantation. Finally, you whisper, “Find him.”

You press your bleeding finger to the map, smearing scarlet across the parchment. Magic surges through you: a swirl of golden tendrils extending across the land, searching very crack, corner, and crevice. For a moment, hope blossoms. You can feel the bond in your chest stir, faint but real, as if whispering to someone far away.

Just as suddenly as hope came, it fades.

The tendrils of light dull before disappearing entirely, leaving behind nothing more than a smear of red in the shape of a thumbprint. He must be warded too heavily for the spell to penetrate—as if he doesn’t exist at all.

The winds of anguish sweep you into their clutches as an earth-shattering cry claws at your throat. The weight of everything hits you all at once, and you sink to your knees. The air around you seems to thin. You gasp through the sobs wracking your body—but each mouthful burns. You tangle your shaky hands in your hair, pulling harshly at the roots in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. But to no avail.

A low ringing fills your ears, building in intensity to a deafening hum. The walls feel like they’re closing in, pressing against your lungs, suffocating you from the inside out. Your hands slip from your hair and wrap around your throat, desperate to pull in just one clean breath—but the air is clinging like smoke. 

Your mouth moves, but you’re not sure if the words come out. “Get it together. You’re supposed to save him.”

You try to count your breaths—in, out—but each attempt only narrows your vision to pinpricks. The panic swells and the world spins, tilting on its axis. And then…it stops.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Hours later, you’re shaken awake by the very same panic that pulled you under. But this time, it isn’t your own. Your head pounds from your earlier sobbing, your lashes sagging from the weight of your dried tears. Yet, you’re more alert than you’ve ever been before.

The bond thrums in your chest, pain radiating through the connection. You scramble from the dusty floor with a dizzying urgency. There’s no time to think, no time to question. You don’t so much as glance at the map on the table as you run towards the winding staircase. You’re not sure where you’re going. Only that Eris is there. You follow your instinct blindly, throwing open the door to the library. You beat on into the cold, but before you winnow, the small, rationale part of your mind calls out to your High Lord.

Rhys. His name is a scream in your mind. Eris is in trouble. I have to go now.

Rhys’s response is immediate, albeit groggy: What—

No time.

 The world is already twisting and folding around you. When you land, the air is thick with shadows. 

The scent of stone and mold hits you first—the unmistakable marker of the Court of Nightmares. You stagger, breath catching in your throat. No. No, this can’t be right. But the bond pulls with conviction in your chest, dragging you deeper into the dark halls. 

You know this is a terrible idea. Actually, terrible is generous. This might rival Tamlin and Lucien’s selling out of the Archeron sisters to the King of Hybern in the competition of bad ideas. But as witless as it may be, it’s right.

You move without a second thought. Every passing shadow seems to follow you, but you don’t care. The only thing you can focus on is the bond. As the weight of each step grows, you can feel his pain more acutely. He’s close.

Your pulse roars in your eyes as you come to a halt in front of a rusted, iron door. Your hands find the handles, and you pull with the full weight of your body. It opens with a low groan, and you step inside. 

The chamber is dark, lit only by the faint glow of sconces lining the walls. The smell of stone and mold is even more penetrating here. But something else mingles with it. The sour scent of rust is abrasive, curling at your nostrils. 

You squint your eyes into the darkness, and you stumble back in shock.

Eris is there, slumped to his knees in the center of the room. The ropes biting into his wrists almost sparkle underneath the light of the flames. Faebane. Crimson hair clings to his sweat-slicked forehead, his bare chest a littered mess of blood and bruises. Agony twists his features—until his gaze flicks to you.

“No—,” he gasps.

You lunge forward, but you yelp as something holds you back—rather, someone. An ironclad grip wraps around your wrists, holding you against a broad chest. Something sharp presses against your throat—a knife, you surmise, from the glint of silver in your peripheral. 

“You’re arrived just in time for the reunion.”

The voice is venomous, unfamiliar. Yet, it holds a striking intimacy, almost as if—

Your eyes widen in realization.

No.

“I have waited a very long time to meet my daughter,” Keir continues with a sadistic smile, “It’s a shame Marjorie kept you hidden from me all these years. Even more of a pity that she’s not here to stop me now.”

Your blood runs cold as your mother’s name rolls off his tongue. You thrash violently in his hold, but to no avail. You try to steel your features into indifference, but the panicked look in Eris’s eyes makes it an impossible feat. The dull edge of the knife presses hard underneath your chin, forcing your head back. 

Hell freezes over as you peer through the looking glass.

His eyes are yours. The divot of his chin, the bridge of his nose, it’s all yours—or, you suppose, yours are his. But even more potent than your resemblance is the incongruence. For while your dark eyes are marked by curiosity, his are flooded with malice.

Your lip curls back in a snarl, and with all the loving memory of your mother you can harness, you spit. The fat glob of saliva lands right between his eyes.

“Keep her name out of your filthy mouth,” you snarl.

The initial shock on his features warps into something far more sinister as he twists your bound hands behind you. You grit your teeth against the pain, showing nothing more than a wince as you feel the joint in your right shoulder shift. 

“You’ve got my bite, little girl, I’ll give you that. But you’re a bitch just like her.”

You snap your teeth at him, but he twists your arms even further. This time, you can’t contain the cry that bubbles in your throat.

“Did she ever tell you about how we met?” he forces your head forward. Fear still fills Eris’s eyes, but this time it’s met with ire. Keir dips down, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath as he speaks, “Did she ever tell you about how I took her? How I delighted in ruining her? How I—”

Anger blinds you, and for just a moment, all you see is red. 

A barbaric scream rips through you and you crouch down to loosen Keir’s grip—a trick Cassian had once taught you. Before he can regain leverage, you swing your leg behind you with as much force as you can muster, hitting him right between his legs. Keir stumbles back with a groan. But before he can find his footing, you spin around and punch him hard—so hard, you can feel the sickening crunch of bone underneath your knuckles. Still, one hit isn’t enough to erase the lifetime of agony he had imposed upon your mother. So, you hit him again. And again. Until he’s sprawled across the floor. And when he’s down, you sink your foot into his beaten body. Over and over. Until—

“Y/N!”

You gasp for air as Eris’s strained cry pulls you from the brink of oblivion. It’s his voice that grounds you, that sharpens your vision to take in the scene before you. Keir is far past consciousness, his face a bloodied mess and his body a tangle of useless limbs. The steady rise and fall of his chest indicate that he is still, unfortunately, alive—although, with the damage you’ve inflicted, he’ll surely wish he was dead when he wakes. With trembling hands, you wipe the hands stained with your father’s blood over your dress.

“Y/N.”

The strain in Eris’s voice pulls you from Keir’s mangled body. Your eyes are wild as they meet his. You stumble forward, heart beating in time with the heavy thrumming of the bond pulling you towards him. He shakes his head frantically, panic festering on his features.

“You need to get out of here.” You ignore his desperate plea and continue surging forward. “Please, Little Bird,” his voice cracks, “Run.”

Tears spring to your eyes, and the pull of the bond only intensifies. But just as you reach him, just as your bloodied fingers graze the iron chains around his wrists, a gust of wildfire sends you flying backwards.

Pain splinters in the back of your head as you’re thrown against the dungeon wall. Nausea coils inside of you and your vision blurs. Still, you bite back the cry that threatens to escape. 

“Run!” Eris’s shout rings through your ears, muffled by the pounding in your head.

But the responding voice pierces through the veil.

“That’s quite enough from you, son.”

You haul yourself up as quickly as your spinning head will allow. The High Lord of Autumn scans you from head to toe, taking in the blood splatters soaking your dress, the swelling of your knuckles. His lip curls back in disappointment and he clicks his tongue.

“My, what a mess you’ve made, Scholar,” Beron stalks forward, the hem of his dark robes skimming over Keir’s unconscious form. His sneer deepens as he steps into a puddle of blood. He crouches down and swipes his index finger through the blood of your father, admiring how it glistens underneath the sconce light. “Though I suppose family brings out the worst in all of us.”

You avert your gaze to Eris, who stares back in a wide-eyed panic. Go, he mouths. But you’re paralyzed, your feet rooted into the cold, hard ground. You can only muster a small shake of your head. No.

“Let him go, you bastard,” you demand, eyes trained on your mate.  

Beron’s chuckle rumbles through the sodden space. “Such filth from such a pretty little mouth,” he muses. “Though I suppose you never had a father figure to teach you manners. So, allow me.”

Before you can so much as blink, Beron is behind you. You stifle a yelp as he kicks the back of your legs, forcing you onto your knees. “Much better,” he circles you. You fight the urge to spit in his face too when he hooks a finger underneath your chin, forcing your eyes to his. “Now, why don’t you apologize for your brutishness?”

The cold press of his fingers makes your skin crawl, but you lift your head defiantly. “You want an apology?” you say, voice low but steady. “The only thing I’m sorry for is not drawing more blood from your pathetic lackey.”

The words have barely rolled off your tongue when Beron raises his arm, landing a punishing hit. Your head swings to the side, amplifying the ringing in your ears and the throbbing in the back of your head.

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Eris roars, chains clanking wildly behind him.

“Fine,” Beron says.

The High Lord turns towards his son and brandishes a whip of fire. White-hot flames crackle through the air, a blaze of light slashing through the dark, and land squarely across Eris’s bleeding chest. A strangled cry tears from his throat, his body convulsing against the restraints. The sound is horrible—one that will haunt you for eternity, should you survive this night.  The noise that escapes you mirrors his as you lunge forward. But a wall of flames circles around you, its heat pressing against your skin and binding you in place. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” you cry. But your plea falls on deaf ears. You can only watch, helpless, as Eris’s body shudders with each lash, the light in those beautiful, amber eyes dimming with each strike. Worse, you can feel it—the bond between you unraveling thread by thread. 

Through the river of tears clouding your vision, something mingles with the flames in your peripheral: Keir’s twitching body. He groans something unintelligible, his eyes twitching beneath their blood-soaked lids. Suddenly, something in the air shifts—and realization strikes you as the whip in Beron’s hand cracks again.

  This isn’t just punishment; it’s retribution. For Eris’s betrayal, yes, but it’s more than that. This is about the Night Court, the treaty currently being drafted in Velaris. This is an act of violence in the face of blossoming peace. And once Beron has finished, once the fight has drained from Eris’s eyes, he’ll leave you here with Keir. He’ll kill two birds with one cruel stone—ensure your misery serves as a constant leash on his son and the Night Court, and prevent any threat to his throne.   

“Hubris is deathly, Beron. And you’re a fool if you think beating us into submission or death will keep you on your throne,” you shout despite the sobs wracking your body. “We are more use to you alive than dead.” 

“You think your lives mean anything to me?” Beron roars. 

He cracks the whip again, and another flash of fire streaks across Eris’s already ravaged body. Eris sways, his knees crumpling underneath him. His eyes are squeezed tight, his lips parted in a silent cry. Your magic surges through you at the sight, and it takes every ounce of willpower to keep it contained. You have only one shot here. Once chance to make your move—a move that will determine yours and Eris’s fate for your immortal eternity. 

“Take mine instead,” you blurt, heart pounding. “My life for his freedom.”

The words hang in the air, and finally, Beron’s whip falters mid-strike. Panic flares in your chest, but it’s not your own. Beron turns slowly, a glint of interest sparking in his cruel gaze. “Your life,” he repeats, savoring the words, “In exchange for his.”

Chains clatter behind him with a newfound vigor. Eris’s eyes are wide open, a window to his soul: panic, indignation, but above all, betrayal. Worse, you can feel him clinging desperately to his end of the bond, pulling with all of his might. Just as you were in the library. Just as you have been every day since you left Autumn. And it’s in that moment, you realize, that whatever pain you felt clinging desperately to the ghost of him is unsurmountable compared to the bone-shattering agony of his despair seeping through your skin.  

“Yes,” you whisper. “Let him go, and my life is yours.”

“Don’t do this,” Eris pleads, “Please, Little Bird.”

Fresh tears cloud your vision, the utterance of that name worse than a physical blow. The flames surrounding you vanish and Beron steps closer. An eerie grin tugs at his lips. “Very well.”

A ripple shudders through the chamber, and Beron casts a glance to where Keir lies motionless on the cold stone. With a bored wave of his hand a shadowy mist rises, curling around your father’s limp body, sending him away like a discarded pawn. 

Eris’s protests are drowned out by the sting of the bargain mark. It snakes up the length of your arm, twisting like a vine. You bite back a gasp as the magic sinks into your skin, binding you to your word. Beron takes another step forward, forgoing the whip for the raw magic at his fingertips. 

It’s now or never.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t fight,” you snarl.

Your magic explodes outwards, shadowy tendrils unfurling like a tempest. Darkness spreads, curling around Beron with the grace of an ancient asp. He stumbles, the smirk gone from his face. You use his surprise to your advantage, swiftly flinging a dagger in his direction. It sails through the air with the precision of a hundred-year-old warrior. But before the weapon can land its mark, a wall of flames is erected, snuffing out your shadows and sending the dagger hurdling back in your direction. You duck swiftly, narrowly missing the fatal hit. 

“Impressive,” Beron condescends, “Let’s see if your feet are as quick as your wit.” 

Faster than you can blink, the flames surrounding Beron coalesce, swirling into the shape of a fiery claw. It surges forward, hurtling towards you at the speed of lightning. You barely have a moment to raise your defenses. Light exudes from your fingertips as you throw your arms out, forming a shield of blinding radiance. The claw collides with your light, sending shockwaves rippling through the ground beneath you. Beron presses relentlessly against your shield, heat searing through the protective barrier. You grit your teeth and root your feet into the ground to counteract the strain in your muscles and the tremor in your bones. But your strength is no match for Beron’s, as the claw keeps inching closer and closer, pushing relentlessly against your flickering shield. 

“Submit!” Beron roars with an authority fit for a thousand-year-old tyrant.

The ball of light surrounding you is rapidly caving in. It’s bound to give any second now. With a piercing cry, you thrust your magic forward, and then let go entirely. 

You dive to the side, narrowly escaping the talons of Beron’s inferno. As the momentum of his power sends it barreling into the wall behind you, you lunge for your discarded dagger. Your fingers wrap around the hilt, and you slink into the shadows just in time to escape his new weapon of choice: blazing balls of fire.

With your shadows you leap from corner to corner, trying to get close enough to Beron to wield your own weapon while simultaneously avoiding the flames he hurls at you. Eris shouts something, but it’s muffled by the roar of the fire, the pounding in your head. You will yourself to focus only on Beron, building an impenetrable wall in your chest to block out the desperation radiating down the mating bond in your chest.

As you dodge another flame, the world to twists and folds around you. You winnow across the room, right behind Beron. You don’t waste a second thrusting the dagger forward—but before the lethal blade can sink into his flesh, he spins around. The High Lord wraps his hands around your wrists. And as the dagger clatters to the floor, so does your heart plummet.

“Is this what you wanted?” Beron’s voice slithers into your ear. He swivels you around, forcing you to face Eris while he holds you flush to his chest. Crimson rivulets trickle down his arms from where the chains bite into his skin. “To be brought low, broken in front of him?”

You force your chin high with defiance. But Beron’s grip is unyielding and his molten heat is oppressive, creeping through your veins like poison. As you stare into Eris’s eyes—those amber eyes you love so much—you can’t hide the fear in your own. 

“Better broken than a slave to your tyranny,” you hiss.

 Sweat beads on your brow, but not from exhaustion. You suck in a breath, begging the cool air to soothe the burning sensation in your throat. But Beron’s heat sinks deeper, licking at the edges of your very soul. 

He chuckles darkly, “If only your defiance could save you.”

“Let her go!” Eris bellows. 

You desperately try to twist out of Beron’s grip, but with each movement the fever only builds. Sweat trickles down your temples, the salty sting mixing with the agony that wracks your body.

“You know, I had planned on keeping you alive. Sending you off with your pathetic excuse for a father,” Beron says, “But I’ve never been one to turn down a good bargain.”

 A white-hot pain blooms in your chest, spreading like wildfire. You can feel your skin searing from the inside out, clawing its way through your organs, boiling your blood.

“I’ll kill you,” Eris’s voice breaks, raw with the desperation of a man on the brink of losing everything. “I’ll kill you! I’ll rip the life from you, Beron. Even if it takes my last breath, I’ll see you burn for this.”

Beron laughs, drowning out Eris’s broken words. Every nerve in your body screams as he slowly burns you alive, boiling you from the inside out. Your vision blurs as the fever creeps into your head, your legs crumpling beneath you. 

You know there is no way out. You know this is the end. But before you go, you drop the protective barrier around your heart. Tears stream down your face, hot against your skin, as you lay yourself bare before the male who has sent your life into upheaval. The male who has shown you the greatest beauties and worst pains of life. Your salvation, your damnation, your soulmate. You cling tight to the withering bond and show him it all. With one final breath, you force your lips to move and form the words you need him to hear.

“I love you, Eris Vanserra. Darkness and all its shining stars.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Time splinters as Eris watches you fade. As those words escape you cracked lips, something shatters inside of him—the last defense of a soul that, even after years of brutality, refuses to be broken. It’s something that transcends pain, something primal and ancient woven into the very marrow of his bones. 

Darkness and all its shining stars.

It’s those words that echo in his mind as the realization burns: this bond, this love, is Beron’s undoing. 

A tyrant once said that the secret of supremacy lies in knowing when to be a fox, and when to be a lion. Beron Vanserra is both. It’s his cunningness and ferocity that have allowed him to rule so predominately for centuries—longer than any High Lord in Prythian. However, Beron Vanserra has been wearing the fox and lion’s skins for a long time—too long. For Beron Vanserra’s greatest pitfall is not a lack of strength or guile, but an utter void where empathy should lie—a deficiency born of his detachment from true, selfless love. 

It's precisely that absence of compassion that blind him to the unbreakable forces that bond others. And now, as he stands over you and Eris with a hand stained by centuries of bloody conquest, it’s precisely that bond, carved from unadulterated love, that will be his undoing.

A roar befitting of a lion rips from Eris’s chest. Muscles taut with rage and agony and love, he pulls against the chains binding him. Blood flows freely from his wrists; but fueled by the bond—by you—he pulls harder, harder, until iron cracks.

The chains give way, crashing to the floor in a thousand pieces. And Eris unleashes hell on his father.

One thrust of his bloodied arm sends Beron flying backwards, releasing you from his deathly hold. You crumple to the ground, barely conscious. Although the boiling of your insides has halted, you’re still burning. You splay your hands out across the cold ground, willing it to soothe the dangerous fever.

Eris flicks his wrist, sending stone raining down upon Beron. The air is thick with dust and fury as Eris charges forward, each strike landing with sharp precision. This isn’t a mere battle of power—it’s a reckoning.

But Beron, unyielding, retaliates with a blinding wave of flame that consumes the chamber. The fire surges, forcing Eris to halt and shield both you and himself.

“You think you can defeat me, boy?” Beron bellows.

Eris snarls, his own fire igniting. You blink your eyes open, fading in and out of consciousness as your magic fights to hold you steady. You watch as Eris matches Beron with every movement: strike for strike, flame for flame. 

But it’s clear he’s faltering. Each thrust of his arm sends ripples of pain across his battered body, the hours of torture taking their toll. Eris sways, his flame flickering at the sheer force of Beron’s power, honed by centuries of conquest.

Your limbs ache with the remnants of the ash inside you, but you focus on the steady ground beneath you. Fire blazes around you as you slowly push yourself up. You can see the light dimming in Eris’s eyes as his breath comes out in ragged gasps. 

“Eris!” you cry, but the words sound like nothing more than a whisper against the raging inferno. He doesn’t look at you, locked in the hopeless battle. Your heart races as you struggle to rise.

Eris lunges forward, but Beron anticipates him and counters with a blast that sends him crashing back against the wall. A sickening thud shatters through your bones as the bond pulses with pain. 

As Beron’s fire grows larger and brighter, you kick your leg out, sliding the discarded dagger on the floor towards Eris. You shut your eyes tight, summoning the last remnants of your strength. The blistering fever returns as you call on every ounce of your magic. This time, however, you embrace it.

Light and dark exude from your fingertips at the same time. With one hand, you send shadows swirling around Beron, engulfing him in darkness. With the other, you send a beacon of luminescence, lighting Eris's path. You focus on Eris, willing him to rise, to fight back. Determination fills his gaze—and the rest is history. 

With one swift motion, Eris retrieves the blade and thrusts it into his father’s chest. 

The swirling shadows still, and Eris twists the dagger into the chasm of his chest with a sickening crunch. Beron falls to his knees, and your shadows retreat—but your light remains.

As the former High Lord collapses, the echoes of the battle fade into a haunting stillness. Eris stands over his father’s fallen form, chest heaving and flames flickering at his fingertips, mingling with the light surrounding him—a testament to the battle fought and the price paid.

Your eyes meet, and in that moment, the world falls away. The pain, the fear, the uncertainty—it all dissipates, leaving only you and him.

“Little Bird,” Eris breathes. 

Fresh tears line your eyes and your bottom lip trembles. Ignoring the all-consuming heat that’s still threatening to pull you under, you haul yourself up from the ground completely. You stumble forward and your legs give out underneath you. But before you can crumple, Eris is there. 

His embrace feels like coming home.

A sob of relief escapes you as you sink to the ground together. Despite the agony pumping through your veins, the blood and sweat covering you both, your heart sings. You bury your face into his chest. The scent of him—sandalwood and cardamon—fills your lungs, giving life to breath. You can feel the pulse of his heart against your cheek, steady and strong.

“Eris,” you gasp. But the name feels inadequate. There’s so much you want to say—but the words are swallowed by the lump in your throat. His hands find your hair, threading through it and anchoring you to this moment.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers. The feeling of his breath against your neck sends another wave of emotions crashing over you. “I’m right here, Little Bird. I’m not going anywhere.”

Around you, the air shifts, and you sense the arrival of the High Lords. But their presence, Rhys’s panicked voice, is a distant echo in the back of your mind. Nothing else matters—not in his arms.

As you sink into the warmth of your lover’s embrace, the toll of the battle settles in. The world blurs at its edges. Eris holds you tightly, murmuring sweet nothings you can’t quite grasp, and darkness begins to close in. You cling to the sound of his voice, feeling it reverberate through you.

“Come on, Little Bird. Stay with me,” his voice breaks as he feels your strength slipping away. But as you look into his eyes—those fierce, beautiful eyes—you know you can’t fight anymore.

With a shuddering breath, you succumb to the pull of unconsciousness, your body surrendering to his embrace. And as darkness takes over, you hang on to the whispered promise of safety in a world that has been anything but. 

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[f1-05-writer]

Come Home

Pairing - Sylus x f!MC

Summary - Sylus has headed out to deal with some business, leaving you concerned for him as he doesn’t return when he told you he would. Fluff and a bit of angst. Sylus and MC aren’t yet in a relationship.

Word count - 2k

A/N - Hi! This is my first little one shot for LADS, and I hope you enjoy it. I do accept requests and look forward to writing more for this fandom 🖤

It had been hours since you last heard from him.

You tried to tell yourself that you didn’t need to worry. That he was more than capable and has always returned in one piece. That your worry is wasted on him anyway, considering the fact that you weren’t even supposed to like him.

But you felt sick.

It was almost impossible not to be concerned. No matter where he was or what he was doing, he has always been reachable. You’ve tried his phone so many times that the battery eventually gave up on your futile attempts and went to sleep—which is what you should be doing at this hour. 

Mephisto had accompanied him on his outing, Luke and Kieran staying at the base with you under Sylus’s orders. They didn’t seem at all bothered by the fact that it was currently three hours past the time Sylus had told them he’d be back. They know him better than you do, but their constant reassurance did little to soothe the panic starting to show.

“Please,” you practically beg. “I have this awful feeling that something has happened to him. Please go and look for him.”

Kieran groaned at her, tired of having to repeat himself once more. “We already told you.”

“Boss’s orders are non-negotiable,” Luke chimes in from where he’s lounging in an armchair.

“He’d have our heads as soon as we walked out the door.”

You were becoming more irritated each second by their nonchalant attitude. They didn’t even seem to give a shit, and you weren’t currently in the right mindset to delve into why you gave so much of a shit.

He was a criminal. A man who had such questionable intentions and motives that you didn’t even want to know the bare minimum of what he got up to whenever he headed out alone.

If something had happened to him, however, you wanted names.

As poorly as your acquaintance with him had begun, you found him to be more intriguing with every moment spent in his presence. His likes and dislikes, his attentive nature whenever you’re around, the way he chooses a vinyl record based on the type of mood he’s in—even the way he dresses has you analysing his every six feet and two inches of pure, solid muscle.

He wasn’t bad on the eye, especially when he was looking at you. You couldn’t fully figure it out, but there was a very subtle tenderness to his presence when he was around you. Subtle in a way that didn’t overshadow his ability to be the biggest asshole you’d ever met.

“If you keep pacing like that then I’m going to throw up,” Luke complains.

You shoot him a harsh glare. “If you don’t like it then get out and find your boss,” you grit back.

With an exaggerated huff, he pulls himself out of his seat, stretching his arms over his head. You feel a glimmer of hope, only for it to be shot down almost immediately. “I’ll let you know if I pass by him in my dreams,” he teases, walking out of the lounge and towards his own room.

You wanted to drag him back and push him out of the front door, but the man could probably put you to sleep with a snap of his skilled fingers. Instead, you growl angrily as his chuckles sound from the hallway.

Kieran stood up, too, mimicking his twin with his stretching. He paused for a moment, and you waited for his addition to his brother's teasing.

“He’ll be back,” he assured, surprising you. “If he’s not back by morning, we’ll figure something out. Just go to sleep.”

He doesn’t wait for a response from you as he follows after Luke, both of them turning in for the night. Sleep sounded like pure bliss, but you weren’t going to be able to do so.

You couldn’t even sit down, your legs automatically taking you around every single piece of furniture so many times that you were starting to get dizzy. 

“Please come back,” you chanted quietly to yourself quietly, if only to keep your pacing on track and your mind alert. 

“Please come back. Please come back.”

You weren’t sure how long it had been, but as soon as you heard the front door, you bolted for it on unsteady legs.

He came in quietly, which was completely overshadowed by your crashing into things on your way to get a visual on him. You practically fell through the door that led to the entry hall, where he looked only mildly bewildered and wholly amused.

There were no visual signs of any injury, but light blood splatters dotted across his white shirt, indicating an altercation. Mephisto sat happily on his shoulder, cawing as soon as he laid his mysterious little red eyes on you. The damn bird was never too happy whenever you were around.

Sylus raised an eyebrow at you. “Expecting someone?” 

That asshole.

He dropped off the face of the earth for hours, and had the audacity to greet you with sarcasm. 

Before your brain could warn you about the threat of putting your hands on him, you sprang forward, striking his chest with the palm of your hand. Then again. And again.

It was pathetically weak from your exhaustion, and he didn’t so much as blink as you assaulted his blood-spattered shirt. Mephisto, however, took to fighting back immediately, pecking at your hands and screeching.

Sylus shooed him away quickly, and the mechanical crow reluctantly took his leave. He proceeded to just stand there as his winged companion flew away, entirely unbothered by your outburst.

Your movements were quickly faltering, the already feeble slaps to his torso becoming far and few between. Still, he did not move. Did not speak. He was the most feared man in the N109 Zone, and he was letting you lash out on him.

Your hand finally stopped on the lapel of his coat, gripping it for a second to catch your breath. He waited for you to finally take a step back, your arms crossing over your chest immediately so you could fully close in on yourself. You were certain that your little outburst was going to bring some repercussions.

Unable to fight it, your bottom lip started to tremble. You had been walking around that lounge for so long that you had convinced yourself he was not coming back. That the wrong person had finally found him and gotten the better of him.

And you just know what he would’ve said if you indulged him in that speculation. What a silly little thought, sweetie.

He closed the space between you, your head automatically dropping to avoid his crimson gaze. You couldn’t bear it, the anticipation of what he was going to do. Your ass was likely headed back to Linkon on foot.

Warm fingers curled beneath your chin, lifting your gaze back up to his. He was towering over you, but you strangely didn’t feel intimidated. All you could feel was his warmth, and your wave of emotions crashing into their withering barrier.

His face gave nothing away as he studied you, still holding your trembling chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Are you finished?”

He didn’t ask it sarcastically. He was giving you an opening. If you weren’t, he’d allow you to resume until you got it all out of your system.

But you were done, your arms feeling like jelly to the point that crossing them was taking a big effort from you. You nod, feeling wetness pooling in your eyes. This all felt ridiculous. He didn’t owe you phone calls or explanations, you both barely considered each other friends. 

The surprisingly soft pad of his thumb brushed gently across your shaking lip, his eyes following the movement. “I’m sorry.”

In any other circumstance, those two words would have shocked you enough to make you fall over. But you were a little too far on the delusional side of exhaustion, your body running on the fumes of your panic.

Your eyes flicker away, the wetness tipping over the edge and dripping off of your lashes. He turned your drifting head back to him to lock eyes with you again. He never did like it when you broke his gaze.

“Things got a bit out of hand,” he explained quietly, not needing an explanation for why you were so upset. “You shouldn’t worry.”

“I wasn’t,” you lie, earning an amused chuckle from him.

He brushed his knuckle across your cheek to rid you of your tears. “No? Why else would a kitten get her claws out, then? Did Luke and Kieran forget to feed you?”

You scoffed at his teasing, following his lead back into the ease of your strange companionship. “They’re terrible babysitters,” you say, sniffling away the last of your upset. 

He smirked, moving his hand to cup the back of your neck. He pulled you towards him, embracing you gently with a deep inhale. You almost swore he was smelling your hair, but you shut that thought down. It was far too complicated for such a tired mind to dwell over.

It wasn’t the first time you’ve both embraced, but this instance did feel quite different. It felt comforting, rather than nerve wracking. Nobody embraces a man like Sylus without at least a modicum of fear beneath the surface.

“You could have called,” you whispered. “Or…or at least answered my calls.”

He sighed, the blow of breath tickling your hairline. “There isn’t a good signal where I went tonight,” he explains. “I should have mentioned that. I didn’t want to call once I did have service in case you were sleeping. I apologise.”

An overwhelming warmth filled your chest, different to the one emanating off of his body. You look up at him, lifting a hand to his forehead. He humours you by allowing it, his eyes trained on yours as you felt the cool skin beneath the hair falling over his face.

“Are you coming down with something? You’ve apologised to me twice now,” you say, half serious.

He didn’t laugh or tease, his face slipping back into that easy nonchalant expression. “I assure you, I’m not coming down with anything. I could ask you the same thing, though. Since when did you become a worrier, kitten?”

You didn’t know how to answer that. It was something you yourself had to figure out. Caring for him wasn’t on your bingo cards when you first met. If anything, the very first day you met, you’d have been relieved if he hadn’t returned.

“Don’t get used to it,” you murmur, his smirk returning at your half-assed response.

“I’ll try, but I do get attached,” he whispers, tucking your hair behind your ear. He looks as though he’s contemplating something, and it takes a moment before he speaks again. “I’ll get us some better communication devices. Something you can carry around that I can alert you on.”

A slight sense of guilt washed over you. “No, it’s okay. You don’t need to be concerned about my insecurities, I shouldn’t be keeping tabs on you.”

Sylus shook his head, his mind already made up. He taps a finger against your temple. “My concern about what goes on in there is for me to deal with. If some better technology eases your troubles, then it eases mine too.”

There it was. That side of him that kept you so very intrigued and made you feel a sense of…home? He often used words that didn’t m quite mean the same as his intentions, but you could see it in him.

He cares.

He rubs a firm hand up and down your back before turning you around, lightly pushing you away from the front door.

“It’s about time we got some sleep,” he says, barely above a whisper. 

You let him guide you through the halls, his lips dropping to your ear as he whispered again.

“Feel free to monitor me.”

[f1-05-writer]

can i mc reader and sylus where mc ends up in hospital after a mission gone wrong and sylus shows up but she wants him to leave in case someone sees him there

Careless

Pairing - Sylus x f!MC

Summary - You landed yourself in the hospital overnight after a mix up at HQ had you fighting too many Wanderer’s alone. You’re already bummed about being stuck at Akso, so the feeling of dread when Sylus turns up unexpectedly only adds to your unease.

Word Count - 2.3k

Warnings - Set in a hospital. Angst and fluff.

The incessant beeping of medical machinery echoing throughout the ward was getting to your sore head.

Akso Hospital was rammed full of casualties and emergencies, seeing as it was a Friday night. You felt a bit out of place amongst the partygoers and adventurous folk who had taken their fun a little too far.

In your opinion, you didn’t really need to be here. The eggplant coloured bruise on the right side of your forehead definitely looked a lot worse than it felt, but the doctors weren’t buying your claims that you weren’t in any pain.

Likely because you were wincing when you’d said it.

A night under their watch was what the doctor ordered, and it wasn’t up for discussion. You were just relieved that Doctor Zayne was working away for a week. He’d have checked you in indefinitely and scheduled an hour long lecture on why you needed to be more careful.

A mix up at HQ had the system only requesting that you attend a spontaneous Wanderer attack in Linkon Library. Just one had been reported, but seven of the ruthless bastards had accosted you the minute you stepped foot in the evacuated building.

Confident that you could handle them, you didn’t bother calling in for more Hunters. As it turned out, that confidence was misplaced, and the last thing you remembered before blacking out was a loud screeching sound. You had no idea what it was, but it hadn’t been important in your unconscious state.

When you eventually awoke in the hospital, Jenna had been hanging over you, immediately giving you the third degree for continuing alone. You should’ve known that the alert for only your assistance had been a mistake in the system, and you should’ve insisted that someone accompany you no matter what it had said.

She made sure to drill that into your head more than once.

Admittedly, you were glad to see the back of her once she had finally left. Your head was starting to throb with the volume of her voice, and all you wanted was the bliss of being unconscious again.

