#i made azriel unbearably hot

[separatist-apologist]

We Never Go Out Of Style

Could end in burning flames or paradise

Summary: When Gwyn breaks up with her boyfriend on the eve of Nesta's destination wedding, Nesta Archeron has only one objective: set Gwyn up with her high school crush.

Note: Based on this tweet from @heathermcwrites: "One of my bridesmaids just broke up with her bf who was supposed to come to my wedding & I was sad for her for about 3 seconds until I remembered that her crush will also be at the wedding (single) and I'm now more committed to this 2nd chance romance than to my own marriage."

"I should also note that this is a destination wedding so there are EVEN MORE opportunities for uh…shenanigans"

Read More: Chapter 1 | AO3

Gwyn woke to the wheels of the plane jolting on the runway. Her face was plastered against the plastic wall just beside the window and her whole body was still from leaning at such an odd angle. She stretched out her legs and turned to see Azriel slumped over, head on his shoulder, arms crossed against his chest. For one blissful moment, Gwyn forgot what they’d done in that bathroom. She was back in high school, admiring the man beside her.

The plane bounced again and she was reminded when her body clenched around the phantom feel of his cock thrusting into her. Oh God. She’d had sex in an airplane bathroom with a stranger. And she hadn’t even been drunk. What was wrong with her?

Azriel opened one hazel eye and then the other, rubbing them with the heel of his hand. He stretched, looking over at a practically vibrating Nesta and a barely awake Cassian. He looked over at her and blinked, a slow smile creeping over his face. He was remembering too. In the light of the new day, Gwyn wondered if she hadn’t made a horribly impulsive mistake. 

There was no time to discuss it with him. The minute all the lights went off on the aircraft, everyone was in the aisles grabbing their things. 

Azriel grabbed her bag and kept the rising swell of people trying to shove past from trapping her in her chair. Gwyn’s eyes settled on his arms, still covered in tattoos, and wondered absently what they meant. She’d never found out, hadn’t thought to ask last night when his tongue had been in her throat. 

She shook her head, grabbed her suitcase, and made her way down the ramp. Azriel kept pace, courtesy of his much longer legs. He said nothing at all—he merely followed Cassian’s bulky frame through the half empty airport. It was here that Emerie finally caught up with Gwyn, all but slamming into her back. Emerie flung her arm over Gwyn’s shoulder.

“Did you get any sleep?” she asked. Gwyn panicked for a moment as Azriel glanced over, letting them fall behind. 

“A little,” she admitted. “My neck is wrecked, though.”

“Same,” Emerie admitted. “How are you doing?”

Ah, hell. Gwyn smiled and told her friend, “I’m fine. I swear.”

“It’s just…everyone is coupled up and…” Emerie trailed off awkwardly. 

“I’m fine,” Gwyn insisted, pulling out her passport. She was better than fine, given she’d had sex six hours earlier to the man walking four feet ahead of her. 

“Well, I’m not gonna ditch you. And I heard Lucien talking earlier, apparently this island is big enough that a lot of people stay at the resort. So there will be all kinds of opportunities for shenanigans. If you want them, anyway.”

Great. 

Gwyn smiled. Emerie was so nice, was her best friend. She cared. She also didn’t know that Gwyn was lying about Jonathon for purely selfish reasons. She swallowed, her guilt pricking in her stomach. She was saved by the line pushing her forward. Gwyn collected her passport stamp at the same time Nesta did.

“Hey,” Nesta said with a breathless smile. “Can I ask a favor? Do you mind swapping rooms with Elain and Lucien?”

“What’s wrong with their room?”

“Nothing,” Nesta said easily, looking over her shoulder, likely for Cassian. “It’s just, when I booked yours I sort of assumed Jonathon was thinking about proposing so I wanted it to be extra romantic—”

“Oh,” she interrupted. “Yeah, no, they can have it.”

Nesta bit her bottom lip. “You don’t mind? Theirs shares a door with another room but as long as you keep it closed you won’t have to interact with them.”

“Who is on the other side?” 

Nesta offered an apologetic smile. “Azriel. When I set it all up, he said he didn’t mind and Elain and Lucien waited until the last minute to get back to me so—”

“That’s fine,” Gwyn replied, unsure if she was being honest or not. She certainly didn’t want to be in a room that was so ridiculously romantic all she could think about was Jonathon…and at the same time, Gwyn wasn’t sure sharing a door with Azriel was smart, either.

“Elain’s going to be so excited. Thank you for this. I know it’s a lot–”

“It’s nothing,” Gwyn promised as Emerie came up, beaming at Nesta. “I want this to be a perfect two weeks for you.”

“Miss getting married,” Emerie added, the three falling into step. For a moment they said nothing at all, drinking in the glass window pouring in warm sunlight and the scuffed linoleum beneath their feet.

“I’m getting married!” Nesta exclaimed loud enough that passersby all turned to look. Gwyn and Emerie grinned, well aware that it had taken a full decade to get to this moment. Gwyn glanced over her shoulder to Cassian, talking to Azriel quietly though his eyes were on Nesta. They were always on Nesta, always had been. What was it like for him, she wondered? If Nesta was excited, how did Cassian feel? He’d been in love with her as long as she’d know him.

It took forever to collect their suitcases from baggage claim and Gwyn was once again reminded that having a bright colored suitcase spared her from having to lift every black one like Cassian and Rhys did. Elain had done the same with a pink and purple floral pattern Lucien grabbed almost instantly. It was just smart. 

“I’ll take that,” Azriel said, grabbing the handle of her larger back so she didn’t have to drag two behind her. Those were the first words he’d said since they’d landed.

“You don’t have to,” she breathed. She’d forgotten how deep his voice was, made worse when it was rough from sleep. 

“I know,” he scoffed, following Cassian out of the sliding doors. Eris had arranged for a van to pick them all up—another hour long drive to the dock, and then a forty five minute boat ride from the mainland to the island. Gwyn was exhausted just thinking about it. 

“You look dead on your feet,” Azriel added with one arched brow. She looked up, surprised to see that at this angle, there was a tattoo creeping from beneath his shirt over his neck. She hadn’t noticed before, but the whorling black ink looked nice against the warm brown of his skin. All of it—from his slightly stained fingers to the tattoos gracing so much of his skin, to his casual hair flopped in his bright eyes—gave him an aura of danger.

She could admit it was nice when Azriel hauled her bags into the back of the massive, white van. All Gwyn had to do was pick a seat, settling herself between Nesta and Gwyn right in the back. Mor clambered back with them, nervous beside Emerie. There was some weird history between her and Nesta that Gwyn didn’t know about, though it made her suspicious all the same. She wanted to support Emerie and she also didn’t want one wrong thing happening during Nesta’s wedding.

If it bothered Nesta, she didn’t say. She put her head on Gwyn’s shoulder while the rest of their group loaded in. They weren’t the only ones who were exhausted. Elain and Feyre all but stumbled up, helped by Lucien, his hair pulled off his face in a messy bun. Rhys’s eyes were smudged purple and when he plopped into his seat, the whole van rocked a little. Only Cassian and Azriel seemed like they were doing alright. 

“Group nap when we get there?” Nesta called once the doors shut.

“Oh fuck yeah,” Lucien agreed from the front, his arm around both Feyre and Elain. 

Gwyn didn’t fall asleep, but she didn’t participate in the alphabet game with Cassian and Rhys and Lucien, either. Her eyes felt heavy and when they stopped at the docks and realized they’d have to wait a full half hour before the boat arrived, she understood why toddlers so often threw themselves on the pavement and screamed. 

The air was warm, the sun bright, and the town they stood in was exactly how she imagined. Narrow, cobblestone streets were lined with houses built centuries before. Draped in leafy vines and bright colored awnings, it was all old world charm. The air was salty and maybe a little fishy, but had the distinct scent of citrus laced beneath it. She itched to explore. She’d have to ask if they could take the ferry back and forth or if they were bound to the island the whole time.

The boat came and Azriel wordlessly continued carrying her bag, much to the approval of Nesta. 

“Az is being nice,” she murmured to Gwyn, unaware of just how nice Az had been. “I saw he sat with you on the plane.”

“I asked him to,” Gwyn admitted, climbing the steps to the rocking boat. “I needed someone to block you and Cassian sucking face for nine hours.”

Nesta laughed. “You didn’t catch us try and join the mile high club,” she all but whispered. “The stewardess was all over that. She sent me back to my seat before I even got halfway there.”

“I wonder if someone else tried it first,” Gwyn pretended to muse as she gripped the metal railing of the boat. Nesta shrugged.

“It’s probably a shitty place to have sex, anyway.”

Gwyn didn’t respond to that. She’d come on that bathroom sink for the first time in months. It wasn’t that Jonathon was necessarily bad at sex—he knew how to get her off. It was that he was lazy and too often didn’t want to do any of the work that was required in order for her to enjoy herself, too. Sex too often felt like a negotiation, a constant disappointment when he’d come and then promise to make up for it next time.

There were hundreds of little IOUs like that, all disregarded. She gripped the railing tighter, suddenly irritated that Azriel had spent more time trying to get her off without even asking, all in service of a very quick fuck while Jonathon had years.

She pulled her phone out, annoyed to see three missed texts from him.

You’re being immature. Call me, please?

Did you land safely? I’m worried about you. Call me, please. 

This is especially low for you, Gwyneth. Call me so I know you’re okay.

He’d been doing it ever since she left, begging and demanding she call. Gwyn knew what happened if she did—he’d immediately reshift the focus back to the breakup so he could argue with her endlessly. Jonathan thought he could logic his way back into their relationship. That she’d merely panicked when he mentioned marriage and he could calm her back down.

It was, frankly, insulting. 

They arrived on the most gorgeous island Gwyn had ever seen. Sparkling water lapped against undisturbed white sand and the resort itself had been built to look like the village they’d just come from. Greenery draped over the sprawling sandstone and Gwyn suspected the mosaiced white and blue tile floors were meant to evoke something distinctly Roman. 

Eris Vanserra was waiting inside in a breezy white shirt utterly unbuttoned. He watched them step into the lobby with narrowed eyes, his hair an exact match for Lucien’s. The beautiful, tall blonde beside him squealed when she saw Elain and Gwyn assumed that was how Nesta had ended up here without having to pay for it. Elain had pulled major strings—or her husband had. Either way, no one said one word to Eris as he checked them in and passed out room keys. 

They were villas, so expensive that when Nesta was told the final price she blanched. Eris said nothing at all, a sunburned arm hanging off his chattering wife. They looked refreshed but Gwyn was looking forward to falling face first onto a mattress and slipping into oblivion.

112

She took her bags from Azriel who offered a tight smile, and made her way back out in the brilliant, sunlit courtyard. A huge marble statue poured water into more blue tile, shaded by lovely trees bearing limes that Gwyn could reach up and grab. She didn’t have hands for it, so instead she rolled her bags over the sidewalk until she reached her door.

Azriel was just behind, frowning as he looked at his key.

“One twelve?” he asked.

Gwyn had to double check. “Yeah. Nesta asked me to swap with Elain and Lucien.”

There were two doors right next to each other, labeled 112A and 112B, but her key just said 112. She pressed it against the sensor and it clicked open. Both her and Az stepped into the dark, air conditioned foyer and understood instantly what Nesta must not have. The “door” connecting their rooms, set against the far left wall, merely opened his bedroom into the kitchen and living room.

“Ah…” Azriel began, running a hand through his hair. 

“I’m sure Nesta didn’t realize,” Gwyn breathed, heart pounding in her chest. She left her things in the open living room, ignoring that there was a literal hot tub on the balcony they shared overlooking the ocean, for the other bedroom.

The one she’d just walked into was a small double but this was massive, something bigger than a king draped in pretty white linen and framed with a black headboard. It had an attached bathroom with a couples skin and another jetted bathtub. 

“I’ll take the other—”

“We’ll share,” he scoffed. “Nesta’s fuck up works in our favor.”

“I’m not having sex with you,” she said, earning a raised eyebrow. “Lucien Vanserra promised a group nap.”

He shrugged off his bag. “As long as you’re in the same bed as me, I don’t care what you do.”

Gwyn swallowed. 

How could she argue with that?

AZRIEL: 

Gwyn passed out almost immediately on the white and turquoise sheets but for Az, he thought the best way to deal with jetlag was to suffer through the day and sleep at night. Cassian would be at the bar and Rhys too, if they were lucky. Rhys, for all the messing around he did with the youngest Archeron, was also single which meant he and Azriel could get in a little trouble if they wanted.

Inside the main lobby, branching from where they’d checked in, was a bar and a restaurant. Cassian was already waiting in a breezy hawaiian shirt and board shorts while beside him Rhys had opted to go shirtless. It was working for him—a group of women a good decade older than him were eyeing Rhys with interest.

“Took you long enough,” Cassian complained, nodding towards the menu of drinks. Az dropped onto the barstool.

“Fuck up with the room kept me. Nesta gave me and Gwyn the same room.”

“Ah, shit,” was Cassian’s only response. “Want me to talk to her about it? I know she’s stressed—”

“No, don’t bother her. There are enough beds.”

“But does the door lock, or is Gwyn gonna see you fucking constantly?”

Azriel met Rhys’s stare. “It has a locked door.”

Cassian and Rhys nodded, no longer interested in his messed up room. Azriel wasn’t disappointed at all. In fact, as far as he could tell, Nesta had done him a massive favor. He wouldn’t have to explain what he was doing in her villa when he inevitably got caught. Now he could stroll in and out, hair fucked up, dick still wet and no one would think it was strange.

All he wanted to do was fuck her again. He’d been dreaming about it on the plane, had thought of little else on the drive over. Now she was in the bed he very much intended to share with her, face down in a pillow, snoring slightly.

Azriel let Cassian order a margarita for him, refocusing on the conversation. Not everything was about pussy and Azriel was hardly hurting for it. He and Rhys took a drink at the same time, noses wrinkled when that tequila all but smacked them in the face.