It was late now, and you were exhausted. Sleep was looking to be impossible tonight, however. There were several other patients on the same ward, all admitted with varying ailments. The injured man opposite you had done nothing but stare coldly from the moment he was wheeled in in a full leg cast.

You tried to speak to him. You offered him a polite smile, which was met with a sneer. Whatever his problem with you was, it was beginning to get on your nerves.

You just wanted to go home.

“Miss,” a softly spoken nurse greeted as she approached your bed. “There’s a visitor here to see you.”

You frowned, wondering if you heard her correctly over the hustle and bustle of the ward. It was well past visiting hours, and you couldn’t think of anyone other than your colleagues who knew that you were even at the hospital.

The man with the broken leg frowned, too. “What? She gets special treatment because she’s a so-called hero? I should get visiting rights, too!”

“Would you like me to let him in?” The nurse asked, ignoring the grumbling patient.

Him. That didn’t exactly narrow things down.

“Uhh,” you faltered, a little unsure. You didn’t want to cause any issues with the other patients. “Are you sure?”

The nurse nodded and smiled, though it looked a bit forced. It almost seemed like she was desperate for you to say yes to your mystery visitor.

“Okay,” you finally agreed. 

The look of relief on her face was not lost on you. She quickly hurried away to retrieve whoever came to see you, leaving you to endure the displeasure from the man opposite.

“I used to be a mailman, you know? If it weren’t for me, people wouldn’t have had their mail. Do I get special treatment, though? No, of course not. You Hunters get all the glory and adoration. And I’ll tell you another thing—”

“You’ve told her plenty.”

Prominent footsteps sounded from the doorway, the atmosphere immediately becoming heavy and tense. You almost choked on absolutely nothing at the sight of him.

Sylus.

Your eyes flared, heart hammering against your ribcage like a drum. He couldn’t be here. The risk was far too great.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” the grumpy man sneered back, looking him up and down, “…vampire.”

It was a colourful insult, and one that made your unwelcome companion chuckle. “If you’ll excuse us,” he began, the swirling red vines of his Evol appearing to drag the man’s cubicle curtain to a close at a leisurely pace. “Mailman.”

To your relief, there was no backlash from the irritated patient across the room. Although that did make you wonder if he wasn’t retaliating by his own choice, or if Sylus had silenced him somehow. The latter wouldn’t have surprised you.

“What on earth are you doing here?!” you hissed quietly. “You can’t be here, Sylus.”

Crimson eyes didn’t meet yours, his cold gaze set only on the bandages around your head as he approached your bedside, closing your curtain behind him. He didn’t quite look like himself. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, green and blue veins prominently making an appearance.

“I’ll think twice before taking advice from a woman who was very recently knocked unconscious amidst a 7v1 Wanderer fight,” he rebuked monotonously. 

You scoffed. “I’m fine, if that’s why you came. Feel free to go back to—”

“Fine?” His face quickly turned from emotionless to severely unamused as he cut you off sharply. “That’s quite the contradiction, sweetie.”

You raised an eyebrow barely high enough for him to see your questioning expression. The gesture hurt, which wasn’t helping your case. “To what?”

He dragged a plastic chair towards your bed before sitting down, his ankles crossed in front of him. You couldn’t really read his demeanour. He almost seemed cross with you.

“To what I saw from Mephisto,” he responded tightly.

Mephisto. 

That explained the screeching you heard before you slipped into unconsciousness. “And what exactly was Mephisto doing there?”

Sylus merely shrugged, offering nothing verbal in response. The lackadaisy gesture did nothing but piss you off. You’ve told him countless times to stop sending Mephisto out to keep tabs on you, and each time it seemed to fall on deaf ears. 

He clearly was not pleased with you, but you weren’t stupid. He was here because you had concerned him. Sylus was a busy man, especially at this time of night. He wouldn’t have come just to berate you with words that could’ve been put into a text message.

Not that you knew where your phone was.

The atmosphere between you both fell into silence, only the sounds of medical machinery filling in the lack of conversation. You didn’t really know what to say to him, and he wasn’t typically the type to lose his words. But it was clear to see that he didn’t know what to say, either.

After a long moment, he cleared his throat, his hands flexing in his lap. “I told you those guns of yours were pathetic.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my guns,” you mumbled with a roll of your eyes.

“So it’s a skill issue?”

You glared harshly at him, flinching noticeably as you did. You weren’t sure what was bothering you more, the pain in your head or the mood that Sylus was so clearly in. 

His features softened ever so slightly as he recognised your pain. Still, that didn’t stop him from being an asshole. “It’s one or the other, kitten.”

You felt your cheeks heat up. If there was one thing you didn’t want Sylus to think of you as, it was weak. You weren’t sure why you cared so much, but you did.

“I suppose my guns are a little on the outdated side,” you murmured begrudgingly.

He smirked, his hands finally relaxing a little in his lap. The awkward atmosphere was slowly fading, which you were grateful for. You didn’t want to pry into his mind and make things worse again.

You buried your head a little further into the pillow beneath your sore head, letting your eyes fall shut for a moment. Fatigue was starting to settle in your body, almost dragging you into a swift sleep before your chilly hand was captured in a warm embrace.

Your eyes shot open again, finding Sylus out of his seat and leaning over you. His eyes were a bit wider than usual. “Have they checked you for a concussion?” 

“Yeah,” you told him gently. The close proximity had you flustered. “I’m a little concussed, but I’m allowed to sleep.”

His brows drew together slightly as he studied you. You’ve both had these strange little moments before, when his mask slips away just enough to see his true feelings.

“I’ll be fine,” you whispered in reassurance. “You should go, Sylus.”

He shook his head, his hand tightening slightly over yours. It looked like an effort, but he managed to smirk at you again. “Trying to get rid of me already?”

Beneath that facade of humour, he was a little bit wounded. You wouldn’t point it out, but you could see it. He was a stubborn bastard who wasn’t going to let you push him away, but he also didn’t like that you were trying to push him away.

It wasn’t as if you wanted him to go. Your relationship with him was…complicated.

Complicated in the sense that you weren’t in a relationship, but he had a habit of establishing a level of intimacy between you both that you weren’t blind to. Good morning and goodnight texts, constant invites to events as his plus one with no other reason than to be beside him, and random gifts left on your doorstep so often that your elderly neighbour recently asked if you were ‘getting some.’

A relationship with him would be very difficult to maintain. You both come from entirely different worlds that just could not merge. No matter how much you desired him, you had to maintain your composure.

“I’m not trying to get rid of you,” you sighed. “I just don’t like how careless you’re being by showing up here. Some people do worry, you know.”

He slowly lowered his loom over you so that his nose was just inches away from yours. You couldn’t help but swallow, feeling his steady breath on your lips as he spoke. It was intimidating and yet so intimate that you didn’t know whether to cower or cut him off with a kiss you never knew you wanted. 

“You don’t think I’m worried about you?” he drawled in a rather serious manner.

“That’s not what I—”

“Do you not realise how it looked through Mephisto’s eyes when you were walloped a great distance across a library and crumpled to the floor like a lifeless body.” His teeth were gritted in his mouth, the word ‘body’ coming out tightly like his tongue was rejecting the word. “You’re not the only person who is worried here. Do not brand me incapable of such feelings.”

Your mouth went a little dry, tears threatening to invade your eyes. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe in his worry, and you hadn’t meant for it to come across that way.

“I just don’t want you to risk your freedom for me,” you whispered shakily.

He lifted his hand from where it was holding him up beside your free hand, carefully moving some strands of your hair that had fallen over your bandages. 

“I’d risk it all for you.”

He had never said such a thing to you in all the time you’d been acquainted. You knew that he would carry out every need you might have of him. You knew that he would listen to you sit and ramble on and on about anything, never interrupting you. You knew that he cared about you.

But you were still in the dark when it came to the extent of that care.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” he murmured.

Thankfully, you caught yourself before you were about to shake your sore head. “Just…trying to figure you out.”

A smile slowly spread across his lips. A real smile. It was enough to make your heart flutter, embarrassingly made noticeable by the heart rate monitor you were hooked up to.

“It would require a lot of brainpower to do that, sweetie. Maybe lose the concussion first,” he said in his typically sarcastic tone.

You managed your own small smile, which blossomed into a chuckle. This was the side of Sylus that had you coming back to him whenever he asked for your company.

His real side.

He kept his hand atop your head, avoiding the bandages completely. His thumb swiped gently over the parting of your hair, pulling you off to sleep again. You were pretty sure that he was doing it on purpose to force you into rest, but you were in no position to argue with him. You were officially exhausted.

“Would you really like me to leave, kitten?” he asked in a soft whisper as your eyes fluttered.

The very thought of him leaving made you a little upset. Despite your attempts at convincing the doctors you were fine, you damn well were not. You needed his comfort, and he needed to know that you were safe and on the road to a speedy recovery.

“No,” you whispered, succumbing to the soothing strokes on your scalp.

A soft brush of his lips was the last thing you felt before you finally drifted off, feeling secure enough to do so with his company.

“Good,” he’d whispered back before you fully clocked out. “I’ll always be careless so long as I get to you.”

A/N - Long time no fic post. I apologise, life has been crazy. I haven’t proof read this cause honestly I’m just too tired so I’ll read over it in the morning and edit any mistakes. Hope you’re all doing well! 🖤

[f1-05-writer]

Club Rats and Cigarettes: Part I

Azriel x Modern Reader

Summary: When Azriel stumbles into a new world with his brothers, the last thing he expects to find is a mate. But she has a hell of a way of making a first impression, and Azriel can't help but fall in love with someone who feels familiar in a strange world.

Warnings: Violence, mentions of drug use

Masterlist of Masterlists

Author's note: I had a thought. I wrote it. Here ya go!

Y/n leaned back against the motley wall covered in indie movie and band posters 10-layers deep. Humidity caused the paper to lift away from the brick, curling like steam off coffee before being frozen in place by the next slather of paste. Y/n felt the sharp, glue-soaked edges poke through the mesh of her shirt. 

Looking left and right she saw a few stragglers heading towards the club — three girls huddled in fake-fur coats with freshly-shaved legs trembling in the October air, and a group of college boys dressed in the same jeans, sneakers, and pale collared shirts. They flickered in and out of the darkness as the streetlights hummed with the effort of keeping their failing bulbs alight. A handful of skeletal cars sat beside busted parking meters or half-hidden in the employee parking lots of the closed down street. During the day when the restaurants were open, inoffensive jazz battled it out with the reggaeton blaring from the trendy taco joint at the end of the block, and Kpop dancers pressed themselves against the screens posted by the corn dog restaurant’s windows, neon lights announcing that they were “OPEN!” But right now the neon was just another sad shade of grey. Even the sky’s colors were muted by packed clouds threatening rain. 

Music shook the pavement, but it came up from the sub-basement club deep and muffled. Y/n felt its vibrations pass through the soles of her boots, up her stocking-clad legs, and into her chest where her heart rumbled like a car without a muffler. 

A flash of flame revealed her glitter-coated cheeks and cobalt-blue eyeshadow. The color slipped and slid across her skin still tacky from club sweat until it was a pale wash of blue extending up to her temples and down to her cheekbones. A cloud of smoke covered her soon after as she lit her cigarette between nail-bitten fingers. A fresh coat of black polish glittered like stones, already chipping towards the tips. Menthol crisp bled into her lungs along with a breath of cold air perfumed with car exhaust and day old restaurant grease. She licked her lips and found that she did not mind the taste of lip gloss, mint, and char. 

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a boy with salt-white hair and shy, bent shoulders slink over to her trying to make himself as small as possible. “Can I bum a cigarette?” He asked, shockingly polite despite the black band t-shirt that read “Anarchy now!” and the careful spikes gelled into his hair and tipped green and black. 

Y/n wordlessly held out her pack and he plucked one out before hesitantly reaching for a second. She held out her lighter next and soon there were two plumes of smoke wafting into the air as music faded in and out with each body that passed through the rusted paint doors. Drunk giggles followed voices hoarse with drink and screaming. Heels clicked down the street, some heavy as a bass drum and others high and piercing like castanets. 

A quick flash of lightning splintered over the sky, followed seconds later by a dull crash like furniture toppling over. 

“One mile,” The boy said, leaning over. He smelled like bleach, aftershave, and surprisingly, cherries. The overly sweet ones that came out of a jar and decorated the tops of ice cream sundaes. 

“What?”

“You can count how far away lightning is from the thunder. Every five seconds between lightning and thunder is one mile.” 

Another flash painted the sky purple followed shortly by crumbled eruptions of noise. 

“That one was close by.” 

Y/n took one last drag before putting out her cigarette on the wall. The paper smoldered and was scarred black, but never burned. “Guess that’s my cue to go back inside then.” 

The boy nodded, smiling and looking her up and down a little too closely. Then his eyes sharpened, red-rimmed and squinting, as he glared into the street beyond her. 

“Do you see that?”  

Y/n twirled around on her heels, staring down the street to where it ended in shadow. It looked… darker than it should, although she couldn’t explain why. Like she stood before the throat of an animal. The darkness seemed to pulse and writhe, muscles clenching down on invisible meat. Then she felt stupid for having listened to him at all. 

“Don’t fuck with me,” she growled, pushing the salt-haired boy aside and slipping back inside the club. 

The music and heady scent of perfumes, cologne, and sweat punched her in the face, and she remembered why she’d chosen to stumble outside to begin with.

She moved in between bodies sparkling like disco balls, stealing body glitter as she went. She felt the tiny particles stick to her skin, tacky with sweat. Someone’s hand brushed against her wrist, but she swatted them off, pressing forward in search of her friends. She didn’t trust them to stay still, not in a place like this, nor did she trust them to check their phones, so she just kept searching the packed dance floor. Raised platforms crowded with plastic couches and spray painted tables hit her at eye level, but none of the platform heels and combat boots looked familiar. She thought a head of red corkscrews might have belonged to Cecelia, but it was only the changing lights reflecting off bleach blond hair. 

She dipped into the corner where a line of scantily clad girls with lanky legs waited for the bathroom. Ducking beneath the overhead speakers helped dull the noise, and if she climbed up two rungs of the barrier surrounding the DJ’s booth like a fighting ring, she could make out more of the crowd. Four stationary spotlights lit up the corners of the club pulsing red, blue, pink, and purple. A man in leopard print briefs was climbing onto one of the poles there, shredding his policeman’s shirt down the center as a woman in a zebra-print coat eagerly shoved a handful of dollar bills into his underwear. A drag king had his hot pink fedora knocked off by a drunk college student stumbling towards the bathrooms with a hand over his mouth. All over there were faint pinpricks of light followed by subtle releases of vape pen air, adding hints of watermelon and strawberry to the air. 

It was because she stood half-hanging off the DJ’s booth that she caught sight of the three men that entered one after another like the mob. Dressed in all black, they were better suited for a funeral than a club, save for one thing… their wings. 

Y/n blinked in confusion. There had been flyers hung up around the library and grocery stores about some anime convention being held in the city, but this place was a little out of the way for hardcore cosplayers. The most severe looking of the three lifted his nose to the air, then stumbled back in shock. As the strobe lights passed over his awe-struck expression, Y/n caught the glint of knives sheathed across his chest and at his side. 

Fuck. She looked up to the booth, but the DJ and the guys in ripped t-shirts bobbing their heads around him didn’t seem to notice. 

“Hey!” She dropped back onto the floor and tapped the shoulder of a barrel-chested man with the word “security” printed over his shirt in all caps. “I think those three guys brought knives in here.” She pointed in their general direction with one chipped, black fingernail. 

“The fuck?!” He gently pushed her aside, shouting something into his earpiece as he shoved his way into the crowd. People took a second to read the sign on his shirt before parting to make way for him. One guy with bright pink hair and studded lips even tried to kiss him on the cheek as he passed. 

Suddenly, this corner of the club didn’t seem so safe anymore. There was a splash of pale light on the floor as a bottle girl in a black leather catsuit slipped out of the kitchens. She swayed her hips back and forth, a bottle of tequila swishing in its frost-rimmed bottle against her hip. She moved up the stairs to the platform where a private bachelor party was going on, heels clicking like beetle wings rubbing together. Y/n slipped into the shadows closer to the kitchens and waited for someone — anyone — to answer the text she’d typed out with shaky fingers. 

Azriel had never heard music like this before. He didn’t even know such a sound could exist. Someone had weaponized the bass tones so it felt like a punch to the gut. A male’s deep voice, grainy and harsh, was indistinguishable from the crashing of cymbals and a strange, high clang that skittered over steady drums like a stone over water. Through layers of sound he could just make out the soft sighs of a female as she tried to tie the chaos together with her voice. 

All around him were sweaty humans decorated in shiny, colorful clothes that sparkled as they spun and jerked about. He stood a head above most, although every so often a male or female in eight-inch heels would pass by at eye level, looking him up and down like he was a meal and they were starving. 

“Hey there handsome.” Someone had found the courage to slink up to Cassian’s side — a male with pupils blown open wide enough to swallow his pale blue irises. There was alcohol on his breath and something else, something sweet and bitter at the same time. The human male smiled, teeth white and straight. Azriel had never seen a human with teeth so perfect. He was handsome — wiry and slim with a flush to his cheeks that accentuated the smattering of freckles across his tan skin. “Did you come here alone?” Rhysand and Azriel’s presence did not seem to deter him. “Did you want to leave here alone?”

Cassian sputtered in surprise. He’d never been propositioned by a male, let alone a human one. 

“I’m-I’m a mated male.” 

The male raised his brow, taking full stock of the skin-tight leathers Cassian wore. He took a deep drag of an oddly shaped pipe that lit up in the dark. “Ok. If that’s what you’re into.” A cloud of smoke spilled from his mouth — the source of the sweet and bitter smell on his lips. His eyes slid over to Rhysand, who only smirked and stuck a hand into his pocket. “And you? It doesn’t look like you’re into the leather stuff.” Then he seemed to reconsider what he’d said, looking between Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel like he’d figured out the final piece of the puzzle. He blinked in surprise, tipped back his head, and laughed. He was still laughing as he turned and walked away into the crowd. 

“What the hell was that?” Cassian asked. Azriel shrugged, shaking his head. 

“It’s a strange place we’ve landed in,” Rhysand remarked, although the comment was unnecessary. “I expect the strangeness touches everything here. Even the people.” He marveled at the scene before him. The only comparable place in Prythian was Rita’s, but even that paled in comparison to the sight before him. 

Rita’s was a pleasure house with music and drinks to spare, but everything here was… more. The music was louder, the smells an assault to the senses, and the lights changed every second and made the dancers flicker in and out of existence. Even the people seemed to have more substance to them, more color. 

Azriel loved it.

He loved the uneven floors that sucked at the bottoms of his shoes, the pulsing lights that made his eyes swim, and the sound blaring in his ears that drowned out all other thoughts. And something in the air smelled crisp and sweet to him, despite all the other competing scents that had Cassian and Rhysand wrinkling their nose in distaste. 

He strained his neck to catch better hold of the scent. His shadows clung to his body like children, hiding in the folds of his leathers. This world was not made for them, and they worried that if they strayed too far they would be left behind. 

Amren had warned them that this world was different, that its magic was different. But she hadn’t been here in thousands upon thousands of years. Who was to say what had changed in her absence and what had stayed the same?

Get in. Find what you need. Get out. Had been Nesta’s command before strumming The Harp. That’s how the three brothers had found themselves at the end of a narrow lane with boxes of metal and brick on either side. The club had been a logical next step — it was the only establishment that still whispered of life in the otherwise dead neighborhood. 

One shadow dared to explore the club, slipping past a broad-shouldered man with a scowling face and sniffing at half-full glasses of liquor with bright umbrellas laying against their salt-coated rims. Then it had caught sight of something that had it scurrying back to its master. 

Mate. The lone shadow hissed into Azriel’s ear. Mate. 

Azriel’s fluttering bird heart dove into his stomach, carrying with it all reason and restraint. There was no possible way… no. No? Right? 

Az? Rhysand steadied his brother as he stumbled back. 

She’s here? Azriel breathed. If it weren’t for his powers, Rhysand would never have heard the soft sigh escape Azriel’s lips as he searched the crowd desperately. Azriel tipped his head back, breathing in the comforting scent that held new meaning. My mate. She’s here.

What?!

Azriel ignored Rhys and dove into the crowd, head swiveling this way and that as he tried to find a familiar face he’d never seen before.

Az! Wait! But his brother was gone, and the crowd closed over the empty space he’d left behind like a healing wound. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Rhysand cursed. 

“Hey man! Where did you get your wings? They’re fucking awesome!” A plump male with cornflower blue hair and matching eyeliner piped up from behind Cassian’s back. Cassian whirled around in anger, feeling the ghost of a finger slide down his spine. No one touched his wings without his say. No one. 

The male startled back in fear. Upon seeing Cassian at his full height, he cowered against the wall, clutching a crinkled red cup against his chest. Cassian blinked in surprise. The male was wearing a black and white dress, the starched apron and collar crisp and clean. 

“Someone call the police. Now!” Someone hissed behind him.

“What seems to be the problem?” Rhysand spoke coolly. At the moment Cassian turned back to Rhysand, the maiden-male scuttled away and upstairs into the cold night. Rhysand examined his fingernails, an action that had the guard’s ruddy face turning white as he saw they were armed to the teeth.

The male’s arms hung loose and ready at his sides like two boulders, fists opening and closing slowly. “You guys need to leave. And before you say anything — I don’t give a shit if those weapons are fake or part of some Halloween costume, you can not bring them here.” 

“What fool would carry fake weapons?” Cassian asked seriously. 

The male’s face lost even more color. “Out. Now.” 

“There’s no need for—” Rhysand’s brows shot towards his hairline, violet eyes flickering up like a cat’s. Cassian, I can’t control him. 

His brother’s eyes widened. What do you mean? 

His mind — I can’t get into it. 

He’s only human!

Clearly.

The male moved forward then to grab at the knife hanging from Cassian’s side and on instinct, Cassian swung. His fist met the corner of the male’s jaw cleanly and he sank like a stone, crumbling to the floor. 

A female with glowing white lips nearby let out a strangled shriek, twisting her ankle as she grabbed her friend and sprinted towards the glowing red exit sign. All around her people began taking notice of the guard’s dark shape on the black floor and the two males that hovered over him, knives sparkling in the ever changing lights. 

I had hoped that the humans would not notice, Cassian explained. More alarmed cries erupted around them. He leaned down, carefully checking the male’s pulse. He was still alive, just knocked out cold. 

The music dimmed and then went out completely leaving an empty hole in the air that blew against the back of Cassian’s neck. Overhead lights turned on shortly after, burning with a fluorescence that had everyone hissing in pain. 

Things looked much better in the dark. In the dark no one noticed the sticky stains littering the floor, or the gum wrappers, and plastic straws, and crushed cups; the dusty strobe lights and haphazard paint jobs that left the walls bubbling with air pockets. They were also less likely to notice the three fae in their midst — 6-foot-everything and looking like they stepped out of the world’s most expensive LARPing tournament. It didn’t help that Cassian was kneeling over the man he just rendered unconscious. 

Confusion led to confused panicking, and then plain panic as people began pushing towards the exits in droves. 

I think they noticed. Rhysand looked over the crowd as they fluttered around him, but try as he might, he couldn’t enter anyone’s minds. Not even one. He didn’t like the oily vulnerability that followed, naked and unnerving. 

Cassian slung the unconscious male over his shoulder before he could be trampled beneath pairs of dusty white sneakers and stripper heels. Then it would seem it’s time for us to leave.

Where are you? Azriel cursed at no god in particular. He didn’t know which of them existed in this realm, if any did at all. 

This way. His shadows whispered, urging him towards the back corner of the club.

A battered door swung open and shut to the rhythms of females in skintight leather carrying chilled bottles in their hands. Thousands of signatures had been scrawled against the door in neon paint, and Azriel watched one of the females sign her name — Ava — in bright orange before kissing the door and slipping inside to grab another bottle. 

Just to the right of the door stood another female in ripped stockings. Bright blue glitter painted her eyes and cheeks. She bounced back and forth on the balls of her feet, playing with a hole in her sleeve as she held a shiny black box up to her ear. 

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN YOU ALREADY LEFT?! I’M THE DESIGNATED DRIVER!” She yelled into the box. Her eyes kept shifting over the club. Her lipstick, already blurred from time and dancing, smeared further as she bit her lip. A swipe of her sleeve on her cheek left a faint trail of plum-colored lipstick. She slammed her finger down on the box and for one moment, the glow it let off shot across her eyes. She looked close to tears. 

Azriel froze, feeling a pressure in his chest tighten and then burst apart. He felt her fear — her anger at being abandoned by her so-called friends. It was more overwhelming than the music. If it weren’t for the thin crowd of strangers in front of him blocking his path, he might have dropped to his knees and crawled to her. 

Mate. The bond sang in his chest. Mate. 

Screams broke through the music, high and panicked, and the magic of the moment crashed all around him. The darkness broke, harsh white light colliding with them and rendering the glitters and colors the humans adorned pale and lifeless. But not his mate. She sparkled brighter in the resulting chaos, eyes narrowing in a dare as she caught Azriel staring. She was a prey animal ready to bolt. A worm preparing to turn and reveal its teeth. 

Sharp cracks of plastic on linoleum rattled the ground as leather-clad women sprinted for the kitchen door brandishing empty bottles like weapons. Y/n raced after them. 

The door flapped shut behind her before Azriel had the sense to move his feet and follow, calling out, “Wait! Please!” 

He was doing this very poorly. He knew better than to chase a female like this. Sickness twisted in his stomach as he slammed into metal doors and ran through hallways crowded with glass bottles, aluminum cans, and wrinkly lemons stacked precariously in wooden crates. 

To your right. A shadow whispered in his ear.

Azriel slid to a stop in front of a heavy metal door, its edges frosted over with cold. 

It locks from the outside.

Azriel ripped the door off its hinges and was blasted in the face by a wave of cold. Frigid air curled out of the edges of the room and slithered over the floor like smoke. A young female in a pink tutu yelped in surprise and dove for the corner of the room, hiding behind racks of beer bottles. It wasn’t his mate. 

She was just a frightened female who’d hidden in the fridge, not knowing she was trapping herself in the process. 

“Here.” Azriel said, quickly ripping a coat off the wall hook and tossing it towards her. She reached for it with shaking hands and lips, mumbling out a confused “Thank you?” as Azriel turned and hurried away. The door was no more. She could walk out of the freezer whenever she pleased now. 

Azriel chased after his mate’s scent, stumbling through grey, blank hallways that belonged to the insurance company next door. He strained his ears to hear the tell-tale pounding of her boots, but came up empty. A dull red light told Azriel to “EXIT” as he pushed against a door groaning from rust and disuse. 

He was outside once again, breathing in car exhaust and restaurant refuse.

And something sweet. 

He heard the rush of air a second too late. 

A bottle slammed into the side of his face, cracking and cutting his skin. Tequila washed over the wounds. It burned like a bitch. 

Azriel didn’t let out a groan of pain, but he did stumble, landing on his right knee with a twinge of soreness.

The female — his mate — stared at him in horror as blood began to pool at his temple and drip down the line of his jaw. She held the shattered neck of the bottle in her hands. Her shoes were gone, toes curling against the pavement with cold. 

Gods, she was beautiful. 

Cassian was a blur of movement, knocking the bottle out of her hand and wrapping his arms around her arms. She screamed, squatting down before shooting back up and locking her knees. The top of her head slammed into Cassian’s nose. A brutal, bloody crack had Cassian stumbling back, gripping his nose.

“FUCK!” He swore. 

She whipped around and sprayed a mist in his eyes that had him cursing like a madman and slapping the palms of his hands over his eyes. 

“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” 

Rhysand stepped forward and cornered her against the wall. Violet eyes glittered with something bordering fury and amusement. 

“No.” Azriel moved between Rhys and his mate before she could spray him too. “No one touches her.” 

Rhys backed up immediately. This is her?

It’s her. 

He could hear her heartbeat quicker than a rabbit as she flattened herself against the wall, holding her spray out in warning. Cassian moaned in annoyance, wiping the tears that kept leaking out of his eyes.

I do not like the humans in this world. Cassian complained, sniffling. Even his nose burned.

As if Nesta wouldn’t have done this given the chance. Rhysand said. 

…I see your point. Cassian muttered. 

Be careful around this one. 

Because she’s a menace?

Rhysand smirked, flicking dust off the sleeve of his jacket. Because she’s Azriel’s mate.

Cassian straightened. His eyes darted back and forth between Rhysand, the blood dripping from Azriel’s head, and the human female. 

Oh. Cassian thought, suddenly embarrassed. We have… not made a good first impression. 

You think?! Azriel all but growled. 

Her fight or flight response was running out — her energy draining. She could feel it in her leaden limbs and the faint slowing of her heartbeat as the three men kept looking around like they were seeing each other for the first time. 

And they kept looking at her in mixtures of shock, concern, and — surprisingly — affection. 

What sick fuckery is this? She dug her fingernails into the brick, searching for cracks like she might be able to pull out a piece and throw it at them, or find some hidden portal through the wall and back into the safety of the inside. 

Were they going to kidnap her? Was she about to be shoved into a bag and tossed into some dingy trunk? But then why the wings? It was too dark to see them in their entirety, but they looked meticulous and expensive and very memorable — not ideal for kidnapping. Was this a LARPING thing? Were they Satanists? Was that how this worked?

The one in front turned. The one she’d attacked with a bargain bottle of tequila. The blood had stopped flowing and darkened against his tan skin. Hazel eyes, bright and piercing as a copper penny, looked out from a face made of elegant, serious lines. His was not a face that smiled often, beautiful as it was. The burly, rugged one looked like he was made for laughing. Smile lines gently graced his cheeks and temples. But maybe those were scars. He sported many of them, like pale whiskers over his skin. The third was the most put together of the three. Instead of strange, leather armor, he wore a suit of velvet over something stiff and protective that hugged his trim waist and broad shoulders, and his eyes were violet, not hazel. 

The elegant, unsmiling one coughed awkwardly, shifting to hide his wings. Shockingly, they slid closed behind his back, the movement so smooth it looked real. 

“I am…” His voice was a deep, gentle caress. “I am so very sorry. I did not mean to frighten you as I did. Please, forgive me.” He was… alarmingly polite, and his accent was… pleasant, although impossible to place — all soft rolls of the tongue complimented by the rich timbre of his voice. “ Please.” He spoke the last word quietly, urgently. 

Y/n said nothing. Her arm was beginning to get sore from holding out the bottle of pepper spray. Although, it can’t have been that effective if the rugged one was already recovered. Maybe it had expired without her realizing? 

“My name is Azriel,” the man spoke again quickly and gently. Even his name sounded odd. “And this is Cassian—” He pointed to the burly one,“And Rhysand.” The last of the men tilted his head in a mock bow. 

“A pleasure.” The violet-eyed one said. Rhysand’s voice was weighed down with sultry charm. He purred the words more than spoke them. 

“Pleasure,” Cassian copied, gruff but kind. 

Y/n remained silent. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed. The pretty one — Azriel — stepped forward and pulled out a sleek, small blade from the belt about his waist. Y/n was about to spray him in the face when he twisted the blade so that the handle faced her.

“This will do more damage than the little bottle you carry,” he promised. “I hope this will make you more trusting of me. I swear to do you no harm. I’ll even make a bargain, if it would make you trust me long enough to explain.” His wings twitched nervously and Y/n found she couldn’t draw her eyes away from them and how real they looked. 

The three men kept looking at each other furtively. Conversations, complex and unknowable, hide in every twitch of their eyes.

“Speak out loud,” Azriel snarled at them finally. “You’re frightening her.” 

Rhysand smiled apologetically at the female. “We need to leave. Now. You can hear the humans coming as well as I can.” 

Y/n bristled at that, and a detached feeling of horror came over her. “Are you not… are you not human?” 

Cassian gawked at her, speaking his wings out far and wide. “Do the humans of this world have wings?” 

She sputtered to answer, fear giving way to curiosity. Azriel took advantage of that, moving close enough that he slid the blade into her hand. It was a cool, welcome weight against her hot, sweaty skin. Up close she saw he had freckles dotting the high corners of his cheeks and that his hair came alive with dark tendrils of smoke that wafted off his skin like steam. They wrapped around her and she heard their strange whispers in her ears like white noise. 

“We’re not human. We’re not even from this world.” The sirens were only a block away now and Azriel swore beneath his breath. More of those dark tendrils shot out like shadows and dulled the noises of incoming fire trucks, cop cars, and EMTs. “I swear to you that I will explain more, but we must go. Please.” He took hold of her wrist, angling the blade he’d given her right beneath his last rib. 

It was a dramatic declaration — if she wanted to kill him and run away, he would let her. 

Y/n swallowed thickly, her mind thick with fog and the dying embers of adrenaline. “I—I parked a few blocks down that way. I can take us somewhere else.” 

Azriel breathed a sigh of relief and she pulled away from him, taking with her any shred of comfort he’d felt since coming to this world. 

Somehow they managed to walk the quarter of a mile to her car without being stopped once by another living soul. She suspected it had to do with the shadows that now poured off of Azriel’s skin and trailed after her. She could feel them licking at her heels like curious dogs… or blood thirsty wolves. 

She gripped the knife tightly in her hand, stretching her fingers to wrap around the steering wheel as she drove through familiar roads on autopilot. Azriel watched her curiously as she stopped at a red light and clicked her blinker on. 

None of the men looked comfortable squished into her tiny sedan, wings tucked in so tight they cramped. Cassian’s boot was stretched out on the center console, almost reaching the gear shift. Rhysand was hunched over in the back seat, pressing his forehead against the cool metal of the headrest in front of him to keep from getting sick. 

“What is this cursed thing?” He grumbled, then promptly shut up when Y/n took them down a local road with craters that had them jolting and jerking for a mile. “This metal box… I do not like it.” 

Azriel and Cassian ignored their brother. Az was too busy paying attention to his mate and politely explaining the complexity of their situation, and Cassian was too busy looking out the window at the houses that passed by. He could hear the unfamiliar hum of electricity like a dragonfly's wings. 

By the time she pulled the sedan down a beaten road to a quiet, homely one-bedroom house, her mind was swimming with words and phrases she could barely string together — Koschei, fae, Illyrians, seers. It was worse than when she’d spent two all-nighters cramming for an exam in college fueled by nothing but Red Bull and desperation. 

Before the keys were even out of the ignition, Rhysand was spilling out of the car and breathing in gasps of clean, woodsy air. Gravel crunched under his feet. Once this road had been paved, but time and weather had broken up the asphalt until only chunky black rocks remained. Green grass, not yet killed off by Autumn frost, grew in uneven tufts up to Y/n’s squat, brown-sided house, skirting around the makeshift garden in the backyard before disappearing into the woods beyond. Neighboring homes inched as close as they could to the main road, half-submerged in golden brown trees that trembled in the wind. 

The porch steps creaked, flexing in the center like backs ready to break, but they’d recently been cleaned and painted over with a fresh coat of white. The front door had been given similar treatment, although it was painted green. A small Autumn wreath hung from a nail. 

Y/n fumbled with the keys, fingers shaking and numb from the cold. 

“Here,” Azriel murmured, gently taking them from her. His shadows could have unlocked the front door in less than a second, but he was in no mood to test his mate’s patience and understanding. The fact that she’d driven them to her home in the dead of night was testament to the uneasy trust she’d placed in them. 

A disgruntled meow greeted them as they filed into the short and narrow entryway. Cassian bumped into the entry dresser with his wings and nearly jumped out of his skin when the dark monstrosity that sat by a ceramic dish full of rings hissed. 

It was the fattest cat Cassian had ever seen. 

Acidic yellow-green eyes narrowed at him, as if sensing his judgment, and the cat’s whiskers twitched along with its pink button nose. 

“Jefferson, be nice.” Y/n reprimanded the cat, scooping up its rotund body into her arms. The cat swatted her shoulder once, then consented to being held. He did not like strangers in his house, even if they were Y/n’s guests. “This is Jefferson.” She looked behind her back to the rest of the house. “And this is my home.” 

She busied herself preparing for her unexpected guests. She scoured the bathroom closet for spare toothbrushes, towels, and lotions, and pulled out the thickest blankets she could find. One person could sleep on the pull out couch, the other two would have to fight for the best spot on the floor. 

Azriel watched her as she moved. It was not a large house — it was barely even a cottage — and it took his shadows a short time to familiarize themselves with your home. 

A lumpy couch, wicker armchair, and coffee table made up the living room, tied together by a retro rug that may have once been white, but was now a respectable beige. Four mismatched chairs huddled around a scratched wooden table near the kitchen, one of which carried a stuffy cushion that held the imprint of Jefferson’s soft body. 

The cat watched them from the kitchen counter with its piercing eyes, and did not seem at all concerned when a stray shadow wound around its tail. 

Pathetic. All of them! Were the cat’s thoughts. Master will not like this.

His eyes did soften when Y/n returned from her bedroom, arms heavy with blankets and sheets and pillows. Azriel quickly relieved her of her burden, promising that they’d spent nights in worse conditions than a heated house with bedding and clean floors. 

She seemed charmed by that and almost smiled. Almost.

“There’s leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry, and the bathroom’s by the front door. I’ve already put some toothbrushes and towels in there if you need them.”

“Thank you,” Azriel said softly, tilting his head in a faint bow. His brothers followed suit before busying themselves laying out blankets and pillows like they’d done this a thousand times before — which they had. 

Y/n nodded curtly and swept a judgmental Jefferson into her arms before disappearing into her room. Azriel heard the lock click into place and the rummaging of drawers as she pulled out an extra can of pepper spray, a pair of scissors, and the three knives she’d taken from the kitchen. She bolted her windows and drew the curtains closed and even stuffed a towel into the space beneath her doors just in case.  

She was meticulous and careful despite her generosity, and Azriel found himself smitten at her resourcefulness. 

Stop thinking about her and go the fuck to sleep, Az. Cassian grumbled. He could feel the longing dripping off of Azriel’s shoulders. She’ll feel more comfortable if she knows we’re asleep. 

How much would you like to bet she kills us in the night? Rhysand asked, and then seemed amused by the prospect of it. 

I’d worry more about the cat. Cassian chuckled. Then he turned over onto his stomach and was out like a light. Centuries spent in war camp barracks and makeshift battlefield tents had taught him to steal sleep wherever and whenever he could. 

Rhysand was quick to follow suit, although centuries as a High Lord had pampered him just a little. 

Azriel stayed awake, waiting to hear your heartbeat and breathing slow to a comfortable pace. But it never happened. Not even as the sunlight trickled in and touched the light-bleached floors. 

[f1-05-writer]

Azriel’s Kinktober Masterlist

Welcome to the little collection of Kinktober blurbs!! You’ll be receiving a blurb every day for the month of October!!

I’ve taken a different approach to most people and have solely focused on Azriel for this little event.

All pieces will be 18+ and have warnings that I’d recommend you check before reading!!

Main Masterlist

A Kink a Day Keeps the Doctor Away

Day 1 | Choking*

Day 2 | Spitting*

Day 3 | Toys*

Day 4 | Breast Play*

Day 5 | Tongue*

Day 6 | Bondage*

Day 7 | Voyeurism*

Day 8 | Spanking*

Day 9 | Threesome*

Day 10 | Dirty talk*

Day 11 | Roleplay*

Day 12 | Overstimulation*

Day 13 | Cockwarming*

Day 14 | Breeding Kink*

Day 15 | Ice Play*

Day 16 | Mutual Masturbation*

Day 17 | Mirror Sex*

Day 18 | 69*

Day 19 | Edging*

Day 20 | Thigh riding*

Day 21 | Blindfolded*

Day 22 | Shadow Play*

Day 23 | Degradation*

Day 24 | Praise Kink*

Day 25 | Dacryphilia (crying)*

Day 26 | Wax Play*

Day 27 | Orgasm Denial*

Day 28 | Glory Hole* (in the form of a Pleasure Hall)

Day 29 | Knife Play*

Day 30 | Stoned Sex*

Day 31 | Fear Kink*

[f1-05-writer]

Pure Love

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: soft!azriel (this is toothrotting fluff, so yes it's a warning), language, tending to minor wounds

word count: 6.8k

synopsis: You were in love with Azriel. It was inevitable, really. Who could blame you for falling for the kind and gentle male?

or

A series of moments that show your blooming love for Azriel, who was too busy cultivating his own love for you to notice.

my masterlist

~ ~ ~

I love you.

The words swam in your head as you stared at the beautiful male across the training room. His wings were tucked in tight behind him and his shadows were out of sight as he gently coached a tentative priestess. She was the newest recruit from the library, and she was a skittish little thing. It had taken Gwyn months to convince her to join you all for training.

Emerie and Gwyn had balked when Nesta suggested she start her training with Azriel, but you knew there was no one better to coax confidence into the nervous female. You understood Gywn and Emerie’s bewilderment. Really, you couldn’t blame them after watching Azriel and Cassian push them past their limits every day in training. It wasn’t too long ago, though, that you had been in that priestesses shoes, and the very same shadowsinger had helped you grow into yourself. He recognized your strength long before you learned to see it in yourself.

You felt like a fool the first day of training. A naive, fumbling fawn that had wandered into a lion’s den. You were an Illyrian female with no money or skills to your name, and you felt so stupid for thinking you could be like Emerie. Emerie, the Illyrian female from your own camp that had won the Blood Rite, alongside the two other females you admired. She had found you cornered by a group of males just a block from your home, somehow scaring them off. Something inside of you snapped then, and you knew you would do whatever you could to get out of that hell hole.

You begged her to take you with her to Velaris. To ask the General to train you alongside them. You really didn’t need to do much to convince her, for she understood your struggles and desperation better than anyone. Cassian was convinced easily enough as well, and hope had bloomed in your chest at the prospect of training with Valkyries. That hope withered that first day, when you couldn’t even muster the strength to hold a wooden sword, or find the coordination to follow the intricate footwork of sparring.

You had slid out of the training room while everyone was chatting during a water break, and walked blindly until you found a long, dark stairwell that seemed to stretch down for miles. You numbly walked down the stairs until you stopped to slide down against the stone wall, sitting dejectedly on the step. Tears silently slid down your cheeks as your heart pounded and you thought about going back to that gods forsaken camp with those bastard males. 

The door to the stairwell had slowly creaked open, and the sound was followed by slow and heavy footsteps that made your back straighten and skin prickle with nerves. Your stomach twisted once you made out the silhouette of the large winged-male a few steps above you, and your mind fell back to the last time you were alone with an Illyrian male. As if he could read your thoughts, he stayed back, not daring to come any closer, and slowly sat on his own step. Moments of tense silence passed between you, before he finally asked, voice quiet and gentle, “Are you okay?”

You didn’t know how to answer him. You weren’t okay, but you didn’t know if you wanted to admit that to the Night Court’s Spymaster.

Azriel kept speaking, his tone hushed, “I didn’t know how to fly until I was eleven.”

You couldn’t help the shock that roiled through you. Eleven? How could it be possible for an Illyrian boy to go so long without giving into his instincts to fly? You had been able to fly since the age of three, until the males in your camp stole that joy from you a decade later.

“It’s a long story,” he said, his quiet voice bouncing off the stone around you. “But I learned eventually, and now I’m here.”

You still said nothing, prompting Azriel to keep talking. “No one here is going to judge you for trying,” he murmured. “For learning to defend yourself. Everyone starts somewhere, and we all understand that. Better than most.”

“I don’t want to go back to that camp,” you croaked.

A beat passed that seemed to crackle with a new tension, and you wondered if you had managed to say the wrong thing, until Azriel swore, voice hard, “You don’t have to.”

“But if I can’t—”

“You are welcome here in Velaris for as long as you wish,” he cut you off. “You can stay here in the House of Wind however long you need. Emerie is about to move in as well.”

You mulled over his words, and your chest tightened as you thought about training again. “I’m nothing like those females in the training room,” you whispered.

“How so?”

You floundered. “They are all so magnificent. They are brave, and strong, and courageous. They are confident, steady. I am none of those things.”

“You are a female who has survived the horrid treatment of Illyria,” Azriel argued, voice resolute. “You endured that wretched culture and are still here, still wanting to fight. That alone makes you brave. It makes you strong. Don’t let your mind trick you into thinking otherwise.”

You couldn’t believe he spoke of Illyria with such disdain. This fearsome Ilryian male that sat on the High Lord’s court with swirls of Illryian ink snaking up his neck and down his arms spoke of his culture with such hatred you nearly recoiled, and you wondered what happened to make him despise his own culture so much. 

He let out a breath. “I will help you train,” he murmured softly. “We can meet for extra sessions if you would like.”

You had known that you really would be a fool if you passed on his offer, if you jeopardized the freedom he was offering you on a silver platter. You jumped at the opportunity, and that’s how you ended up spending the next five months training with Azriel. He was kind and gentle and respectful with every word he spoke, with every direction he gave to you. He pushed you to your limit every night, limbs wobbly with exhaustion by the time you crawled into bed, but he never asked you for more than you were capable of.

He taught you how to trust yourself. To be sure of your movements and your thoughts. To rely on your instincts in every situation. You carried yourself with confidence now, head held high and back straight when you walked into a room or down the bustling streets of Velaris. He would argue with you, but you knew you owed it all to Azriel.

Yes, he truly was the perfect person to coach the new and timid priestess. You knew of the terrifying reputation he held across Prythian. You had known of it long before you ever met him, but he quickly proved to you that he was nothing like the rumors painted him as. He could be ruthless, yes, and you were sure he was terrifying to whoever ended up on the other side of his dagger, but he never held that persona around you or his loved ones. Never around the citizens of Velaris. Azriel was sweet and gentle, patient and understanding, and could anyone really fault you for falling in love with the male after spending so much time with him?

His hazel eyes locked with yours across the room. Your face flushed at being caught watching him, but you offered a small, sheepish smile, to which he returned. Your heart fluttered, and you dragged your attention back to the females around you, avoiding Nesta’s curious gaze.

~ ~ ~

I love you.

You watched from afar as Azriel crouched down in front of a small girl on the bustling streets of Velaris, his wings creating a pocket of safety around the teary eyed child. She had a scrape on her knee that she was cradling to her little chest, and her eyes were wide as saucers as she stared up at Azriel. You inched closer, hoping he knew you were there if he needed you. If she wanted a female’s help.

He didn’t need your help, of course. You watched him hold his palms out for the little girl, and she slowly placed both of her tiny hands in his scarred ones. You saw her eye his hands curiously as he helped her rise to her feet, but her attention was quickly diverted by the new trail of blood trickling down her shin. Her lip started to wobble, and Azriel looked around frantically. You quickly pulled out the handkerchief you kept in your pocket and held it out to him.

His eyes clung to the embroidered cloth dangling in front of him before they snapped up to you. “Use this,” you murmured quietly. He gently took the cloth from you, dragging his eyes away to look back at the little girl.

He cooed softly, the girl clinging tight to the fingers of one of his hands. He softly told her not to worry, that they would get her all cleaned up in no time as he gently wiped the blood from her pale blue skin. Her cheeks were wet as she watched Azriel in awe, her tiny hand still gripping his fingers.

He stuck the cloth in his pocket, hiding the blood from her sight as he told her softly, “There. Like it never even happened.” He grinned at the little girl, whose cheeks turned a darker shade of blue. He squeezed the hand she still had wrapped around his. “Is your mother around, honey?”

Your insides melted at the sweet term of endearment that he cooed to the little girl. Falling in love with such a kind and gentle male, beautiful inside and out, was inevitable, really.

She shook her head, dark curly hair disheveled from her fall bouncing around. “I lost her back there.” She pointed in the direction of the Sidra, where shops and cafés lined the bustling boardwalk.

Azriel slowly stood up, keeping his hand in hers. He hummed softly, “Let's see if we can find her.”

He briefly glanced at you, and you took that as your cue to follow. Azriel and the girl walked hand in hand down the busy cobblestone street, with you trailing closely behind. “My name is Az,” he told the girl, then he pointed over his shoulder to you. Her eyes followed his motion so that they landed on you curiously. “This is my friend Y/N.”

The girl took you in with wide eyes, and you smiled softly. “You’re pretty,” she said in awe.

Your face flushed, and you caught Azriel’s smirk before you cleared your throat. “Why thank you,” you said animatedly, forcing yourself to accept the young faerie’s compliment. “You are beautiful,” you returned. “You glimmer like the brightest star.”

The little girl bashfully looked away, stepping closer to Azriel to hide behind his arm. Azriel chuckled softly. “Can you tell us your name?” he asked.

Before the girl could respond, commotion in the street made you and Azriel halt. He tugged the girl close to him as you flanked her other side. A female was yelling in the street, frantically moving from person to person. Her eyes were wild and frantic as she scanned the bodies on the street, her pale blue skin glimmering in the sunlight. You looked down at the little girl. “Is that your mother?”

She twisted to look around the towering bodies surrounding her, but Azriel quickly scooped her up in his arms so she could see. She giggled at the dramatic change in height for her, resting her little hand on his broad shoulder. He pointed to the female up ahead, and the girl nodded excitedly, wiggling in his hold.

“Hang on a second, love,” he murmured, holding her in place. The three of you moved closer to the female, the crowd of bodies parting easily around you at the sight of Azriel.

Once you neared closer, the distraught female’s eyes snagged on the Illyrian male carrying her tiny daughter. Her face visibly crumpled with relief as she hurtled to meet the three of you. “Molly!” she cried with her arms outstretched, the girl easily leaping from Azriel to her mother.

The girl stuffed her face in her mother’s neck. “You can’t run away from me like that,” she chided, voice wobbly with fear and relief.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” the little girl whined into her mother. Her mother sighed and ran a gentle hand over her head before her eyes drifted back to Azriel. They went wide.

Azriel shifted on his feet, his arm brushing against yours. You glanced at him out of your periphery and noticed the faint pink hue that coated his cheeks. The female sputtered before stammering out, “Thank you, Spymaster.”

Azriel moved his hands behind his back. “Not necessary,” he said softly. The female was at a loss for words as she stared at him. Her eyes briefly passed over you, and you smiled softly.

“She has a bit of a scrape on her knee,” you told the female after Azriel had grown stiff beside you. “Azriel cleaned her up, but it should probably be washed.”

The female nodded, holding her daughter tight. “Thank you,” she said again, clearly still intimidated by the male beside you. “I’m sorry for the trouble,” she added, and then hastily moved away and disappeared into the busy street.

Your gaze lingered on where she vanished for a moment before you returned your attention to Azriel, who was still thrumming with tension beside you. “Azriel?” you asked softly. “Are you okay?”

His throat bobbed and he blinked a few times before glancing at you. He tilted his head in the direction of the Sidra. “Let’s go,” he said, voice cold. You frowned. “We’re going to be late.”

He stalked off in the direction of the River House, and you had to hurry to match his pace. You watched him closely for a moment, taking in the twitching of his jaw and the agitated shadows that pulsed around him. His hands were clenched into tight fists, and when you reached for his wrist his whole body locked up.

You quickly dropped your hand, and tried to suppress the flare of hurt that erupted at his reaction to your touch. He stopped on the street, looking at you expectantly. You wetted your lips, searching for the words that you had wanted to say. “What’s wrong?” you asked softly.

He clenched his jaw and started walking away again. Your nostrils flared as you followed him, irritation replacing your hurt. “Azriel,” you snapped, voice demanding his attention.

He halted again, and turned to look at you. His eyes were cold and sharp, and you frowned at the absence of his usual warmth around you. “Tell me why you’re upset,” you prodded, voice more gentle.

His eyes bounced between yours, and you braced yourself for his rejection, for him to tell you to fuck off and mind your own business. Instead he shocked you by gritting out, “She was afraid of me.”

Your brows furrowed. “Who? The little girl?”

He nodded tersely. “And her mother.”

“Az,” you said in disbelief, the nickname slipping from your lips. “Of course the girl was scared of you, at first. You’re an Illyrian warrior. You’re naturally intimidating.”

He scowled at your words and you hurried to continue. “But as soon as you showed her kindness, she trusted you. She practically clung to you, Azriel. You made her feel safe.”

He looked down at his hands, at the scarred tissue covering them. “She held onto your hand for dear life, because she knew you were good. She knew you would take care of her.”

His face softened slightly and his shoulders dropped. “Her mother was distraught and frantic looking for her little girl, and then she found her in the arms of a member of her High Lord’s court,” you continued softly, taking a step closer. His hazel eyes locked with yours. “She was shocked, and intimidated, yes, but she wasn’t afraid you would hurt her or her daughter. I guarantee it.”

Azriel’s breath caught in his throat as you took another step closer, only inches separating you. You swallowed your nerves, needing him to hear this, to understand. “You are a good male, Azriel.” Your voice was whisper soft and laced with reverence.

A shadow brushed your hand as his chest moved with his heavy breaths. He looked at you like you were a puzzle, an enigma he couldn’t figure out. He pulled his gaze away, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you.” Then he turned and started walking in the direction of the River House again.

Your shoulders deflated and you let out a disappointed sigh. You trailed behind him, the words I love you swimming in your head, begging to reach the sullen male just a few feet in front of you.

~ ~ ~

A generous slice of chocolate cake appeared in front of you. Your eyes trailed from the cake to the scarred hand that held the plate up the eyes of the male offering it to you. Your brows furrowed in confusion, but you took the cake nonetheless. You glanced from the cake to Azriel again, who folded his hands behind himself as he towered over where you sat in the oversized armchair.

“Thank you?” You smiled softly. “Was my lust for some cake that obvious?”

Pink tinged his cheeks, and your heart fluttered in your chest. Your friends were all chattering loudly throughout the living room of Rhys and Feyre’s house, but it all faded to a dull buzz as you stared at Azriel.

“I may have caught you looking once or twice,” was his quiet response.

You grinned, then picked up the fork he had rested on the plate for you. You stuffed a too large bite in your mouth, relishing in the taste of the chocolate on your tongue. “I also wanted to apologize,” Azriel said quietly, and his voice made you rush to swallow your food.

“Apologize?”

“For yesterday.”

You frowned. “That’s not necessary.”

“It is,” he argued. “I was rude to you, and you didn’t deserve that.”

“Hardly,” you scoffed. Yes, your feelings had been hurt by his cool demeanor and his aversion to your touch, but that was hardly an offense to hold over his head. “You were upset, Azriel. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“But—”

“Nope,” you cut him off before taking another bite of your cake. You gestured to the arm of the sofa you were sitting on. “Sit down and share this cake with me.”

Azriel hesitated, but he relented when you cut him a pointed look. He moved to the other side of the chair, sitting precariously on the arm. He shifted around a bit to get comfortable, and in the process his wing brushed against your own, the feeling sending a shiver up your spine. The two of you froze, and he looked at you with alarm before he stood up hastily, “I’m so sorry—”

“Azriel,” you sighed, feigning nonchalance when your entire body felt like it was on fire. “Just sit down. It’s okay.”

His throat bobbed, his wide eyes staring at you before returning to his perch on the arm rest. His wing brushed your arm this time, and he went rigid. “It’s okay,” you said again softly, his eyes locking with yours. 

His mouth opened and closed, and his cheeks were flushed. “I don’t want to make you—”

“You don’t make me uncomfortable,” you assured him. The tension melted away from his body, but you still added, “You don’t have to sit here if you’re uncomfortable, though.”

“I’m not,” he was quick to say, and he settled in a bit more until he was comfortable enough on the plush armrest. He was tall enough that his feet rested flat on the floor, and you knew it probably wasn’t the most comfortable position, but at least he wasn’t just standing and watching you and his family from the side. His wings relaxed slightly, and they brushed yours again lightly.

He watched you carefully, and you forced your face to stay neutral, to not reveal that there was a torrent of butterflies fluttering in your chest. He reached for the fork in your hand, his fingers brushing yours, and your mind was fuzzy from all the physical contact. Even during your training sessions Azriel did his best to refrain from touching you. You knew it was to make you comfortable, to make you feel safe after coming from the Illyrian camps, but sometimes you longed for his touch. Now you were sitting here sharing a piece of cake with him while his wings gently brushed against you.

He raised the fork to his mouth and then handed it back to you, his eyes crinkling slightly in a smile while he chewed his cake. I love you, you thought, and the words sent a strange warmth through you that seemed to settle in your chest. The feeling was strange, and you stared at Azriel a bit awestruck. Home. It felt like you finally were home after searching for one for half a century.

~ ~ ~

“We know you’re in love with Azriel.”

The words clanged through your intoxicated mind as you stared at Nesta and Feyre in the booth across from you. Feyre glared at Nesta, who was looking at you expectantly.

You stammered out a pitiful, “What?”

Nesta rolled her eyes and Feyre’s soft ones landed on you. “By ‘we’ she means her and me. No one else knows.”

Nesta hummed, “That we know of. But if we figured it out…”

You blanched, and Feyre swatted Nesta’s shoulder. “Ignore her,” she told you. Her eyes were soft as they looked over your slightly swaying form in the wooden booth. The music pounding through Rita’s was making you a little nauseous at this point. The throbbing at your back and the alcohol you had downed also wasn’t doing you any favors. You suddenly wished you could winnow.

“Do you really love him?” Feyre asked softly.

Your hands were clammy as you stuffed them beneath your thighs. Your gaze bounced nervously around the tavern, desperate to escape this situation.

“Y/N,” Feyre said softly, dragging your attention back to her. “We’re not trying to make you uncomfortable.”

Nesta’s eyes had considerably softened as she said, “We just want you to talk to us. We’re your friends.”

You bit your lip, anxiety thrumming through you at the thought of admitting your feelings for the Illyrian male aloud. You blamed the alcohol coursing through your veins for answering with, “I’m so in love with him.”

Their eyes widened, then slow smiles broke out across their faces.

The slightly slurred words tumbled out of you. “It’s pathetic how much I love him. But how could I not?” Your eyes were wide as you flung your arms out in exasperation. “How could I possibly be expected to not fall in love with the kind and thoughtful male that took time out his night to train me for months?” you exclaimed. “He’s so beautiful, and intelligent, and gentle.”

Feyre and Nesta were grinning with amusement as you unleashed the torrent of thoughts you had kept pent up about the male for the last six months. “I love him so much it hurts,” you whined, clutching your chest dramatically.

The two sisters shared a glance before Feyre asked slowly, “Have you thought about sharing this with Azriel?”

Your mouth fell open. “Of course not!” you exclaimed.

Nesta frowned. “Why not?”

You faltered. “Why the hell would I?”

Her frown shifted into a scowl. “Maybe he feels the same, Y/N.”

You scoffed. “As if he would ever love me.”

“Why would you say that?” Feyre asked, bewildered.

“Because I’m me! I’m just a poor Illyrian female that he took pity on because he’s kind.”

Nesta’s glare was icy. “You are far more than that to him, to all of us for that matter. You’re our friend, Y/N,” she snapped. You flinched slightly. “If you don’t recognize that, I don’t know what to tell you.”

A tense silence fell on your table. Feyre eventually decided to break it. “Azriel is a good male who loves his family fiercely,” she said softly. “But I’ve never seen him…soften the way he does around you.” 

Nesta nodded her agreement. “He practically glows when he sees you, Y/N.” Then she added with a pointed look, “And vice versa.”

You flushed. You were done with this mortifying conversation for tonight. You had said far too much in far too little time, and it was time for you to go. You might have to sleep on the stairs to the House of Wind if you left without one of your Illyrian male chauffeurs, but we all had to make sacrifices.

You stood up from the booth, a bit unsteady on your feet. “I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

They both protested as you turned and made a beeline for the door. The cool night air was refreshing on your flushed cheeks, and you giggled to yourself as you walked on unsteady feet down the stone street. Gods, you were really drunk.

In some part of your mind, you knew you shouldn’t be walking by yourself in the middle of the night, especially drunk. You were pretty sure any self defense tactics Azriel had taught you had fallen right out of your head tonight. You would be lucky if you could run in a straight line.

You smiled to yourself at the thought of Azriel. He was so beautiful. You missed him. You loved him. That’s what you had told Nesta and Feyre tonight. The reminder turned your stomach sour.

“Y/N.”

You spun around at the sound of your name, wobbling slightly. Your eyes widened and a grin spread across your face at the sight of the male in front of you. “I was just thinking about you!”

Azriel’s eyebrows went up, and an amused smirk stretched his lips. You bet they were soft. “Sweetheart,” Azriel murmured, taking a step closer. “How much did you drink?”

You shrugged, the motion making you sway a little. Azriel quickly reached to stabilize you. His hand on your waist felt electric.

“You were supposed to wait for me to take you home,” he said softly. “Feyre was a bit frantic that you just walked out.”

You blinked. His eyes were so bright under the light of the moon and stars. “Sorry,” you mumbled.

“Did something happen?” he asked, voice gentle. “Why did you just leave?”

You thought about Feyre and Nesta’s interrogation and the word vomit that spewed from your mouth. Even drunk you knew not to tell Azriel that, so you simply shrugged again. You leaned a bit closer to him, exhaustion creeping in. “I’m tired, Az,” you whined.

He chuckled, and you smiled at the sound. “Let’s go,” he said, tucking you into his side. You leaned heavily on him, and you barely noticed your wing touching his. Azriel didn’t mention it either. “I think we should go to the Town House,” he said. “I’m not sure flying or winnowing is the best idea right now.”

You nodded, mumbling out an agreement. Your eyes caught on the bright blue cobalt of his siphon that adorned the hand on your waist. You perked up a bit, grinning. “Hey!” you yelled, startling Azriel a bit. “Your siphon matches my skirt!” You pointed to the cobalt satin that draped down your legs.

Azriel laughed as he continued pulling you along toward the house. “It’s my favorite color,” you babbled. “I’ve always liked blue, but then I saw your blue, and I knew it had to be mine too.”

Azriel squeezed your hip gently. “I’m flattered,” he teased. You knew you were likely talking nonsense, but you grinned at his indulgence.

You continued rambling about anything and everything, with Azriel nodding or humming his acknowledgment. Eventually you reached the Town House, and Azriel guided you through the gate and up the stairs slowly, holding onto you tight. You fell into him a bit once you stood in front of the door. He managed to open it without letting go of you, and then shut it behind him.

The house was warm and smelled like cedar. “I’ve never been here,” you mumbled.

“We usually go to the River House, now” he explained, guiding you to a staircase that made your head swim. “But I still stay here a lot, to get some peace.”

Azriel. It smelled like Azriel. You clumsily stepped for the first stair, missing it completely. You would have collided with the floor if not for Azriel hanging on to you. “I think I’ll just stay here,” you murmured, moving to slide out of his hold, but he held you up firmly.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” he grumbled. “Let me carry you up?”

You certainly had no protests. Azriel scooped you up effortlessly then started climbing up the stairs. You rested your head on his chest, closing your eyes as you listened to his heartbeat. I love you, you thought, then, remembering Nesta and Feyre’s claims, Do you love me?

Warmth bloomed in your chest, and you nuzzled into his neck. He pushed open a door that led to a bedroom that smelled even more like him. He sat you down on the edge of the massive bed. “Is this your room?” you asked.

He nodded. “You can sleep in here. The other guest rooms don’t have beds as big. I’ll sleep in Rhys’s old room.”

You nodded, a bit dazed. You winced as a particularly sharp pain shot from the middle of your back and through your wing.

“What is it?” Azriel asked worriedly.

Your eyes burned a bit as you started to recognize the pain again. “I think I hurt my wing,” you whimpered.

“What?” he asked, alarm clear in his voice. “When?”

“Today,” you whispered. “I went to the beach and fell down some rocks.”

“Did you clean them?”

You shook your head. “Couldn’t reach.”

“Well then did you go to a healer?” he asked, exasperated.

You grimaced, shaking your head again. “I don’t like healers.” You didn’t like anyone touching your wings. 

Azriel sucked in a sharp breath. A beat passed. “I know healers in Illyria can be…inconsiderate,” he settled on, voice dripping with disdain. His voice softened then, “But Madja, our family healer, is incredibly kind and gentle. Everyone in her practice is. She’s worked on all of our wings many times.”

You were trembling, the idea of him making you go see a healer right now, when you were drunk and vulnerable—you couldn’t. “Please,” you rasped, “please don’t make me.”

His eyes were so soft as he said, “They need cleaned, sweetheart.”

“You can clean them,” you rushed out. His eyes went wide, but you continued on, “Please? I trust you, more than anyone. I just, I can’t—”

He shushed you softly as he reached to wipe a tear from your cheek. “Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll do my best.”

You relaxed instantly, sinking into the bed. “Lay down for me,” he murmured. “I’ll be right back.”

You did as he said, laying down on your stomach with your head resting on Azriel’s pillows that wrapped you in his comforting scent. He returned quickly, the bed sinking as he sat down beside you. “Can I,” he paused, “Can I touch?”

You nodded against the pillows, a mumbled yes escaping your lips. Azriel gently undid the slats of your sweater, his fingertips brushing your sensitive skin at the base of your wings. You shivered, and he stilled. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

“Yeah,” you rasped.

He continued his examination, then said, “I think it’s just the right one. The left looks fine.”

He gently prodded the base of the left and then did the same to the right, the motion making you hiss. He apologized, then told you, “These scrapes are still raw, Y/N.”

“Ever since they clipped my wings,” you murmured, “They don’t heal as fast as they should. I don’t know why.”

Azriel’s silence was loud. He rustled around with whatever supplies he collected, and you heard the light sloshing of water. “I’m going to clean them now,” he murmured softly. “Okay?”

You nodded, and he gently ran a warm, damp cloth over the wounds. You tensed from the burning that spread through your wing, but his gentle movements made it bearable. He then unscrewed a cap from a small tin, and told you, “This is a healing balm Madja gave me. It should speed up the healing and dull the pain.”

You nodded and closed your eyes as his gentle fingers spread the salve over your wounds. You let out a sigh of relief as the salve seeped in, quickly taking effect. “Do you have pain anywhere else?”

“I don’t think so,” you mumbled, mind still swimming from the alcohol and now the relief of your pain.

“Can I check?”

“Be my guest,” you said, voice muffled into the pillow.

Azriel gently skimmed his fingers up and along the ridge of your wing, following it all the way to the talon at the tip. Goosebumps littered your skin and you held your breath as he made his careful ministrations. Never had you let anyone touch your wings like this. The sensations were glorious and vulnerable all at once, and you thought you would stay there forever if you could, with Azriel gently stroking your wing in the comfort of his bed.

His fingers brushed against an especially sensitive area of the inner membrane, and a soft moan escaped you. Azriel froze, and you tensed once you realized what you did. “Did that hurt?” he asked worriedly.

You bit your lip, cheeks hot with mortification. “No,” you choked out.

“Oh.” You swore there was a faint shift in his scent, but your muddled mind couldn’t decipher it. “I think the rest of your wing is okay,” he said, voice strangled. “We’ll check your wounds tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled, your embarrassment quickly being overcome with exhaustion.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said softly. “Do you want to change your clothes?”

You shook your head, nestling into the silk covered pillows. You were so comfortable. Your pain was gone, you were surrounded by the scent of the male you loved, and sleep was quickly beckoning to you.

You heard him chuckle softly, and then felt him gently remove your shoes from your feet. He draped a blanket over you, and you thought you might be dreaming as he tenderly brushed your hair behind your ear. “Get some sleep, my love.”

You were definitely dreaming.

~ ~ ~

I love you.

“I love you.”