“Oh shit,” Rhys grinned. “This tastes like bad decisions.”

“Don’t get shit faced on night one,” Cassian grumbled. “Wait until tomorrow when I can participate.”

“Nesta keeping the leash tight?”

Cassian’s eyes tightened. There was no love lost between Rhys and Nesta—and Cassian would fight about it. Nesta didn’t know but Azriel did given he had sided with Cassian in the ugliest fight the three of them ever had. You didn’t come between a man and his girl and there was nothing wrong with Nesta to start with. Rhys didn’t like she’d let Cassian hang on, but Cassian could have walked away at any point. He wanted to stay. 

Just like Rhys was doing with Feyre, though Azriel supposed the irony was lost on him. 

“She wants to be together,” Cassian told Rhys, his whole body tense. Waiting for some shitty remark that would fuck this whole thing up. Rhys took another drink.

“Makes sense. Think she’ll be mad if we go to the beach early? Just to see?”

“Probably,” Cassian hedged, one leg sliding to the floor. “But only if she knows, so keep your big fucking mouth shut.”

Both Azriel and Rhys mimed zipping their lips. It was practically old times, trailing after Cassian knowing they were up to no good. A thrill raced through Azriel, even if the thrill was merely not getting caught by Nesta. 

Azriel regretted not changing the minute his tennis shoes hit the sand. He scrambled, kicking out of them knowing full well the sand would remain forever, yanked off his shirt, and trailed after Cassian and Rhys into the bath water warm ocean. They were still holding their margaritas, floating in the crystal water beneath a fading afternoon sun.

“This is perfect, I almost don’t even care it was a Vanserra who paid for it,” Cassian groaned, reclining his head just in time for a wave to splash against him. 

“Forty fucking thousand dollars,” Rhys said gleefully. “What does Elain have on him?”

“Apparently she introduced him to his wife,” Cassian told them. “And he’s real soft for her. Better his money than mine. I couldn’t afford this shit.”

“Is he going to hang around the whole time?” Azriel asked. Something about the Vanserra’s just rubbed him the wrong way.

“We invited him,” Cassian said ruefully. “It’ll keep Elain and Lucien busy.”

Rhys nodded, eyes wide as if to say thank god.

“I saw them on the balcony.” Cassian cringed, telling them all exactly what had been happening out there. Rhy’s eyes went wide with distaste while Azriel merely shook his head. How embarrassing seemed to be the general consensus, though it would have been a little bit of a lie to say Azriel wasn’t jealous. Maybe a little.

Maybe he envied what they had—what Nesta and Cassian had—more than he was ever willing to admit. He kept swearing he was content with work and his hook-ups but there were nights when the loneliness wore on him. When he wished he could text someone and not immediately get a shot of tits as the response. His friends didn’t get it. Well, maybe Rhys did, at any rate. He had that same faraway look on his face. 

No one was right and if they were, they didn’t want him. It had always been that way. Any woman he went after wasn’t interested—Rhysand’s cousin Morrigan (though as it turned out, he wasn’t her type because he wasn’t a woman—and Elain Archeron, not counting a few others afterwards, sporadic people he met who wanted something more, something different, something else.

It was easier to close himself off, to guard himself so carefully no one could get close. It didn’t mean he’d stopped wanting it, it only meant Azriel was too afraid to try. It was on his mind as he plodded back to the room he was now sharing with Gwyn and hoped, if nothing else, she was awake.

Gwyn was both awake and had clearly just showered, if the wafting floral scent curling through the humid air was any indication. Azriel was drenched and knew he likely smelled like salt water and sunlight. Hopefully it wasn’t a bad combination, though he smelled under his arms as he padded into the bedroom, just to be safe.

She was in a pair of tiny blue shorts and a white tank top so tight she might as well be wearing nothing at all. Azriel halted in the doorway, drinking in the long, wet strands of her hair, her freshly washed face and how fucking pretty she was without a stitch of make-up on. Her body was hot, lithe and curved and lean exactly how he liked it. Gwyn’s teal eyes were staring down at her phone, thumbs typing out a furious message.

“Rough day, baby?” he teased, drawing her attention back to him. Gwyn looked over, dropping her phone as she did a double take. He smothered a smile, running a hand down his naked torso.

That was the reaction he was hoping for. He quite liked the naked appreciation on her face. 

“Is no one treating you right?”

“Shut up,” she replied, cheeks flushed. “Where have you been?”

He shrugged. “Pool.” He didn’t want her to tell Nesta and get Cassian in trouble. 

“I didn’t know the pool was so sandy,” she commented, eyes drifting towards his shins. Azriel was caught, though he said nothing that confirmed or denied her accusation. He merely nodded towards the phone at her feet.

“Who’re you texting?”

Her face darkened. “No one.”

“What did he say?” Azriel wasn’t stupid.

“He just wants to talk,” she said, throwing her hands up in the air with exasperation. “He thinks I’m being irrational.”

“So?” Azriel replied. “What if you were? What would that change?”

She bit her bottom lip. “Then he could address my feelings and we’d get back together.”

He didn't understand. “But…you don’t want to be together.”

“Right.” She was agreeing with him, and yet looking at him like he was the one who didn’t make sense. Azriel frowned, wondering what he was missing. 

“That’s a reason.”

“Yes, I agree. He doesn’t.”

Oh. Oh. “That’s fucking stupid,” Azriel declared, earning a smile from Gwyn. Back on track, though, she was still standing too close to the sliding glass doors that led to the balcony and now close enough to the bed where he wanted to spread her out. 

“Yeah, well, tell him that.”

“Okay,” he agreed, lunging for her phone. Gwyn wasn’t quick enough, fumbling as he snatched it from the floor and opened up the screen of her, Nesta, and Emerie grinning at the camera. The image of her sultry make-up and her slightly smudged lipstick was immediately burned into his brain, traveling down his spine to live in his cock. Jesus Christ she was hot. 

He read the wall of text Jonathon sent with a frown and Gwyn curiously let him. Well–Azriel skimmed it.

-Just make it make sense to me, I don’t understand–

-We were happy and then suddenly you changed your mind, tell me what you were thinking–

–Is this about that retreat in SoHo because–

“What happened in SoHo?” Azriel couldn’t help but ask as he invited Jonathon to play a game of 8ball.

“He says another woman kissed him and she says he kissed her,” Gwyn told him, shame coloring her cheeks. “I don’t know why she’d lie about it.”

“What’s he look like?” Azriel demanded, opening her photos and fuck was he accidentally rewarded with a picture of her tits a mere eight squares up. Hidden between the endless memes she had saved, Gwyn had snapped them from a bedroom, knees tucked beneath her body, dressed only in a lacy, strappy red thong. 

“Pervert,” she hissed, snatching her phone out of his hand. 

“Send that to me,” was all Azriel could think to reply. Why was he talking to her when she was badly needed to be fucked again? Gwyn rolled her eyes, thumb scrolling until she found a picture.

Azriel laughed.

It was a picture of her and another man sitting at a rounded table draped in a white cloth. Clearly at some kind of fancy event, given the sexy, silky green dress all but painted on Gwyn. Her tits were pushed up, her face immaculate. Auburn hair was swept back, her teal eyes tight. Despite her smile, she didn’t look like she was having a ton of fun. Beside her, the reedy, sandy haired brunette had an arm draped around the back of her black chair. He was utterly unremarkable, totally average. Lean and soft, with thin lips and fair skin. His suit seemed ill-fitting and Azriel would have staked his life on Jonathon buying it off the rack. It was complete with a cartoon character printed all over the tie, which made him look goofy as fuck sitting beside the etheral goddess. If Azriel were Jonathon, he’d be miserable too.

“You dated this man?” he scoffed, offering her the phone back. “Was he blackmailing you—”

Gwyn swatted him in the chest. “We met in grad school. He was so interesting back then and I was dealing with the death of my sister…I don’t know. We bonded over late nights and we talked about everything. It changed when he got his PhD and started writing and hanging out with his writer friends…like he was so much smarter and more thoughtful and interesting than the rest of the world. Like what he did mattered and the rest of us were just caught in a rat race. I don’t know. I’m just…I’m tired of hearing endless lectures, I guess.”

“Is that all?” Azriel asked her, both amused and fascinated. C’mon. Tell me something I can work with.

Gwyn, too worked up to realize he was waiting for his moment to pounce, walked across the room to the messy, unmade bed and plopped on the end of it. He was too quick to join her. 

“Everything was a negotiation, but in the bad way. There was never consensus and he’d change the rules to suit him but I was always forced to adhere to them or I was unfair. It was chores or whose job was more important or who was more tired or if I got to come when we had sex—”

There it was.

“He wasn’t getting you off?” Azriel asked, zeroing in on that one little fact. Gwyn looked over, realizing how close he was for the first time. 

“Uh…no,” she admitted, eyes sliding to his lips.

Good job, baby, he praised silently. 

“Tell me,” he murmured, dragging a finger over her bare leg.

“I uh…” she was flushed again. “I need stimulation…”

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed. “Most women do.”

“He didn’t like all the work,” she managed, rushing the words like it embarrassed her to say. “He always talked about his ex who could get off from penetration like I was broken or we could fix it—”

“He didn’t like to eat pussy?” Azriel interrupted, so excited he was practically vibrating. “Is that it?”

She nodded, swallowing hard. Their eyes met.

“I made you a promise,” he reminded her, lips ghosting her own. “Do you remember?”

“Yes,” she whispered, eyes fluttering shut.

“I love pussy eating, Gwyn,” he told her, kissing her softly.

“What if I need that every time we have sex?” she asked, clearly testing. Azriel groaned, mostly for theatrics, though the thought was intensely appealing to him.

“Lucky me,” he replied, well aware he could get her off with his fingers if they were in a rush. He’d never forget the airplane, if nothing else, though he was hoping to replace it with a million new memories of fucking her before he sent her on her way. 

“Az—” he silenced her with a kiss, tasting his name on her lips. She was minty and still sweet, her mouth so absurdly inviting that the moment he had his tongue behind her teeth, he forgot what he was supposed to be doing. She was such a good kisser and Azriel was so fussy about it. Too much tongue or not enough always ruined things for him, as did smacking lips or kissing so tight it felt like he might as well be kissing his grandma. There was a sweet spot between practically spitting in his mouth—which he wasn’t against if the circumstances called for it—and nothing at all and Gwyn so effortlessly managed it that Azriel reveled, if only a little.

She practically crawled in his lap, running her hands over his torso and too late, Azriel remembered he was supposed to be going down on her. He was tempted to say fuck it and bounce her on his cock instead. Had she not just told him her ex didn’t care if she finished, was so selfish with his pleasure that it factored into not wanting to be with him, had Azriel flipping her to the mattress with ease.

“To the pillows,” he murmured, watching her through half-lidded eyes. Gwyn bit her bottom lip, scooting up. As he considered the sight before him, he added, “Top off, baby.”

And fuck if she didn’t yank it over her head, revealing pretty, bouncy tits. His whole body was tighter than a bowstring. Had he known on the plane he would have damned them both demanding she take it off. 

Settle down before you fuck this up, he warned himself. It was impossibly hard—both his ability to remain calm at the sight of her nearly barred body and his own cock bobbing between his legs—and yet Azriel managed to get those tiny shorts off her cute ass and onto the floor in record time.

“Pretty, baby,” he murmured, running a hand over the smooth plain of her stomach. 

“What a crime, to have you in bed and not eat you out,” he added as he pushed her thighs apart. That neat patch of hair just above her pussy was taunting him. He lowered himself, keeping his shorts on as an added layer of precaution given the way his cock was practically weeping precum.

He buried his nose in that coarse thatch of hair, running his hands up and down her thighs. She was practically panting with anticipation. He knew it wouldn’t take long, that she’d built this up in her mind and he’d have her shaking and whimpering in five minutes flat. 

He reached up for one of her breasts, tweaking and rubbing the rosy nipple as he lowered his mouth. Eyes on her, the entire time, both to ensure she was enjoying herself and because he found it personally gratifying, Azriel licked a stripe up her pussy.

Gwyn shuddered, eyes fluttering shut. He couldn’t have that, was immediately worried she was imagining the nerd she’d been dating before.

“Eyes on me, baby,” he said, letting his breath fan against her body. She immediately looked down at him, her lust so apparent in the teal blue that he had to grind himself against the sheets to keep himself together. He already knew he was going to get on his knees and beg to fuck her when this was all over, and pray she told him yes. 

He lost himself in the slick glide of her body, feasting on her pussy like a rabid, wild animal. She tasted good, musky and sweet and so absurdly responsive that every little tug on her nipple or suck of her clit had her moaning and arching. She dragged her fingers through his hair, tugging at the strands when she wanted him to go faster, to stay where he was and Azriel would have done anything she asked if it meant she didn’t stop. Would she like it rough? A hand around her neck, his cock brutally pumping in and out of her until they were both sweaty and out of breath? 

He wanted to know. Azriel wanted to know everything Gwyn liked in the bedroom. Every depraved fantasy she had that she’d left unfulfilled, every intimate thing she was too afraid to tell someone.

Her thighs trembled against his cheeks, clenching as her hips arched off the bed. She ground herself into his face, coating him in her release. Just like he’d thought—too fast. He’d teach her, he decided. 

I have nothing but time, some shadowy part of his mind whispered, unbidden though not unwanted. He had limited time—two weeks. He’d sworn it just twelve hours earlier. 

Gwyn shook those thoughts from his head when she pushed him off her. Taking advantage of his stunned thoughts, Azriel found himself pinned to the bed. Her small hands just barely managed to pin his wrists over his head.

“What—”

She kissed him before he could respond, keeping him pinned in place like something from a dream. Azriel turned his brain off, letting himself enjoy the feeling of her dripping pussy against his stomach and her fingers pushing against his arms. Her tongue chased the taste of her own orgasm, tangling with his own until he was delirious.