You went still as death, yanking Azriel to a halt. The music from downstairs continued to flow around you, and your one hand was still resting in his while your other was on his shoulder. “What did you just say?” you asked breathlessly.

He gave you a sheepish smile, his cheeks tinting an adorable pink. He lowered your hands, but didn’t let go, his other staying put on your waist. His hazel eyes reflected the glowing spirits that shot across the sky as he looked at you reverently. “I love you,” he said again.

You shook your head, baffled. “You can’t—”

He lifted your hand to his chest, holding your palm over his heart. “Listen to me,” he said gently. “I love you. This—” He squeezed your hand. “This is yours. My heart is yours.”

Your eyes started to sting as tears pooled in them. You were still shaking your head when he squeezed your hand again, and a familiar warmth flooded your chest. “I need you to listen to me,” he cooed. His breath gently danced across your face as his shadows stroked against your neck. “I need you to feel me,” he begged. Your eyes widened at what he was implying, and he smiled slightly.

His own eyes shined as he continued talking, “A couple weeks ago, I went to Nesta for advice.” He swallowed and took a breath. “I told her I found my mate.” Your head was spinning. The world was tilting. “And that I was in love with her. I asked her–” He let out a shaky breath. “I asked her how to get my mate to fall in love with me.”

Your lip was wobbling as you listened intently, and he lifted his hand from your waist to wipe your tears from your cheeks. He chuckled softly. “She laughed at me. I was baffled, really. I couldn’t fathom what she thought was so funny about my turmoil, until she assured me that my mate was already in love with me.”

His hand drifted back to your waist before slowly curling around your lower back. You leaned in closer, unaware you were even doing it. He leaned down so that his cheek brushed against yours, and he was talking softly into your ear. He started gently swaying the two of you to the music again, as he said, “I didn’t believe her, not at first. I didn’t understand how she could possibly know who my mate was, let alone know that she was in love with me.” You let out a shaky breath. “But last week, when I took you home from Rita’s, and I carried you up the stairs? You were practically shouting your thoughts at me across the bond, and I felt it. I felt your love, and I felt your doubt of mine, and it nearly crippled me.”

Nesta’s little intervention that night made more sense now. Your lingering irritation over that whole ordeal withered away with Azriel’s confession, and it was replaced with gratitude for the meddling female. Azriel’s voice drew you back to him, “I knew I couldn’t say anything then, but I tried to push my love for you down the bond, to ease your doubts and anxieties. Then you let me…you trusted me to take care of you, and I knew I had to tell you how I felt, that I wanted you in my bed, letting me take care of you for the rest of my life.”

A soft sob broke free from your lips, and you leaned back to meet Azriel’s own silver-lined eyes. “I love you,” you whispered. The words you had been thinking for months finally out in the open. Azriel smiled at you in awe. “I love you so much. I never thought—not once did I think you could ever love me—”

He pulled you in close, leaning his forehead against yours. “Please don’t say that,” he pleaded, voice anguished. “You are the most beautiful person, inside and out, that I have ever met in my five centuries on this planet. You make me feel warm, and you make me feel safe. You make me feel at peace, and I’ve never had that.”

“Neither have I,” you admitted shakily. “Until I met you.”

Azriel gazed at you adoringly before his hands came up to cup your face. His eyes flicked down to your lips before returning to your eyes, and you gave the tiniest nod before he pressed his lips to yours. All of the love you felt for each other was put into the kiss, the two of you savoring the taste and feel of each other. Your lips moved slowly against his, relishing in this moment, in the warmth that filled your body. You finally recognized that warmth for what it was, the mating bond tying your two souls together, the glow of your love for each other a living, breathing thing.

You broke apart, chests heaving. You stared into his warm honey gaze, your insides melting at the vision of this beautiful male, your beautiful mate. “I love you,” you breathed.

Azriel brushed his nose against yours, his hands still cupping your face. “I know,” he whispered back, and then pressed another tender kiss to your lips. “And I love you.”

You glanced at the crowd of people dancing down below, then looked back at him. Heat flooded you, and his darkening eyes said the feeling was mutual. “Do you want to go somewhere more private?” you asked quietly, a bit nervous.

He pressed a kiss to the skin below your ear, and you shivered at the delightful sensation. “I plan to keep you to myself for weeks,” he growled into your ear. The next thing you knew, he scooped you up in his arms, flying up and out of the House’s wards, and then winnowed the two of you far, far away from the prying eyes and ears of Velaris.

~ ~ ~

a/n: thank you to everyone who has been supporting my writing and sharing such kind words. I know I don't do well at answering comments, but I do see them, and they mean so much.

I've decided to try taking requests, so if you have an idea for a fic, feel free to send it along. I'm fairly busy and writing is my way to decompress, so I can't promise that I will write it nor that I will write it quickly, but please don't hesitate to send me your ideas.

(I've also been working on another series. It will be mer!reader x Azriel, and it's purely a self-indulgent fic, but if that's something that interests you, be on the look out in the next month)

[f1-05-writer]

A small drabble dedicated to returning home from Under the Mountain and what that would look like for Azriel.

The second you cracked an eye open, Azriel tugged you closer to his chest in an almost eerie display of sixth sense. You could tell he was still asleep by the even rate of his breath as it puffed over your shoulder, and still, he could tell the moment you woke up. 

It had been that way since you returned home from Under the Mountain. 

Subtle tells made you privy to the desperation he had felt during the decades you’d been gone. He never vocalized it, always too concerned with the horrors you’d been subjected to under Amarantha’s reign, but you could tell. 

You could tell by the way he looked at you, the soft gleam in his eyes so achingly adoring it constantly sent a pang through your chest. You could tell in how he touched you, each pass of his hands soft but determined, as if he were afraid a meaningless touch would send you away again. The way he cared for you spoke volumes—how he pressed you close when you cried over imagined pasts and fended off loud sounds even though they didn’t mean what they used to Under the Mountain. 

The first week after you’d returned you swore he was utterly devoted to you simply being able to eat an entire plate of food and keep it down. You were better at that now, more used to the rich spices back home, but you could still feel the way he intently watched as you ate. 

You weren’t sure when that vigilance would fade—when he would finally understand that you were safe and by his side once more. 

You blinked against the sunlight filtering through bedroom curtains and felt Azriel’s hands curl against your ribs. His wing twitched as it rested over you, and you subtly remembered that he never used to do that. He never slept with you so close and tight and with so much of him covering so much of you. 

After lying in his hold for several minutes, your shoulders shifted with restlessness. 

Azriel woke immediately, his heart pattering harshly against your back as he breathed in suddenly. He jolted his head up before consciousness reached him, a panic spurring him to look around the room with haste. 

This was something else you’d have to overcome together. 

“Az,” you called from beneath him. “I’m right here.”

Azriel snapped his gaze down to look upon you, confusion marring his features before unrelenting relief smoothed the lines on his face. He huffed out a breath that was meant to be a laugh before burying his face in the juncture of your neck, his heart calming as he felt you. 

“‘M sorry,” he mumbled against your skin. “I’ll get over that.” 

You smiled softly. He couldn’t see it. “It’s okay. I don’t mind reminding you.” 

Azriel slowly unraveled himself from you and turned you to rest on your back. His eyes flitted over your face in admiration, but you could see the way they lingered down the rest of your body as well—examining, ensuring, solidifying your presence. 

You brushed your fingers across his cheek and his lashes fluttered in response. 

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked. 

Did you have any dreams of her? Of that place? Of the times I wasn’t able to protect you? 

You knew those were the questions disguised beneath the veil of casual pillow talk. 

“I slept very well,” you hummed. “As did you, it seems. You were snoring in my ear.” 

“I do not snore, my love. I cannot snore, it would be an occupational hazard.” 

You rolled your eyes. “You never let me have anything.” 

Joy shone brightest in Azriel’s eyes, but the melancholy that always seemed to linger was difficult to escape. Because you knew him so well. Because you knew he was blaming himself for so much of this. 

“I would give you everything,” he stressed, shaking his head playfully. “But I will not have you spreading lies about me. I do not snore and never have.” 

You bit back a smile and pulled him down by the back of his neck, his nose pressed to yours as you replied, “Says you.” 

He laughed and then he kissed you, his hands never leaving your body, his devotion never dissipating as it streamed down the bond. 

[f1-05-writer]

MASTERMIND (v)

FIVE - CHECKMATE

SUMMARY: A child of light and dark, you are the Night Court’s best kept secret. After decades spent in hiding, you yearn to stretch your wings. But you quickly learn that freedom comes with a price, as you find yourself trying to outfox the fox in his own den.

PAIRING: eris vanserra x reader

WORD COUNT: 8.3k

SERIES MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: language, graphic violence, smut, rough sex, minimal aftercare, oral (f receiving), p in v, overstimulation, HEAVY angst

You love Rhysand, with all your heart. He welcomed you into Velaris when you had nowhere to go. He gave you not only a home, but a family—and a loving one, at that. But if there’s one thing you can’t stand about the highest of High Lords, it’s his incessant, never-ending, mind-numbing nagging. If patience is a virtue, then he’s a vice.

Any news, my little liaison?

You can sense the question coming before his talons so much as tap on the cobblestone barriers of your mind.  

Not since the last five times you’ve asked.

You know it’s rude, but frankly, you don’t have the energy to hide the irritation laced so clearly in your tone. In your defense, Rhys has doubled the frequency of his daily check-ins, and between the lack of information you have to share and your feelings for Eris that you can no longer ignore, you’re seconds away from winnowing back to Velaris just to give the High Lord a piece of your mind.

Someone’s feisty today.

You can hear the smirk in his voice, and it makes your skin crawl with agitation.

Very. Now if you don’t mind, I have a book to get back to, you snap.

He swiftly replies, Need I remind you that daily check-ins are part of your employment, and that your income is contingent on you doing your job?

You are so going to punch him when you get back.

Don’t pull rank on me, asshole. I’ll get the job done.

The cobblestone barriers go back up and you stare down at the book in your lap with a sour taste in your mouth. Your reading session has effectively been spoiled. But as much as it pains you to admit, Rhys’s incessant nagging doesdrive you into gear. 

After several attempts snooping through the Forest House, you’ve concluded that whatever Eris is hiding isn’t there. So, that leaves one place: the cottage by the waterfall. 

You’ve been putting it off—ever since the night Eris took your virginity. If your emotions were conflicting before, they are at bloody war now. You no longer want any part in this scheme—not when you care for him so deeply, it hurts. But you know that if you return to Velaris now, empty-handed with a week left in your mission, you’ll have no ground to stand on when the accusations come rolling in.

With a long sigh, you set the book down and haul yourself from the comfort of your bed. You don’t want to go to that cottage. Searching it feels like an afront to Eris. However, if you don’t, then the nagging seed planted by the High Lord of the Night Court himself will continue clawing through your thoughts. So, you reluctantly pull on your boots and drape your cloak over your shoulders before winnowing away from that ransack cabin you’re quickly growing to love.

 The kaleidoscope of colors and crashing sounds of the waterfall are just as breathtaking as they were the first time you visited. But they don’t hold the same serenity—perhaps they sense your ulterior motive, somehow dimming their magic. As you make your way to the watermill, you don’t allow yourself to indulge in the natural beauty of this place, or the memories of what transpired the last time you were here. You have a job to do, and it requires searching every inch of that little cottage—if not to quiet Rhys’s nagging, then to satiate your own budding curiosity.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It's much easier said than done—letting the mind’s rationality dominate the body’s desires. All those ancient philosophers were fools for thinking that the two entities could be separated, when they are so inherently intertwined.

You weren’t surprised that there was nothing to be found in that little cottage. With a heavy heart, you find yourself perched atop a boulder at the peak of the waterfall, just inches away from the ledge. It feels poetic—physically placing yourself on the brink of crashing down just as your inner sense of self teeters on the edge. 

This place, in all its magnificence, has changed you. Whether it’s for better or for worse, you’re unsure. But you know that you won’t leave Autumn as the same woman who came. Not when you’ve experienced so much. It’s not the sights you’ve seen, or the raw nature you’ve lived in. Rather, it’s the unification of your mind and body, fused together by an otherworldly force you’ve only read about. 

The thought of leaving, of losing that piece that’s been missing for 70 years, makes your chest ache. You don’t want to lose Eris—you can’t. But staying means continuing to live a lie until he finds out who you really are. Staying means losing him indefinitely. 

As you stare out at the falling water, you plead for some kind of clarity. Something to push you in the right direction. The red and golden trees which remind you so much of your mother billow softly in the wind, rustling in a hushed whisper. Your chest tightens with a different kind of pain. It’s now, more than ever before, that you need her here. You don’t even need to hear her voice, just the warmth of her embrace. So, you close your eyes and relax each muscle in your body, from your head to your toes. You focus on the whispers of the trees, the grumblings of the water, and allow light to take you. You can feel it extending from your fingertips, wrapping around your body just as she would. It’s warm—just like her. And as your eyes flutter open, her light flooding your vision, the answer comes to you.

You can’t leave Eris behind with the memory of a female who doesn’t exist. Nor can you stay here, waiting until he figures you out for himself or Rhys comes looking. If you come clean, Eris won’t be forgiving. But at least this way, with all your metaphorical cards laid out on the table, you’ll both have the peace of mind to move on, for better or for worse.

The light surrounding you rushes back into your fingertips and you take one last glance at the beautiful scenery before you, imprinting it in your memory, before winnowing away without a second thought. The dusty cabin greets you as it always does, and you move with purpose towards the pen Eris had once left you on your bedside table. You hastily tear a page from one of Nesta’s books, and scribble onto the back.

Can I see you tonight? 

You pause in thought, before adding,

My filthy little romance books are becoming a bit boring.

A satisfied smile curls onto your lips, and you neatly fold the page in half before setting it back down on the table. Despite the raging storm looming ahead, the little bit of light heartedness puts your poor nerves at ease. You find yourself unable to sit still as you pace around the cabin, your eyes never leaving the note. Goosebumps erupt along your arms when the piece of paper vanishes with a crack. You hold your breath as you wait for a reply—but it doesn’t come. You stare, unmoving, at the spot where the note once sat. You stare at that dusty table until the gold of the setting sun floods through the windows, until it eventually leaves, until you’re left with only the flickering flames behind you lighting the bleak space.

Frustration bubbles in the pit of your stomach. You’ve barely seen Eris since that fateful night in his room. Sure, you’ve had a few visits to the Forest House library since, but they’ve been brief—cut short by his work. Aside from a few passing kisses and fleeting embraces, you haven’t been with Eris in the same way in nearly a week now. As you watch the empty spot on the table, you’re forced to consider the possibility that he may not receive your message, let alone reply; and you have no Plan B if he doesn’t.

To keep yourself from spiraling, you reluctantly tear your eyes away from the table and resign yourself to the kitchen. You redirect your attention by busying yourself with preparing a small dinner. As you rifle through the sparce number of ingredients in your cabinet, you decide that cabbage and potatoes will have to do. You work leisurely preparing your food, all the while keeping an eye on the bedside table in your peripheral. 

Just as you turn the heat off on the stove, a pair of hands grip your waist. Fear courses through you as you whip around with a scream and a knife in your hand. Amber eyes wink back at you, unfazed by the weapon inches away. Your shoulders sag in relief, but you don’t lower the knife as your eyes narrow into slits. Eris plucks the sharp object from your hand.

“I thought you wanted to see me, Little Bird,” he muses, running a finger along the pointed edge.

Your glare deepens, “A little heads up would have been nice. I’ve been waiting hours for a reply.”

He runs his tongue over his teeth as he twirls the blade in his hand. Your lips part as he raises the knife to your face, tracing the dull edge down your cheekbone, along your jawline, before finally settling under your chin. He tilts it slightly, forcing your chin upwards so your eyes meet his. His jaw is clenched and the typically playful glint in his eye is replaced with something slightly more sinister, exuding a cruel beauty you’ve only caught glimpses of before.

“I know you’re drawn to shiny toys, Little Bird, but you should be careful playing with such sharp things,” he drawls, pressing the blade deeper against your skin, “Haven’t you heard that curiosity killed the cat?”

You gulp as a chill prickles your skin. Despite the impish smirk on his face, there’s something more than mere teasing to his words.

“But satisfaction brought it back,” you quip.

A cinch forms between your brows as you try to decipher the hardness of his features. But just as suddenly as the mystery was there, it’s gone. He lowers the knife and sets it down, stepping away from you. He leans against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. He quirks a brow and jerks his head towards the pot of food on the stove, “Well don’t stop on my accord.”

You reluctantly tear your eyes away from his and turn back towards the steaming pot of cabbage and potatoes. You work in a mechanical manner, acutely aware of his penetrating gaze burning holes in the side of your head. Tension is thick in the air. Something is off; your mind screams at you to ask him what’s wrong, but an even greater force keeps the words contained in your throat. He watches as you walk towards the cupboard, standing on your toes to reach the plates on the top shelf. You can hear him shift behind you as you grab two plates and walk back over to the stove. You scoop a modest serving onto one plate, and just as you’re about to scoop out another onto the second plate, his sharp words slice through the silence.

“What are you doing?”

You pause and cock your head towards him. 

“Serving you food,” you stumble, taken aback by the trepidation in his widened eyes, “I made more than I can eat. I know it’s not much, but I figured—”

He strides forward and wraps his hand around your wrist, forcing you to drop the small pot back onto the stove. You wince at the loud clatter of the metal and turn to face him fully. Your eyes are wide with incredulity, irritation blazing.

“What in the world has gotten into you? Have you lost any semblance of manners?” you hiss, yanking your wrist out of his grasp.

His jaw shifts as he grinds his teeth. Eris stalks closer to you, grabbing your waist and pulling you flush against his chest. You weakly try to push him away, but his grip is firm.

“Did you forget your little note? I thought you wanted me here for a reason,” his demeanor shifts as he speaks in a low rumble, tracing the tip of his nose along your cheek. He rubs circles onto your waist and trails open-mouthed kisses down the expanse of your face, your neck, purposefully avoiding your lips.

“I do,” you gasp as he nips at a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, “But we need to talk.”

He presses your further into the counter, “I’m not in the mood.”

You frown, “But—”

His lips crash against yours, effectively cutting you off. Your mind is spinning, yet you can’t help but melt into his touch. The kiss is fast and sloppy but addicting all the same. His tongue swipes along your lower lip, and your mouth parts without hesitation. His lips leave yours and he redirects his attention to your neck, giving you a moment to breathe, a moment for the fog in your head to clear.

“Eris, I—”

“Please,” he groans against your skin and raises his head. He presses his forehead against yours, “Please just let me have this.”

For a split second, his hardened exterior falters and you catch glimpse of a sliver of vulnerability—of pure desperation. The pleading look in his eyes tugs at something deep in your chest, urging you to nod once.

“Okay,” you whisper.

 His lips are back on yours quicker than your rapid heartbeat. This time, you hold nothing back, giving yourself to him entirely. You match his fervor, driven by that sorrowful whisper in the back of your mind that this will be the last time. And if tonight will be your last, then you selfishly wish to leave with this last memory of him. So as your lips slide against his, you memorize every part of him: the tickling sensation of his chapped lips, each ridge of his biceps, the silk of his crimson hair.

“You said you wanted me to let loose last time,” he mumbles into your mouth and yanks the zipper of your dress down, “So I’m letting loose.”

He shoves the material down your shoulders and walks you back towards the bed. You let him lead you and match his rhythm, never missing a beat. Your knees buckle as you hit the back of the bed, and you collapse onto it together in a heap. Eris doesn’t waste a second as he unclasps your bra, and you just as eagerly pull off his shirt. You whine when he abruptly pulls away, but your protests catch in your throat as he moves down your body to your breasts. Your eyes flutter shut, and you tangle your hands in his hair as he kisses, sucks, and nips every inch of your flesh. Your back arches as he swirls his tongue around your peaked nipple and flicks his thumb over the other.

You jolt as he strokes his other hand along the side of your breast where black ink is etched into your skin, hidden from his view by your glamour. Heat pools in your gut as his lips trail down your body, your heartbeat accelerating as he inches towards the trim of your panties. Amber eyes flick up to you. He hooks his fingers underneath the band of your panties, and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of his pupils blown wide with desire. 

“Talk to me, Little Bird. Use that sharp tongue of yours,” he rasps.

Your teeth sink into your lower lip to contain your whimper as he stretches the band before letting it snap back harshly against your skin.

“I want you between my thighs. I want your mouth on me, your hands all over my body.” He pulls the flimsy material down and you spread your legs, baring yourself to him entirely. Your voice trembles, but you continue, “I want my lips wrapped around your cock. I want you to fuck me into oblivion. I want it all.”

You gasp as he slides a finger through your slick before circling it around your clit.

“Greed is a sin, Little Bird,” he purrs.

Eris slides his other hand up your thigh, wasting no time as he thrusts a finger inside you. A muffled moan escapes your lips as he curls his finger, all the while continuing his ministrations on your clit.

Even with your mind scrambled you still manage to bite back, “Good thing I’m dealing with the devil himself.”

You’re unable to stifle your cry as Eris lurches forward. He dives right in, his lips wrapping around your clit. He continues curling his finger, hitting that delicious spot deep inside you, as his tongue moves skillfully over the swollen bud. He uses his free hand to spread your legs even wider, giving him complete access to the most intimate part of your body. You tangle one hand in his hair, the other grasping the sheets in a white-knuckled grip. You arch your back as he alternates between sucking and flicking his tongue. He quickly picks up his speed, foregoing any teasing, and sinks a second finger into you.

You clench your thighs around his head as you feel the pressure rapidly building in your gut. You tug harshly on his hair in a wordless command to stop before you can finish, but he ignores you. Instead, he buries himself even further, shaking his head as he devours you.

“If you don’t stop, I’ll—”

His teeth graze over your clit, and that’s all it takes for the coil inside you to snap. A pitiful moan escapes your lips as you reach your climax, the orgasm wracking your body so hard you can feel it in your bones. Eris continues flicking his tongue over you, his fingers still moving as he rides you through your release. Unlike last time, he doesn’t stop when your thighs start twitching violently, or when you yank on his hair. A pained cry bubbles in your throat as he keeps going. It’s too much—the overstimulation burns, and your vision starts to blur.

“Eris, please,” you pull again on his hair and he growls against you, “It’s too much.”

He keeps going, even as your thighs close tightly around his head. Black spots dance in your vision, and just when you think you’re about to slip from consciousness, he abruptly pulls off. A sigh of relief passes through your lips and your limbs fall limp. You glance down at him through hooded eyes, watching as he sucks his fingers into his mouth before moving up your body. His tongue flicks out to catch a tear trailing down your cheek.

“I thought you were sinning tonight, Little Bird. Have you a change of heart?” he taunts.

You jolt as his hand reaches down between you and rolls over your clit, swollen red. You grasp his biceps in protest, and he sucks and licks at your neck before pulling his hand away reluctantly.

“I wanted to finish with you inside of me,” you mutter bashfully, a flush crawling up your neck at how quickly he pulled an orgasm out of you.

“Don’t worry, darling. I plan on it,” he mouths at the corner of your lips and rolls his hips against yours, “We’re being greedy tonight, aren’t we?”

You arch your body into his, as if drawn by some magnetic pull. He grinds his hips against yours once more, and you can feel his painfully hard member against your thigh. You throw caution to the wind and wrap your arms around his neck, slotting your lips against his. He responds eagerly, groaning into your mouth as you palm him through the fabric of his pants. You fumble with the fastenings and Eris helps you push the material down in record time, his lips never leaving yours. You slip your tongue into his mouth and simultaneously shove against his shoulders. He flips onto his back, gripping your hips to pull you on top of him. You sink your teeth softly into his bottom lip before pulling away. Eris watches you intently as you gaze down at his throbbing cock sitting proudly against his stomach. He sucks in a breath as you wrap your hand around his member, rolling your thumb over the tip. 

Your eyes light up as an idea crosses your mind, and you lock your eyes with his. His jaw falls slack as you run your fingers through your folds before wrapping your hand around him once more. You use your own dripping arousal as lubricant to move along his length, setting a steady rhythm with the twisting of your wrist. 

“Fuck,” Eris groans, “You truly are sinful.”

You swoop down and wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, but before you can take him completely into your mouth, he hooks his arms underneath yours and yanks you back up his body, as if you weigh nothing. He props himself up with his back against the headboard, forcing you to straddle his lap. You pout at his rough handling but can’t contain the moan that pours from your lips as he jerks his hips upwards, rubbing his cock between your folds.

“Playtime’s over, Little Bird,” Eris pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, sucking it harshly before releasing it, “I’d rather see you ride my cock like the sinner that you are.”

Something about the low grumble of his words, the way the syllables roll off his tongue, stirs something deep inside of you. You raise your hips up slightly, hovering back and forth over his dick in a teasing maneuver. You snake a hand up his shoulder and around his neck, sinking your nails into the skin of his nape. 

“Those who play with the devil’s toys will be brought by degrees to wield his sword,” you whisper sensually against the corner of his mouth.

He grips your hips tightly, steadying you so your entrance hovers directly above the tip of his dick. His blunt nails scrape against your skin in warning, and he bites back, “Speak of the devil, and his horns appear.”

A strangled cry escapes your lips as he forcefully pulls you down, impaling you on his cock. Your head spins at the burning stretch, the overwhelming fullness of being seated directly on him. Gone is the softness, the reverence of your first time with him, and in its place an unsatiable beast. He barely gives you a minute to adjust.

“Go on then,” he grunts, blunt nails still digging into your hips.

You force yourself to breathe through your nose as you steady yourself on his shoulders before rising up slowly, until just his tip remains. He pulls you back down again, impatient, and you moan in unison at the spine-tingling feeling. Your brows cinch together in concentration as you repeat the movement, slowly becoming accustomed to the new position. His hands guide you, and you fall into a steady rhythm bouncing on his cock. A spark of pleasure rolls through you each time you bottom out, your clit rubbing against his abdomen.

You throw your head back as Eris’s hands snake up your waist and caress your breasts which bounce with each rise and fall. You increase your speed, but your thighs are beginning to tremble. The sweat on your palms makes your hands slide from his shoulders as you fuck yourself on his cock, struggling to chase that high you both so desperately seek. Sensing your exertion, Eris wraps his hand around your neck in a stabilizing maneuver before bucking his hips upwards. You gasp at the sensation, your rhythm faltering. He does it again, and your hands slip from his shoulders completely. He hits you so deeply, you’re sure that there’s a bulge in your stomach.

A long string of moans passes through your lips as Eris continues bucking his hips wildly. You collapse into his hold, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder as he fucks up into you so quickly your vision spots. 

“Can’t handle the heat, Little Bird?” he pants, “Didn’t think you’d be so quick to give up.”

You whine in protest but remain pliant in his arms as you let him use you. He alternates his pace, switching from long, deep thrusts to short, shallow ones that build up your high before stripping it away in a torturous manner. 

“Fox got your tongue?” he taunts.

You sink your teeth into his shoulder to muffle your cries as he continues his punishing pace. He suddenly stills, but before you can even raise your head from his shoulder, he flips you over so your back is against the mattress, hair splayed across your pillows. Eris pulls out completely, and your cunt clenches at the emptiness. He raises your legs, draping them over his shoulders and pulling you flush to his body. For a split second, everything stops, and all you can see, think, touch, and taste his him. The sweat beading on his brow, the rosy flush over his freckled cheeks, and the distant look in those amber eyes you so desperately want to wipe away. Just as suddenly, he plunges back into you with brutal force. 

A string of incoherent babbles falls from your lips as he drives into you, hitting your g-spot over and over again. You scramble for purchase as he straightens his back and pulls your thighs flush to his chest. A tear slips from the corner of your eye at the back-breaking angle.

“Come on, Little Bird,” he grunts as he drives into you, “Talk to me.”

He leans forward, caging you between his elbows as he folds your pliable body in half. The constant switching of angles is dizzying, and you splutter for words through cries of pleasure.

“I can’t,” you all but sob as you desperately claw at his back.

“Yes you can,” he pushes, “Tell me how much you love this.”

He snakes a hand between you and begins rubbing circles over your throbbing clit in perfect time with the force of his thrusts.

“I—I love it,” you gasp, writhing underneath him as the pleasure rapidly builds to a breaking point.

“I know you do,” he moans, his forehead dropping against yours, “No one else can make you feel this good, can they? No one else can absolutely ruin you.”

Your walls flutter around him as your high looms, just seconds away. You shake your head, tears rolling freely down your cheeks.

“Only you,” you cry, “Ruin me, Eris.”

The wave comes crashing over you so violently it feels like drowning. You have no control over the incoherent syllables stringing from your mouth, the convulsing of your thighs, as for the first time in your life, your body separates completely from your mind. Eris crashes his lips against yours as he quickly follows, spilling into you with a guttural groan that shakes you to your core. He continues thrusting into you in a languid manner, coaxing out both of your orgasms and filling you to the brim. You barely manage to move your lips against his, but he strokes his thumb over your cheek in a gentle, soothing manner—a contrast to the roughness with which he’s handled you tonight. You gradually sink into the kiss as you come down from your high and run your hand through his crimson hair, matching his soft touch.

You breathe each other in, relishing in the taste of him. As the ecstasy of your orgasm subsides, another bone-shattering force takes its place: the bitter reminder that these will be your last moments with the male who has so effortlessly turned your world upside down.

Your chest tightens as he detaches his lips from yours, not ready for it to end. His eyes lock onto yours in a fleeting moment of vulnerability before trailing down to the tears still streaming freely down your cheeks. He avoids your gaze as he wipes them away, one by one, with a tender touch. You raise a shaky hand and brush back his tousled hair in a silent plea for him to look at you, to reveal the storm stirring behind his eyes. Instead he pulls away completely, and eases his softening cock out from inside of you. You wince at the combination of physical overstimulation and emotional dejection.

Eris flops onto his back beside you, his chest still heaving. You tentatively peek at him through your peripheral, and find him staring up at the ceiling blankly. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, head spinning as you debate whether or not to break the heavy silence. You divert your gaze to the flaming fireplace in front of you.

“Eris?” you whisper meekly.

He merely grunts in response.

You wet your lips before continuing, “I have to tell you something.”

The sheets don’t so much as rustle; the only sound that fills the quaint little cabin is the crackling of embers. Still, you continue.

“I’m not who I say I am,” your voice trembles. 

Silence. Blistering, gut-wrenching silence.

You turn onto your side, and your heart drops at the sight before you. His eyes are fluttered shut, long lashes gracing the tops of his cheekbones. His swollen lips are parted slightly, and his chest moves steadily with each deep breath—dead asleep. You squint your eyes shut, fighting the urge to scream with frustration. This was not how the night was supposed to go. You were supposed to come clean, to end things in the best way possible given the complexity of your circumstances. But it seems the universe has something else in store for you.

You stare blankly at Eris as he sleeps, silently willing him to stir. Instead, his breathing only slows further, and soft snores start to sound from his lips. Anxiety creeps up your arms, threatening to swallow you whole. The thought alone of waiting a second longer to confess is all-consuming—but you’ll have to wait until tomorrow. As you stare at the strong bridge of his nose, you try your best to reassure yourself. Just one more night, and it will all be over.

You crawl underneath the covers, the chilliness of the cabin prickling your skin, and resign yourself to sleep. But even with the warm comfort of the crackling hearth, sleep doesn’t come kindly—not with your racing mind. You try slowing your breaths to match the steady rise and fall of Eris’s chest. You even try counting imaginary sheep in your head, but each time you reach the brink of consciousness you’re abruptly ripped away, leaving it just beyond your reach. With a huff, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You shiver as your bare feet touch the dust-covered floor. Even with the blazing fire in the corner, the chilling autumn winds seem to sneak through the cracks in the walls of the ransack cabin.

You wrap your arms around your bare body and hastily pull on Eris’s tunic before padding towards the kitchenette. The food you’d prepared for the two of you sits on the counter, untouched. The cabbage and potatoes are cold and bland without the proper spices but do the job, temporarily relieving you from the onslaught of your thoughts and the hunger pains from missing your dinner.

 As you eat, you can’t help but study Eris’s sleeping form. Something was off with him tonight. More than just off—looking into his eyes made you feel like a stranger. After your revelation by the waterfall, continuing with your mission wasn’t even an option in your mind. But after tonight…something’s changed. Eris was so detached, so emotionally distant in a way he’s never been before. 

For the first time during your stay, you saw a sign, a confirmation that he is hiding secrets. Beron’s were hidden in plain sight, albeit contained by a magical ward. But Beron is a hubristic male. Eris, on the other hand, is more covert, more sly and cunning—he is, after all, the Fox himself. It wouldn’t make sense for his secrets to be hidden in the Forest House, where his father could get his hands on them, or anywhere Beron knows about, for that matter. But Eris is far too paranoid to leave them hidden out in the forest or the town, where anyone could stumble upon them. He would keep his secrets somewhere only he knows—somewhere he trusts. Or rather, with someone he trusts.

The fork clatters against the counter and your hand goes limp. A chilling realization dawns over you, your eyes widening and lips parting in disbelief. You are the only person in Autumn Eris trusts. Beron has no idea who you are, let alone where you live. You have no real ties to this court. 

They’re here. His secrets are hidden in this dusty, little, ransack cabin.

The initial shock fades and the loud clatter of metal finally registers. You squint at the male in your bed, watching carefully for any changes in his steady breathing. He must be a deep sleeper, you surmise, as the sound of his soft snores still fill the room. Your heart pounds in your chest as you stand from the stool and glance around the small room. Your revelation is so profound, you have no idea where to start.

With trembling hands, you start searching the kitchenette—opening every drawer, inspecting the bottom of the sink, turning over each mug in your cabinet. You move slowly to temper the adrenaline surging through you, careful not to wake the male sleeping in your bed. As you redirect your search to the bathroom, you don’t leave a single spot unturned. And with each possible hiding spot that comes up empty, your hope diminishes a little bit.

Frustration bubbles as you crouch down underneath the bed, only to be met with an empty, dirty floor. Whatever he’s hiding has to be here—there’s no alternative. But after checking every piece of peeling wallpaper, every pocket of your skirts and cloaks, there’s nothing to be found. You plop down in front of the fireplace with a long sigh. You’re technically a genius. Your IQ score is off the charts. But the Fox has you completely and utterly stumped. How hard is it to find a damned hiding spot? You glance up at the red bricks of the fireplace, asking the Mother for some sort of sign. Just a small indication that you’re on the right track, a little—

That brick wasn’t always jutting out.

Your lips part as you study the piece of brick poking out ever so slightly from the rest of the wall. You rub your eyes with the heels of your hands, but it’s still there. Bingo.

You rise on shaky legs, peering behind you to make sure Eris is still asleep. The brick is high, but just within your reach when you stand on your tip toes. Your heart pounds in your chest as you grip the edges and pull. It slides out of the wall like it was never meant to be there. Your stomach lurches as you nearly drop the brick, not having prepared yourself for the weight of it. You set it down quietly on the mantle and look up at the hole in the wall. The sight of parchment peeking out wages a war of conflicting emotions inside of you.

On one hand, you’re elated that after three weeks in this court, just when you were about to give up, you’ve finally found something. But on the other, a part of you was hoping you would find nothing at all. The same part that has grown to care deeply for the male sleeping soundly behind you. The same part that dreads having to leave this place, even in all its cruelty.

You take one last look at the crimson-haired male behind you. He hasn’t moved an inch—in fact, he seems to have sunk deeper into the mattress. With a steadying breath, you rise on your tip toes again and pull out the stack of papers. Your hands are trembling so violently, you can hardly read the letters in front of you.

The first piece of parchment contains notes tracking Koshei’s possible whereabouts, his movements throughout the courts. You read through the scribbled handwriting several times, hoping to imprint it in your memory. Eris doesn’t seem to know more than Azriel has been able to surmise with his shadows, but you store it in your mind, just in case. The next is a series of correspondences with an herbalist in the Dawn Court discussing a variety of deadly poisons. Eris seems to be interested in purchasing an odorless one, undetectable even by his highly trained smokehounds. You presume this to be part of his plot to assassinate Beron, but still make note of the names of the herbs and ingredients to report back to Rhys. 

The third, and final, item in the stack is a neatly folded piece of parchment. You set the other papers down and slowly unfold it, careful not to make any noise. Your heart catches in your throat as you smooth it out and turn it around. There’s one word, written with a sharp precision that contrasts the messy scribbles in his other notes. 

Checkmate.

A stitch forms between your brows as you read the single word over and over again. Checkmate? Your tight grip on the paper loosens, blood rushing from your face. You whip around, and bile rises to your throat at the sight of an empty bed. 

Your fight or flight instinct kicks in and you make a run towards the door, but not quickly enough. You cry out as a force throws you against the wall, your head smacking hard against brick. Your legs give out and you crumple to the ground, but strong arms haul you from the floor and pin you against the wall. 

“Stupid little girl, you really thought you could outwit me?”

You squint through blurred vision, and the deadly look in Eris’s cold eyes makes you wish it had been a killing blow. Scorching flames wrap around your wrists, pinning them to the wall. A wave of nausea rolls through you at the unmistakable scent of your burning skin, but you grit your teeth to keep from crying for mercy.

“Answer me,” he seethes, flames crawling up your arms.

“You figured me out,” you hiss at the unrelenting pain, “What do you want me to say?”

Your eyes shoot wide open as he wraps his hand around your throat.

“I want you to look me in the eye, and repent,” he spits, “And maybe I’ll spare you.”

“I have nothing to repent,” you speak sharply, even with his hand wrapped tightly around your throat, “I meant everything I did. Everything I said.”

You gasp as he squeezes your windpipe, forcing a rush of blood to your ashen face, “You think me a fool?” he bellows, “You think I believe a word that comes out of that filthy mouth? You’re out of your depth, Little Bird.”

The nickname that once made you swoon suddenly holds a new meaning. You splutter as his grip tightens, black spots dancing in your vision. You barely register the fire wrapped around your wrists anymore as you feel yourself slowly slipping from consciousness. But before you go, you focus on his eyes once more.

The amber you so love is gone, and as you look into their void, you picture the sweetness of the honey that was once there. If this is your end, you wish to leave with that memory. You shut your eyes tight, and the fire around your wrist transforms into his gentle grip, holding your hands above your head as he makes love to you slowly. The pressure on your throat isn’t his crushing hold, but the words you always wanted to say and never had the chance to. 

You’re fading quickly, but before you go you open your eyes once more. And just when you feel the tips of your fingers going numb, you feel an unmistakable tug, deep inside your chest—a single, shining thread of gold tying him to you. 

“Mate,” you gasp through blue lips.

Suddenly, you can breathe again. The pressure on your throat ceases, the flaming binds on your wrists vanish, and you crumple to the ground in a heap. You cough and heave violently, but nothing comes out. You don’t dare look up from the dust-covered floor beneath you, and you tremble when you see Eris’s knees bend in your peripheral as he crouches down. He hooks a cold finger underneath your chin, yanking your head up to his.

Gone is the fiery anger in his eyes, and in its place, nothing at all. They’re empty—hauntingly so. His voice is level, void of emotion as he speaks.

“It’s time to run back to your master like a good little bitch. If you ever step foot into this court again, I’ll arrange for a long-awaited family reunion with your loving father.”

The shining thread of gold quivers as your heart splits in two. 

You barely register the second-degree burns on your wrists as you twist the silver ring off your thumb and blindly slide it onto his middle finger.

“Beron knows you’re up to something,” your voice is so scratchy it’s barely recognizable, “He keeps logs of your whereabouts in the second drawer of his desk.”

His hand drops from underneath your chin, and with one last look into those empty eyes, you use the little strength you have left to winnow away.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You land in the House of Wind just as you left the little, ransack cabin—in a pathetic heap of sorrow. The golden thread pulls taut in protest, and you yank at the neckline of Eris’s shirt—as if doing so will snap that damned string apart. Uneven breaths leave your lips as you rip the fabric down the middle so you can claw at your bare chest. You need to get it out, need to the break the thread, need to not feel him.

Tears finally spring to your eyes, and sobs wrack your body as you pull, kick, scratch, anything to get rid of it. You barely register the panicked voices around you, the darkness enveloping you as Azriel wraps his wings around you to shield your nude form. You can only see clouded tears. You can only hear your pounding heart. And you can only feel that stupid fucking thread.

 Hands wrap around your arms, pulling them from your chest. You kick your legs, trying desperately to free yourself from the vice-like grip. 

“Get Madja. Now,” Rhys’s stern voice sounds like its miles away.

You yank your arms free and keep scratching at your bloodied chest, but just as quickly as the grip was gone, it’s back again.

“I need it out. Get it out. Please. Cut it, break it, burn it, I don’t care. I can’t feel him,” you don’t recognize your hoarse voice as you blubber through sobs.

 Another pair of arms wrap around your ankles, halting your thrashing legs. More hands join, holding the ripped tunic closed over your chest. When another pair of hands holds your head steady, you think you might implode.

Get off, stop touching me, leave me alone, you scream, but nothing comes out. Are you drowning? You can feel the water rushing, flooding your lungs as you desperately try to swim to surface. This must be Death, coming to save you from your miserable existence.

Suddenly, a flash of blinding light fills the air, and you can breathe again. The tears stop, and with your vision clear, you look around the room to assess the damage left in the wake of your storm.

Azriel, Rhys, Feyre, and Madja stand wide-eyed on the opposite end of the room, your outburst having sent them flying backwards. You stare back, eyes cloudy in an almost dream-like state. It feels like floating—your post-breakdown haze. You don’t feel the bond tugging in your chest. You don’t feel anything at all, really.

“Y/N,��� Feyre’s tone is soft, like coaxing a child, “You’re hurt. Madja needs to take a look at your wounds.”

You shake your head and croak, “I’m fine.”

“Your hands are burned to crisps and there’s blood all over your head,” Rhys deadpans, earning an elbow in the ribs from his mate.

You raise a hand to the back of your head and feel something wet and sticky. You pull it back to see scarlet red coating your fingertips. A humorless laugh passes through your lips at the sight. You felt the burning on your wrists, the crushing of your throat. But the cracking of your head seemed to go undetected—you suppose you really do have a hard head, as Cassian always says. Your lips stretch into a wide, sinister grin, and your humorless chuckle transforms into a manic laugh. You must look like a madman, driven to the brink of sanity. 

Your laughter halts abruptly and the grin falls from your face as Azriel takes a step forward. You simply stare at him, no emotion in your big, doe eyes. He takes another step forward, and when you make no move to stop him, he continues approaching you like one would a wild, rabid animal.

You don’t protest this time as he crouches down in front of you and unfurls his wings, concealing your body once again. His hazel eyes search yours desperately for some sort of feeling—but there’s nothing there.

“Can I take you somewhere more private for Madja to take a look at you?” he whispers.

The pity in his eyes leaves a sour taste in your mouth. But you don’t protest—nor do you respond. He takes your silence as permission and moves slowly again as he wraps an arm underneath your knees and behind your back. You simply stare up at the ceiling as he rises to his full height with you limp in his arms. Azriel’s shadows dance frantically around him, his wings still curled around your exposed form, as he walks you towards the door of the living room.

You can hear Feyre and Rhys mumbling amongst themselves, but choose to block them out. You can see Azriel’s shadows swirling in your peripheral, checking on your wounds before reporting back to their master. But you don’t so much as blink an eye. You continue staring blankly at the ceiling, even when he sets you down. You let him remove the tattered tunic and wrap a silk night robe over your nude frame. You don’t so much as twitch when he places a soft kiss to your head before leaving you to Madja. 

Madja works quickly, but thoroughly, sensing your itching desire to leave. She asks many questions, to which you either shake your head, nod, or shrug your shoulders. The healer explains what kind of care each of your wounds will require—you think you remember her saying something about a concussion. You all but run out of the room the moment she finishes with you, but regret your decision instantly when you swing the door open.

Big, brown eyes stare back at you. 

You can’t look at her right now. If you look at her, let alone speak to her, then you might feel again. And you can’t risk feeling.

So, you don’t stop. You brush past Mor, the hurt in her identical eyes not registering in your mind. She reaches out to wrap a hand around your wrist but pauses at the layers of bandages covering them. The sound of her protests is muffled by the grain of your haze as you continue down the hallway. You can feel them all staring, but you look at no one, and they leave you be. 

Your room is exactly how you left it: crumpled sheets, books strewn about, and a crackling hearth. But you’re not the same person you were three weeks ago. And you can’t look into that damn fire without losing it all over again.

You sit on the edge of your bed, as far away as possible from the fireplace. Even on the opposite side of the room, you can hear the popping embers, feel the warming rays. You shut your eyes tight, bounce your leg, anything to distract. But it’s still there, taunting. You can’t stay here, in this room. You can’t stay in this house, for that matter—not when everything is a bitter reminder of who you used to be, of what you’ve lost. 

Stone-faced, you rise from the unmade bed and grab a bag from the depths of your closet. You mindlessly throw in a mess of clothes, the rainy-day cash you’ve saved up, and a couple of necessities. You grab a piece of parchment from your desk and scribble a note.

Need to leave for a while. I’ll be back—not sure when. Don’t worry about me.

Simple, but effective. You don’t even recognize your own handwriting as you set the pen down beside the note. The crackling embers of the fire seem to be growing louder by the second, so you hastily grab your bag.

You shut your eyes tightly and will the world around you to twist and fold. You don’t have any particular destination in mind. You’re not sure where you’ll end up—hopefully somewhere far away from here. And as the air contracts around you, you don’t dare look back at the place that once felt like home.

taglist:

@lilah-asteria @goldenmagnolias @myromanempiree @i-know-i-can @hannzoaks @olive-main @lilylilyyyyyy @batboygirlie @stuff-i-found-while-crying @moni-cah @6000-fandoms @melsunshine @roseodelle @rcarbo1 @paliketerson @ktz-bb @l-adynesta

due to a bug, tumblr only lets me mention the first five people in my taglist :( I'm hoping the issue will be resolved at some point soon!

[f1-05-writer]

Eden

Azriel x F!Reader

Summary - You had heard the rumours of the illustrious Shadowsinger, and you knew better than to get involved with him despite his eyes finding you. Though, everything changes after one fateful night, and you find yourself unwilling to be another one of his conquests.

Warnings - angst, swearing, mentions of blood, fluff, fuck boy to angel Az, jealousy, some sadness, suggestive tones

Based on this ask

Word Count - 11.5k (oops)

"You know that sleeping around isn't going to make your mate miraculously appear, right?" Cassian pretty much shouted across the table to Azriel, wincing and the loud thumping of the music and squealing laughter drifting through the dancefloor of Rita's.

Shrugging, Azriel continued to sip on his potent drink, so potent that it took the edge off of his misery for a few hours to allow him to enjoy being buried inside another female before he went home to only be surrounded by every single member of his family acting sickly in love.

At first Azriel only did it to forget about Elain and Lucien, at how she chose the fox over him, but then it spiralled into something more. It had become to poisonous and filled him with so much venom that he despised being around his family at all. He had moved himself out of the House of Wind to a small but cosy apartment on the outskirts of the city, mainly so that no one truly knew how many women he was bedding each week, but so that he could also escape the turmoil of mating bonds and happiness.

"I don't have a mate," Azriel admitted, truly believing that the Mother had chosen to restrict him of that single purity he had always yearned for.

His eyes scoured the crowd, trying to find a female he hadn't taken to bed yet, not wanting to fuck the same woman twice and lead her to believe that he wanted anything more from her than what he did.

"Don't say that," Cassian scolded lightly, frowning at his brother and worrying about the dimness laced in his eyes as they lazily dragged across the crowds. "She's out there, Az. You just have to be patient."

Cassian's words gave Azriel no hope. The Shadowsinger knew that Nesta disapproved of Cassian joining him in the evenings, and he knew that Rhys and Feyre were worried about his wellbeing, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

To care was to open himself up to more pain, and he couldn't do it again.

"No, I don't," Azriel downed the rest of his drink and rose from his place in the booth, rolling his shoulders and feeling his shadows peak up from behind his wings, just as solemn as their master. "You should get back to Nesta. I'll see you for training tomorrow," he mumbled, fixating his gaze on the woman he knew for certain he'd be taking to bed that night to forget how lonely he truly was, stalking toward her and leaving Cassian more worried than he ever had been.

There was something about clubs and alcohol that you despised. Maybe it was the way males kept on knocking into you without apology, or how they would lean in and shout down your ear in an attempt to get you to dance with them.

No. It was definitely the heat that you hated the most. How the sweaty bodies would writhe and pulse to the beat of the music with little care of the world raging on beyond the doors. A world you had ventured across to set up a practice in the Night Court, believing that it was where fate needed you to be.

"Loosen up, y/n," your slightly inebriated friend, Alana, childishly begged as she grabbed your hands and swung them in time to the melody. "This is your first night out since you got here. Have some fun."

Part of you wanted to listen to her, to truly give in and push yourself outside of the bubble of comfort your solitude had gifted you. It wasn't that you hadn't tried to, it was just that you enjoyed your quiet nights in curled up with a good book, and your days of healing and walking about the city. It was routine, and you were happy living within it.

Allowing Alana to twirl you around in the tight black cut-out dress she had forced you to adorn for the evening, you couldn't help but catch a glimpse of the most beautiful male you had ever seen as the world span. Stopping in your tracks, you watched his grin widen as a stunning blonde female wearing little to no clothing swayed against the front of his body, grinding her hips and ass onto him whilst his fingers tightened around her waist.

"Who is that?" Alana came to your side sporting a knowing smirk, biting her lip softly as she too watched the male move in rhythm with the woman in front of him.

Just as his lips floated downward, whispering and nipping at the shell of her ear, did Alana admit, "That's Azriel. He's part of the Inner Circle," her eyes moved to you, dragging from your feet up to your face, "And he'd ruin you, sweetheart."

"I'm not interested," you lied.

Alana saw straight through it, "Liar," she nudged, "There isn't a single unmated female in this city that doesn't wish that he wouldn't beckon them to his bed, and he's had many of them."

There was no way that you could compare to the woman in front of him, she had golden blonde hair and rouge painted lips, and she had a wildness to her that you'd never be able to own. And, like he knew that fact, his eyes moved upward to yours and you felt like he was searching the depths of your soul. The stare was so intense that you felt the heat rise to your cheeks and had no choice but to break the contact, and you felt his smirk rake over your body as you turned away.

For the rest of the evening, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop yourself from finding Azriel from wherever he was in the room. Women flocked around him, but it was clear that he had made his choice, and you had to watch as the woman sauntered from the bar, dragging him behind her for an night of ruin.

And all you could do was wonder what exactly that would be like.

Nursing a hangover and little to no sleep thanks to the blonde feline Azriel had taken to bed that morning, the last thing he wanted to do was train with Cassian, but he knew he'd never hear the end of it if he bailed.

So there he was, clad in his leathers beneath the scorching sun, regretting all of his life choices.

At least he found something new out, something that his shadows didn't deem necessary to tell him. There was a new female in the city, one who reeked of Dawn, who was as beautiful as a setting sun in the depths of summer. Azriel couldn't help but picture her face whilst he fucked that woman, imagining her lips breathless and perfectly rounded, imagining the smoothness of her skin under his touch, and the subtle waves of her hair spiralling down her back.

It seemed that his wish to know more of her was answered the moment Feyre and Rhys stepped onto the training grounds atop the House of Wind, muttering about a new healer that Nyx had become obsessed with.

"Nyx just adores her," Feyre spoke with wonder, clad in her custom made training leathers that Rhys had made for her. "He let her give him his injections, he won't let Madja close enough to even try."

Rhys hummed in response, smiling at the memory and clearly pleased by the being he had welcomed into the city, "Well, Thesan did say that she is the best he's seen in a long time. I'm glad that she's here. It means that Madja can retire now if she wants to."

A new healer? From the Dawn Court?

No wonder she was so beautiful. She had been born in the most serene court of Prythian, she had probably grown up with the Peregryns, and had been trained by Thesan himself.

Turning his attention back to Cassian, Azriel couldn't help but let his mind wander to the healer he had seen the night before. It was strange how he found her eyes, pools of innocent bliss gazing at him from across the room that he couldn't help but be infatuated with. He still felt the pang of disappointment in his soul when she had looked away.

Training ensued without any issues, and by the end of the session Azriel was sure that he was going to throw up whilst Cassian seemed as chipper as ever. Nesta must have been nice to him when he returned home last night.

Just as Azriel went to flex his wings and return to his apartment as far away from the House of Wind, and thus Elain and Lucien, as possible, the clearing of a throat caused his feet to stick to the ground. "Az, a word?"

Rhys stood a mere few feet behind Azriel and watched as his tensed wings folded between his shoulders before he slowly turned to face him. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Rhys narrowed his eyes, still anxious about approaching Azriel considering the last time he had expressed his worry it had caused Azriel to move across the city. "I have a mission that I need you to go on. It's urgent. There's been increasing reports from the mountain camps that wing clipping has made a return. I need you to verify it."

It was one of the few things that truly got under Azriel's skin, the removal of wings from Illyrian females, usually little girls. Wordlessly, Azriel nodded, turning his back to Rhys and stepping toward the ledge that would plunge him downward, "I'll leave this afternoon."

And with that, Azriel extended his wings and propelled himself upward, ebbing and flowing over the scape of the city and trying to pinpoint where exactly the new healers practice was located. He had even sent his shadows out to continue the search when he had returned home, needing nothing more than the wash away the sweat and stench of alcohol alongside the lingering teeth marks peppered along his collarbone.

It made him feel disgusting. Azriel awoke each morning with a different female coiled around her torso feeling less like a man and more like a personal whore to the women of Velaris. It was tiring, but it was the only way he could tear his mind away from the pits of his immortal loneliness.

During his preparations, his shadows returned singing their findings.

The Sidra.

Beautiful.

Angel.

Sad.

Azriel wondered what in the world could cause something so incredible to be sad. And he vowed to delve deeper into the female upon his return, to find out what was the cause of her sadness and rid her of it.

If he couldn’t fix his own life then perhaps he could fix it for someone else. Someone who deserved it.

The sun had began to wane by the time Azriel was ready to leave for the mountain camps, he was dressed in his usual leathers with siphons glowering under the descending light. He didn’t bother looking back at the mess that was his apartment, he was used to looking back and saying goodbye to Cassian, and ruffling Nyx’s black mass of hair whilst promising the child that he wouldn’t be long.

But he was alone now, he had nothing to look back to.

It didn’t take The Shadowsinger long to reach the mountain camps. He landed far enough away to not be detected and approached the camps on foot, taking the time to try and evaluate when his life had become so unsatisfying and lifeless.

Looking into the eyes of that woman across the room at Rita’s was the first time he had felt alive, truly alive, in what felt like eons. And he was sure that he’d be chasing that feeling for the rest of his miserable days on the earth.

His wings were drooped at the tips, almost dragging along the floor, and his shadows continued on their melancholy journey slithering over his spine and shoulders before shivering and returning to where they had come from, searching for a speckle of warmth.

It was only when he heard the cries echoing from the centre of the camp did he truly focus on why he was there. The cries were whimpering, pleading, begging whoever it was to stop, and the voice was so gentle, so childlike and innocent that Azriel was beginning to lose the taut grip he usually had over his self-control.

Truthteller sang at his side, thirsty for a taste of blood, eager to take another life especially if it meant ridding the continent of another monster. Azriel was happy to indulge it.

Without wasting a moment, and without thinking, he entered the clearing in the centre of the camp and moved as fast as a phantom wind in cutting down the Illyrian males that deemed the barbarity acceptable, starting with the poor excuse of one that was towering over the cowering girl who had blood leaking from her ears and nose.

It was a bloodbath, and Azriel couldn’t bring himself to stop, not even when the arrows embedded themselves into his thigh and torso and caused his vision to blur. He could make out the pools of blood, and he could feel his shadows tightening around his limbs in attempt to get him to stop, and only when his breath became latched within his throat did he realise that there was no one left for him to maim, no one that would dare to face him anyway.

He hissed at the spreading pain being carried through his body, grabbing one of the three arrows and pulling it from his skin, smelling the arrowhead and cursing at the faint scent of nightshade laced to it.

Azriel knew that he didn’t have long, a few hours at most to make it home and get to Madja before the poison claimed him. Part of him wondered if there was any point, if living was something he truly wanted to do, but then he remembered her and the look in those beautiful eyes that had him craving life and adventure.

He decided to try. For her.

The last thing you were expecting that night was to be awoken in the early hours of the morning, when the moon was still alight in the star glittered sky, by a shouting High Lord and one of your assistants.

Your day had swam by like they all did, you healed, prescribed tonics, created balms and ointments from scratch, and visited the orphanage in the centre of the city, carrying out health checks so that everyone could rest assured that all of those beautiful children were healthy even if they weren't exactly happy.

Every patient that stopped by during the afternoon had much to tell you. After seeing you at Rita's the night before, they felt more comfortable in gossiping to you, realising that you were committing to their culture and activities. So you weren't exactly surprised when your fifth patient had something to say about Azriel.

You doubted that he even saw you through his drunken, lust-filled haze, but you saw him; you saw his hazel eyes lazily hooded and warm when they found you, you saw his lips tilt upward into a smile, and you saw the clear pain that lingered beneath the surface. Alana had told you, sternly, to not think of him, that he would be the ruin of you, but you couldn't help but think about him.

Now that you had the image of him, it was impossible to remove it from your mind.

Your mother would have scolded you for it if she were alive, she would have said that you had worked too hard and spent too long training to heal those who needed a kind touch to throw it away for some pretty male that hadn't even uttered a single word to you. She was right. As always.

Which made the entire situation a lot more strange, so strange that you had genuinely believed that you were dreaming when your assistant entered your bedroom above the practice and shook you awake.

"Y/N?" Priscilla asked, sheepishly shaking you before fumbling with her fingers at her front. "I'm sorry to wake you, but it's an emergency?"

Light spilled in from the slightly ajar door, and you could hear Rhys talking frantically from the floor below, his voice drifting up the stairs and into your ears.

It wasn't a dream at all.

You sat up quickly, causing all the blood to rush to your head, and you didn't bother to put any shoes on as you slid a plush cream cotton cardigan over your arms and barrelled down the stairs.

A gasp escaped your lips.

There lay Azriel on your examination table, blood smeared over his leathers and siphons, his skin pale and sickly, and his shadows limp in a circle above his head.

"Y/N." Rhys spoke, voice tense and wobbling, and your eyes snapped to him. He was also coated in blood, Azriel's blood, and the High Lord looked between you and his brother desperately. "Please."

Running your fingers through your unbound hair, your quickly threw it up into a loose set bun at the back of your head and quickly disinfected your hands before you moved to the Shadowsinger, to the same male who couldn't look more different than he had in Rita's.

"What happened to him?" Azriel groaned at the sound of your voice, not fully coherent but it was like he knew that it was you tending to him, and his shadow perked up for but a moment before slumping back onto the table.

Rhys was beside himself, raking his fingers through his hair and down the sides of his face. "I sent him to the mountain camps to verify a rumour," he told you, not wanting to give too much away, "He was shot with arrows, I think they were poisoned. He came back to us like this, barely breathing and mumbling some nonsense about wanting to look back."

"Did you bring the arrows?"

Within seconds, Rhys produced two of the arrows, and you noted that Azriel must have taken the third one out himself at left it in the mountains. You run your fingers along the wood, bringing the oaken arrows to your nose and scenting the oozing liquid coating the head.

"Nightshade," your voice faltered. It wasn't often that you saw anyone with nightshade poisoning, they usually didn't last so long, and the fact that Azriel had was a miracle.

You flew around the room, gathering various ointments, balms, and rags, ordering Priscilla to fetch a bucket of tepid water to keep his fever down.

"Azriel?" you called to him softly, and his head moved in the direction of his voice, "I'm y/n. I'm going to help you, alright? You just need to stay with me for a little while longer. Can you do that?"

A low whine passed through his lips, tugging at the strings of your heart, and you took that as his voice of agreement. Ordering Rhys to stand back and for Priscilla to press the dampened rag to his forehead, you began to work.

Slowly, you cut through his leathers to expose his chest to the Velarian air, noting every ripple and tense of his muscles and they writhed from the effects of the poison in his system. Without thinking, you rested your glowing palms against his abdomen, calling on every morsel of your power to dive into his veins and extract every drop of poison that lived within him.

Rhys and Priscilla watched in awe as the poison began to vacate his body through the entry wounds left by the arrows, they watched that black putrid filth run down the sides of his body and drip onto the stone floor. But you didn't stop, you wouldn't let a single tear of that poison live inside of him, and once the last drop had left him, Azriel opened his eyes and gasped.

The relief he was feeling must have been profound. His eyes trailed along your face, much enjoying this version of you than the one he saw at Rita's, noting the long lashes of your closed eyes as your power surged through him to ensure that his blood was clean. You didn't even realise that your eyes were closed until his clammy, trembling fingers curled around your wrist.

His eyes were weak and drowsy, he was rightfully exhausted, and you pulled your hands away slowly, the glow in your palms weakening more by the second. Then you moved your eyes to his face, his sickly pallid face and equally pale lips that were parted in shock.

And then you felt it, that golden thread withering in solitude connecting with its other half, entwining and thrumming in clear skies, burning gold in the pits of darkness.

"Mate." Azriel rasped, eyes wide and fingers fumbling to keep a hold on you, his thankful shadows trailing up your arms to steal the warmth locked beneath your skin.

You could feel Rhys' eyes on you, examining you, not knowing what to do or say in the moment.

"Right. Yes." Azriel's wounds were still open and angry, and that is why you couldn't fully adapt to what had just happened between you, not when you could feel his pain laced with hope flow down the freshly unlocked bond.

The rest of your work was done in silence. You applied thick balms to his wounds to urge them to close and disinfect before bandaging his entire torso and thigh, apologising when each wince would sound from his lips. And all he did was watch your face whilst you worked, he watched the furrow of your brow and the concentration within your eyes, and he realised why his mind was focused on you since the moment he had seen you.

You were his mate.

His mate.

His.

When you had finished, you turned to Rhys who was perched upon a nearby chair, observing in perfect silence, and beckoned him to follow you onto the porch of your practice, closing the door softly behind you whilst Priscilla continued to clean the blood and dirt from his skin. "He would have died if you had come five minutes later."

Rhys took a step toward you, "Will he be alright?"

Part of you had to admire Rhys for his care, for the way he cared about every member of his found family and how he would go to the ends of the earth to ensure that they lived, but another part of you hated him for sending Azriel to the mountain camps in the first place.

"He'll be fine. I suggest letting him rest, someone will need to watch him," your voice trailed off slightly, not knowing whether to offer or not considering the revelation that he was your mate, "I'll stop in and do regular checks over the next couple of days, but for now he just needs to be somewhere comfortable."

"I'll take him to the River House," Rhys promised, knowing that was the only place where Azriel could truly rest, and the only place where you could enter without having to go through the rest of their dysfunctional family. "How are you feeling?"

A thin smile tugged at the corners of your lips, "I'm fine."

"I meant," he took another step toward you, glancing down at the blood that now stained your cardigan and skirt of your night dress, "How are you feeling about Azriel being your mate?"

Peering over your shoulder and through the window, you saw Azriel looking up at the ceiling with a gentle smile on his lips. "I know who he is, his reputation. I'm someone who has given their entire life to be amazing at what they do, which means that I'm inexperience in other aspects. I don't think I'm the kind of woman that he wants."

Shaking his head, Rhys brushed against your side, "Trust me. You are everything that he has ever wanted."

All you could do was hum in reply, and you folded your arms over your chest to protect against the chilled winds as you stepped back inside, internally grinning at Azriel's effort to sit upright the moment you were back in his presence. You stopped at his side, "I've told Rhys to take you somewhere comfortable so that you can recover, and I'll stop by over the next few days to make sure that you're healing properly and that there aren't any side effects from the poison."

Azriel furrowed his brow, "But what about us?"

"Let's just get you healed first," you told him, doing your best to stay calming, "Then we can revisit everything else."

He wanted to say more, he wanted to take your hand and bring it to his mouth, he wanted to know what your skin tasted like on his tongue. He wanted to know everything he could about you, and he was desperate for it, so desperate that no words fell from his fumbling lips as he tried to force a reply.

Azriel felt like a schoolboy approaching his crush for the first time, and you noticed that the illustrious Shadowsinger was truly lost for words.

"You can take him now, Rhys. I'll come by in the morning."

"Thank you, y/n."

Azriel watched as you bowed your head to Rhys in acknowledgment, "Of course," you told him, your eyes finding Azriel one last time before all he could hear was the patter of your feet against the wooden stairs and smell the lingering scent of fresh berries and sweetened citrus.

Waiting for the morning was driving him insane already, but he would wait for you. He would always wait for you.

The morning had come too quickly, but sleep hadn't found Azriel that night, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the stabbing pains in his chest or the excitement bubbling in his gut at the thought of seeing you again.

After being fixed up, Rhys had winnowed them both back to the River House, Rhys refusing to let Azriel be anywhere else considering you have given him strict instructions to ensure an eye was kept on him, at least until he could walk on his own two feet.

He had forgotten how peaceful the River House was in his miserable meandering through life, he had forgotten its comfort, he had forgotten what it had been like to be around family. His room had been left untouched, his bed made and books still open on the last pages he had read splayed across the desk.

By the sunlight pooling onto his bedroom floor, Azriel could tell that it was nearing midday, which meant that you were going to be arriving any moment. Any movement made him wince, but he found enough strength to be able to sit up in the bed, he knew that you'd want to check the wounds beneath his bandages and wanted to make it easier for you.

His wings were tucked neatly behind his back, and his shadows were sleeping soundly atop his shoulders. Azriel was too busy watching them to notice the opening of his door, only realising that someone else was there when their scent worked its way into his bones.

"You're sat up," your voice was light and soft as you entered, medical bag in hand and dressed in a plain but beautiful taupe gown with low looped sleeves and a corset of brown leather. "That's a good sign."

Azriel's heart stopped at the sight of you, at your hair unbound but the front pieces held back by a cream coloured fabric headband, at the dress and the glowing of your skin in the warming sunlight.

With a small smile, you perched on the edge of the bed, unclipping the clasp of your bag and retrieving some small vials and tubs, setting them down on the bedside table and turning to him. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. Much better," was all he could manage to say, completely mesmerised by the hue of your eyes in the light and shape of your lips, "Thanks to you."

"It's no problem," you told him softly, reaching for the bandages around his torso and taking your time in unwinding them.

In a couple of days he would be as good as new thanks to his other-worldly healing beginning to kick in, and you told him as such as you reapplied the balm and placed two patches to the effected areas on his torso, carefully massaging the balm into the wounds to make sure that it did its job.

"I need to talk to you," he took your wrist in his hand before you could move your attention to the wound on his thigh, his eyes were pleading to talk about something other than his pain, you could feel it flow down the bond that you were trying to adapt to. "I need to know where your head is, with us."

"The moment you looked at me that night was the first time I felt that someone had actually seen me, even if you were drunk," you spoke with a huff of amusement, "You looked at me, and then you took a woman home who is infinitely more beautiful and wild than I am, and then I had to hear everything that everyone says of you. Forgive me if I'm feeling apprehensive and would like to just focus on making sure that you live."

Azriel understood, truly he did, but that didn't make the words sting any less. "I'd like to show you the real me, if you'll let me." His heart thundered in his chest at your silence, and the nerves settled in his gut and swarmed within his heart that was beating for you.