“I want to suck your cock,” she whispered—or maybe he was trapped in a too real fantasy. Azriel opened his eyes slowly, trying to force his mouth to work. What did she say? 

She wants to suck your cock you dumb motherfucker—

“Please,” he begged, unsure what else he could say. He spread his legs as an invitation and Gwyn—sexy, lovely Gwyn—licked down his torso like every fantasy he’d ever had come to life. He was practically vibrating with need when she reached his aching cock. Gwyn ignored it, a taunting smile gracing her lips as she continued between his legs. Azriel groaned, unable to take his eyes off her. He was going to beg if she kept kissing his thighs like she was, if she didn’t—

She licked the long length of him while he was still trying to form his plea. His hips shot off the bed without meaning to, fingers fisting in the sheets beneath him.

“So jumpy,” she teased. “Are you not being sucked properly, Az?”

He didn’t know what to say to that. Was she dirty talking? The best he’d ever gotten was a couple breathy choke me daddy, which while appreciated, had nothing on Gwyn hovering between his legs, holding his cock in her hand while she watched him. Waiting for an answer. 

“Let’s find out,” was the only coherent words he could manage. She smirked, as if she had him exactly where she wanted him.

Gwyn licked again, holding his eyes the entire time. He was going to lose his shit if he wasn’t in her throat in the next ten seconds. Azriel was unraveling, coming apart at the seams. 

She smiled, lips touching his skin. 

“What a crime, to have you in bed and not take the time to properly lick you,” she told him, an echo of his earlier words. “I like how you taste, Az.”

“Gwyn,” he managed, reaching for her hair as she swirled her tongue over the head of his leaking cock. “Baby–”

“Are you going to beg?”

Their eyes met again. He swallowed. “Please,” he rasped. 

Her eyes were amused but Azriel didn’t care, not when she sucked half of him into her throat on the very first pass. He was in both heaven and hell with that first slide of her wet, hot mouth. Reborn and made new, Azriel grunted, forcing his hips from fucking her mouth like he so desperately wanted to.

Had he been taunting her in his head, thinking how quickly she’d come? He was no better, practically an untested teen having his first blow job. If someone had sucked him like Gwyn was back then, he would have ended up as a teenage dad, married and with six kids by then. 

Gwyn moaned, the sound reverberating through him and Azriel arched his neck, holding onto that bed for dear life. White hot arousal was pooling in his balls, threatening to erupt if he didn’t get his shit together. She was sucking him like her life depended on it, like she lived and died worshiping his cock. She was good at it.

No wonder Jonathon was so desperate to get her back. 

“Gwyn,” he breathed, trying to warn her when no amount of clenching could stave off his orgasm. He could feel it barreling through him like a freight train. “Gwyn I’m going to come.”

She was working him with both her mouth and hand, speeding up until he grunted, pushing another inch into her throat without meaning to. Gwyn gagged and yet swallowed everything he offered, the hot pour of come straight into her mouth.

“Come here, come here,” he begged when he was spent, certain she’d take his soul right along with everything else. Azriel kissed her, enjoying the musky taste of her mouth. “Who taught you to suck dick like that?”

“Why?” she asked breathlessly, lips cherry red and swollen.

“So I can thank him,” Azriel replied, kissing her again. She rolled her eyes, stroking up and down his chest.

“You’re ridiculous,” she whispered, settling into the crook of his arm. Azriel gazed down at her, sliding strands of hair off her face. He knew, in that moment, what he needed to do with her.

Some people brought home little trinkets from vacation. Something small—a snow globe, a shirt, a hat. Azriel intended to bring her home. The next two weeks were merely his best argument for why she should let him keep seeing her when they landed stateside again.

He wanted her to belong to him.

[pellucid-constellations]

Reversal

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: When protecting your mate brings out a side you swore to keep hidden, you have to deal with the consequences.

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: Violence, injury, angst, some self-deprecation

a/n: This is loosely based off of this request <3 thank you for sending it!! I hope you enjoy and I also love comments!! ♡

Masterlist ♡

~~

In the heat of battle, there was kindness. 

That was a ludicrous sentiment, and Azriel had reminded you of that many times, but it was something you believed in. 

War was hot flames and blood and the clashing of metal, but it was also reassurance and soft hands and wisps of healing light. If war was cruel and it stole, you were kind and you gave. 

The first war had been a teacher, guiding you to your role. The second war had been reinforcement, showing you what it meant to be the Night Court’s healer. And then you thought you were done—done with attempting the impossible. 

But then Beron took a stance that no one could foresee, and you were not done. 

With the soldiers of Autumn Court came an impenetrable heat, and it was your job to quell the scars that plagued Rhysand’s frontlines. You were the one set to heal the broken and save the damned, and you were the one set to protect the court with kindness. 

It was awful work. 

Azriel was always quick to agree. 

Your mate hated these wars more than you did, and that was an almost impossible feat. Azriel was never close to you in the throes of battle. There was always a cluster of shadows on your trail, but he could never be there himself. You knew it ate away at him, distracting him when he was supposed to be zeroed in on the enemies. 

But, you had reminded him as he held you close in the tent the night before, you hadn’t died yet, and maybe you’d never die from a war. Maybe you weren’t destined to. 

He had only pulled you closer at that, pressed his lips to your head as his wings hid you from the camp that made far too much noise. He held you so tightly you felt his pulse on the skin of your cheek and you pretended you were back at home. 

Because although you were the kindness within the war, you wanted to go home. 

Gods, did you want to go home. 

Flames raced along the outskirts of the blue shield that had enveloped you the moment your knees hit the ground beside the unconscious Illyrian soldier. They pushed and pried, trying to force their way past your mate’s protection as you trained your attention on the wound marring the soldier’s skin. 

Azriel would protect you. 

He always did, even when he couldn’t be beside you. 

“I’m… going to die,” the male beneath your hands huffed out, a line of sweat at his brow. 

“No,” you assured. “No, you’re going to be okay. I just need a few more moments.” 

You couldn’t see what was making him so assuredly pessimistic—couldn’t see the way the flames were creating cracks in the shimmering blue light. They were covering every inch of the shield, making the air in the circle red with heat and promised death. 

You noticed a moment too late. 

It was unbearable, the suffocating fire. You threw your body over the soldier as if that would make a difference, arms and shoulders wrapping over his head as your leathers scorched and your lungs burned. The male screamed, his legs thrashing. You wanted to replicate the sound, but you were kindness. Kindness did not scream. 

It ended as abruptly as it began, flames dissipating into blackened embers. You felt a crack in the bond during the disappearance, Azriel’s fear and rage embedding itself into the golden thread connecting you. That, too, ended as abruptly as it began; Azriel shut his side down, saving you from the ravaging emotions. 

You whipped around to search for him, eyes up towards the sky. You found him quickly, with a practiced eye. You’d looked for him in every room you’d entered for almost your entire life. It was easy to find Azriel. As easy as breathing. 

That breath was stolen from you the moment your gaze locked on his form.

He was falling. 

He had charged—alone—into the group that was to blame for your injuries, for the flames that had almost consumed you, and now he was falling. 

He was falling and he wasn’t conscious. 

You think you screamed, but that couldn’t be right. Screaming led to panicked patients, and panicked patients led to worse outcomes. Your screams were not welcomed in war. 

You tugged at the bond, desperate to rouse him into saving himself. But it was no use; he was plummeting to the ground and there was nothing you could do. 

When you looked back on it later—when it fizzled as dim memories within your dreams—your actions would become more clear. You’d remember that you stood up, and then the ground shook. That the years of training required to be a field healer included so much more than twisting bursts of soothing light. 

And something within you had awoken that day, the moment you saw wakefulness leave Azriel’s being… something that was not kindness or giving or calm. 

It was rage. 

A piece of you recognized that Azriel had been caught. Cassian’s wings had most likely ached from the speed with which he dove to catch his brother, but both members of your family were safe. Harmed, but safe. Not dead.  

Your rage didn’t care. 

Something deep within you snapped, and light was pouring from the tips of your fingers. It wasn’t the same hue that healed. It was darker; a hungry red. 

The enemies from the sky fell. 

When those on the ground saw the damage you had inflicted, you became their target. And fine, let them, because this power coursing through you had no sense of who was to blame for your mate’s injuries. To you, everyone was a threat. Everyone was to blame. 

With a practiced grace, tainted by years of disuse, you attacked. The scene was cloaked in a red hue. Fae after fae charged at you, but it was all fruitless. You felt pain, injuries covering your skin, but it was all muted by the overwhelming desire to end this. To somehow soothe the ache you felt from watching your mate fall.

Time became obsolete. 

Morals became blurred. 

You were a machine, a complete reversal from the position you had assumed all those years ago.  

“Y/n!” 

Through the fog, a scream.

“Y/n, stop!” 

Another far away call. 

“It’s done. It’s over. Stop. Look at me and stop.” 

Something was pressing against your cheeks. It was firm and grounding and the focus returned to your gaze. 

“That’s it. Look at me, y/n.” 

Cassian. When all was righted, Cassian stood in front of you, his posture hunched as he leaned down to catch your eyes. He was dirty and his leathers were torn, but all you could focus on was the panicked frenzy marring his face. 

When he spoke next, the words were no longer accompanied by the incessant buzzing that had invaded your ears. “You with me, sweetheart?” 

Your lips felt numb. 

“Give me a nod or something. Az will kill me if you go catatonic on us.” 

“I’m okay,” you whispered, voice rough. “Azriel, he—” 

“He’s here.” Cassian turned your head in his hands, showing you the shadowsinger propped up against a dirt bank. “That self-sacrificing idiot is fine.” 

He wasn't fine, not really. His breaths were labored and his hand clutched at his side with a shaky grip. You wanted to move towards him, to try and take away some of his pain, but your legs were stuck. Everything was stuck and you couldn't move. 

It didn’t matter, anyway. When your eyes trailed up from his body, the look on his face would have deterred you from even speaking to him. He looked… horrified. Hazy eyes blinked across the battlefield—the one you decimated—and they shut just as fast. They squeezed shut, clamping down so tightly it looked like it hurt. Azriel seemed to shiver at the carnage. 

When your chest heaved at the realization, your body seemed to shut down. You felt your legs give out first, heard the curse shot out by Cassian, and felt the hands pressing to your back as your mind gave way to unconsciousness. 

~~

When you woke, the heaviness in your body was not entirely physical. 

There were, of course, a few broken bones. You could feel the aches and pains from battle and knew that you hadn’t gotten away unscathed, but that was all manageable. Fae healing was fast-acting and you would be fine within a few days. 

But it wasn’t the physical pain keeping you from opening your eyes.

It was the reminder of Azriel’s face. 

The disgust written into his features. 

You were supposed to be his antithesis.

When Azriel came home at the end of a day, he was supposed to be comforted by your warmth and softness. You were kindness and light and graceful silence. You were a healer, granting life, and he was an angel of death. 

Before you had met him, that had not been the truth. You were a healer, yes, but you were a field healer. The continent you hailed from prided themselves in being both the saviors of life and the bringers of death. You were to be the judgment—deciding who received which fate. 

But then you met Azriel, and with him came balance. With him came the need to be only one part of you. 

So you hid away the side of you meant to be cruel. You trained softly in self-defense only and you shied away from the instinct to protect with fists and power. 

And you loved the way he looked at you because of it. 

You loved the soft eyes and silent laughs; the tender way he held you and the sweet way he brushed his lips to your innocent skin. He coveted you, protected you, and you were the one he sought comfort in. 

You were his mate, his equal, his mirror. 

You wished your eyes could remain shut forever. 

“Will she wake up soon?”

Mor, you could deduce. 

“The healers said there was no way to know. She… Gods, Mor, you should have seen her out there. I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

Cassian. 

“I wish I had been there. It sounds like she kicked some ass,” Mor smugly replied. 

Cassian huffed out a laugh. “That’s an understatement.” A pause. “It was more than just that though. It was like she was using her healing in a different way. She cleared the field in front of her. There’s no way that just… came out of her.” 

“You know what the mating bond does to people. What it can unleash.” 

“I get that. But it looked natural for her. It looked practiced.” 

You heard Mor sigh. A hand brushed against the top of yours, taking it into a soft grip. 

“I just hope she's alright,” Mor murmured. 

“She has to be.” 

~~

When you awoke next, it was alone. You had been fighting sleep for what you assumed to be the better part of a day and decided that was enough. Eventually, you had to face the consequences of your actions.

You swung your feet over the side of the cot, feeling surprisingly rested and well despite the few pains shooting along your limbs. You took hesitant steps towards the mouth of the tent, propping open the canvas billowing in the wind before taking a more confident step onto dirt and rocks. 

“Good, you’re up.” It was Rhysand who spotted you first. “Just in time for our debrief.” 

The casualness with which he spoke left you disoriented. The High Lord only blinked at you, a small, impassive smile on his face as he waited for you to take the arm he had outstretched. Your mouth parted as if to speak, but nothing was coming out. 

“I know you’re recovering, y/n, but I need my best at this meeting,” he encouraged, elbow jutting towards you. “Come. We’ll speak and then we’ll return to Velaris. We will go home.” 

Your reservations were odd when you compared them to the understanding on Rhys’s face. He wasn’t upset or disgusted or angry; the High Lord’s smile turned up at the corner of his mouth and his expression spoke of sympathy, as if he already knew about the turmoil raging within you. 

“Azriel—” 

“Is there already. Unhappy, but there.” 

Unhappy. 

Of course. 

Who would want a mate that ravaged battlefields? 

Your lip quivered, but you bit it to stop the emotion from showing. “Right,” you nodded, and you let Rhys guide you to the large tent in the middle of the camp. 

It was full; you had to push your way in to meet the rest of your court. Azriel was the only one seated amongst them, and you could tell by the twitch of his wings that he had been placed in that chair begrudgingly. 

Your eyes skated across his for a fleeting moment. You were quick to turn away, focusing on the material of Rhys’s jacket as he stopped in the corner of the tent. 

There was a faint tug on the bond, muted by the wall you had erected. You thought about letting it down, but you were scared of what you’d feel. Azriel was a good male; good enough to attempt to hide the revulsion he was feeling. 

But you’d be able to parse it out the second you dropped your mental shield. 

You kept your eyes forward as the high lords spoke around the tent. The large table in the center was covered in maps and wooden pegs and you flowed in and out of focus as treaties and strategies and plans all mingled in the space. 

Another tug at the bond. 

Another shield placed around your mind. 

“And what of her?” 

Rhys took a step in front of you, covering half of your body from view. “What of her?” he countered, a calmness in his tone as he replied to the High Lord of Spring. 

Tamlin raised a brow. “Are we just supposed to ignore that your ‘healer’ is a danger to all of our courts?” 

“You are a fool,” Feyre spat out, hands splayed on the table. 

“She is a weapon,” Tamlin seethed, finger jutting out towards you. 

You flinched, and the room exploded in shadows. 

You heard several gasps, a few weapons being unsheathed, but over everything was the low rumble of Azriel’s voice. 

“Don’t speak of her as if she is an object,” he threatened. “Don’t speak of my mate at all.” 

“Reign in your dog,” Tamlin spat, but that only spurred on the hostility in the room. 

A chair screeched back, crashing against wood as loud, reverberating footsteps echoed in the otherwise silent tent. No one made a sound. Some of the shadows gave way, retreating to wind around your body, and you were met with the scene across the table. 

“I will show you a weapon, High Lord,” Azriel promised, chest-to-chest with Tamlin. 

The sight made you sick. 

Azriel was a protector. You were used to that truth. But before, things were different. Before, he was protecting you while you were still pure, still innocent in his eyes. 

Now, it was after. After you had killed and killed for him. After he had hurtled to the ground and awoken to find the death his mate had caused. And he was still protecting you, defending you, despite it all. 

Were you really worth this? 

You were worth it before. 

Now, you weren’t so sure. 

On shaking legs, you shouldered your way out of the tent, breath caught in your lungs. The ringing from the battlefield returned to your ears, blocking out the conversations starting in your absence. The shadows stayed with you, twirling with alarm and flowing through your hair in an attempt to gain your attention. 

A weapon. That explained you well—the ability to save lives and take them away. If they all considered you a weapon, where would you go? By Tamlin’s logic, being locked away would be best. 

Maybe that was best. 

You wondered what Azriel would think was best—where his weapon of a mate belonged. Because it was certainly no longer in the calmness of the home you shared. 

Your shaking continued as you brought your hand up to your forehead. Azriel did that sometimes, when you were panicked or anxious or scared. He’d place his scarred touch on your forehead and lean your head up to grant you more air. He’d follow with his lips and then pull you into his arms, but you knew none of that was coming. 

So you leaned forward and felt the sobs creeping up your chest to take the place of air. Your knees fell to the dirt and you collapsed into the feeling of your family, love, life changing forever. 

Until the shadows retreated. 

You glanced up when their swishing stopped and found another pair of knees pressing to yours in the dirt. The leathers covering them were fresher than yours, cleaner, but they were also wrapped in bandages and stabilizers that matched the ones along their ribs and stomach. 

Another crane of your neck and Azriel was leaning down to catch your gaze, mouth parted. Maybe he’d been speaking for a while; the buzzing made it impossible to know. 

“Are you alright, my love?” he asked, low and so, so concerned. Much more concerned than you deserved. Much more gentle than he had spoken in the tent. 

And all you could think to say was, “I’m sorry,” and you sobbed out the words with gut-wrenching sincerity. 

“I’m sorry, Azriel. I’m so sorry. I never meant—I never wanted this—“

Azriel shushed you, his fingers working to guide your hair away from your face. You felt selfish for needing that from him as his body was bandaged and his wings were wrapped. 

“I’m sorry I’m not who you thought I was. That I’m a monster. You were just falling so fast and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn't stop it,” you gasped out, giving in to your instincts as you grappled at the material of Azriel’s shirt. “I wanted to protect you and there was nothing I could do. You’re supposed to feel safe with me and I’ve ruined everything.” 

With each word came more tears and more heaving breaths. Azriel held you through each of them, his hands firm at your elbows, his head shaking as you laid everything before him. Occasionally, your name fell from his lips in a soft whisper, but he never interrupted you. 

“I’m not supposed to be this person to you. I’m supposed to be all of the good parts, and now I’m—now I’m someone else and you can’t—you’re not going to love all of the parts and—”

“Look at me, angel,” Azriel softly interrupted, sliding his fingers along your hairline, his eyes searching every inch of your face. When your gaze snapped to his, a bittersweet smile graced his pretty features. “There she is.” 

A hysterical laugh left you, your emotions mingling with his as the bond flowed freely between you. You didn’t have the energy or willpower to block him out anymore. A rush of relief was sent through you as Azriel realized the opening. 

“You are not a monster.” Azriel’s whisper was so clear, so close. “And I love every part of you, y/n. Especially the part I saw on that field. You saved me—protected our court and family. How could I not love that?” 

“I saw your face,” you whispered back, the words brushing Azriel’s lips as your foreheads met. “You looked—”

“I looked disappointed in myself.” 

“In yourself?” 

Azriel brought both hands to your cheeks. “I lead you to that carnage. Y/n, I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to take that load for you… to shoulder that burden.” 

“You aren’t… disgusted by me?” 

“My love, I love you more. What you did for me… you’re so strong. Cassian told me how amazing you were. Why have you never told me?” 

You shifted back on your knees, blinking under Azriel’s adoring, forgiving gaze. The shadowsinger didn’t let you get far, however, sliding his hands down your jaw, your shoulders, and settling on the tops of your thighs. 

Touching you, it seemed, was imperative. 

“When we were mated,” you began, tears still lingering in your throat. “I was new to Prythian—new to having a family. Everyone kept telling me that we were equals in opposite. They said I was a blessing from the cauldron to be so different from you but so in love. And then you… you called me things like peace and safety and calm. I saw the work you did and I knew I couldn’t tell you what I was trained for. Being a healer was enough.” 

The hands on your thighs tense. Azriel’s shadows pooled beneath you, swirling like a puddle of darkness. 

“I never meant for you to hide,” he murmured. 

“Azriel—”

“Never, angel. You could burn down the world and you’d still be my peace. You could be a weapon and I’d find my safety in you.” 

He sighed out a disbelieving laugh. 

“I love you,” he affirmed, eyes so sure. “I love you when you heal the broken and I love you when you decimate battlefields.” A small smirk. “I wish I had known about the second half a little sooner. I might not have teased you about your book choices as often.” 

You scoffed, a watery smile finally lighting up your face. “Don’t start.” 

“Should I tell you all the other times I should have been wary? Or maybe all of the reasons Cassian should be afraid now? It seems that’s the only way to get you to smile, and seeing as you are the reason we won the war, you should be doing far more of it.” 

The bond shone within you, bursting with joy as a laugh escaped your lips—a real laugh. The sound was soon smothered by Azriel’s kiss, and you knew things were changing. 

And that was okay. 

[moonlightazriel]

Chapter 8: Truths too hard to speak/// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: At the Hewn City, traumatic memories start to bubble, but thankfully Lucien is there to help.

Word Count: 2,7K

Warnings: Mentions of trauma and anxiety attack.

Notes: This is one of my favorite chapters so far...

Main Masterlist

Worlds Apart Masterlist

Lucien knocked on her door, waiting to escort her to the living room. He heard the rustling of the fabrics on the other side, a loud thud and a string of curses following right after, making him giggle. She opened the door, and the two stood there for at least a minute in silence, looking at each other.

She wore a beautiful sparkly dress, like the stars hung from her body, hair in curls over her shoulder, some eyeliner and red lipstick. Earrings with a deep blue stone matching her eyes, high heels that made her a considerate few inches taller, almost just as tall as him. She pressed her hands over the fabric, her claws in display, it made her feel safer with this new outfit.

“Does it look okay?” She asked and Lucien could see the insecurity in her eyes. Gently grabbing one of her hands, he lifted it to his lips, placing a chaste kiss.

“You look beautiful.” She blushed under his gaze and he let go of her hand, spinning in place. “How do I look? A good match for such a beautiful companion?”

Lucien looked good wearing green, but he looked so mysterious in black. A pair of very tight pants and dark brown leather boots, a sleeveless black tunic with golden details to it. His hair was parted on the side, one cascaded over his shoulder in soft waves and the other side was braided, braids glued to his scalp and following the length of his hair, golden accessories adorned the braids.

“You might want to change, or I'm sure the healers of that place will be busy all night tending to the fainting females.” Lucien laughed, his chest moving with it.

“Then we shall give them a good show.” Y/N nodded and the two headed for the living room together.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Cassian kept rambling about the same problems in the war camps while Azriel lazily sipped on his wine, the sweet grapery taste making the night a bit more unbearable. Elain was distant, he didn’t have the balls to talk about their relationship with her, and he was still thinking about what the whole ordeal with the dreams and the witch meant.

He took another sip, the liquid going down the wrong pipe as Y/N stepped in the living room with Lucien, she looked like a goddess. Her waist hugged by the dress in a way that left his fingers itching to touch her. Her breasts spilling from it, making his mouth water. She held Lucien in an iron grip, like she was afraid of showing herself to them.

“I knew you would look so hot.” Nesta squealed, running towards her and pulling her in for a hug, Azriel thanked her mentally for pulling the female away from Lucien for him.

“Says you, if Cassian doesn't watch out, I might steal you from him.” She joked, making Nesta blush. Cassian immediately got up, pulling Nesta towards him by the waist, a wing protectively wrapping around her.

“Just over my dead body.” He joked back, gasping as Nesta slapped her way out of the cocoon.

“I would never destroy such a beautiful couple.” She lifted her hands in the air.

“You look really good.” Feyre intervened. “But it’s time to go.” She felt a pair of eyes burning holes on her side, slowly locking eyes with Azriel before Feyre winnowed them away.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

The Hewn City was inside a mountain, making her shiver with the thoughts of Morath, and those dungeons that if it wasn’t for Asterin and Manon managing to reallocate her to the Ferian Gap, she would be still stuck, her corpse underneath the rocks as Kaltain Rompier exploded the place.

Lucien felt her shiver, placing a friendly hand on the small of her back, heat emanated from where he touched her, making her go still and bask in the feeling to calm herself down. She wasn’t down there, Morath didn’t exist anymore, they had won the war and she was safe.

“Are you okay?” He whispered in her ear as he felt her steps faltering.

“Places like this bring memories I don't particularly enjoy.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll be fine.”

“If you feel like it’s too much, just say the words and I'll take you somewhere else.” He reassured her.

“Thank you, Lucien. You’re an amazing friend.” The male smiled at her, and the door opened. Rhysand and Feyre entered first, followed by Nesta and Elain, then Azriel and Cassian, lastly by the two of them.

Faes gathered around in a ballroom, bowing to their leaders. Lucien held her by the side of her waist, as she still shivered, feeling the walls closing on her. Rhysand’s voice commanded them to rise and enjoy the feast. A few of them approached his throne, wanting to talk to him.

Y/N watched with curiosity as a male approached her and Lucien instead, he looked like an older version of the male by her side. Red hair falling to his forehead and an undercut. His eyes danced around the figure of his brother and the unknown female for a while.

“Brother.” He nodded his head, eyes quickly turning to Y/N. “And who’s this beautiful lady?”

“Y/N Blackbeak.” She introduced herself.

“Eris Vanserra, delighted to meet you, my lady.” He bowed his head a little, his tone slow and sensual in a flirting manner. That male reeked of confidence, he knew he was beautiful and took advantage of that to his own gain. A lazy smirk formed on his face.

“Look at them, all over her like a bunch of hungry foxes.” Azriel mumbled angrily and Cassian leaned onto him, patting his shoulder.

“What did you say, brother? Couldn’t hear you over the sound of your jealousy.” Azriel shoved Cassian to the side, prompting the male to laugh. “I know she’s the female of your dreams and shit, but you still have a real female to deal with.” He nodded towards Elain.

She had barely spoken to him, and he hadn’t made any efforts to talk to her either. He looked over at her, her arms crossed over her chest and a frown as she watched the three talk. He turned his gaze back to the female surrounded by the two autumn princes, she had her nails digging the skin of Lucien’s arm and her eyes scanned the crowd uncomfortably.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“I can try, but I don't promise I'll succeed.” Eris said. Lucien and her had told him a very shortened version of what had happened and who she was, the male had agreed to help find whatever information he could back in the Autumn Court. Under the condition that he and Lucien met more often.

Eris missed his brother everyday, ever since he sneaked Lucien away to Spring. They tried exchanging letters but it was too risky, Beron had almost caught them a couple of times and things wouldn’t end up well if he discovered them. Lucien had immediately agreed to this, he also missed his brother dearly and was willing to do anything to mend their relationship to what it was when they were kids.

“Thank you for risking yourself, i have a debt with you, whatever you need, i’ll be there to help and clear my debt with you.” Y/N nodded, and the male shook her hand in a mutual agreement, he would help her and she would help him in return.

“See you around, brother.” He said, giving a pat on his shoulder and leaving towards the throne Rhysand and Feyre still sat.

“Do you want to dance?” Lucien asked, and Y/N found herself agreeing, why not? Everything to take her mind away from the fact she was trapped underground and the building anxiety.

This was different from the library, maybe it was because of the atmosphere, because of the threatening aura surrounding the people, the harsh gazes and the gossip. But this place looked exactly like Morath and she didn’t like that one bit.

She let Lucien guide the way to the dancefloor, one of his hands placed on the small of her back and the other holding her hand. Music filled the space, making people dance. He spun her around, their feet moving in synchrony. She hated that she knew how to dance because Ruvyn had taught her, but she closed her eyes, reminding herself that this was different.

Lucien kept guiding the dance, his hands held her waist, spinning her in the air, making the fabric of her dress fly around them. People stopped to watch the two of them dancing, the muscles of his arms contracting as he lifted her once more. Lucien looked at her with care and admiration, he was glad he had met her, a true friend.