Unable to deny those rounded eyes brimming with hope for a brighter tomorrow, you sighed, "Fine," you told him, "Once you're back on your feet, I'll give you a chance. Now let me work."

The tone of your voice made Azriel release your wrist and settle back into the cushions of his bed, and he didn't make a single sound whilst you worked on the wound buried into his thigh, applying the same balm and wrapping it up before giving him instructions for the ointments and tonic to help the pain. "Thank you for saving my life."

Your eyes found his again and you could have melted at the pure desperation within them, "Well, I couldn't exactly let my mate die now, could I?"

"Will you be back?"

Azriel observed you as you packed up your things, disposing of the bloody rags and bandages in a wisp of smoke. "I have some errands to run but I'll stop by on my way home. Is there anything that you need?"

"Just you."

Even in his state Azriel was a shameless flirt, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop the innocent smile from taking over your face, but you couldn't stop the blush from prickling at your skin, and a part of you didn't want to.

"I'll be back later. Eat something and rest, you need to build your strength back up. The tonics can help with the rest and the pain."

Azriel tilted his head in your direction whilst you gathered the last of your instruments, clasping your bag shut and rising from the bed. He knew there was a reason why he had been drawn to you, why you hadn't left his mind, and it was because you were his mate. The one fated to be his. The one thing he thought he'd never be able to have.

And gods, you were the most perfect thing he'd ever seen.

With a gentle and reassuring smile, you squeezed his forearm softly before removing yourself from the room and taking your time in making your way downstairs, dawdling in the halls to examine the artworks and ornaments lining them. Though, you weren't expecting to come face to face with Cassian the moment you moved from the last step.

He wore a shit-eating grin and stood before you with his arms crossed tightly over his chest whilst his eyes slowly drifted to the stairs and what, or rather who, lay resting on the floor above. "Always in the right place, aren't you y/n?"

Luckily for him, you had often been in the right places when he required some healing or tonics, whether it be for him or Nesta during her most recent cycle. "It's quite literally my job, Cass."

Cassian grinned and chuckled deeply, his orbs morphed into sincere and he cleared his throat, "Thank you for what you did last night. Azriel may be difficult but he's family. We'd be lost without him." He laid his large hand on your shoulder in thanks, it was light a weighted blanket, comforting in a way you'd never found in anyone else. "And," he began, sighing, "Rhys told me about the bond. How are you feeling?"

Dropping your shoulders, you shook your head slightly and looked toward the ceiling, worried that Azriel was going to hear what you had to say before finding Cassian's gaze. "I'll tell you what I told Rhys, and Azriel. I don't think I'm the kind of woman he wants. I've heard the rumours, I've seen the kind of women he takes home every night and I couldn't be more different to them. I'll give him a chance once he's better, but that's all I can do right now."

"I understand," Cassian smiled sadly, removing his hand from your shoulder and glancing down at the bag loosely held in your fingers. "Isn't today supposed to be your day off?"

Rolling your eyes, you lightly swatted his chest as you passed by, "Stop analysing my schedule, Cass. I never have days off anyway."

"How else am I meant to know when to come to see you?" Cassian called after you, unmoving from his place at the bottom of the stairs.

"You don't need an appointment to come and see me," you waved him away without turning around, pacing into the lounge and instantly feeling your confused mood lift when you saw Nyx wobblily walking about the room.

The small child, under the watchful eye of Feyre, instantly moved to you, babbling and reaching upward, and you swept him into your arms and felt your soul blossom when he rested his head on your chest. "He loves you," you craned your head to the side at the sound of Feyre's voice, a pencil was lazily held between her fingers and the sketchbook resting in her lap was kissed with the first swirls of grey, "Nyx that is, though I'm sure that Azriel does too," she spoke, setting her things down on the centre table.

"Well I only care about Nyx right now."

You were sure that Azriel could feel your joy and love for the child flowing down the bond, you seemed to be able to feel everything the other felt. His hope, pain, and blissful desires, and your exhaustion and innocent joys.

"I just want you to know that Azriel is probably the best of us," she began, rising to her feet and smoothing down the wrinkles in her skirt, she approached you, eyes flitting between you and Nyx with a serene smile, "He is patient and kind, courageous and gentle, and he has so much love to give. I think the recent period in his life was caused by the belief that he wasn't worthy of it." Feyre ran her fingers through Nyx's short onyx hair, "You deserve to see the real Az, in the way that we see him."

"Thank you, Feyre."

The High Lady hummed softly, "Always," you gently passed Nyx over to her, allowing him to grab your finger in his tiny palm in an attempt to get your arms wrapped around him again. "Are you going into the city?"

"Yes. I have some supplies and orders to pick up, and I'm going to try to enjoy the little time I get to spend by myself."

"Well, have fun. We'll be seeing you later? Why don't you stay for dinner?"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to intrude-"

"You're not," the deep voice of Rhys reverberated from behind you, his chest brushed against your back as he passed, heading straight toward his mate and child and kissing them both lightly on the forehead before turning his attention to you fully. "You save us all on a daily basis. You're always welcome here."

"I appreciate that," you swayed back and forth on the balls of your feet, wanting the ground to swallow you whole, "I should get going. I'll see you both later."

It didn't take you long to gather the supplies and orders that you needed for the practice, and once you had dropped them back of Priscilla, who admitted that the day had gone slowly, you decided to take a walk around the city. You browsed the endless bookshops and headed to the markets to see what garments they were selling, settling on a flowing ivory skirt and shimmering pale blue dress.

The sun was setting by the time you were done, bags in hands full of new treats for yourself as well as a new toy for Nyx that you had seen and couldn't not buy.

Scents of honey cured meats and roasted vegetables drifted down the stone path that led to the River House, and you could faintly make out the silhouettes of Rhys and Cassian through the window. And, like she knew that you were stood there watching, Feyre opened the front door and smiled at you, beckoning you closer.

Feyre took all the bags from your hands bar one, the one that you needed to take to Nyx who was already on his feet and swaying over to you the moment you stepped through the door. You knelt on the ground to greet him, the paper bag settled on the floor beside you, "I got you something today," you teased, diving your hand into the bag and retrieving the small stuff bat you had spied at one of the many market stalls that afternoon.

Nyx beamed, taking it from you and babbling his thanks as he moved into your arms, looking up at you expectantly to pick him up, and you did so without question.

"You spoil him too much," Rhys moved to sit beside you on the couch, watching Nyx with a faint smile as he played with his new toy. "Azriel is walking around. Seems that whatever you did is working."

"I would say that it's because of his own determination but we both know that was all me," Rhys laughed at your words, especially at how you had modified your tone to be Nyx-friendly.

"That it was," a sultry voice drifted through the air, sending involuntary shivers down your spine. You glanced over you shoulder, spying Azriel in the doorway with his hands buried into his pockets, looking as perfect as he had that night at Rita's.

His hair was messy, like he had raked his fingers through it with frustration, his skin was golden, and it looked like he had gotten some kind of rest given the disappearing bags that lingered beneath his eyes. The shirt he wore was unbuttoned toward the top, allowing you to see his still intact bandages and the tattoos that swirled the area. His wings were poised and neatly tucked at his shoulders, like he wanted to appear as unthreatening as possible to you.

Azriel appeared shy and sheepish, eyes floating through the room, finding Cassian and Rhys before landing on you and Nyx. So that was what the joy down the bond was, it was Nyx, it was a child that made you feel so light and happy.

Recognising the tension between you both, Cassian took the opportunity to plop himself down on a nearby armchair, setting his feet upon the table where Feyre's art supplies still lay, and spoke, "So, you two are mates?"

Closing his eyes, Azriel wanted nothing more than to punch his brother through the ground and into the realms of hell. Instead, he inhaled deeply, "Yes, Cassian," he gritted through his tensed teeth, noticing that you had chosen to take your awkwardness and pour your attention into Nyx.

"Well? What are you going to do about it?"

Slowly realising what Cassian was doing by the cock of his brow and slight smirk, Azriel decided to play along, "I'd like to take y/n out. I'd like to get to know her and see if she would like to accept the bond."

Cassian turned to you, innocent mischief laced in his orbs, "Y/N. Would you like to go out with Azriel, get to know him and figure out if you'd like to accept the bond?"

Rolling your eyes at his antics and slicing a glare to Rhys who had slightly sunk into the cushions of the seat, you replied, "Yes. I would."

"Great," Cassian shot to his feet with a clap of his hands which made you jump slightly, "Tomorrow. Az will pick you up from the practice."

"Fantastic."

"Amazing."

You and Azriel both spoke in unison whilst Rhys' foot tapped against the floor, raking his fingers across your mind and slipping into your lowered walls. I'm sorry about him. He's always been a meddler unfortunately.

You don't say.

The first date was going well up until it wasn't.

Azriel had arrived at the practice at sundown, flowers in hand, looking more incredible than you could have ever thought he could. It was clear that had spent the entire evening planning your first night alone together, he had taken you to the restaurant along the Sidra and had spent most of the time asking you questions about your work, appearing genuinely interested in the journey you had taken to get you to where you were.

He was intelligent, and soft, and funny in his own dry way, and you were beginning to understand what Cassian and Feyre meant.

It was going perfectly until a woman approached the table, batting her eyelashes toward Azriel and looking to you like you were the biggest pile of nothing on the continent. She was beautiful, long brunette curls and feline honey eyes, and it didn't help like she had the body of a goddess, carved from the finest of marble. You didn't want to admit it, but she made you feel so inferior, so disposable.

Azriel was polite, his fingers drifting against yours the entire time she was at the table, trying to reassure you whilst she essentially asked when she could see him again. In the nicest way he could, Azriel told her that he wasn't interested and asked her to leave, and all that had earned you was a venomous glare and a scoff.

He apologised profusely, and you accepted it, you were willing to let it go. After all, you could understand why women would approach him. Azriel was gorgeous, perhaps the most gorgeous male in all of Prythian, and you couldn't blame anyone for approaching him. If you had that level of confidence then maybe you would have too.

The second time it had happened, it dampened your hopes that a life with Azriel could work.

The Shadowsinger had asked you to go on a walk with him to the markets, he had picked out jewels and other beautiful items that he was sure would look beautiful on you. You had insisted that you didn't need them, that you could but them yourself, but he wasn't having any of it.

It was all going well until another woman showed up, curling her painted fingers around his bicep and pressing her body up against his side. Azriel looked visibly uncomfortable, you'd give him that, and like the same women he sent away at dinner, he told her that he wasn't interested and to leave him alone. The woman all but snarled at you, and you knew that you were going to be the talk of the city, that you were going to be known as Azriel's newest flame.

Unfortunately, it just kept on getting worse.

The people of Velaris had begun coming into the practice faking injuries just so that they'd be able to speak to you and pull the situation between you and Azriel from your lips. It was tiring. Everyone had their pasts, you knew that and you were fine with Azriel's, but it didn't mean that you wanted it waved around in front of your face.

Every single fake patient that waltzed through the doors to your practice served as a constant reminder that you'd never be good enough for Azriel. But you had seen the good in him, you had seen how much he respected you, how his eyes lit up when you spoke about whatever it was that you were passionate about, and you felt his adoration flow down the bond whenever you would see Nyx. You knew that Azriel was smitten, but you also knew that he had no idea just how much everything was effecting you.

It had all come to a head the night he had suggested to make you dinner at his apartment, to minimise the risk of anyone approaching you, and you deduced that it must have been Feyre's idea. Not even the Inner Circle were free of the city gossip mill.

He had done his best to be as comfortable and romantic as possible, and you knew that he wasn't expecting anything to happen, he just wanted you to see how serious he was about you. Candles lined the ledges, and he had placed pillows at the coffee table before the large arched windows which allowed you to see the entire golden valley of Velaris.

It was beautiful. It was perfect.

Then, halfway through the dinner he had impressively made by himself, the door to his apartment opened, and before your eyes stood the same blonde bombshell he had taken home the night you had seen him for the first time. Your breath became lodged in your throat, and all you felt was disappointment and sadness at yet another date being ruined.

"Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt," she walked further into the room, eyes drifting about the candle-filled ledges with a smirk. "I was hoping that you'd be alone tonight," she was brazen enough to remove her coat, revealing little clothing beneath in an outfit that extenuated her curves and breasts.

Azriel's eyes were trained on you, but you couldn't look at him. You folded your hands into your lap and kept your eyes on the floor, trying your best to not cry in that moment, to not appear as weak. But he could feel it, he could feel the sadness and anger bubbling inside of you.

"Come on, Azriel," she purred, golden hair flowing over her shoulders, "Say goodbye to your latest conquest and come back to me. We both know that she clearly isn't what you want."

That was it.

Wordlessly you rose to your feet, hastily gathering your jacket and satchel in your arms before rounding her toward the door. "Don't take it personally, sweetie," she called after you condescendingly, "You just aren't what he needs."

You had never run anywhere, not because you didn't want to but because you enjoyed your slow meandering, you enjoyed watching the world go by slowly, but you sprinted home that night, ignoring his pleas down the bond and instead deciding to shut it off completely as you slammed the door shut to your bedroom.

A couple weeks passed by, weeks of silence which you channelled into your work, opting to take a research trip to the Autumn Court to sample their botanicals for a new balm you wanted to craft. The best part about leaving the city for awhile was that you could work undisturbed by Azriel and the Inner Circle.

Luckily for you, Eris, the new High Lord, was happy for you to experiment your skills and craft on his soldiers and injured townsfolk, knowing of your reputation and passion for healing. He had offered you a place in his court, doting on you often in a bid to get you to stay, but nothing would get you to leave the wonder that was Velaris, no matter how much you wanted to burrow yourself away and hide for eternity.

That morning, you were nestled at the edge of a brook that was passing through the forest just east of Fir Manor, drawing flowers and examining their properties when you heard the leaves crunch from behind you. From the scent, you knew that it was Eris coming to check on you again. He looked good, he adorned a pair of sage green briefs and a cream blouse, and you couldn't forget the brown leather riding boots you loved so much to the point he had gone out and bought you your own pair.

"This is the third time you've stopped by this morning alone," you spoke, not lifting your gaze from your notebook that was littered with colourful sketches and text.

Eris fell to your side, finding a comfortable place on the blanket you often carried around with you so that your body didn't break against the rocks. "I've been invited to the Night Court to see Lucien. I think that they're hoping that you'll join me."

The pencil in your hand froze against the parchment, and you straightened your posture to look at him, at the amber eyes and fire-red hair that he had recently had cut. Eris had been kind to you, understanding the need to escape for awhile, he had immersed you in his culture, had given you many dresses to fit the season, and not once did you see a droplet of hatred within him.

You were aware that the time was approaching to go back, that you couldn't leave Priscilla on her own for much longer even if Madja was back from her holidays and taking the brunt of the patients in the city. Though, you wished you could have a little longer to enjoy the serenity and joy of your work without everything else weighing down on you.

Looking to him, you smiled thinly, tapping the end of your pencil against the parchment of the notebook, "I suppose it's time that I went back anyway. I'm surprised that the practice hasn't burned to the ground yet."

Eris chuckled, his shoulder brushing against your own, "If things are still tense when we're there, you're always welcome to come back with me."

"Thank you, Eris. I really appreciate everything you've done for me."

"Of course," he smirked, "Anything for Prythian's best healer."

The High Lord jumped to his feet, wiping away any small rocks and pebbles of dirt from his briefs before offering a hand to you and helping you up off of the ground. "Always an ulterior motive with you," you lightly scolded him, looping the strap of your satchel over your shoulder whilst he folded the blanket over his arm.

"Can you blame me for wanting you all to myself?" Eris nudged into you, falling in step with you back toward Fir Manor. Once inside the safety of the walls, Eris asked you to pack your things, including the items he had gifted to you, and winnowed you both to the boarder of the Night Court where Rhys was already waiting.

Eris had never seen anyone so desperate to leave his side in years, he watched intently as you babbled some nonsense about needing to get back to the practice, muttering a soft goodbye before disappearing.

"Are you trying to piss Azriel off?" Rhys asked, eyes following your figure through the woodland until he couldn't see you anymore. You reeked of Eris, of Autumn, and wore a dress of burnt orange and riding boots that matched Eris' own. "You know that they're mates."

"For now," Eris quipped with a smirk, causing Rhys to look toward his new ally with confusion, "Can you blame her for questioning it? Considering every time they've been together it's been ruined by one of his one-night whores?"

Rhys was all too aware of what had happened thanks to Nesta who had heard from Cassian, she was too worried about Azriel to not divulge what she knew even though she couldn't stand to be around Rhys. Plus, Nesta liked you, from what little she had seen, she believed that you were a gift from the mother to them all.

"I can't say that I do," he admitted, frowning at the place where you had been stood, eager to get away from him.

It must have been hard, to find out that you had a mate, to give him a chance for it all to be ruined by his past conquests sticking their noses in where they weren't wanted. Then there was the matter of the gossip, of people truly believing you had slipped him some kind of love tonic to get him to want you. It had infuriated Rhys when he had found out, so much so that he had visited those spreading such vile accusations and ordered them to stop or otherwise be banished from the City of Starlight.

Rhys wanted to protect you, he wanted you to be happy even if it wasn't with Azriel.

But not with Eris. Never with Eris.

Unwillingly, Rhys escorted Eris to the House of Wind to be with his brother and new sister-in-law, and returned home to Feyre as fast as he possibly could.

It didn't take you long to catch up with an extremely thankful and tired Priscilla, her blue eyes were brimming with exhaustion and stress, her lips were cracked and her skin was dry. You apologised to her profusely, and thanked her for keeping the practice going whilst you took some much needed time away from the city.

Perhaps Alana was right, maybe Azriel would be the ruin of you.

Priscilla told you that she understood, but that she was happy that you were back. So, you gave her the rest of the week off, feeling alive and ready to dive back into the occupation you adored so much. It turned out to be a quiet day, shipping off some balms and ointments for some follow up patients, some minor cuts from training scuffled that were quickly treated and males sent on their way, and before you knew it the sun had began to set.

The chiming of the bell at the entryway signalled that someone had entered the practice past opening hours. Wiping your hands on your tatty apron, you headed into the waiting foyer, not paying much mind to anything until the scent of cedar and mountains kissed your lungs.

Azriel stood before you, eyes wild and appearing somewhat dishevelled, black bags beneath his eyes from lack of sleep and a certain worried paleness clinging to his skin. His shadows sensed you immediately, shooting from his shoulders and dancing around your waist.

In your haste to work you had forgotten to take a shower or change out of the clothes Eris had gifted you, and you saw that Azriel had noticed the style and scent that surrounded you. But, he swallowed harshly and rasped, "You look beautiful."

His tired words threatened to cleave your heart into a million pieces, "Thank you."

Silence hung between you, heavy and tense, and you weren't sure what to say. Should you apologise for the clothing and the scent of Eris that lingered around you? Should you apologise for disappearing without a trace with no way for him to contact you?

Azriel looked lost, like he hadn't slept since the night you left his apartment in such a hurry, but the words of that woman still lingered in your mind. Conquest. Not what he needs. It dawned on you that he may not have known just how deeply it had effected you, how inexperienced you had realised you were, how insecure these women had caused you to feel.

"I'm sorry, for that night at my apartment. I didn't invite her, I don't know why she even showed up," he took a step toward you and you didn't move, not knowing what it was that you wanted in that moment, "I should have gone after you. I should have stopped you from leaving but you silenced the bond and I thought I was the last person you wanted to see. I was wrong."

"Azriel, I-"

"Please," he took another step toward you, and kept on moving until his fingers caressed beneath your chin and pulled your gaze up to meet his eyes. "I didn't think that I deserved to be loved, not after what I've done. I thought that the mother had taken one look at me decided that I wasn't worth it. So, yes, I slept around, I wanted to do all I could to forget the fact that I was destined to be alone forever even though having a mate, having you, was all that I've ever wanted."

"You are magnificent, y/n. Truly. No woman even holds a candle to you. You are intelligent and passionate, you are beautiful and peaceful in ways that I never thought I'd be able to witness or feel. I stopped wanting to look back, I stopped wanting to say goodbye to the people I love, and then I met you and I knew I'd found the one I wanted to look back to every night and look forward to every morning."

"You are not a conquest to me. I was ready to accept the bond the moment you entered the room that night when I was lying there dying. You are my everything, you are my reason to live and breathe, you are my salvation. I don't want to live my life without you, not after I've gotten to see you in a way I know that no one else has. Please, y/n. Please come back to me."

You could feel the tears pooling atop your bottom lids, his touch was feverish but unrelenting, his hands cupped your face and his eyes searched your soul for a hint of acceptance.

"Azriel, I don't think that I can," your bottom lip wobbled, and the pain of your insecurity bloomed devilishly inside of your chest. "Your past doesn't bother me, and I never want you to think that it does. Every moment I've spent with you has left me wanting you more and more every day. But I'm not like them, I'm inexperienced in intimacy and dedicated to my work, and I can't allow myself to tarnish everything I have accomplished. I can't allow myself to feel small and insignificant anymore."

"You're not small or insignificant, y/n," his brow furrowed and he felt you slipping away, he didn't need the open bond to understand how much pain you were in, not when he could see it all etched upon your face. "You're everything that I've ever dreamed of. Please."

The moment you stepped away from his embrace, Azriel visibly winced, like he had been shot with a nightshade arrow through the heart. "I need time to think, Az. I need space to figure out if I can do this. Be yours but also be mine."

He didn't want to pester you, he didn't want to beg and make you feel like you owed him anything, but gods, did he want to crawl onto his knees and kiss the ground that you walked on. To Azriel, you were the sun, you were the moon, you were the seasons. You were everything.

Azriel swallowed his words, his pleads, and gently nodded his head, stepping forward and placing a chaste kiss on your cheek before retreating from the practice, carefully clicking the door behind his exit.

It took you a few minutes to be able to gather yourself, to be able to move from that spot, but you did, if not for yourself then for Alana and Eris that were making it their mission to take you to Rita's for a few drinks, to allow you to let off a little bit of steam.

In the next hour, you were bathed and donned in a tight metallic bronze dress with a high slit that reached your hip, a plunging neckline and hair waved down your spine. Eris was always barking at you to live in the moment, and for once you were inclined to agree. So when he and Alana saw the light spill from your opened door, did they turn around and gasp at the woman who stood before them.

"I didn't know that you could clean up this well," Eris mused, earning a light slap on the shoulder as you moved from the practice to join him and Alana on the walk up to Rita's.

"I told you that I could look good when I wanted to."

Alana hummed knowingly, "And this has nothing to do with the fact that you told Azriel you needed space?"

"Maybe a little bit."

Eris laughed, bold and proud, "Showing the Shadowsinger what he's missing. I didn't know that you had it in you."

Rolling your eyes, you noticed Rita's in the distance, and the queues of fae waiting to be allowed in, "This is actually for me. I'm tired of feeling inadequate and looked over. Tonight everyone gets to see that I'm not something to be ignored."

After a short walk up the paved hill, the two fae guards on the doors quickly ushered you inside, and the scent of alcohol and the thick wall of sweat instantly crashed into you. Alana excused herself to go and get drinks for you all whilst Eris led you over to the booth where Lucien and Elain sat, across the room from the others but in their direct eyeline.

Whispers sprouted around you, causing your shoulders to tense up. The healer that had been meddling with the Shadowsinger was now latched to the hip of the High Lord of Autumn.

What a cunning little thing.

So much ambition.

You did your best to ignore them as you walked behind Eris toward his brother and Elain, smiling sweetly at the pair as they rose to greet you, hugging you tightly and telling you how nice it was to be able to finally meet you. Elain was charming and kind, and Lucien was warm and welcoming, and they took you under their wings effortlessly, blocking out the demeaning whispers from the fae surrounding and watching you.

After a few more drinks and shots, thanks to Alana, you found yourself leaning into Eris' side, hazed by the heat and slightly tipsy. You laughed with Elain and shared your love of flowers with her, and you spent time with Lucien telling him how beautiful you found his home court, speaking of the markets and the food in detail. "Sorry brother, but I'd like to steal y/n for a dance."

Eris was stood at your side, looking down at you expectantly with his hand offered out to you. Part of you should have known better, you should have known that Azriel was watching you from across the room, watching as the love of his life was swept away by another Vanserra.

Nudging you to your feet, you sent Lucien a wry smile as you took Eris' hand and allowed him to lead you to the centre of the dancefloor. He pulled you close to his chest and swayed with you to the beat of the music that flowed through the room.

"Does Azriel even know what he's missing?" Eris spoke lowly into your ear, lowering his mouth to the shell of it so that you could hear his voice in your soul. "If I were him, I'd crawl across the fires of hell to have you."

Eris was being brazen. He raised his fingers to your face, the tips of them flitting across your cheek to a strand of hair that had fallen down the side of your face, pushing it back eloquently behind your pointed ear. His fingers lingered, sparks of fire nipping at the skin of your neck as his fingers travelled downward.

You weren't sure what to expect, but you couldn't exactly blame the fist that had flown into Eris' jaw, sending the High Lord crashing to the floor. Azriel stood over him, the crowd had parted to watch the spectacle vying for your attention. Your eyes had blown wide, and it took you a moment to come back into the room. Azriel turned from Eris and stalked over to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and resting his chin on the crown of your head as he made the world dissipate in swirls of colour until you were stood in the centre of his apartment.

Azriel towered over you, eyes wild and possessive. You hadn't seen him look to territorial before, but the look in his eyes had you in a chokehold. "My past with females isn't what bothers you. It's having it in your face constantly, it's the whispers and cruelty that bothers you. I understand that now, and I'm sorry that I didn't see that before." Azriel's voice was calm, too calm, like a predator prepping their prey, luring them into wings of security.

His marred fingers traced where Eris' had once been and his eyes flickered with fury, "But Eris does not get to touch you like that. You are mine, y/n. I refuse to let you go."

"You are not what they say you are," he took a step toward you, the force of his knees against your thighs ushering you backward, "They are jealous of you, of us, because they'll never get to know what this is like. They'll never get to know the taste of your skin or the way your name sounds on my lips. They'll never get to know the love I have for you," his hand gripped your waist, and Azriel continued to walk you backward until the backs of your legs hit the ledge of his couch.

"Because I do love you, y/n. With everything I have, I love you. I knew it from the moment I saw you, I knew that I was going to fall in love with you. Nothing could ever take me from you," his lips brushed over your collarbone, igniting a fire within you that you had never felt before, "I am yours forever. And I promise you, I vow that no one will ever make you feel insignificant ever again. Not unless they want to die by my hand. I would rip the world apart to ensure your happiness."

Azriel's words struck a chord inside of you, and you couldn't help but allow the bond to open, to allow his flood of emotions to crash into you like waves against the Summer Court rocks.

"Azriel," you spoke his name breathlessly, too focused on the sensation of his lips peppering soft kisses along your collarbone and neck. "Please."

He pulled away from you, placing his hands on either side of your neck and stroking his thumbs against your ears, "Tell me."

You had known for a long time, since the moment he had turned up at the steps of your practice holding flowers with a love-sick smile plastered on his lips. "I love you too," and you felt the bond sing at your admission, so brilliant and bright that your heart felt like it was going to lurch from its cage. "Please, Az. I need you."

Azriel lowered his lips to yours, hovering a feathers touch from your own, his breath scented with the faint aroma of whisky fanning over your face. With your slight nod, Azriel closed that gap and felt the bond fall into place, thrumming and secure, on the cusp of being fulfilled.

Your mouths moved in sync against one another, and Azriel effortless scooped you into his arms and carried you over to his bed, setting you down as gently as he could before climbing on top of you. His hands roamed your body, the curves of your hips and the mounds of your breasts, his fingers traced circled into the skin of your exposed thigh, teasing the sensitive area and smirking against your lips as you writhed beneath him under his touch.

His lips moved to your neck, sucking and nipping the skin there between his teeth, allowing you to begin unbuttoning his shirt to expose his toned chest. Azriel pulled away slightly when your fingers began drifted over the areas where his wounds once were, the wounds you had saved him from. "They're gone," you told him quietly, lips swollen but smiling under the dim light.

Azriel brushed your hair behind your ears and brushed his nose against yours, dragging the tip down the slope of it, "I told you that you were my salvation. I wasn't lying."

"I'm starting to believe that."

His eyes sparked with mischief and he sent a wave of love down the bond as he kissed your lips once more, "Let me show you."

And so he did.

Author's Note

SORRY THAT THIS TOOK SO LONG 😭

Really hoping that this has done the amazing ask some justice 🥺

Also I was so close to writing smut for this fic - looks like I'll need to do a part two or something...

Taglist

@mokansa @killseinx @lady-targaryens-world @brieftriumphnightmare @thesunloveschips @whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog

[f1-05-writer]

Princess Treatment

1k celebration request.

Pairing: Bodyguard!Azriel x Princess!Reader

Summary: Azriel was gone on a mission for only a day but it was long enough for desperation to form between him and the Princess.

Warnings: plot? What plot? | smut | minors dni l vagunal sex | p in v | fingering | oral (frecieving) | clit sucking | overstimulation | breeding kink | multiorgasm | unprotected sex | degradation | dirty talk | mating press | probably a lot of others

A. Note: sorry I was gone for two weeks but I'm BACK 😈 and I'm treating you guys with some nasty smut as an apology, hope you all enjoy 💙

4.7k words.

"I missed you!" I practically tackled my bodyguard to the ground as I sprang onto him, my arms around the nape of his neck, and my legs twined around his torso.

He caught me in his arms, to no surprise. He had been away on an all too long mission, investigating a threat that was sent to the castle earlier this week. "I was gone for a day, Princess," He argued and a prominent pout formed over my lips. He let out a long sigh. "Alright, I missed you too." He leaned closer and pecked me on the forehead.

"Some rookie had to guard me," I huff, throwing my head back as if it was the end of the world while he carries me towards the bed.

"Yeah?" He sets me down on the mattress. "Did you at least feel safe?" His brows twitch together slightly in concern.

I shrug. "I guess. he was kind— a little awkward, but respectful," I explain and he nods, giving me a soft smile. "But I much prefer you," I match his grin.

The concern in his eyes dissipates, as he brushes a lock of stubborn hair behind my ear.

"Did you find anything on your prolonged expedition?" I asked, flopping back onto my mattress, the diadem atop my head unmoving since it had been locked in place with at least twenty pins this morning by Nuala.

He shook his head no while slowly stripping from his uniform. "So the threat is still out there?" I ask, perking up to look at the half-naked male.

His eyes soften and he approaches the bedside. "There's nothing to worry about lovely," His hand comes to my cheek, which he cradles gently. "I'm here to protect you, you're safe alright?" He tilts his head and I nod before reaching up and attempting to pull him down onto the bed beside me.

I ultimately fail but he obliges with my unspoken request anyway, his head resting on the same pillow as mine as I use him like a second mattress, climbing over him haphazardly.

"Well I'm just happy you're back," I hum, running my hands through his soft, black waves.

"But the threat is still out there, if I could just get another day searching—" He begins and I immediately cut him off.

"I'm safer with you," I place a hand on his cheek, my thumb rubbing along his cheekbone. "There could be a million threats and I'd still feel safe with you," I attempt to coerce and he just lets out a dramatic sigh.

"What about a million and one?" He arches a brow and I roll my eyes with a giggle.

"Yes Az," I lean closer. "I'd still feel safe with a million and one, and two, and three, and every number beyond that," I hum, slowly inclining so by the time I finished my sentence, our lips were brushing. "You make me feel safe," I finalize and a soft hue flushed across the bridge of his nose. I grin wildly but before I can make fun of his flustered stare he closes the gap between us.

His lips were eager against mine, it had only been a day but he seemed just as deprived as I was, his hands coming to my hips possessively, pulling me as close as he could while our limbs tangled beneath the bed sheets.

"I missed you," I whisper into his mouth, my hand running up his bare chest. His tongue takes advantage of my open mouth, and I allow him to explore it like he's done so many times before. I shifted my position, pulling my legs up so I was straddling over his hips. One of his hands trails up the curve of my ass while the other cups the side of my neck, his thumb cradling my jaw.

"I missed you too, Princess," He replies, halfway out of breath but it only displayed just how desperate he was, sacrificing oxygen in favor of my lips. A bright smile spreads over my lips but it only lasts a moment before it drops, the sound of footsteps down the hall making the both of us freeze.

Azriel softly groans in annoyance, his head falling back into the pillow as I slip off his lap. "You should probably go before someone walks in," I advise, even though it is the last thing I want at the moment.

"It's past sundown, no one will walk in," He reasons, turning onto his side to face me, our faces centimeters apart.

"But if they do, you could risk your job Az." I reach up and cup his cheek in my palm while he frowns with protest, his hand comes to mine and he pulls it away from his face, intertwining our fingers together instead.

"It's sweet that you want to protect me, but I'm the one being paid to be your bodyguard," He smiled sloppily and I rolled my eyes.

"Exactly." I give him a pointed look. "So if you get caught in my bed my brother would have your head," I explain and he huffs as if he didn't already know that.

"Don't make me go." He throws an arm around my waist and stuffs his head into my shoulder while pulling me close. "I only just got back," He mumbled into the junction between my shoulder and neck.

"Fine, but at least scope out the area. Just in case," I say. "And that's an order from your Princess." I pull away from his hold and he groans, pathetically leaving my large bed at my command.

"Whatever you say, my Princess." He hums, grabbing his shirt that hung off the back of my vanity chair. He only had it halfway on before he approached the door.

"I'll be right back," He turns his head to face me with a sly smirk before saying, "And that dress better be on the floor when I am," He hums before sauntering out the door before I had the chance to respond. The door shut with a concluding click.

A mischievous smirk spreads over my features the moment he's done and I slip off my bed. I waltz towards my dresser, pulling out the top drawer and shuffling through it, the contents consisting of my finest lingerie.