The dance ended too soon, and Lucien excused himself to go get something for them to drink, leaving her alone on the dance floor. Someone bumped on her, and then she felt cold fingers wrapping themselves around her arm, forcing her to look at the unknown male.

“Come.” He commanded. “Dance with me.”

But the rest of his phrase fell to deaf ear, as her vision got blurry and suddenly she was back to that horrible place, the guard smirking disgustingly at her, his black eyes piercing her in place before he started to drag her towards the lower levels of Morath, to where those witches never got away from.

She heard the screams and saw the witches laying with their big bellies, forced to breed demons. It was going to happen to her, being locked there forced to conceive their babies for them. But then Manon came, flanked by Asterin and Sorrel, telling the guard that Y/N was being solicited by Duke Perrington to go to the Ferian Gap and prepare the witches there.

The male had quickly shut the door so the three wouldn’t see what was inside, and she was too stunned, too afraid to even say anything. He had shoved her against Manon, who quickly handed her back to Asterin. They stayed with her until she and her alliance were mounted on their wyverns and heading back to Ferian.

Y/N pushed the male, his hands burning her skin, she turned back on her heels, feeling her eyes heavy with tears, bumping against Lucien on the way to anywhere.

“Please, take me out of here.” She had begged, clinging to his tunic with both hands. The male nodded, grabbing her hands and pulling her with him towards one of the empty offices nearby.

Elain saw them leaving, their hands intertwined as Lucien urged them outside. She hadn't even registered that she was moving, but in quick steps she was close to him, her hands clutching his biceps harshly. He stopped, whipping his head towards her.

“Don’t leave with her.” Elain asked and Lucien’s face changed to a serious one.

“Not now, Elain.” He said, removing her hand and getting out of the door.

It stung, crushing her heart, tears welled in her eyes as she watched her mate leave with another female to do Mother knows what. Azriel was by her side in a second, pulling her closer to him, but he was not the one she wanted, so with tear filled eyes, she turned to him.

“We need to talk.” Azriel just nodded, escorting her out of the ballroom.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Lucien kneeled in front of her, holding her face in between his hands, his thumbs wiping her tears as he guided her into breathing normally again. He had seen the male grabbing her, ready to tell him off when she bumped into him. The first empty office was where he had shoved her, locking the door behind him.

She was hyperventilating when he turned to her, squatting on the floor, hugging her own frame and shaking like a leaf in the wind. She had begged him to not let her end up like the others before she started to cry. He sat on the floor, pulling her against his chest, while she sobbed. He had no idea how long they sat there, in silence.

“The Matron always hated the bond I had with Asterin.” Her hoarse voice sounded, Lucien kept quiet. “It wasn’t something she had planned, neither something she could control, and she hated not being in control.” She pushed away from him, sitting in front of him with her knees pressed to her chest.

“She tried for years to destroy it and never could. I carry the marks of her attempts and Asterin did too. When we went to Morath, she chose me as one of their incubators. The witches that were chosen never saw the daylight again. They bred them somehow, and the same was about to happen with me if it wasn’t for Manon and Asterin going to Duke Perrington himself and telling him I would be of better use somewhere else.”

“I hate places like this cuz they remind me of what was about to happen to me, the sight of those witches, laying there. It’s something I'll never be able to forget, as hard as I try to…” Lucien couldn’t imagine the absolute terror of knowing your body would be used to carry babies until you finally died.

“I have no words to tell you how sorry I am that this happened to you.” He started. “I can’t imagine being put in that position, but you are safe now, nothing like this will ever happen to you again, you have my word.” Lucien promised, holding her hand in his. She looked at him, closing her eyes for a moment.

“You have my eternal gratitude for everything you’ve done for me in these past few days.” Lucien could live happily with that.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“What is wrong?” Azriel had sat on one of the plush chairs of the empty office while Elain paced around in the room, the motion making Azriel dizzy.

“I don’t even know how to tell you this…” She began and deep in his heart he knew what was coming and despite expecting this sooner or later, it wasn’t less painful.

“You love him, don’t you?” He asked and she stopped on her tracks, her sweet brown eyes carrying a storm of despair in them.

“I don’t know.” She breathed.

“Please, don’t lie.” He rubbed his temples and Elain swallowed past the lump on her throat.

“I do.” He closed his eyes, letting the words sink in his heart, and it hurt, not as much as he thought hearing them would, but it hurt still. “Seeing him with her, and what she told me… I can’t keep lying to you neither to myself.”

“What did she tell you?” He asked and Elain sat in front of him.

“Either I claim him as is my right as his mate, or I let him go. I have pondered her words everyday since that day and she is right, but the thing is…” She took another deep breath. “I can’t let him go, I don't want to let him go. I refused him because I thought he would just be another thing forced down my throat, but he respected my boundaries, never tried to force anything I wasn't comfortable with, he even went away to the other side of the world to give me space and…” She stopped once more, tears falling down her eyes. “And I love him and I want to get to know him, open up my heart to him and accept him as my mate.”

Azriel was quiet, absorbing her words with care. He felt happy she felt comfortable enough to share them with him, he loved her like a friend, he knew that now, and all he could ask for was her happiness, whoever she chose.

“Thank you for being honest, thank you for loving me.” She got up, wrapping her hands around his neck and bringing him in for a hug.

“Thank you for helping me heal and showing me that I own my destiny and my life.” He smiled sadly at her.

“Are we still going to be friends?” He asked and she nodded.

“Of course, I would hate not having you in my life.” He hummed in agreement. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, go ahead.” Elain cleared her throat.

“Do you have feelings for her? I see how you look at her, it’s different. It’s yearning for something.”

“Honestly?” Elain nodded her head. “I have no idea.” And he was sincere in every word.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Taglist: @fieldofdaisiies @blackgirlmagicforever @a-frog-with-a-laptop @going-through-shit @asweetblueberry2

@roses-r-red54330 @mis-lil-red @sheblogs @hibye02 @impossibelle

@glitterypirateduck @zeroangelo13 @sekiro1310 @nelapeach14 @annamariereads16

@just-here-reading @celestialend @donttellthecats @scatteredstardustt @snoopyspace

@asterinblacksword @tsumudoll @georginat12 @skyjasper @anuttellaa

@willowpains @quinzzelx @amysangel @fightmedraco @puttyly

@lees-chaotic-brain @thisblogisaboutabook @esposadomd @stained-glass-eyes0708 @brujitafantomatico

@a-cup-of-nightshade

[jeannineee]

Kinktober Day Four: Wax Play

Eris Vanserra x Reader

a/n: day four of kinktober!! If you wanna be added to the tag list, comment below or message me

warnings: wax play, smut obvi, slight dom/sub dynamics, cockwarming

No matter how many times you had sex with Eris, it always took a moment for you to grow used to his size.

You bucked your hips as Eris trailed his lips along your jaw, your neck, savoring the feeling of his cock buried inside you. That feeling was short lived as he pulled out of you suddenly, and rose from the bed to search the nightstand.

Eris grinned at the scowl that painted your face. “Patience, love. I want to try something different.”

Despite your annoyance, you remained on your back.

The annoyance quickly waned into anticipation as Eris returned to his position between your legs, a red candle in hand. The two of you moaned as he slid back inside you, stretching you perfectly.

“Stay still for me,” Eris said as he summoned a small flame to his forefinger. “Or else I’ll have to tie you up.”

Eris’s breath hitched as your cunt tightened around him. He lit the candle in his hand, allowing the wax to melt a bit.

You fought the urge to move your hips as he remained inside you, unmoving. “Eris—“

“It’s alright. Just relax, love,” Eris murmured, before tipping the candle over your tummy.

You whimpered as the wax made contact with your skin—hot, but not unbearably so. Your cunt clenched in response, earning a low curse from Eris.

“So pretty,” Eris praised, before dripping the wax over your breasts.

You whined as he did so, back arching as the wax trickled onto a nipple. “Eris, fuck,”

The warmth from the wax, coupled with the feeling of him inside you had your arousal dripping onto the bedsheets. Your walls squeezed around him each time the wax made contact with your skin.

“I could keep you just like this,” Eris murmured, almost to himself as he allowed the wax to spill over your other nipple. He gave you one slow, deep thrust, before stilling again.

“Please move,” you mewled, swirling your hips in an attempt to get more friction.

Eris ignored your pleas, instead hovering the candle above your thighs, allowing some of the wax to drip over your soft skin. “You can take it, love.”

You knew he’d keep you like that for a long while.

taglist: @azriels-shadowsinger @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @bbycowboi @ghostofnightcrawlerpast @fendyr @thegirlintheshadows101 @icey--stars @exoahgasebby @cassiefromhell @missusbarnes-rogers @danikamariewrites @cmay25 @anpacax0 @georgiastars13 @hannzoaks @impossibelle @harrystylesfan2686 @bookishbroadwaybish @girl-who-writes-stuff @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @iron-collector-traveler

[redheadspark]

Can a pls request an azriel fic with 5 and 14 June summer prompts together cause I think they could match in very like reader!shyxazriel!more suggestive kind of theme. ❤️🥺

A/N - I think this is beyond cute for Azriel! Thanks for requesting this, anon!

Perfection

Summary - Azriel's hands were always gentle, even when using sunscreen

Warnings - Just some fluff for Azriel :)

“We’re putting lotion on you this time, Az,”

“Not wanting to see your mate with a sunburn again, I take it?”

Azriel chucked a towel over to Cassian to hit him on the head, Cassian chuckling as your mate was now focusing on you and the sunscreen in your hands.  You were already lathering your palms to use on his backside, the cool water beneath you as you were all sitting together out on a dock that was stretched out into Rhsyand’s private bay.  

The summer heat finally arrived, plenty of citizens in Velaris were wishing to go swimming to cool off since some of the time the sun was a bit unbearable to deal with.  Rhysand and Feyre were out of town, up in the mountains with Nyx for the weekend at their cabin.  Since the rest of the Inner Circle was staying behind to keep an eye on the city, Rhysand gave you all free access to his private bay where he would go sailing and get his own personal shipments from other Courts.  You all have used it a few times, merely to cool off and take the edge off with the hot sun.  

This day was just the same.  

It was you, Azriel, Cassian and his mate Nesta, and Mor.  Elaine was wanting to work on her garden at her home with Lucien, not wishing to get herself sunburned as well.  You never minded the sun since you were used to working out in the fields at your old farm.  You also loved to swim, with plenty of places to swim in Velaris you always found yourself swimming and dunking your head over water. 

“Alright, let me see your back and get your covered,” You hummed to your mate, watching him turn his backside to you and stretch his wings out a bit for your to get to his skin and backside.  The muscles rippled under his skin as his arms moved and his wings went wide, the membrane of his wings were illuminated by the sun.  Once you had some of the lotion on your hands at the ready, you were starting from the top of his shoulders and working your way down to get every inch of skin.  Azriel almost hummed in content, the softness of your fingers along his tanned back and the cooling lotion bringing him some relief.

Azriel had one bad incident when it came to being in the sun for too long.  He was used to be out and about with his Spymaster business and working with the soldiers at the Illryian training camp.  But most of the time the sun would be hiding behind the clouds or it would be too cold for him to be affected.  It wasn’t until alt summer when you two went out to the beach in the outskirts of town when he got a nasty sunburn.  

You felt terrible, tending to him as he was stiff as a board with pain along his skin.  Once you made it back to the Townhouse, you gave him After Sun Lotion and gave him lost of water to drink as he was laying on his stomach in your room, unable to move.  Although he reassured you that he was fine, you still felt it was your fault since you weren’t prepared to get sunburned that bad.  

So this time you made sure to pack plenty of sunscreen, even after he rolled his eyes when he saw you pack it in your day bag.  

“Almost done,” You informed Azriel as you were now at the middle of his back, feeling the tense and hard muscles under his fingers.  Azriel just grinned and flexed a bit more, almost as if he was showing off for you.  You giggled, lightly smacking him on the arm, “Hold still!”

“Don’t forget the wings!” Cassian joked as he was now in the water, splashing away while his mate was still on the dock with her feet dangling in the water and her nose in a book.  She was wearing a massive sunhat to block the sun from her eyes, but you saw the small smirk on her face from hearing Cassian joke with your mate. 

“Can’t contain yourself in the water, can you?” Azriel asked in a joking tone to Cassian, whom just rolled his eyes and dived under the water for a brief moment.  You then were at his lower back, getting along his hips and finally got it all covered.  Azriel then turned around, tucked his wings in along his backside, and gave you a peck on the lips, “Thank you, my love.  You turn?”

“Of course,” You replied, turning your back on Azriel as he gathered lotion in his own hands.  You were watching the horizon along the ocean that was right in front of you as Azriel started from the bottom, making you shiver as he chuckled.  The lotion did feel cool like a soothing balm, you leaning forward a bit in relief as Azriel kissed your shoulder.

“Easy there,” He joked, you just smiling as he massaged along your lower back and started his ascent.  Taking his time, he made sure every inch of your skin was being covered and lathered, it felt like he was polishing you like he was polishing Truth Teller or another piece of weaponry.  He was always about precision, and not just in his spying or fighting skills.  He was precise with every single thing: making his bed in the morning, how he made his food and beverage.  So him placing the lotion on his mate was the same as always, precise movements with no sense of imperfection. 

When he was halfway up, he was also massaging along your spine, his thumb finding the right pressure points to make you melt to the floor.  HIs fingers were grazing along the thin straps of your swimsuit that he brought you for the summer, thinking you would look beautiful in it as he gave it to you for your birthday.  Of course, when you saw the piece in the box it was wrapped in, you blushed madly.  But Azriel kissed the top of your head, telling you how beautiful you would look in midnight blue along your skin.

“You look wonderful in this swimsuit,” Azriel murmured to you as he was scanning the suit that you were wearing, “This color does make your hair look lighter,”

“Glad I picked it out for you,” Mor joked as she walked by on the dock, smacking Azriel lightly on the head with her book as Azriel gave her a playful glare.  You giggled from hearing her, seeing her wink at you as she walked by to drop her book next to your leg and slip into the water herself.  Azriel’s hands were still moving and working into your back, getting some of the knots and tight spots that you knew were there from years of labor and working in the field.

Azriel met you after you sold your farm to your Uncle to get some more in your pocket.  You were glad the farm was staying in the family, but you were in need of a change of scenery and you never wished to work on the farm for all your life.  You learned how to work hard of your money, never taking things for granted or waste a dollar on something unimportant.  When you and Azriel met and found to be mates instantly after your first conversation, you knew your life changed for the better.  

He made sure you never had to lift a finger for mundane things, he loved on you constantly and made sure you knew that you were loved and adored by him.  He enjoyed your calming nature and company when he needed it after a stressful day or an unsuccessful mission.  Lastly, when you two had your mating ceremony, he confessed to how you change his life for the better and he would never be the same thanks to you.

He finally made it to the top of your back, caressing your shoulder blades and the bottom of your neck.  Even his scarred hands and palms were beyond soothing and gentle along your skin, as if he was afraid that he would have his scars be imprinted on you through contact.  But they never would, not when he would hold your hand, or caress your face, or wrap his arms around you when you two fell into bed together.  

“Ah, perfection,” He hummed, looking at your backside with a hint of lust but mostly love and affection.  You smiled widely and looked over your shoulder at him, seeing him cock his head at you as he leaned over your shoddier to kiss you gently under the blazing sun.  You both smiled like sunscreen with a hint of sweat, the small flicker of love between the pair of your never diminished over the years.  

“Cool off, you two!” Cassian joked as he splayed water in your direction. You both were splashed, you gasped from how cold it was and Azriel giving him a death glare.  He then moved from you, diving into the water with ease as you watched him and Cassian get into a splashing match.  Watching them splat one other as if they were juvenile youth and had no other care or worry in the world.  

Nesta, looking over her book and both of your mates, just smirked and looked at you.

“Our mate are brutes, aren’t they?” She asked in a light manner.  You nodded in agreement, yet the smile never left your face as Azriel and Cassian were cackling in the water and trying to dunk the other under the waves that were coming in.  

Of course he was a brute, but he was yours and yours alone.

The End.

June Summer Prompts

[miss-shawdowsinger]

Soothing Darkness - Azriel X reader fanfic

Chapter 12

Summary: the aftermath of Azriel and Y/N sleeping together didn't go to plan...

Warnings: SMUT 🥵 Please do not read unless over 18 years of age!! Swearing and violence

AN: All I can say is I'm really sorry 🙈🥵 I hope you are still enjoying reading this story! Let me know what you think ❤️

Chapter 1

---

No interruptions indeed. You had barely slept all night. It was as if you had lost all control of yourself because you couldn’t keep your hands off Azriel. You craved more of him. The ecstasy he could put you through each and every time was addictive. Just the thought of his taste on your lips, his body pressed tightly against yours, him between your legs was enough to set you over the edge.

You woke from a brief rest encased in his wings and arms. His naked body still pressed up against yours. You felt yourself moving before you could register it. Moving your hips backwards into his already hard arousal. He growled in your ear. A sound you had already grown very found of.

“Coffee?” you whispered. He pulled you in tightly against his chest before nodding once. You pried his arms off you, it took all your strength to try and break free but you couldn’t budge him. “If you want a coffee, you need to let go” you laughed.

“I don’t want one that badly” his morning voice was a deep rasp that sent shivers down your spine.

“I’ll come back” you assured him. He begrudgingly let his grip on you go limp and you crawled out of the bed. You quickly grabbed a t-shirt and your underwear, putting it on before making your way over to the kitchen. Glancing over your shoulder to the bed, Azriel was now sat up with one arm resting behind his head. You tried to ignore the growing heat between your legs, the urge to run back and jump on him. His body was incredibly toned, even as he sat so casually.

Taking a shaky breath, you began making the drinks. Fighting the urge to turn around. What was wrong with you? You had never been like this with a male. But no one had ever made you feel the way Azriel did.

As you were about to pour the steaming hot water into the two mugs. You heard Azriel move from the bed, his footsteps getting closer to you. Your breath hitched as you felt his presence behind you. “Forget the coffee” his voice growled in your ear. He moved your hair away from your neck and trailed hot kisses up from your shoulder to your jaw. Your knees nearly buckled as you tilted your head for him.

He moved you to the kitchen table, still standing closely behind you. He tapped your calves with his foot, indicating for you to widen your stance. You swallowed hard before doing as he instructed, just like he had in training. One of his hands held you at your hip while the other pushed your back slightly, leaning you down over the table. You could feel him eyeing you up as you bent over in front of him. He moved his hand from your back and traced his fingertips up your bare thigh, ever so slowly.

You began whimpering. Your growing need for him was getting unbearable. He grazed your core over your laced underwear. “Already, ready for me” Azriel used one finger to pull your underwear to one side. Tracing his fingers lightly through your arousal. You moaned, gripping the edge of the table.

He torturously slowly pushed two of his fingers inside you. You bit your lip to supress the moans as he began pumping in and out of you. But you needed more then just his fingers. You knew he could make you come undone with his fingers alone, but you needed him. With him, you felt more then pleasure. More then anything you could have ever imagined.

“Az, I need you” you moaned as he continued working you. Your torso pressed hard against the table.

“Good girl” Azriel removed his fingers, leaving you feeling empty. You managed to catch your breath before you felt him. He covered himself in your arousal before lining up with your entrance. He thrusted into you, hard. Your breath was taken away as he buried himself inside of you. His body pressed tightly to your ass.

He moved quickly and hard as he pounded into you. One hand gripped your hip as the other snaked round to rub small circles into your small bundle of nerves. Your legs nearly gave way as the pleasure rose up in the pit of your stomach. But Azriel kept you in place. Everything erupted within you. You could barely breath as waves of pleasure swept over you. Azriel kept thrusting as he rode out his own pleasure.

Azriel pulled out of you and swept you up in his arms. Carrying you back to the bed and placing you down softly. You curled up in the sheets as he sat on the edge of the bed catching his breath. “How do you take your coffee?” he smirked as he placed a small kiss to your brow.

“Milk, one sugar” you smiled.

“You better get ready for training while I make them” he softly swept a long strand of hair out of your face before kissing you softly. You fought every urge to pull him down onto the bed. You realised that was why he sat instead of laying down with you. It was already 8:10am and your self-control with one another was questionable after last night and again this morning.

~~

Cassian was waiting for you as you arrived at the training rings. Somehow you managed to get there ten minutes before training had even started. Azriel placed you down softly, holding you until you found your footing. Your legs were slightly wobbly from all the activities of last night.

“Kissed and made up then?” Cassian smirked, his arms crossed over his chest. Azriel shook his head, a small smile ghosting his lips. “Not too sore for training Y/N?” Azriel tensed at Cassian question.

“You are a wind up” you grated.

“Az clearly not up to the job of making it up to you if you are still standing” he continued. His eyes were full of taunt as he stared down Azriel. You looked between the two males. Azriel’s fists were balled up so tightly, his knuckles were white. Cassian began to smile before he said “Maybe someone else could do a better job”.

Azriel lunged forward. His fist colliding with Cassian’s cheek. Cassian was knocked back a couple of steps before he began laughing. He rubbed at his jaw before putting his own fists up and gesturing for Azriel to try again. “Azriel” you shouted but he was gone. A raging trance had taken over him as he lashed out everything he had at Cassian.

“Come on Az, you can do better then that” Cassian spread his wings and launched up into the air. Azriel followed in an instant, without hesitation. You stared up as they disappeared into the distance.

What the hell had just happened? Why did Cassian decide to act like a total prick to his ‘brother’? The sky was cloudless, but you could no longer see the two Illyrians. You kept your eyes fixed on where you had lost sight of them but noises from behind you pulled your attention away. The priestesses and others were beginning to gather at the training rings. How were you going to explain what had just happened? The groups only instructors had flown off, trying to kill each other.

“Where is Cassian?” Nesta approached you.

“I – I don’t actually know” you furrowed your eyebrows. “Him and Azriel just took off” you pointed to the skies. Nesta sniffed the air before narrowing her eyes at you.

“Right” she addressed the group. “Warm up, we will be doing strengthening exercises today”. The group followed her instructions. Falling into the training rings and beginning their warm ups. You began to walk away from her and begin your own warm ups when she stopped you. “Not you” she snarled and gestured you to follow her.

You followed behind Nesta, back into the house. Out of earshot from the rest of the group before she turned to you. “What happened last night?” she crossed her arms as her stare burnt into you. Her jaw was clenched as she monitored your every move.

“What do you mean?” you took a tentative step back.

“You know what I mean” she narrowed her eyes. “You leave my sisters house, refusing to come back to the house of wind with no explanation. Then this morning you reek of Azriel. Cassian and him are nowhere to be seen but you are miraculously here…… I won’t ask again, what happened last night?”.

Your heart was in your mouth as she stared you down. You knew you couldn’t lie, you wouldn’t get out of it this time. Of course she smelt Azriel all over you, you hadn’t had time to have a full bath this morning. “Last night Azriel came to my apartment” you shifted your weight uncomfortably.

“You slept together” Nesta hissed. Your palms were sweaty as you nodded once. “So it’s you. The fae he told my sister about last night?”

“I – What?” you furrowed your brow.

“He told Elain last night that nothing would happen between them. He said he’d met someone…” she paused, looking you up and down. “His mate”. Your eyes snapped up to meet Nesta’s. The colour drained from your skin, leaving you with goosebumps. “Why didn’t you just tell me” Nesta shook her head.

“His what?” your voice rasped, barely above a whisper. Nesta took a step back in surprise before clasping a hand over her own mouth. “His what?” you repeated. Your voice was demanding as your body shook.

“I thought……” she murmured. “Shit, Elain said not to say anything but I just assumed you knew”. You stared at Nesta, unmoving. Could it be possible? Is that what the snap was last night? No. It couldn’t be. You had always thought that if you ever met your mate you would know instantly it was them. Yes, you had always been attracted to Azriel and something about him called out to you but you never thought it would be the mating bond.

“I have to go” you turned on your heels. Adrenaline pumping through your body. You didn’t care how many steps stood between you and your bakery. You needed to leave, and this was your only option.

“Y/N, wait” Nesta called out to you but your heart beating in your ears drowned her out. You reached the staircase and began the decent. Step by step you circled down the staircase. Your mind was racing, through every feeling you had towards Azriel. How long had he been aware? To tell Elain last night, he must have known. Either that or he was making it all up.

Your legs were burning but you didn’t care. Each step brought you closer and closer to your bakery. You didn’t know exactly what you were going to do once you got there but you knew you couldn’t face training. Not now.

Somehow and after a long while you reached the bottom. Your chest was on fire, each breath you took was a struggle. Your legs threatened to buckle with each step you took but you forced them to move. Nearly there, you would remind yourself. The streets of Velaris were beginning to get busier as the day began. You ignored every passer by as you marched down the cobbled walkways.

Azriel was your mate?

He couldn’t be. Could he?

You reached the bakery, rushing inside and slamming the door behind you. You took the steps to your apartment two at a time. The bedsheets were still a mess from where you and Azriel had laid last night. Two coffee mugs still sat next to the kitchen sink. You blinked once, then again. The room smelt of him. The smell filling your nostrils as you took deep breaths. You slumped into one of the chairs next to the fireplace.

You don’t know how long you sat in the chair, staring at the empty fireplace. Every thought crossing your mind all at once. You couldn’t get a grip on your emotions. This morning you had been so incredibly happy. Now, you felt a mixture of happiness, anxiousness, ager, fear and excitement all wrapped into one.

A loud knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts but you decided to ignore it. Instead, you stayed curled up on the chair. Hugging your knees to your chest. Another knock. You stayed quiet, hoping whoever it was would think you weren’t in and leave. Shadows seemed to form in the corner of the room. Swirling as if the darkness was dancing with the light. You watched unflinching as Azriel stepped out of them and into the room. He was covered in sweat and dirt. He had bruises all across his knuckles. His hair was a mess, covering his brow. Looks like the fight with Cassian had been brutal.

“Y/N” he approached you slowly. “Let me explain” he held his hands up in surrender. Nesta must have told him what had happened when they got back to the house.

“Is it true?” you stared at him. His eyes softened as he crouched in front of you. His siphons shone bright blue hues around the room. “Is it true that we are mates?” your voice cracked.

“Yes” his jaw tightened. His hazel eyes met yours.

“How long have you known?” you furrowed your brows. You wanted to be mad at him, you wanted to shout at him, but his presence had a calming influence over you.

“A while” he paused. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. I was hoping you would have felt it by now”.

“How long is a while?” you pressed. “A week? Since Starfall?”. Azriel bowed his head to look at the floor. He sighed deeply and then looked back up at you.

“I had a feeling since the day I met you but it clicked into place for me at Nesta’s winter solstice ball. It was after our dance when Elain stepped in. Something snapped and I didn’t want to let you go” Azriel stared at you, hope in his eyes.

You stood up from the chair and began pacing. Nervous energy getting the better of you. Azriel stood and watched you, not daring to move any closer. “You’ve known all this time and didn’t tell me. Why?” you carried on pacing. You couldn’t look at Azriel, you knew if you did then you would forget how angry you were. You had questions and he needed to answer them. So you concentrated on looking elsewhere, anywhere other then at him.

“I wanted you to make your own decision about me. I didn’t want to force the bond upon you…. I wanted you to care for me on your own terms” his voice didn’t faulter. He was telling the truth.

“And you?” you shook your head. “Without the bond, would you care for me?” you looked at him, standing frozen in your position. This was the question you were most scared of. Your heart was beating uncontrollably in your chest. Each second that went by felt like a lifetime.