I settled upon a deep navy-colored set, the pieces lacy and delicate. Ever so carefully I stripped from my gown— yet I had a certain haste of excitement. layer after layer being removed like a weight off my shoulders. Shedding the royal persona for someone that only Azriel ever got to see.

I hiked my panties up and over my thighs, knowing full well that they'd be taken off again in a few minutes. The moment I was finished tying my corset the door opened softly, entering the only male permitted to enter my room at this hour.

Hazel eyes lock onto mine but quickly travel downward, in favor of taking in my outfit, or more importantly what was under it.

"All clear?" I prompt but he doesn't look back to my eyes like I expected, he only nods and stalks forward. The guard swallowed thickly as his hands came into contact with my hips.

"All clear," He mumbled while leaning close, his lips meeting my jaw before he was done speaking. "Is this all just for me princess?" He said, his lips just below my ear as he found his way up my jaw.

I nod my head, looking up at him with a sly smirk. "Only for you," I affirm, leaning into his touch, he pulls back only a fraction of an inch, before leaning in immediately after, our lips colliding and I nearly melt.

Every kiss we shared was different from all the others, but there was always that underlying hunger in all of them. It was more noticeable in this one, and I wanted so badly to feed it.

His tongue found its way between my lips, taking the opportunity to explore and taste me without caution. His hands roamed down to my thighs, silently telling me to jump. I do as he wishes, too caught up in our kiss to care about anything else. He catches me in his arms with ease, the new position giving me a better angle to deepen our lustful kiss.

He blindly carries me over to the bed while I pull at his shirt, craving the warmth of being skin-to-skin. "Az," I murmur incoherently as he lays me down on the plush mattress. He pulls away, biting at my bottom lip as if it wasn't his choice to end our kiss.

I stare shamelessly as he strips from his shirt, discarding it somewhere on the floor along with my dress. He then moves to his pants, thrashing them off before mounting over my aching core.

He leans down into my neck, nipping and biting at areas until he finds the spot that makes me moan the loudest, littering me with purple marks and soothing them over with the flat of his tongue.

My hand twined into his hair, pulling at it while he sucked particularly hard at a sensitive spot. "Az," I whined while squirming beneath him. He released the area with a resounding pop noise, but continued his sweet torture, kissing up the column of my throat until finding my jaw, then my lips. I was ready for him to ravage me.

"I can't control myself when you're dressed like this," He says between kisses, out of breath but relentless. "All I envision is being inside of you," He admits, pulling back once more only to stare at me, laid out beneath him, willing to do whatever he wanted.

"Then what are you waiting for?" I tilt my head teasingly and he matched my smirk. Two of his fingers slip under my waistband and without warning he tears the restricting cloth off, the cold air hitting my dripping center.

"Oh, baby," He sighed as he saw exactly how desperate I was for him, two of his fingers dragged through my folds and had me restraining any noise that dared to slip, in fear of anyone hearing. "All this for me?" He taunts, his hand now drenched. "I barely touched you." The male hums and with another delve of his fingers through my core I couldn't help the soft mewl that escaped my lips.

He smirked devilishly at the sound but before he could make any sly comment I pulled at his own undergarments, the final barrier between us. "Needy are we?" He arched a teasing brow, his voice pleasuring some demented part of my brain. "Very," I admit and manage to pull his boxers down far enough for his hard cock to be released, snacking up against his abdomen.

I made the mistake of looking down at him, my breath hitching at the mere size of his length. "Az," I wrap my hand around the width of him. I press my thumb to his tip, my mouth watering as I watch a pearl of pre-cum bead at where my thumb pushed.

"Do you see what you do to me?" He asks and I try my best to steady my breathing but it was so damned uneven. I can't even reply, too caught up in thinking about having an effect on him. I pump him up and down a few times and he groans out in pleasure, I smile at the perfect sound, continuing to stroke him with a tight grasp, maintaining controlled and steady movements.

"Need you inside of me," I confess, heat plaguing my cheeks. "I need to stretch you out first." He hums and I didn't even want to begin to think about what that meant. "Sound good?" He asks and I nod gently. "Mhm," I reply. "Good, now spread your legs for me." He says in an ordering tone that makes me throb. I obey. "That's it, wider." He purred and a whimper evaded me with how badly I needed him, then did as he said and opened further.

"Atta girl, now do you want my hand or my mouth?" He asked and I trembled beneath him at the promise of his words.

"Both." I manage to get out over my pounding heart and he tilts his head demeaningly.

“So desperate, hm?” He says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to my neck while I nod. He traveled down my sternum, between the valley of my breasts, past my abdomen, all the way to my navel, then lower. He dips his head and stops, looking up at me from between my legs and the sight alone could have left me satisfied enough for the week. "Is this okay?" He asks, his breath fanning over my slick cunt and making me clench around nothing. "Please." I rasp and as soon as he hears my confirmation he doesn't hold back from ravishing me.

His head dips and his tongue swipes through my center, my back arching and a mewl breaking through me. He glides the warm muscle over me a few more times before finding my sensitive clit and attaching to it. "Azriel." I moan his name and it feels so right, like if it was anyone but him it wouldn't be the same. He attacks the delicate area, sucking on my clit, delighted in the way I writhed beneath him.

Two of his fingers join his tongue and my brows furrow, how could he add more to this? He was so damned skilled with that tongue of his I couldn't imagine anything better, that was until one of his thick, long fingers teased at my entrance and pushed inside of me. I gasped out at the penetration and tried to close my legs around his head but shadows made quick work of holding my thighs down, pinning them to the mattress.

His finger began to pump in and out of my cunt, every time he thrust in again his finger brushed at the bundle of nerves that sent me spiraling, pushing me closer to that impending release. "Az," I grind up against his face as he laps at my arousal, the smell of it so thick it felt more like a haze. "More." I wasn't above begging and he immediately did as I asked, pushing in another one of his fingers, my legs spasmed at the foreign feeling.

"I'm close," I warn and he smiles against me, giving a few more curls of his perfect fingers, and just as that knot was about to snap he pulled his fingers out and removed his mouth. I would've slapped him if I wasn’t so confused as to why he stopped. "Azriel," I try to sound threatening but it only comes out in a cry, the slow loss of my approaching high had my mind racing.

"Be patient love, when you come it's going to be on my cock."

"Don't be mean." My bottom lip juts out in a pout.

"Oh princess," He says sympathetically, kissing that pout. "You haven't even begun to see mean." He taunts in a warning and my heart rate spikes, he then open mouth kisses me, his tongue finding its way past my lips yet again. I wrap my arms around his neck as he allows me to taste myself on him.

His length runs over my sensitive folds, lathering himself in my dripping pussy. An eager moan left me and he swallowed it greedily before pulling away. "I'll be gentle." He promises as he drags himself through me again, making sure he is fully slick in fear of hurting me.

"I can take it, Az," I reply, staring up at him with big, pleading eyes because he looked like some sort of god that needed to be prayed to.

"You think you're ready, Princess?" He looks down at me with lowered eyes and I nod, licking my lower lip that still tastes of him.

"Please, I am." I give him an affirming nod. His hands were on either side of my head above my shoulders so after he aligned himself correctly and slowly dipped his tip in I didn't slide up on the bed.

"If it hurts, tell me and we'll stop." He breathed out and I nodded. He gave me one last reassuring look and then pushed only an inch or two in but the stretch around his width was unlike anything I ever felt before and from the twitch in my brow he could tell I was uncomfortable. He leaned down and kissed my temple gently as one of his hands coerced my leg to lift up, the new angle allowing him to sink deeper with less discomfort.

He then pushed in another few inches and I arched back in pure pleasure. "Fuck, you're big." I sigh out beside his ear and he releases a deep and throaty chuckle. "That's barely halfway." He hums and my fingernails on his shoulders dig into his perfect tan skin in pure shock. He pushes in more and tears well in my eyes. "So good, you're taking me so well." He eased as he talked me through it. He pulled out slightly then came back and pushed in with more force than before.

A loud moan ripped through me as he bottomed out and his hips finally pressed against mine, the sound bordering on a scream. "As much as I love to hear your pretty noises, we need to be quiet alright?" He spoke with a husky tone just beside my ear and I couldn't even begin to fathom a coherent sentence as a reply with how drunk I was on his cock, so instead I just nod, terrified I’d let another sound slip if I opened my mouth. "Good, so good for me," He praises while lining soft kisses up my jaw.

"I'm g'na move now, okay?" He says, his voice getting more and more uneven and I reply with an affirming hum, high on the idea of having such an effect on the stoic and unreadable bodyguard. He slowly pulls out, then rolls his hips right back into mine and my brows furrow as I release another whine, his hand on my thigh continuing to guide my leg up higher until it could hook around his shoulder, gods he was so deep that when I looked down I could see the girth of him slipping in and out of me.

"Azriel." I mewl, throwing my head back into the pillows as I clench around him and he starts to increase his speed only slightly but it makes all the difference. He presses a supple kiss onto my lips but he was fucking me so well I could barely reciprocate the sentiment. One of my hands trails down his shoulder, brushing over his large bicep then down his forearm, and grasping at his wrist when he suddenly hits a spot so sensitive it nearly hurdles me over that line of release.

"There— fuck, right there." My breath is caught in my throat but I need him to press there again and he does— oh gods he does, and it feels better every time he pushes into it again, going a fraction harder with each thrust and I was so fucking close. "Az, I can't I'm gonna—" I nearly come in the middle of my sentence, my eyes squeezing shut as ecstasy attempts to take me full throttle.

"I know, you can." He allows and slowly lifts his hand, my grip on his wrist falling so he can intertwine our hands. I squeeze it tightly and euphoria shatters over me into a life-altering orgasm. My legs tremble as bliss lingers and I don't feel myself coming down from this anytime soon.

After I grow used to the intense sensation I realize Azriel has not stopped rutting inside of me. "Please, s'too much—" I manage to get out over the overstimulation that was making me drench his cock. "Can't take it, Princess?" He taunts in a low sultry voice that has me pulsating for him. I release a string of moans in reply, words becoming foreign.

My hand in his hair moved away and went to cup his jaw, my thumb resting against it as my fingers curved around his neck. "If you need to say something you have to use your words, or are you too fucked out to speak?" He derides and I muffled a whimper, he knew it felt so good that I could barely think about anything else but the way he was driving his length inside of my cunt. "Prick— ah, fuck," I pull his hair in my fist as he hits that spot again that was now ten times more sensitive, my noises growing in volume and I start to lose awareness of who might be walking down the hall just outside my door.

“It’s like you want them to hear how good I fuck your pretty cunt,” He teases, and tears well in my eyes. I was so very overstimulated and yet he delighted in hitting that sensitive spot again and again.

Tears slip down my cheeks and he reaches forward, wiping them away with the back of his knuckles. “Don’t waste your tears love, we’re not done until I fill you up,” He asserts and I spiral, my head growing heavy as pleasure consumes me. He smiles at my fucked-out expression, pushing into me again. He unhooked my leg from his shoulder while grabbing my other, pushing them onto my side into a mating press. The next time he thrust I was left screaming out his name so loud I was sure everyone in this castle could hear the lewd sound but at the moment I didn't care, I clung to anything I could get my hands on as he continued to fuck me into the bed.

"Please tell me you're close," I choke out the beg with glazed-over eyes and he looks at me with a prideful smirk. “Is it too much for you?” He asked, but it wasn’t a question of concern, his tone was entirely demeaning. The bastard was enjoying this all too much. But I couldn’t form a reply, and all I could do was contract around him, it wasn't that I wanted this to end but I had already came and my second was rapidly approaching, I didn't know how much longer I could last. His head dips into my neck and I try to think of anything that might push him closer to that edge but at every thrust of his hips my thoughts get cut off by a primal need for another release.

“Feels so, so good,” I murmur, beginning to buck my hips up onto his cock, making him hit all the more harder. his cock twitched inside of me, showing just how badly it affected him. “Oh, gods,” He grunted, leaning down and pressing into me deeper, rolling his hips over mine repeatedly.

He presses against my sensitive walls, stretching and molding me around him. "Fuck, I'm yours." I clasp my hands around the back of his neck. "I'm— ah, all yours Az," I admit and he twitches again, and I know he's so close. "Mine." His teeth scrape against the column of my neck as he growls the claiming word and it had me barreling towards my climax.

"You feel so fucking good." He praises and I was going to cum, I think I might pass out if I hold it any longer. I clench tightly around him, a ring of white around the base of his cock, and a groan drags out from deep in his throat. "You're being such a good girl." He purrs and that was it, I couldn't control it any longer and I needed him to let go now.

"Inside," I say thoughtlessly. "Want you to fill me up Az, come inside of me," I beg and he twitches, his thrusts growing more and more sloppy but never letting up in the speed or hardness. “Please, breed me,” I beg and he somehow manages to get faster, the wide head of his cock ramming against a bundle of nerves.

“You like the idea of that? Get you nice and full with all my children?” He hums and I nod with a desperate whimper. “Please, want it so bad,” I cry out and he clenched his jaw, his forehead falling into the crook of my shoulder as his cock beckons for release.

"Fuck, I'm coming baby." He warns and with one last thrust I allow myself to completely let go, my orgasm drowning me in a wave of heat and passion, my climax finally releasing as his white ropes spurt out into me, pumping into my womb.

We're a sweaty and panting mess by the time both of our highs are over and he pulls out, albeit with some difficulty. "Fuck you're tight." He grunts as I milk his cock, all of his release slowly seeping out of me. He bends down and allows my legs to relax as he gently licked a long stripe up my cunt in a soft yet stimulating way and I have to restrain from letting out another moan when he was making sure none of our mixed arousal went to waste.

He moved away from my legs and I immediately squeezed them together, my thighs already sore and I could only imagine how bad it'd be tomorrow. He gets up from the bed and for a moment I think he's going to leave me here but he was only sliding on a fresh pair of underwear from a drawer I sectioned off for him for nights like these, I curse myself for ever thinking lowly of the male because he came right back over to my side and gently picked me up by my torso, carrying me bridal style so he didn't pain my legs by spreading them at all. "Let's get you cleaned up Princess," He moves my hair from my face and places a loving kiss on my temple.

He had taken me into the bathroom and washed me with a soft cloth, his touch gentle and careful to avoid any over-sensitive areas— he had probably cleaned me with his tongue enough anyway. He gently undid my hair and I realized he had fucked me with my crown still on. I smile slightly at the thought, watching as he put the tiara on a velvet cushion.

He carried me back to my bed— and it was an understatement to say I was tired.

He slipped a fresh pair of underwear up my thighs, being very gentle when adjusting the waistband. He then tugged a soft nightgown over my head and guided my arms through the holes. I sat in front of him rubbing my eyes and he watched my exhausted expression. "Can you sleep in here tonight?" I say then immediately hate myself for overstepping our boundaries— "I thought that was the plan." He says and cuts my self-detrimental thoughts off.

He leaned in and kissed my lips softly, I kissed him back to the best of my abilities. When he pulled away he helped guide me further into the bed, then slipped in next to me and pulled the comforter over the both of us. Azriel lay beside me, grabbed my waist, and guided me down onto his chest like it was a pillow.

He pulled the blankets up over me, his warm arms cradling me and I couldn't help but think that this was the safest I had ever felt. "Goodnight princess." He says, one of his hands twirling in my hair and I smile against his chest. "Night Az," I rasp— easily falling into a deep slumber, Azriel did too as soon as he knew I was asleep, a much lighter rest, but the best sleep he had gotten in a long while.

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[f1-05-writer]

MASTERMIND - MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: A child of light and dark, you are the Night Court’s best kept secret. After decades spent in hiding, you yearn to stretch your wings. But you quickly learn that freedom comes with a price, as you find yourself trying to outfox the fox himself in his own den.

PAIRING: Eris Vanserra x Reader

CHAPTERS: smut indicated by ***

prologue 

one - the equinox

two - falling water***

three - color theory***

four - moon and stars***

five (coming soon)

[f1-05-writer]

One Summer — Part Two

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: One beach house. One festival. One summer to fall in love.

Warnings: brief mentions of alcohol, cass & mor being bickering siblings, cass with facial hair, modern adaptions of bat wings aka tattoos, sexual n romantic tension, reader has a big fat crush

Word Count: 5.5k

Part One

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

“I hate it.”

Though Mor was seated beside you, her voice seemed to reverberate from a great distance, oscillating from one ear to the other. Your attention was not on your two best friends; their conversation filtering through your senses like white noise. Instead, your mind was entirely captivated by the view of the beach you sat on. The sun was setting and a golden hue painted the skies, its final light skittering across the soft waves of the ocean.

This was always one of your favorite times of day.

There was a specific sense of peace that seemed to settle among everyone as the sun gave over to the power of the moon, a peace that almost felt tangible on your skin, like the grains of the warm sand beneath you. You dug your toes further into its warmth as Mor scowled next to you, her gaze stuck on the horizon where Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys currently ran around, attempting to pin one another and throw each other into the waves.

The topic of conversation was what it had been every time Mor complained over the past week: Cassian’s new mustache.

It had grown exponentially over the last week, now fully formed above his top lip. Even from this distance, you could make out its shadow. But, in all honesty, it wasn’t his mustache that you were focusing on. It was his chiseled, bare torso.

The boys were always very fit, sporting defined bodies with even more defined muscles. But you hadn’t seen them like this in a while: shirtless, sun-kissed, tanned skin, and swimming shorts that created sleek, stark tan lines along their hips. Not since way back in the first summer you all shared. Last year’s break was filled with an internship to beef up your resume, moving into your new place with Mor and Feyre, and spending whatever free time you had with Eris and his family— far, far away from Mor.

The boys had grown even bigger since that first summer. Cassian, in particular, had developed noticeable definition, which you attributed to ROTC and his various sports activities. After all, ROTC combined military training with college coursework and demanded a significant amount of time and discipline. Balancing academics, those military duties, and being a student athlete seemed like an overwhelming feat, but Cassian managed it all. His physique was a clear indication of it.

Yet, despite his impressive build, it was Cassian’s face that truly drew attention. His large, beaming grin had a way of captivating anyone who saw it. It seemed to say more about his character than his muscular frame ever could, making it clear that beneath all that strength was someone incredibly approachable and genuinely good-hearted.

Your attention traveled to Rhysand next. Rhysand always held a certain grace to him, a regal essence of someone born to be a leader, to stand out among a crowd. You’d watched him come into his own in the past few years, watched as he fell in love with Feyre and began planning a life for himself outside of the pressures his father had implemented throughout his childhood.

Rhysand’s usually meticulously styled hair now hung in front of his eyes as he dodged Cassian and went under his arm. He was always a bit leaner than Cass, but still very built, with large, defined muscles that Feyre giggled about every girls' night. Rhys knew how to put those muscles to use, Feyre seemed to remind you every time she was three margaritas in. You didn’t doubt it, even if you and Mor groaned and pushed her further off the couch—and watched as she fell to the floor since Feyre’s balance tended to disappear when alcohol was introduced to her nightly diet.

Despite every fiber in your being begging for your gaze to fall to him first, your eyes went to Azriel last. You’d been fighting the urge, telling yourself that if you looked at him last, your eyes could linger just a few seconds longer.

You were currently mesmerized by the tattoo sprawling across his back.

The design was captivating—an elaborate pair of wings stretching gracefully across his shoulder blades, with their apex extending along the sides of his neck. The wings seemed almost alive, their fine details appearing three-dimensional against his golden skin. The spaces around the wings were filled with swirling patterns that looked like shadows, moving fluidly as though they were dancing across his skin.

The wings didn’t stop at his back; they extended over his biceps and down to his elbows. When he moved his arms, it almost seemed as if he was preparing for flight, the tattoo coming to life with every gesture. Cassian’s wings mirrored this design, stretching over his own biceps and elbows in a similar fashion. However, the empty spaces on his arms were adorned with sharp, angular patterns. Where the patterns on Az’s skin were fluid, like smoke and shadow, Cassians were rigid, sharp lines like that of a fierce fight.

Rhysand’s tattoo was distinctively more reserved. His bat-style wings were intricately etched into his back, spanning from his shoulder blades to his lower back, but they remained tightly confined to his torso. Unlike Azriel and Cassian, the design didn’t extend onto his arms. Instead, it was tattooed in a tucked, retracted position. Besides the wings, Rhysand’s collarbone was adorned with an elaborate tattoo of stars and swirling patterns that mimicked the night sky, with galaxies appearing to shimmer and shift across his skin.

Your eyes stuck to Azriel’s moving form— glued to his every gesture, really.

Azriel was always very cute. Handsome and pretty in a way that made chests tighten. But you hadn’t seen it much recently, hadn’t paid attention to anyone besides Eris, really. Now that you were broken up, it was as if you were seeing things in a completely new light, with new glasses that magnified every detail of the males around you. The reality was undeniable: Azriel had gotten more attractive over the past two years.

It was unfair. Completely and utterly unfair.

And you were completely and utterly overwhelmed by it— more so than you’d ever expected. God, you needed to check yourself, to reel in this strange crush that had begun to bloom like a flower in a new spring. You felt feral. It was embarrassing, to say the least, and you were grateful that your friends were often too absorbed in their own lives to notice your lingering glances.

Your fingers itched to trace the intricate ink on Azriel’s skin. You settled for running the pads of your fingers along the bare skin of your knee, mimicking the graceful movements of his tattoos. The act was a poor substitute for the real thing, but it helped channel the sudden urge to connect with the beautiful art that adorned him.

Feyre let out a hum besides Mor. From the corner of your eye you caught sight of her tilting her head in quiet focus. “I don’t know,” she said after a moment, “It’s not that bad.”

Mor whipped her head to the side, her blonde locks cascading across her shoulder like a golden waterfall. She let out a shocked gasp.

“Feyre,” she scolded, “You can’t be serious.”

Feyre raised an eyebrow in response. “I’m serious. I’ve seen worse. It works for him, I think.”

Mor’s attention shifted to you. It took a minute before you were able to tear your gaze away from the view in front of you— the three boys illuminated by the soft glow of sunset; the delicate waves behind them that collected the remaining colors of the sky.

You turned to look at her, taking in her widened eyes and pursed lips. It was an expectant face, one she wore when she was waiting for important news— or in this case, for someone to agree with her. You offered a sheepish smile and shrugged, pulling your knees closer to your chest.

“Sorry girl, it’s kinda growing on me, too.”

Her mouth fell open and another dramatic, shocked gasp left her mouth. She returned her gaze to the view before her.

“It’s like I’m the only one with taste in this entire house.”

You snorted, turning to look as Mor shook her head in disbelief. Your gaze connected with Feyre’s as you leaned over slightly and you watched as her mouth curved into an amused smile, a small laugh leaving her delicate lips.

“You have a completely different taste than both of us, Mor. Maybe that's why you feel so passionate about this topic.”

Mor shook her head again, waving the comment off with an elegant hand— long red painted nails on every finger except for two: her ring and middle finger. The same style was mirrored on her other hand, currently at her side and playing with the sand.

“Actually,” Mor started, and you rolled your eyes at the tone of her voice, a smile tugging stronger at your lips. “It’s because I’m into girls that my opinion here matters the most.”

Your attention drifted back to the boys who had finally ceased their game. They were catching their breath, hunched over and panting, before gradually making their way back.

Cassian reached you guys first, his steps falling from a jog into a soft walk before he came to a complete stop. He brought his hands to his head, smoothing down the top of his pulled back hair and readjusting his bun. Then, he placed his hands on his hips as a grin broke out on his face, eyes trailing between you, Mor, and Feyre.

“Whatcha ladies gossiping about?”

His voice was still ragged from the running, coming out in a long breath and followed by a deep one. Mor frowned at him, crinkling her nose as she scanned his appearance.

“We’re talking about that disgusting caterpillar of facial hair you’ve forced us to endure the sight of.”

Cassian’s grin faltered. “Excuse me?”

Mor only raised a brow in response— a challenge. Cassian accepted wordlessly, crossing his arms across his bare chest and jutting his chin out defiantly.

“Don’t be a hater, Mor.”

She scoffed. “Hater is my middle name. Consider this a reality check: Shave.”

Cassian considered her response for a moment, lips pursing in feign contemplation. Nope,” he said, a hand caressing his mustache. “You’re just too stubborn to admit you might actually like it.”

Another scoff. Offended and insulted all at once, the presence of those emotions fully present in the sound as it left her lips. “There are many words to describe the way I feel about that monstrosity you’re touching. ‘Like’ is certainly not one of them.”

You tossed a glance over at Feyre. She caught your gaze, eyes glistening with a quiet amusement as she tugged her legs to her chest, her sitting stance mirroring yours. She placed her chin on her knee, eyes drifting back towards the two bickering adults.

“You’re so dramatic. This ‘stache isn’t for you, anyways. You’re not the population I’m aiming for.”

“And who, pray tell, is the target audience? Divorcees in soon-to-be foreclosed homes?” A raised brow. “Republicans?”

This conversation was one you’d heard almost every day since Cass had decided to grow his ‘stache out, opting to only shave his beard. The argument held the same structure everytime. Mor would complain that it was gross and an eyesore, offer a new metaphor to describe it, and insist that Cassian shave it off. Cass would wave it off, act offended, and explain his reasonings once more to her deaf ears. It’s for the indie girls at the festival, Mor, Cassian had whined two days prior, They’ll go crazy for a pornstache. It’s a trend now. Mor only complained more in response, groaning in disgust and telling him she was going to shave it in his sleep.

As the argument continued, Azriel and Rhysand finally approached. Rhys raised an eyebrow at the bickering duo, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. He flashed you a grin before flopping down next to Feyre. With a playful shake of his head, reminiscent of a wet dog, he sent droplets of water flying. Feyre let out a startled shriek and pushed him away, her eyes sparkling with annoyance as Rhysand’s laughter filled the air.

Meanwhile, Azriel approached slowly, the last rays of the setting sun casting a faint glow on his figure. As he neared, Cassian turned his attention to him, desperation evident in his eyes.

“Hey, man, help me out here,” he called, a hand extended in Az’s direction. “Tell her it works. Back me up.”

Azriel gave him a steady look before shaking his head. “I’m not going to do that.”

Mor let out a triumphant laugh. “Aha!” Her eyes glimmered in satisfaction. “Even Azriel agrees with me!”

Cass kicked a spray of sand towards her in response. It scattered in all directions and you sputtered, grimacing as the gritty texture found its way into your mouth and eyes. With a groan, you brushed it off, watching as Cassian’s face dropped and concern flashed across his widened eyes.

Both him and Azriel muttered curses under their breath, the two starting to move towards you. But Cassian was faster. With a swift motion, he plopped down beside you, arm reaching out to pull you into his side.

“My bad, my bad,” He said, his voice laced with sincerity as he tucked you against him, his damp arm warm around you. He gave you a reassuring squeeze, though you still felt the remnants of sand clinging to your skin.

You squirmed a bit, trying to escape his sweaty embrace, but Cassian held you close. Over your hunched back, he shot a glare at Mor. “See what you made me do?”

She squeaked. “What I made you do?”

“Yes you.”

Your cheek pressed against his chest, squished near the area where his arms met his torso.

“I didn’t force you to kick sand at me with your big ass feet,” she huffed.

A new argument arose, Cassian leaning further over your back to bicker with Mor face to face. The more enthusiastic he became, the farther he seemed to shove you into his form. You looked up and managed to meet Azriel’s gaze, widening your eyes in a plea for help.

He understood the look immediately. The corners of his lips twitched upwards in amusement as he stepped forward, knocking Cassian’s muscled calf with his foot.

“Cass,” Azriel said, “You’re suffocating her.”

It took him a moment to register the words. But when they finally hit, Cass sprung back, holding you out with his arms in a movement so swift you blinked to reorient yourself. He examined you with the same observant eye as a parent, looking over your exposed skin as if he was searching for any open wounds or deformities.

“My bad,” he repeated. He gave you a guilty grin as brought his hands to smooth down your hair. His large hazel eyes met yours, widened and soft like that of a puppy. “All better.”

You gave him a look— brows raised and scrunched, a deep crease forming in the middle of them.

“Get outta here,” you muttered, pushing his warm body away from you. But despite yourself, a small grin hung on the corners of your lips.

You still felt Azriel’s eyes on you— that faint warm sensation that filtered through your skin. You met his gaze momentarily, watching as his eyes bounced between all of you. He settled back on the large teddy bear next to you.

“Help me start the fire,” Az said, calling Cassian’s attention back to him. Azriel looked at Mor next, gesturing towards her with his chin. “You too, judgy.”

“What?” Mor paused, hands freezing mid motion of wiping sand off her thighs. “Why me?”

“Because you’re mean,” Cassian said, bringing a hand to stroke his mustache. “And mean people do labor.”

Rhysand snorted. You had almost forgotten Rhys and Feyre were sitting there, quietly in their own world until Rhys leaned back on his hands with a grin, obviously enjoying the argument.

Azriel rolled his eyes. “Get up, c’mon.” He gestured with his hands, herding them both like sheep. Mor let out a grumble but began to push herself up nonetheless.

“I’m getting up because I want to. Not because you told me.”

Cassian was in front of her before she managed, offering a large hand out. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Let's go.”

She threw him a scowl, but the act had no malice behind it. Taking his hand, she muttered, “This would be much sweeter if you didn’t look like my creepy uncle Chris.”

Cassian just groaned.

Thank you, you mouthed when Azriel met your eyes once more. The corner of his eyes crinkled as he gave you a soft smile. Something deep within your chest flickered, like a candle being lit aflame. He dipped his head in acknowledgement before trailing after the two.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Forty five minutes later, you found yourself seated around a crackling fire, the sound of Rhysand's offhand joke eliciting laughter from everyone.The night had fully descended and the sky above was dotted with dim, flickering stars. You’d all discussed the summer, the festival, and your plans for the month. It was a summer of living, you’d told them. A summer to sit back and let life do with you what it may—and hope that meant all good things.

The stretch of beach was empty except for your group. Whether Rhysand and Mor’s family owned this area or the rest of the world had simply decided to stay in, you weren’t sure. Either way, you were appreciative.

Cassian was beside you, but your attention was solely on Azriel, who sat next to him. The firelight played upon his skin, casting a warm glow that accentuated the sharp lines of his face. The embers illuminated his hazel eyes with a brilliance that made your breath catch every time he laughed.

Azriel met your gaze, his features softened by the dancing flames, and your heart skipped a beat. His mouth moved, forming words, and it took a moment for you to realize he was speaking to you. You blinked, the spell breaking, and slowly forced yourself to focus, bringing yourself down from the reverie you had drifted into.

“Are you cold?”

Azriel’s voice rolled over you like a small wave and you shivered at the sensation. You looked down at yourself and realized, for the first time, how the night’s chill had settled in. Goosebumps had risen on your skin, more pronounced than you had initially thought.

“Just a little,” you admitted, running your hands along your arms in a vain attempt to generate warmth. The friction offered little relief and you exhaled softly. “I can just move closer to the fire.”

You repositioned yourself, moving to scooch closer to the fire that illuminated your faces.

“Nah, don’t do that.” Cassian said. You turned to find him watching you, his gaze steady, shadows of flames flickering on his features. He gestured back towards the house with his chin. "I have a hoodie in the living room if you want to grab it."

You considered his idea for a moment, then nodded in agreement. It was a sensible suggestion. Placing a gentle hand on Mor’s shoulder, you let her know you’d be right back. She smiled in response, her eyes warm in the flickering firelight.

You brushed off your pants and walked towards the house, your feet sinking slightly into the still-warm sand with each step. The contrast of the cool night air and the lingering warmth of the sand created a soothing, almost nostalgic sensation as you made your way to the living room.

The dimly lit interior welcomed you with a cozy, muted glow and your gaze fell on the kitchen counter. There, amid Azriel’s keys and a variety of Rhysand’s rings, rested a camera.

You took a moment to examine it—a digital model. While you weren’t particularly knowledgeable about cameras, this one was nice; reminiscent of a simpler time. You weren’t exactly sure if it was the design that made you feel that way or the person that owned it: Azriel.

You knew without a doubt that it was his. You could also assume, with a fair degree of confidence, that the camera could beautifully simulate the look of film.

Azriel had mentioned his burgeoning passion for photography two years ago, expressing a particular fondness for the aesthetic of film. He’d said that a true film camera was beyond his budget at the time, but a digital model with film simulation would be an ideal compromise. Rhysand and Cassian had gifted him this very camera the following Christmas. From what Mor had told you, Az never felt comfortable enough to pick up the passion— kept telling her that he hadn’t found his muse yet.

"Hey."

Despite how soft the voice was, you still jumped, placing the camera back down on the counter as you turned to face Azriel. He always had an uncanny ability to move silently, almost as if he emerged from the shadows themselves. It was unnerving at first, but there was a certain comfort found in his stealth now. His presence wasn't loud. You appreciated it.

"Hi, Az." You smiled sheepishly. "You're so quiet. It's crazy."

The corners of his lips twitched upwards. Azriel’s gaze softened slightly, his hazel eyes now glowing with a gentle amusement.

“Sorry,” he said, accompanied by a small laugh. He moved around you and made his way to the fridge. It opened with a small clatter, the glass bottles stacked on the door moving with the movement. He pulled out a few bottles of beers.

“You agreed to be the errand boy?” you asked, a hint of playful reproach in your voice.

Usually, the boys argued over every action; who would grab the next drink, who would drive while the others drank— the options were endless. It was often settled with a game of rock, paper, scissors, or a classic nose-goes. Azriel always seemed to come out on top.

He glanced back over his shoulder, a casual shrug punctuating his response. “If I didn’t, no one would.”

His voice was quiet– steady. You studied his movements, taking in the details of his tattooed back that were too small to appreciate from a distance. He turned around, walking forward to place the bottles on the kitchen counter across from you.

"You could be a spy, y'know."

Azriel raised an eyebrow skeptically, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that suggested he was both amused and intrigued. You returned the gesture, leaning forward on your forearms. The kitchen counter was cold against your skin and you felt a slight chill run through your body.