“Of course I would” he tensed. “Bond or no bond, I would care for you Y/N. The day you got attacked, I had never felt such fear and anger. Seeing you hurt made me want to do horrible things to every last person in that fucking city” Azriel tensed his fists, his knuckles turning white. “I felt you that night. I wasn’t just out and in the right place at the right time. I felt your fear as my own. I got here as fast as I could. If Rhys hadn’t gotten here as quickly as he had, there is no telling what I would have done” his chest heaved as he recalled the night.

“Your nightmare?” you questioned. “I woke up feeling your fear. I heard you but you weren’t screaming. Was that…?”. Azriel nodded and you took a shaky breath. You felt a sudden tug in your chest towards him. Quickly, you covered your heart with your hand.

“You felt it” Azriel whispered. “The pull of the bond. The first time I felt it was that first day we trained, just the two of us. I felt something pulling me to the training rings. When I saw you there, I couldn’t help but stay. Week in, week out I wanted to be the one to help you. I felt that you needed me” he approached you and you let him. He gently took one of your hands in his.

“I’m scared” you admitted. Along with all the other emotions you felt, fear was by far the biggest. His eyes softened as he caressed your cheek and placed a warm kiss on your brow. “My father and mother shared the mating bond” you swallowed. “My mother said it was a curse. She had no choice but to be with a monster”.

Azriel took a small step away from you. His hazel eyes assessing your own. “Do you think I am a monster?” he asked, his voice nearly breaking.

“No Azriel” you shook your head. That was the farthest thought from your mind. Azriel was no monster, not even close. “I just – I was always told it was something to fear and now I don’t know what to think” a tear rolled down your cheek.

“I would never hurt you Y/N” Azriel wiped the tear away. “Never. I understand it’s a lot to take in but I’m here. I’ll always be here when you need me” he silently promised.

~~

It had been a long morning. You were mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted. You had asked Azriel to give you some space, just for the afternoon. He had excepted without hesitation and agreed to pick you up at the end of the day.

Being left alone with your own thoughts sounded like torcher so you put your mind into your work. You began baking, using new recipes that you had been wanting to try for a long time. The shop was quiet as usual, so you decided to think of new recipes too. Anything to keep your mind from wondering to Azriel.

The usual customers filtered in and out throughout the afternoon. You felt yourself trying to engage them in convocation, which was unusual for you. You wanted to talk to someone. Someone who could tell you about there day. One that wasn’t filled with training or Illyrians. But there was still a quiet gap between customers, ones that filled your thoughts full of him.

It all started to make sense. Why you had been so drawn to him. Why you had heard him scream when no one else had. It had clicked into place last night and you had just brushed it off as the best sex you have ever had. How stupid could you be? Deep down you never thought you would ever meet your mate, never mind it being Azriel.

You were so deep in your own thoughts that you hadn’t even realised that three young fae males had entered your shop. You finally snapped out of your trance to find one of them leaning over your counter, trying to grasp your attention.

“Three of these, sweetheart” the male pointed at what he wanted. You decided to ignore the nickname and proceeded to bag what the male ordered. “Hurry up, I haven’t got all day” the male demanded, earning a snicker from the other two.

You told him the total and he threw the coins at you. They landed at your feet, rolling back onto the shop floor. You breathed a loud and angry breath as the male turned his back to leave. The door opened and the male left the shop, his two friends following behind. You bent down to collect the coins.

You grabbed the last coin when a pair of black leather boots stepped in front of you. Looking up, you could only make out small features of the male stood over you. He had dark brown hair, a crooked nose and bright blue eyes. “I’ll be damned” his voice was familiar, but you couldn’t place it.

You stood up and took a step back, allowing yourself to see the male properly. The male was older then when you last saw him. His features contorted into a smile as he took a step closer to you. Your heart stopped beating as realisation hit you. Your body frozen in place as the male closed in.

“I thought you were dead” the male sneered. Your eyes widened but your limbs failed you. You couldn’t move. “Hello, little sister”.

Chapter 13

[ann-writes-universes]

Archangel (AzrielxReader) Pt. 8

A/N: Oh sweetest torture. Sorry it took so long everyone <3

Warnings: None?

W/C: 2.5k!

Feyre and Rhysand left not long after your revelation.

They were speechless, concerned but deep down they understood the pain and anger you felt. Hybern had taken things from you, forced you into a body and a life that was never supposed to be yours. After a brief goodbye and a promise to send Amren to the cabin the following morning you were left in solitude once more.

That night was a fretful sleep.

--

You awoke mid-day to a knock on the door, short and rapt.

A woman, short in stature stood on the porch, Azriel stood behind her. You were a mess; dark circles graced your features, and your hair was mused and awry.

“You look like shit.”

She murmured before shoving past you and into the living area of the cabin. Azriel visibly grimaced at her words and nodded towards the doorway. You sighed and moved out of his way, making your way to the kitchen for tea.

“I thought just Amren was coming?” You questioned, your back to the two who had made themselves comfortable at the dining table. Amren murmured something under her breath.

“Yes but she had no way to get here unless she was flown in. I can leave if you would like…” He offered, when you turned to him his brows were creased and he was leaned forward in his seat, poised to go if you asked.

Your shoulders slumped, and your grip on the warm mug you held tightened.

“No,” You shook your head “You might want to stay, in case whatever the hell I did the other night happens again.” He merely nodded and relaxed in his seat. From her own position, Amren was studying, pale eyes roving over your disheveled figure.

She was unsettling to say the least.

Her pearl-colored eyes seemed to swirl and move like smoke in a mirror and yet you could tell they were trained solely on you. They honed in on your very being and seemed to peer deeper than muscle and flesh itself, further.

“Can you explain to me what happened the other night? Rhysand tried but he wouldn’t know his own head from his ass if someone didn’t help him sometimes.” Azriel snorted at Amren’s words. Your cheeks heated and you swallowed thickly. Leaning against the counter behind you, you cleared your throat and found comfort staring out the front windows.

“I was- panicking. I couldn’t stop crying and my chest felt like it was going to explode. I kind of blacked out but the whole room was shaking, and the lights were flickering in and out.” You were struggling to remember what happened when Azriel butted in.

“She was glowing Amren.”

“Like day court glowing?” Amren looked to him with a creased brow, her hands flat on the table.

“No… no this was different.”

You had been glowing? You remembered how hot it had been in the room, how suffocating your skin felt but never once did you stop to think that the heat was coming from you .

“And she was warm, it was like I was holding fire.”

Amren hummed and turned her gaze back to you.

“(Y/N) were you scared?”

“Terrified.”

“Interesting.”

As if your eyes had fallen out of your head, the room vanished into nothing. You let out a gasp and the mug you held shattered in a spray of heat and clay on the hardwood below. Azriel’s chair scraped against the floor but a soft tut from Amren and the spymaster settled.

Then the room began to smell.

Rot and seawater consumed you and a symphony of screams began to fill your head. A sweat broke out across your forehead and your knees gave way beneath you.

“I-“

The air was no longer breathable, thick with the stench of death and gore. And yet still, you could not see. Utter darkness, a pitch so thick that you were sure you had gone blind. You flailed your hands about, keenly aware of the sharp ceramic on the ground as it sliced into your palms eliciting a pained cry that had the shadowsinger releasing a deep growl.

Heat.

It was unbearably hot, the sweater and pajama pants you wore were becoming soaked with sweat, too thick for the temperature now scorching the cabin. Fear, murky and thick settled in your chest and tears slid down your cheeks as those damned screams reached a crescendo.

“Make it, make it stop.” You choked out between pants and gasping breaths.

“You, make it stop.” Amren replied cooly. A small hand grabbed your shoulder firmly. You grasped for anything in your mind, light, memories, something other than that horrible screaming and that smell that grew thicker and thicker.

The empty chairs began to shuffle across the floor and pots in the kitchen began to rattle violently from their places within the cabernets. Glass hit a wall somewhere, and shortly after it, more shattering followed. Azriel cursed and his chair scraped violently against the floor once more. Amren hummed and as quickly as it had come, the darkness disappeared and the screaming died off entirely.

You sucked in a deep breath and coughed violently, steadying yourself on your elbows. You were laying in a puddle of tea and broken glass. Your body was slick with sweat and the cabin looked like shit. Pictures had fallen from the wall and with a sickening realization you concluded that the glass that shattered had been plates that had flown from their respective cabernets and hit the wall opposite the kitchen.

Azriel was hunched next to the table, a protective wall of shadows blocking him from the projectiles you had produced. Amren was perched, unharmed, on her chair and staring at you with a quirked brow.

“It’s a fear response. Energy manipulation at its core but there’s something else you’re doing that I can’t quite put my finger on.” Her tone was so nonchalant that it made your blood boil. Fear was quickly replaced with anger as you stared at her from your spot on the floor.

“What the FUCK is wrong with you?!” You screamed, pushing yourself off the floor to stand before her. The pots began to rattle again.

A soothing lick of shadows snaked up your spine and Amren began to smile. She quirked her head to the side and looked out the window.

“Not just fear, anger as well.”

“I feel like there was a way better way to figure that out than blinding me.” You hissed, stalking towards the back hallway.

“Not really. None that would have been that effective.” She shouted after you.

In the safety of your bathroom you stripped the tea soaked clothes from your body and drew a bath. The scalding water filled the room with steam. A knock reverberated through the room and you let out a string of mumbled curses.

“(Y/N)? How long will you be? We have a lot to get done today.” Azriel spoke from the other side. With deft hands you wrapped a towel around your frame before swinging the door open.

Hazel eyes widened and membranous wings flared slightly. Azriel sucked in a breath before clearing his throat and quickly turning away from you.

“Shit im sorry Azriel!” You sputtered, closing the door just enough to block your frame. If you looked in a mirror you were sure your entire body would be the most horrendous shade of pink. Azriel cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably.

“No, its alright, I should have waited until you were done.”

“I won’t be long, I promise.” You whispered. He simply nodded and left the room, not once looking at you.

You spent two weeks with the two of them. Amren would find different ways to send you spiraling each day until at some point without even realizing you were able to summon that energy on your own and overcome the scenarios she created in your mind.

It happened by accident really, the three of you had been outside, snow falling in copious amounts. Amren had launched a snowball at you in jest, and before you realized it you were sending down a thunderous amount on her lithe form.

You erupted into a fit of laughter and smiles, which were returned by Amren who ran across the yard to embrace you in a hug.

Truth be told, in those two weeks, you had grown quite close with her and Azriel. They were the only people you spoke to; save for the letters you would exchange with Elain on occasion. And their presence had become quite comforting.

Your trio sat now in the living room, perched on different couches and staring into the blazing hearth before you. It had been a couple of hours since Amren had called it quits for the day and you had all fallen into pleasant conversation about the different abilities some fae possessed.

“And Tamlin…”

“The one Feyre was held captive by?”

“Yes… that one. He can take the form of creatures. It’s a trait that most high lords of spring possess.” Amren informed you. She had already gone over the powers other High Lord’s possessed and was sure to make It known that many of them kept their power under lock and key.

“It’s a little unfair…” You whispered then, distantly staring at those flames as they licked at their stone enclosure. Amren tilted her head and uttered a soft hum in question. “That you- we get to live forever and have mystical capabilities while the human beings are powerless against us.” You finished, turning your gaze then to Amren’s own.

She frowned slightly and looked at her tea.

“But that’s a beautiful thing isn’t it?” She asked, finding your gaze once more. “That they get to live, knowing that, inevitably, they will die.”

“That’s a bit morbid Amren.” Azriel chimed in from his relaxed position on his own respective couch. His brows were raised at her comment though his posture was lax.

“No, not at all. Living when you know you will not live forever is a wonderful thing. You seek to give love and for it to be reciprocated. Every experience is new and there’s an endless number of experiences to be had. When you live as long as I have, as you both hopefully will, everything sort of blends together I guess. Not much tends to be exciting except for war and the occasional fuck.” And when she finished you were crying.

She was being honest with you, and you had known that little soliloquy was indeed directed at you. Not once had her eye contact broken. Of course, she hadn’t meant to make you cry, that much was evident when she quickly stopped speaking at the first sign of tears. But something about the finality of your immortality seemed so cosmically ironic that it made you want to curl into a ball and never get up again.

“If you both would excuse me for a moment.”

And then you were standing and leaving your now cold tea on the coffee table to walk outside. Snow was still falling lazily from the sky and your snowmen had begun to lose their shape. With deft hands you began to touch them up, beginning with the smallest one and working your way up.

When you were human, before all of this mess, you envied the faes’ immortality. What young woman wouldn’t? The tales of beautiful fae women who never got old, or sick. Fae Women who could bring a man to his knees with how striking they were. Fae who got to experience the world without fear of death or disease. It all seemed so magical.

Now it just seemed like a curse.

Forever was an incredibly long time. Staring at the little snowman before you, you realized that forever would be a long time to miss someone. To mourn someone. And the tears just didn’t stop.

“It gets better.” Azriel spoke from behind you. You sniffled and wiped your running nose with the sleeve of your sweater. You hadn’t even heard him come outside.

“Oh?” You replied, never turning away from the work you were doing on the frozen pile before you. Your jeans were growing wet from kneeling and your hands were freezing, but you didn’t care.

“Yes, believe it or not. It does.” And something in his voice made you not want to question him any further.

The snow shuffled and Azriel was standing beside your kneeling form, watching as you worked. He observed the three others and cocked his head to the side.

“Why is yours bare?”

“What?”

“Your snowman. It has nothing special.”

Your hands fell still.

His gaze found yours, and he quirked a brow in question. Swallowing thickly, you looked back at the creation before you, and its lopsided grin.

“And what if that snowman isn’t even supposed to be me?”

“Well in that case you just got lazy. But from what I have gathered,” He moved towards the tallest then, and adjusted its jacket, dusting the snow off of its sleeves. “This one is your father; manly, proper, dashing even?” The second snowman then, adjusting the fur shawl that was sliding off of it, “Your mother; elegant though a bit overwhelming I’m guessing since all she has are eyes made of… is that?”