“You don’t agree?” you asked.

He met your gaze through his lashes and shook his head, a lopsided smile playing on his lips. The curls otop of his head bounced with the subtle movement and the warmth in his eyes reflected the gentle glow of the dim kitchen light.

“Nah,” he responded. He popped the caps off the bottles. “Don’t know if that fits me.”

“I think it does. You’re an observer.”

“Careful,” Azriel warned with a playful edge. His voice was smooth in a way that made you clench, tone low and unintendedly seductive. “Don’t make me sound like a creep.”

”Okay, what would you like me to say instead?”

He contemplated. “I just like to people-watch.”

You had to stifle a chuckle, finding his self-description almost endearing in its simplicity. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that actually sounded worse— at least to you. Instead, you reached to the side, grabbing the camera that had been in your hands a few moments prior. "This kind of people watching?"

For a moment, you both stood in silence as you stared at the camera in your hands. When you looked up, you focused on Azriel’s face. His eyes traveled from the camera to your eyes, and in that moment, there was something alive in his gaze—an intensity that seemed to make the room itself disappear. Something warm and comforting.

“I remember you talking about wanting to get into photography,” you said, your voice softening with genuine warmth. With a smile, you extended the camera toward him. “I’m glad to see you’re pursuing it. At least for the summer.”

Azriel’s smile widened slightly as he reached out and took it from your hands, the brush of his fingers against your skin sending a pleasant shiver through you. Your smile grew deeper into your cheeks, pulled at the edges by his very touch.

But when the camera was finally in his hold, something seemed to change in his gaze, as if the weight of the it in his palm was transferred to a weight on his chest. He let out a small sigh.

"Don't get your hopes up,” he murmured, “I haven't taken any pictures yet."

He placed the camera back onto the counter with a slight thud, the sound echoing softly in the quiet kitchen. You gave him a face.

“It’s barely been a week,” you said, trying to keep your tone light. “Six days to be exact.”

“That’s already a week behind.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, a small laugh leaving your lips. Azriel seemed to lock onto the sound, eyes glittering as his hand found the beer bottle again.

“Seriously?” You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms in a playful gesture of mock indignation. “It’s been six days and you’re already considering yourself behind schedule?”

He gave a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “It’s not just about having the camera. It’s about actually using it. I had high hopes for this week.”

“Sometimes its okay to just enjoy the moment, Az.”

He leaned in slightly, his eyes twinkling with playful intensity. You felt a catch in your breath at the way his expression shifted. It was enough to remind you that Az wasn’t just kind and attractive; he was a suave college boy when needed.

“Ah, but the burden of my artistic aspirations are too great,” he said, his voice low and playful, “How will I ever manage without my schedule?”

A comedian, truly. You raised an amused eyebrow. “And I’m the Type A one?”

"You are." He grinned. "Who counts the days they've been on vacation for, anyways?"

"Okay that's not fair."

Azriel chuckled and walked over to a vase on the counter. The vase, a clear, simple one that had come with a bouquet of flowers for Rhys’s mother, was part of a collection Azriel started—a small yet meaningful tradition of saving bottle caps from vacation. You took the opportunity to glance at his back again, taking in the intricate tattoos that adorned his shoulder blades. The designs seemed to pulse with life against his skin when they caught the light.

“It’s cool seeing all of the details in your tattoos. I never really noticed them before.”

Azriel turned slightly, his gaze meeting yours as he considered your observation. “Is this you admitting that you’re staring at my naked back?”

“Do you want me to be staring at your naked back?”

Azriel dropped the caps into the vase and walked back towards you. He gave you a nonchalant shrug, his mischievous smile lingering slightly on his lips, casual and knowing.

“It’s hard not to stare,” you added, tracing idle patterns onto the counter, unaware of how the motions mimicked the swirls on Az’s skin. “You, Cass, and Rhys have the most ink out of everyone I know. My eyes naturally gravitate.”

“And here I thought my back was special.”

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks and you quickly looked down at the counter, hoping it would hide the color spreading across your face. Your smile was so wide it almost hurt. You met his eyes once more. They were already on you.

“I will tell you that your wings seem a bit bigger than Cass or Rhys’s.”

Azriel’s grin widened at your response. He leaned forward, resting on the counter and lowering his gaze to meet yours. “Don’t tell them that.”

He took a swig of his drink. You watched the path of the liquid down his throat, tracing it to his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. You cleared your throat, laughing softly. “Never.”

He looked at you for a moment, gaze soft and contemplative. A thoughtful glaze found his eyes, as if he were lost in deep reflection.

“What?”

Your voice came out meeker than intended.

“I’m just really glad you’re here.” Azriel said. His voice was sincere, carrying with it a weight that made you pause.

You sucked in a breath. “Me too. It’s nice to be around you guys. All of you.”

“Would I be a dick if I said that I’m glad you and Eris broke up?” Azriel paused. “Because now you can be here with us.”

You bit back a smile, your cheeks warming slightly. “Maybe just a tiny bit.”

But the corners of your lips still twitched upwards, forming a lopsided smile.

He shrugged, a casual grin returning to his lips. “In that case, consider it thought, not said.”

You smiled at him, feeling a nervous flutter in your chest. The dim light of the kitchen seemed to cast a warm glow around him, making his features appear even more inviting than usual. He looked soft now, and you found yourself struggling to understood why, at one point, you were unbelievably intimidated by him.

Freshman year you would be having a heart attack now, truly. You could still feel her deep down in your mind, beginning to hyperventilate with excitement.

You looked down shyly, trying to steady your racing heart, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before pointing at the beers.

“Do you need help with those?”

“Sure,” he replied with a grin, pushing one towards you. “I can never say no to you.” His words sent a rush of warmth through you, and you bit your lip to prevent your smile from growing even more. Forget alcohol— subtlety is what you needed more of. He rounded the kitchen counter.

As he neared you, he paused, his eyes flicking to your forehead. Placing the beers back down, he reached out, his fingers hovering inches from your skin. You scrunched your brows in confusion, blinking rapidly as his face came closer to yours. His touch was feather-light, so soft it was almost imperceptible, yet it sent a shiver down your spine all the same.

“What—” you began, but the words caught in your throat.

“There,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. He brushed something from your temple, his fingers lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary. You felt your cheeks heat up, a growing blush spreading like wildfire.

You couldn’t help but imagine how Azriel must be with those he loved beyond friendship—how his gentle gestures must perfectly soothe the hearts of those he held dear. The soft touches, the attentiveness, the small actions that made Azriel so uniquely himself. The thought lingered as he pulled away, rubbing his fingers with a small, smile.

“Some sand,” he said, his voice casual, but the warmth in his eyes gave it a softer edge.

You managed to breathe out a thank you, the breath escaping you in a soft rush. Another shiver ran through you, not just from the chill, but from the unexpected intimacy of his touch. You stared at the counter, hoping it would hide the flush on your cheeks and the way your smile made your cheeks ache.

Azriel seemed to have a sudden realization. “Aaand,” he said, turning on his heel and walking briskly into the living room. Moments later, he returned with a small jog, tossing you a hoodie. “It’s mine, not Cass’s, but hopefully it’ll work.”

The hoodie smelled faintly of him—an understated blend of his personal scent that made you feel a little warmer. You took it from him, the fabric soft and reassuring against your fingers.

“Thanks,” you said, smiling as you pulled the hoodie on.

“Ready?” he asked, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before he grabbed the remaining beers.

You nodded, following him back outside. As you stepped into the night, you couldn’t shake the lingering warmth on your temple. It felt as if the very spot on your head held an imprint of his touch, a marker of his fingerprints.

You smiled for the rest of the night.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

authors note: this series is the only thing keeping me going rn, just two sweethearts with crushes on each other and a lovely beach….and cass with a pornstache 😏

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters 

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound

@melissat1254 @m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers

[f1-05-writer]

Across the Universe-ch.9 (Fenrys x Reader)

Summary: Y/n has everything she needs in life. A family, friends, a safe place she calls home and most importantly a male whom she loves. What happens when it all changes when Y/n finds out about the betrayal of her lover and her so called family? Well, ending up in Terrasen and in queen Aelin's court was not what she expected but what she will need to start her new journey full of surprises.

See masterlist

Is this real? Is any of it even real?

Amren....this is Amren.....well, she had a ghost body and bright light all around her but it still IS her!

"Amren!"

The hope that fluttered in y/n's chest was unimaginable. It felt so good to finally see someone from your world. Even if you do not consider that someone as a friend anymore. But...whatever it takes to leave this place. Even if a tiny part of her was refusing the idea.

Amren's eyes widened slightly as she spoke, her voice imbued with an otherworldly resonance from the magic. "Y/n! Fucking finally!"

Y/n tried coming closer but Fenrys grabbed her waist and pulled her back to his chest. She tried moving but his strong grip wouldn't budge and when she looked at his face, it showed no emotion but a warriors gaze, daring Amren to even try something.

She sighed but looked back at Amren, who was watching the interaction with an amused look, "Amren...how? I-what is going on? I mean, I have been trying to come back but so far it's not working. How did you find me? Is the Book of Breathings with you?"

The female replied while still keeping her narrowed gaze on the male behind y/n "It's a long story and I do not have much time but yes I came here after managing to break through the book's spells. Clearly not with my physical body though. We have been searching for ways to bring you back ever since you left. Azriel has been going feral, even threatened to kill Rhysand if you aren't back saf-"

"You expect me to believe that? You all lied to m-"

"There is no time for this sappy nonsense talk, girl. We can all discuss it when all of this craziness is over and you're back. There is not enough time. Listen to me, I finally found where you are so just wait a little longer and we will get to you-"

"Amren no, you don't understand. There are gates opening, evil beings are coming back and I somehow am the one who needs to be the one to close those gates and then come home and...we have to kill those evil beings an- you probably have no idea what I am talking about but listen to me, I need the Book of Breathings. How can you send it to me?"

Amren's figure started to slowly disappear "I just managed to get to you, find your location after a whole month of searching and now you are telling me that I need to find a way to send the book to you? I don't understand-"

"Months? It has only been a week here-"

Amren was almost gone now "Time is different in each world girl. Just be patient a little more. We will find a way."

"No! Amren, the gate-"

Rowan, Aelin and Manon came running into the room, a shocked expression overtaking their features when they sew what was going on.

Amren looked at them before her figure completely disappeared and all the traces of an ancient magic left the room.

Aedion looked at her and Fenrys, who was still clutching her tightly to his chest, before saying "Well, are any of you planning to explain what the fuck this was?"

Fenrys seemingly cooled down becuse the second Aedion finished talking, he silently unwrapped his arm from around her and moved back. Why was she feeling sad because of it? Get your hormones together y/n.

She cleared her throat and spoke "The female you saw, she is from my world and apparently they have been searching for me for a whole month. She said now that she knows I am here, they will try their best to get me back but I tried telling her about the gates and that I need the Book of Breathings but she...she didn't underst- anyways there wasn't enough time and....well, yes."

They looked at Fenrys to see if she was lying or not but when he just nodded in confirmation, they stared at her with varying expressions. It was Manon who spoke first, her voice sharp "Your people are coming here?"

"Well, yes....maybe? They want to get me out of here, not to cause any troubles so..relax."

Aelin just sighed before heading towards the door, followed by the other two "This was definitely not how I planned my afternoon to go."

Once everyone had left, y/n also moved towards the door when his voice stopped her "So, Azriel is going mad for you?"

She turned around to see him staring out the window, not looking at her. But if those clenched hands were any indicator, Fenrys was clearly mad.

She scoffed "Out of everything that just happened, you only care about that?"

When Fenrys remained silent, y/n sighed softly. "Don't believe it. He's probably just struggling with guilt."

With those words hanging in the air, she left the room and headed towards the royal gardens, leaving Fenrys alone with his thoughts.

Too much. This was too much for her. She just wanted to go home. To leave all this behind. Why her? Why is she even special when all her life she was told the opposite? Why can't it all stop?!

Y/n was so deep in her thoughts that she didn't even realize where she ended up in the garden. It was a small, wooden gazebo that had roses of all colors covering its sides and roof. But what caught her attention the most was the blond queen sitting inside it, eyes closed and head tilted back, resting against the wood.

Seems like Aelin also was seeking a moment of peace. Best to turn around and leave-

"Don't go."

Y/n turned around to see the female in the same position with her eyes still closed. She hesitantly came closer and sat a little further away from the queen.

Aelin sighed before speaking "This place is where I find sanctuary when it all gets too much to handle."

Y/n nodded slightly as she looked towards the gardens, the birds chirping bringing her a sense of comfort, as she relaxed against the wooden pillar behind her.

"I understand you, you know. I understand how it feels to hide yourself, your secrets, from the world. To think of yourself as so unworthy, that you are doing a favor to your loved ones by hiding your true self from them."

Y/n's shock and confusion was evident on her face as she looked at her "What? I don- How?"

Did she know about the whole witch thing? Did Manon tell her?

Aelin just smirked slightly "You may seem unbreakable but even you sometimes let out your emotions through your facial expressions. And let's not talk about the obvious fact that you are in a different place surrounded by us, strangers. Of course you will feel out of place."

The winged female sighed as she just stared at the view in front of them "It is draining. I don't know what to feel or do anymore. I don't know anything."

At that, Aelin opened her eyes and looked at y/n "You know, everyone thought that I was dead until I got my throne back three years ago."

Y/n whipped her head back around and looked to her side, at the queen "What?!"

Aelin just laughed as she said "Yes! My parents and everyone I ever loved were murdered ten years ago by the King of Adarlan. Long story short, a man....Arobynn, he found me unconscious out in the open in the middle of the night and took me in. Turns out he was the King of Assasins which is why I spent the next seven years of my life under his watch, training to be the best assassin- which I did end up becoming. And all that time, I went under a false name, Celaena Sardothien, it was hilarious! no one ever knew my true identity because I would always dress in black and cover every part of my body, making it impossible for people to even tell my age."

Y/n couldn't believe what she was hearing. This female was not queen the whole time? What?

Aelin just continued with a sigh "But....when I was seventeen it all changed. By that point, I was tired of Arobynn. He was a paradox. He put me through the toughest fights, challenges and missions just to make me into what I am now, he would shower me with gifts, making me filthy rich at such a young age but....he wouldn't hesitate to punish me when I would 'let him down'. He lied when he said that he would let me go, he lied because he saw me as a posession. An object of which he couldn't let go. He was a paradox. A manipulator, caretaker, father, mentor, maybe even lover."

Y/n didn't know when she got closer to the queen, coming to sit right next to her as she silently said "That....I can understand it slightly....while mine wasn't showering me in gifts or training me to be an asassin he would beat me up, do unspeakable things but then he would ask for forgiveness, say its my fault, but he loves me....that he knows what's best for me."

The female beside her nodded her head, needing no explanation on what y/n just said "They may come in different forms but they are all monsters nonetheless. Arobynn indirectly killed the boy I loved and then acted devastated as I cried next to his dead, mutilated body. Then, when I tried to get my revenge, he was the one who informed the enemy and got me sent into a slave camp where I spent a whole year of my life. Dorian and Chaol? I know them because they were the ones to save me from that camp, even though we all hated each other at first. Lysandra? I know her because she was also under his control."

"That....that is horrible. I-I am so sorry I don't even know what to say....is- is he alive now?"

Aelin just gave her a small, sad smile "Don't worry, Lysandra slit his throat when he was asleep. Which was then followed by a shit ton of chaos."

Y/n smiled too, happy to know that this monster also got his deserved end.

"Did you kill yours too?"

She nodded "Yes, he wanted to clip my wings so that I never even thought of leaving him. It was also a stupid tradition. I trained myself, then opened an academy to train others so that they wouldn't go through what I did. It was quite the shock really, a female Illyrian whose wings weren't clipped, training others how to fight."

Aelin's hand on Y/n's shoulder was warm, a gesture of solidarity that spoke volumes more than words ever could. Her proud smile softened the edges of her usually fierce expression.

"You survived," Aelin said softly, her voice carrying the weight of understanding. "And you've grown stronger despite everything. That's what matters."

Y/n nodded, feeling a surge of gratitude toward Aelin. They may have come from different worlds, faced different kinds of horrors, but in that moment, their shared experience of overcoming abuse and manipulation bound them together.

Aelin squeezed her shoulder gently before withdrawing her hand. "We're stronger together," she said firmly. "And we'll make sure no one else suffers like we did."

With those words hanging in the air, Y/n felt a renewed sense of purpose. Despite the darkness of their pasts, there was hope in their shared resolve to protect others from similar fates.

When they left the gardens, they saw others on the training grounds. Fenrys and Rowan were fighting each other, half naked, while Aedion, Manon and Chaol watched from the sidelines, Aedion with his bandaged arm and Chaol with his cane by his side. Eva and Lysandra were sitting on one of the benches while the teen was pointing at the book in her hands, showing something to her. Abraxos was sleeping on the grass.

When they reached Lysandra and Eva, the latter looked up at y/n from her place on the bench “Y/n! You have to read this book! I will give it to you once I am done with it but it has the most exhilarating plot!” 

Y/n smiled as she looked at the book “Oh really? Then I can’t wait for it.”

Eva grinned and hugged the book to her chest. “Trust me, you’ll be hooked from the first chapter. The characters are so well-written, and the twists are mind-blowing.”

Lysandra chuckled, shaking her head. “Eva’s been talking about that book non-stop since she started it. It’s a wonder she hasn’t finished it already.”

Eva rolled her eyes playfully. “Well, I want to savor it. It’s not every day you come across such a gem.”

Y/n laughed. “I’ll take your word for it. I’m always on the lookout for a good read.”

Aelin smiled at the small interaction before looking at Chaol with a concerned gaze, “Something happened to Yreene?”

Lysandra sighed, “Apparently. He was sparring with Fenrys when his legs began hurting. Hopefully whatever Yrene is doing with the book, she is taking precautions.” 

Before anyone could say anything, Lysandra looked at y/n “Speaking of, care to explain why Fenrys is so riled up that he has been fighting nonstop for the past two hours? Aelin, you might want to check up on your birdie because he looks quite exhausted.” 

Once again, before y/n could even begin to reply, she heard a familiar voice behind her say “You liar.”

Aelin and y/n both turned around to see Manon staring at y/n with fire in her eyes.

Y/n and all three females behind her were just as confused as her when she asked, “What are you talking about, Manon?”

The witch just stepped closer to her as she said, “Knew you were a deceiving snake.” 

Manon’s fists were clenched, her muscles taut with readiness. “Let’s see if you can lie about this as well, y/n.”

With a sudden burst of speed, Manon lunged forward, her fist aiming straight for y/n’s face. She sidestepped the punch and retaliated with a swift jab to Manon’s ribs. The impact made Manon grunt, but she shook it off quickly, eyes blazing with determination.

Manon countered with a roundhouse kick aimed at y/n’s midsection. She blocked the kick with her forearm, the force of the blow sending a shockwave through her arm. Ignoring the pain, y/n grabbed Manon’s leg and twisted, attempting to throw her off balance. Manon, however, used the momentum to her advantage, flipping gracefully and landing on her feet.

The fight intensified as they exchanged blows with lightning speed. Manon’s fists were like hammers, each punch coming with incredible force. Y/n dodged and weaved, her movements fluid and precise. She countered with a powerful uppercut that connected with Manon’s jaw, sending her staggering back.

She closed the distance, launching a series of rapid punches aimed at Manon’s torso. Manon blocked and deflected, her reflexes sharp. She ducked under a particularly vicious swing and delivered a brutal knee strike to Y/N’s stomach.

The blow knocked the wind out of y/n, but she didn’t go down. Instead, she gritted their teeth and grabbed Manon’s arm, pulling her into a close-quarters grapple. The two struggled for dominance, muscles straining, breaths coming in ragged gasps.

In the distance, she could hear screams and shouts to stop, to just back off. Fenrys’ voice was the loudest of all. 

For some reason, y/n turned around to cast him a quick glance and was met with his beyond concerned gaze. It held a mixture of anger, shock and….fear. His breaths were ragged and his hands were shaking as he slowly made his way ove-

A punch to her stomach forced her backwards and onto the ground as she looked back at Manon who just told her “Coward.”

That was it. That was the final straw. Y/n didn’t know when or how she felt it but she did. Her transformation began with a disorienting sensation, her body shifting in ways she couldn't immediately comprehend. A strange taste filled her mouth, the metallic tang of iron, as her gums contorted and stretched, forming into sharp, unforgiving iron teeth. Simultaneously, her nails extended, hardening into gleaming, steel-like claws that seemed to elongate with every passing second.

Everything else became a blur. All the gasps, all the noise, everything but Manon, who was now smirking triumphantly at her. 

Y/n lunged for the witch, pinning her down with a snarl that displayed her fangs “You did it all to rile me up. It was an act wasn’t it? You planned it.”

Manon had the audacity to just smirk and shrug her shoulder while still pinned down “It worked though, didn’t it?”

“I will kill you.”

“Go ahead.”

She raised her hand, her iron nails glinting in the sun as she aimed for the queens throat but….she couldn’t do it. Something inside her refused to obey. 

With a sigh, she pushed back and away from Manon and got up. Y/n felt as her body shifted back to normal, her nails and teeth disappearing once again.

Silence fell over the area like a heavy blanket, each person frozen in shock. Aelin and Eva's mouths hung open in disbelief, Lysandra's hand instinctively covering hers. Aedion and Chaol stared, their expressions a mix of bewilderment directed at her and then at Manon. Rowan's smile was faint but discernible, while Fenrys stood wide-eyed and rigid, caught between amazement and apprehension.

Aelin closed her mouth and cleared her throat before asking "You- you are an Ironteeth Witch? Why didn't you tell us?"

"Because I didn't know what I was until I came here and even if I did, I consider it a curse so why should I tell you?"

She felt Manon come and stand right beside her as she said with a harsh tone "Call us a curse one more time and see what happens. You are a witch so stop denying it."

Before y/n could reply, Eva shouted "That is so amazing! A witch with wings of her own!"

Lysandra clapped "Well done you two for putting on such a brilliant show."

Y/n sighed as Manon snickered and Aedion muttered an "I am so confused" before earning a small nod in agreement from Chaol who was still questioningly staring at y/n.

Her gaze moved towards Fenrys but he wasn't looking at her anymore. He was staring at the ground with his brows furrowed and when Rowan patted him on the shoulder, he just turned around and left.

Y/n wanted to go after him but was stopped when Aelin and everyone else just came over to her, asking questions.

Fenrys thought that throughout his long life, he had seen enough shocking things that it would take a lot to ever surprise him. Well, apparently everything is different when it comes to y/n. It's like she manages to be the exception to his every thought and feeling.

She is an Ironteeth Witch? How is that even possible, isn't she from a different world? Does her world also have Ironteeth Witches?

Earlier he was angry at....well he had no idea why he was angry. For some reason, even hearing the name Azriel made him want to punch a wall. He also didn't like or trust Amren. In fact, Fenrys didn't like y/n's whole little friend group back in her world. They lied to her, ignored her when she needed a shoulder to cry on-

And why do you care, Fenrys?

Yes, why does he care, exactly? Y/n is only here temporarily. Once they solve the problem, she will go back to her home world and they will never see each other again so why does even the thought of that bother him so much?

Why does the thought of her going back to those liars that call themselves her family make him frustrated?

And worst of all, why does the thought of her going back to Azriel's arms make him want to rip out heads?

For the past hour, she couldn't find Fenrys anywhere and by the time y/n made it to her room, she was too exhausted to even think about anything but sleep. So, she collapsed on the bed and slept her exhaustion of the last few days away.

Four hours later, y/n stood in front of her mirror, assesing her look before dinner.

Thanks to Isolde, her neck was completely healed and looking as smooth as ever. This, of course, meant that she didn't need to wear a turtleneck anymore which is why she chose this simple yet still eye catching dress.

The dress she chose was a masterpiece of delicate craftsmanship, tailored to accentuate her figure in all the right places. Made from a flowing fabric that shimmered with every movement, it draped elegantly over her curves. The neckline was designed to draw attention to her healed neck, framing it gracefully while also accentuating her chest. Intricate embroidery adorned the sleeves and hem, adding a touch of detailed beauty to its otherwise understated elegance. The color, a soft shade of lavender, complemented her complexion, enhancing her natural radiance. Paired with subtle yet tasteful accessories, the dress completed a look that exuded both sophistication and effortless charm.

Not bad, y/n, not bad at all.

With a final look at herself, she opened her door to-

Fenrys was here, leaving his room as well.

Their eyes locked, holding a silent conversation of their own as they appraised each other's appearance. Fenrys stood tall, his hair styled in a casual half bun that allowed strands of golden hair to cascade over his broad shoulders. His attire was both practical and stylish—a crisp white tunic formed the foundation, complemented by a deep forest green vest that added a touch of color and structure. Dark brown pants, tucked neatly into knee-high boots, completed the ensemble, emphasizing the sturdy and agile nature of his build.

Despite the layers of clothing, Fenrys's physique was unmistakable—rippling muscles hinted at strength honed through rigorous training and battles fought. The tunic's sleeves hinted at the definition of his arms, while the vest accentuated his broad chest and shoulders. His stance exuded confidence and readiness, every movement suggesting a poised and capable warrior.

He was absolutely delicious to look at-

Mother above, y/n. Look back at his eyes. Be respectful.

She hesitantly lifted her gaze over to him but lost all her abilitiy to speak when she saw how his dark eyes were practically devouring her. Y/n cleared her throat which made him look back at her with those lust-filled and fierce eyes that made her feel all hot and bothered.

Then, as if coming back to reality, Fenrys straightened and started moving towards the stairs.

No. She had to talk to him. About what? She had no idea but-

"Are you upset with me?"

Once he heard her voice, Fenrys stopped, his back was towards her as he said "Why would I be upset with you?"

Y/n took a small step towards him. "Because you left when it was revealed that I was a....a witch. Because you refuse to look me in the face."

"And since when do you care about my feelings towards you?"

"You are right. I shouldn't but I do- you know what? This was very foolish of me, just forget this ever happened."

When y/n moved past him towards the stairs, she felt his hand grip her wrist, making her turn around to look at him.

Y/n frowned slightly, "Fenrys..."

He hesitated, then spoke in a voice laced with uncharacteristic vulnerability. "I don't trust them," he admitted quietly. "Your people, from your world. They say they want to bring you back, but what if they're not as trustworthy as you think? Didn't you say they neglected you when you needed them the most?"

Y/n sighed, understanding his concerns. "I get it. But they're my people, Fenrys. Even if things between us are complicated, I have known them for over fifty years, enough to know that they wouldn't harm m-"

"But they did. They didn't tell you when your lover was being unfaithful for two years, they didn't do shit as you got worse day by day so why should you trust them now?"

Y/n ripped her arm away from his hold as she turned to fully look at him with a narrowed gaze "What is this about Fenrys? I didn't tell you all this so that you could pity me. It was just a moment of vulnerability and you happened to be the-"

"I know because I understand you."

At her questioning gaze, Fenrys sighed before looking at the ground "Before Aelin, I.....I was.....sort of chained to another queen. Blood sworn, actually. It meant that I was her slave for as long as she pleases and that I could only ever be free of her with my honor intact if she willingly gave me her blessing and freed me from service. If not, then.....anyways what I want to say is that I know what it means to struggle and not have anyone by your side. My brother had his own demons to fight so we never could really lean on one another for support. Rowan, Lorcan and Gavriel they.....they also suffered in their own ways. Maeve made sure to traumatise each one of us differently,"

He couldn't look at her. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists.

Y/n gently put her hand on his chest "Fenrys, you don't have to force yourself to talk about it-"

"It is true, I see Rowan, Lorcan -unfortunately- and Gavriel as my brothers. We went through so much together and I am only standing here today because we made it, together. Gavriel made it too, I know it because I feel his presence sometimes. But even then, we all hid our pain from one another. I always only had myself to heal my own wounds. Both physical and mental."

"Oh my-"

"This is why I want you to be careful, y/n. I never had anyone to soothe my pain and I don't want you going through the same thing. When....when you go back to you world, just leave them. Promise me that you will leave them and find a better place for yourself."

"Fenrys I-"

He looked up from the ground, his eyes holding a hint of determination within them "Promise me, y/n."

She sighed "Yes. I promise, Fenrys."

He slowly nodded his head but made no move to leave and neither did y/n want to remove her hand from his chest.

The comfort Fenrys was feeling right now was unimaginable. He had never felt so at ease, so safe in someone's presence before. Even if the middle of a hallway isn't the most perfect place to experience this. He couldn't care less. He just showed her a part of him he never showed anyone, not even Aelin.

His vulnerability.

And for some reason, he wanted to keep telling her more, and in turn, hear more about her as well.

His gaze fell to her lips as his hands ached to touch her. Fenrys whispered, "You....you don't have a curse. Be proud of yourself and your lineage."

Y/n's came closer as she whispered back, "I....it will take time....getting used to that."

He smiled slightly, "That's fine. I will be proud of you anyway."

He saw her pupils dilate and her eyes widen but it seems like he was under some hypnotic curse because he added, "You...you are really beautiful."

Her lips parted and he saw a blush make it's way onto her adorable cheeks.

"I-thank you. You....you are very attractive as well."

Fenrys couldn't help the smirk that made its way onto his face "Yeah?"

She was a full red tomato now and he thought it was the most adorable sight ever. She replied with a shaky and barely audible voice, "Yeah."

They got closer and Fenrys was about to gently grab her waist when a cough interrupted their moment.

They both immediately detached and turned around to see Eva and Manon. The latter had a huge cheshire grin plastered on her face while the former had the look of a sad puppy.

Manon took eva's hand as they both started walking past y/n and Fenrys but not before Manon said, "See Eva, told you she wouldn't accept your love confession."

The younger girl playfully shoved aside the witch as she whisper shouted, "Shhh Manon! You just announced my crush to the entire kingdom!"

Y/n giggled as she followed them, Fenrys close behind her as she said, "Eva, don't listen to her! She likes to rile everyone up it seems."

Manon turned around with an amused gaze, "Glad you could finally understand that about me."

Y/n glared at her "I am still not done with you."

Manon just smiled and mused "I will keep my door open for you. Make the job easier."

Y/n just scoffed and she could feel Fenrys' chuckle from behind her as she turned her head sideways to look at him. "Something's funny, Fenny?"

She heard the witch chuckle and Eva audibly laugh while Fenrys' eyes widened "What kind of a nickname is that?"

Y/n just smirked and turned her head back around "Didn't like it? What about Fen? Or maybe Rys orrrrr Fenzo!"

Manon was full on cackling now and Eva was about to fall over because of laughing so hard. Fenrys just smiled while shaking his head "Gods save me."

As they reached the doors of the dining room, y/n smiled as she said, "No Gods to save you now. Perhaps you should change it to Aelin save me."

They were all laughing by the time they entered the room and saw the others, except Lorcan and Elide, sitting around. It was nice, yet so unusual to see Manon actually laugh. But, she wouldn't take it for granted, that woman is a paradox. Who knows, she may be laughing now but she may want to kill y/n the next moment.

Y/n just shook her head with a smile as she took her place next to Fenrys on the table. However that smile soon started disappearing when she felt a pair of eyes on her from somewhere in the room, making her feel uncomfortable.

It's just nerves. You are hungry. Just ignore it, the feeling will pass.

Aelin had an amused look as she took a bite out of her meal and said, "I think this may be the first time I ever saw Manon laugh in the past three years."

Manon just rolled her eyes "First and only. Not everyone is lucky enough to see it."

Yrene just said in a playful tone from beside Manon, "Everyone but Dorian right? I bet he gets to see it all the time."

Aedion smirked "Oh, yes. How are you feeling Manon dearest? Your princeling is coming soon."

Lysandra took a sip of her wine "Aelin, make sure that once Dorian is here, you send these two to the furthest part of the palace. They haven't seen each other in months, so it will be our poor ears that will bleed because of their 'union'."

Manon just scoffed and replied dryly, "I'll have you know, princeling's visits are strictly business." She shot a pointed glance at Yrene, who grinned mischievously.

Aedion chuckled, raising his eyebrows suggestively. "Business, huh? I'm sure it's a very serious matter, indeed."

Yrene raised her hands innocently. "Who am I to argue with our King?"

Aelin laughed, shaking her head. "Well, let's hope Dorian's arrival brings some distraction from all this impending doom." She glanced at Rowan, who was deep in conversation with Chaol about strategy.

Lysandra smirked. "If anyone can distract Manon from her duties, it's Dorian."

Manon rolled her eyes again but couldn't hide a small smile. 

Everyone, including Fenrys laughed at that and y/n felt a moment of pure bliss, seeing them interact so closely with one another. It reminded her of the inner circle but.....for some reason that didn't make her miss home at all.

But her moment of happiness was still mixed with discomfort as that mysterious gaze kept on burning a hole through her skull. When she turned her head around, she saw a servant girl who was just refilling the pitcher with water.

Everyone around her were busy with conversation, but she still felt uneasy. What was-

Fenrys gently put his hand on hers under the table and looked at her with a concerning gaze. "Are you well?"

She nodded her head slightly but that didn't ease her growing unease that someone was watching her.

The servant girl came closer to her, filled her cup with water and said "Take it."

Y/n just smiled, slightly uncomfortable as she replied, "I'm not thirsty."

The girl just gave her a cruel smile as she said in a sharp tone, "No, take what's coming for you, Winged Fury."

Before y/n could even process what was going on, the servant lunged for her, effectively throwing y/n down as everything around them erupted into chaos.

Y/n felt like she was suffocating as the the girl kept on choking her. From her peripheral vision, she saw Fenrys doing something but....her vision started going dark. This girl was inhumanly strong.

The last thing she heard before darkness enveloped her was "The Valg princes send their regards."

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