“Coal, yes.”

“Anyhow….” He moved to the flower donned snow lump and smiled softly, “Your sister; gentle, loving, admired.” Skipping the third he moved to the smallest in front of you and kneeled behind it. He was so large that even on his knees he was peering down at you through his lashes as he spoke, “And your brother; young, happy, joyful.” His gaze fell to the blank snowman once more, “And then there’s you. Void of everything that makes you unique.”

Despite the pain in your chest, you released a gentle chuckle that was met with a look of confusion from the male before you.

“You got all of that…from snowmen?”

He smiled ever so slightly and flared his wings proudly, “It’s kind of my job to understand details when I am given nothing else to go off of.”

You hummed in understanding and looked at your snowman. Tilting your head you thought deeply. And then an idea seemed to strike your peer. He held up a finger at you when he stood and made his way towards the house, motioning for you to await his return.

“Don’t look!” He shouted from the porch as he began his return, and despite how silly you felt, you looked towards the mountain range beyond the house. You could hear him struggling to adjust whatever he was tweaking on your yard art and his wing grazed your back when it flared against the struggle.

“Okay you can look now.”

Your snowman was no longer bare. He had fashioned her pointy ears made of paper and shoved one of your broken plates into the frozen ground before her. And above her head, hovering like a hallow was a fae light, warm and bright.

Azriel smiled softly down at you and extended his hand to help you up. Taking it gratefully, you wiped at your eyes and chuckled at the sight.

“Broken plates and fae lights, huh?” You muttered

“Broken plates and fae lights.”

TAGS:

@wanderer-by-heart @fussel9913

@marigold-morelli. @eatsleepreadance

@esposadomd

@blitz-fall

@a-little-disguised

@sevikas-whore

@judig92

@@we-were-beautiful

@willowkirk

@ariaaira

@paasrin

[vulpes-fennec]

Hot Springs Soak (Gwynriel) 🎁

Summary: A series of fluffy/smutty ACOTAR winter one-shots! 12 stories for the 12 days leading up to Solstice (December 21).

Just a fluffy scenario of Gwyn and Azriel visiting a hot spring in the winter! Also trying to expand our ACOTAR world beyond the Night Court because there are only so many things you can do in Velaris.

Read: Masterlist | AO3

The Dawn Court’s hot spring resorts were renowned even among the continental Fae. Powered by the same geothermal energy that fueled the court’s master forges, the hot springs were an especially popular tourist attraction in the winter. Azriel was lucky he managed to book a weekend getaway through one of his contacts at Thesan’s court. 

He winnowed Gwyn to the resort, checking into their cozy room. Gwyn was chattering excitedly as she changed into her bathing suit in the bathroom. “Az, apparently we are supposed to put on these clay masks while we soak! There’s a jar of it in here!” 

“What are the benefits of the clay masks for our skin?” Azriel slipped into black swim shorts and tossed on a heavy jacket. 

“It says…it says the clay will draw out toxins in our skin, and the other minerals will reduce redness,” Gwyn read. “The steam from the hot springs will also unclog our pores.” 

Although he was over 500 years old, Azriel had never soaked in hot springs before. Gwyn, who was an avid reader, always had ideas for things to do around Prythian. Having her push him to try new things was one of the many reasons why Azriel loved his mate so much. 

“I still can’t believe you won’t let me see what your swimsuit looks like,” Azriel complained when Gwyn stepped out of the bathroom. Gwyn wore a flowing skirt and thick coat, and he could not tell for the life of him what she might be wearing. 

“You’ll see in a couple minutes, shadowsinger. Now let’s go!” 

The pair walked in sandals along the cobblestone mountain path. Trees were dusted with snow, craggy lilac peaks rose up ahead of them. The individual hot spring pools were tucked away behind boulders, ensuring the visitors had some privacy. Small rivers of melted water ran down the hill, replenishing the pools with fresh water.

The winter chill was almost unbearable, but Azriel finally located the hot spring assigned to their room. The pool was fairly wide, with carved white steps leading up to it. Slabs of stone lined the edges of a bubbling blue pool. 

Gwyn whistled as Azriel took off his heavy jacket, revealing sculpted pectorals and bronzed abdominal muscles. The shadowsinger folded his arms over his chest petulantly. “Go on, Berdara,” he prompted her, hazel eyes shining. “Let’s see your outfit.” 

Gwyn shrugged her skirt and jacket off. The black swimsuit she’d picked was custom ordered from the Summer Court. According to Cresseida, the one-piece style was trendy once again. The black suit dipped low with a v-cut, with sweeping cutouts that displayed skin despite the modest coverage. Gwyn had to admit: the high waistline and stretchy material made her ass look nice. 

The awe in Azriel’s face as he looked her up and down only boosted Gwyn’s confidence. Water nymphs swam naked, but her upbringing in Sangravah, with long-flowing priestess robes, had her used to more modest clothes. But Gwyn wanted to feel comfortable trying new styles, so a weekend away at the Dawn Court’s hot springs seemed the perfect opportunity for a cute swimsuit. 

“Where’d you buy this?” he breathed, gently fingering the slippery fabric of Gwyn’s swimsuit. “I think we should buy ten more of these.”

“A shop in the Summer Court. It was Cresseida’s recommendation.” 

“I’m going to send Cresseida a thank you note the next time I’m in the Summer Court,” Azriel murmured as his hands snaked down to give Gwyn’s ass a friendly squeeze. “You look amazing, Gwyn.” 

Gwyn beamed. “Thank you, Azriel. I’m glad you like it.”      

Azriel kissed her lightly. “As long as you like it, I’ll be happy. Now come on, I’m getting cold out here.” He’d originally planned to help Gwyn into the hot spring pool by holding her hand, like a courtier. But the water was searing hot, causing the shadowsinger to hiss like a cat. 

“What’s wrong?” Gwyn gasped. 

“It’s hot!” 

“No shit, Az, we’re at a hot spring.” Gwyn glanced at the steaming, whirling pool before them and took a bold step into the pool. Then another. And another.

“Gwynnie, be careful!” Azriel’s wings flapped with trepidation when his mate let out a little squeak of surprise.

“I’m fine! It’s actually not that bad once you get used to it.” Gwyn let out a pleasant sigh once she was neck-deep in the pool. She paddled around the pool in circles. “Come on, Az, join me.” Gwyn held out her hand. 

With support from the priestess, Azriel managed to immerse his entire body, wings and all, into the hot spring. The water was so hot that it almost felt cold. But sure enough, once he got over the initial tingling sensation, the heat soothed to his tired muscles. 

The air steamed with the heavy smell of various minerals as the pair soaked in contented silence. Gwyn occasionally dove down, swimming through the heated water like the water nymph she was. Her coppery red hair floated loose and soft in the water. Azriel was enamored with running his fingers through it. 

“I think the steam will have opened enough of our pores. Here, I’ll go get the clay mask jar.” Gwyn got up out of the pool, walking towards their bench of belongings. Now Azriel was the one who whistled as he admired her swaying, dripping curves. 

“Oh stop it, honey.” Gwyn swatted him playfully as she opened the lid. Azriel peered down at the gray white paste. It looked strange, but at least it smelled nice. Like some floral essence oils were infused with the clay. 

Gwyn and Azriel took turns applying the mask onto each other’s faces, gently tracing the curve of a cheek and smoothing the clay over nose bridges. Gwyn took her time, appreciating the little details of her mate’s face. And Azriel drew little hearts and stars all over Gwyn’s face before properly applying the mask.

“You look good with a clay mask on, shadowsinger.” She kissed him softly on the lips. 

“Better than the raven mask I wear into battle?” Azriel teased. 

“Hmm.” Gwyn tapped her chin contemplatively. “I must say you look better in that one. All edgy and intimidating.” She giggled when Azriel pulled her into his lap.

“Edgy?” Azriel’s voice was indignant. “I am not edgy.” 

“Yes, you are, Az. Fine. You’re broody. How about that?” 

“I’ll take that description,” Azriel conceded. His hands held the Valkyrie close, tracing the edges of swimsuit that exposed her pale skin. 

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Gwyn said after several moments of comfortable silence. “I love this. It’s so hard to be near water during the winter, because it’s so cold. But this is amazing.” 

“It’s an early Solstice present. But there will be more to come.” 

Snow began to fall, the flakes dissolving into steam before they hit the water. But the spymaster and Valkyrie warriors did not mind. Gwyn and Azriel soaked in the hot spring pool, relishing each other’s company, their troubles far, far away. 

[theladyofdeath]

The Viscount Who Loved Me {Four}

TVWLM Masterlist

An A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfiction, inspired by the first 2 seasons of Bridgerton.

Written alongside @snelbz

Ships: Nesta x Cassian x Elain (I said what I said) Feyre x Rhysand Elain x Azriel x Gwyn

Summary:

As the season begins, a new Diamond is named. She catches the eye of a prince whose feelings remain unrequited. However, the man who catches the eye of the Diamond remains off the market, refusing to get married as a jab to his late father.   Meanwhile, the Diamond of the Season’s sisters have found themselves in a bit of a quandary. The elder is pushing the younger to get married to help her move on from the horrid disaster that happened last season, but in the process, the elder catches the eye of the younger’s match, even though she is considered to be an old maid and far past her time to be wed at the age of six and twenty. As they say, all is fair in love and war. 

A/N: Let us know what you think! Thank you for all the comments and shares. They give me life.

Tag list is at the end. If you’d like to be added, please comment below or submit an ask. :)

Dear Readers,

It seems that the Viscount even enjoyed himself at last night's ball, for he stayed more than ten minutes. The Queen seems to be pleased, as well, and we may very well hear wedding bells soon for her beloved Prince of Spring and her cherished Diamond.

I am most curious, however, to know who caught the Baron's eye? He is the most eligible bachelor in the ton, after all.

Let us see who he dances with first at next week's ball.

Until then,

The Suriel

This was exactly why Rhysand hadn’t even wanted to be in town during the social season. His jaw hurt from smiling so much, from having to politely but firmly inform each and every mama that approached him that no, thank you, he was not interested in dancing with their daughter no matter how pretty, high born, or scandalous she may be. He was already ready to leave, he’d made his appearance and was looking for Cassian to bid him farewell. He wouldn’t bother with Azriel, as he very well could already be gone himself.

Scanning the ballroom, Rhysand realized he didn’t see either of his brothers, so he aimed for the attached patio, the doors open to the balmy night air.

As soon as the cool, night air hit his face and ruffled his hair, he took a look about to find no sign of the massive fool nor the sulking brood that he loved as dearly as his own blood. He was nearly about to come to a stop when he ran into a slim frame. Absentmindedly, his arms went out to steady her, and when he realized it was indeed a young lady, he quickly removed his hands from her body. Cassian was the one who liked to be in the middle of scandal, not Rhysand. 

The young woman looked up at him, and for a moment neither of them said a word. Rhysand couldn’t. He was captivated by her gray-blue eyes, captivated by the slight part of her pink lips, captivated by the scent of lavender and soap that had consumed his senses. As if suddenly remembering they were not the only two people on the face of the planet, the young woman leaped back. “Forgive me, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

“You’re forgiven,” Rhysand replied, and perhaps it wasn’t what he should’ve said, but it’s what naturally came out. He felt so far that he was not making a good impression, at all. He followed it with, “I must offer my own apologies. I was looking for my brother and had my mind elsewhere.” For a moment, she said nothing more, and when he could no longer bear the silence, he said, “As it seems yours is, as well. Can I get you something to drink? Some lemonade or—”

“Water, please,” she said, and when she met his eyes again, his knees grew weak. “These skirts are unbearably hot and I feel as if I might pass out.”

He bowed his head and went back inside, unable to breathe until he was out of her presence. She was beautiful. He had never seen a woman so beautiful, although he had seen many beautiful women, but never a woman so rawly beautiful as the one he had nearly just trampled, purely by accident. 

As he crossed the room to the refreshment table, Rhysand cursed himself for offering to get her a beverage, for even lingering to speak to her. He was on his way out and he saw the card hanging from her wrist. She was an eligible young woman, and he didn’t want to give her the impression that he was interested.

It wouldn’t be fair to her.

After debating with himself whether he should even return to her, he realized as a gentleman, he should. For all he knew, she could have been on the verge of overheating.

That was what he told himself at least. It certainly wasn’t that he hadn’t gotten the young lady’s name. He didn’t need to know it, knowing it would complicate things.

When he returned, Rhysand found her standing at the railing gazing out at the night sky over the Sidra. She accepted the glass and sipped from it once, twice. “Thank you. Truly. I suppose I could have gotten it myself-.”

“A lady should never have to get anything herself at a ball,” he interrupted, surprised that a young lady of the ton would even offer to get her own beverage.

She nodded, her lashes dipping with her chin. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” It would have been the perfect time to leave, to hell with finding Cassian. He needed to remove himself from the conversation, he knew that. But he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “I must apologize, yet again, I haven’t introduced myself.”

“Nor have I,” she replied. She laughed softly and the sound of it had Rhys stepping closer, despite knowing he should run the other way. “It seems we are both a mess this evening.”

A mess, indeed. Little did she know.

Rhysand was a smart man, but in the moments that followed, he was a complete fool. He knew it, he very well knew it, but he just couldn’t help himself. During his travels, he had been with plenty of women but none of them had made him feel the way that he felt now, looking into this lovely lady’s eyes. Perhaps it is why he took her hand and kissed it, lips soft against the silk of her glove. He introduced himself simply. “Rhysand Lunasa.”

Her reaction wasn’t what he had expected. She hesitated, he could see it, but she only let it show for a moment, surely hoping he hadn’t caught it. When she spoke next, he understood why. “Forgive me, my Lord-.”

“No need,” he said, before she could continue her apology. He hated being balked at, hated when titles came into play and he suddenly had to act holier-than-thou. “I was enjoying our simple conversation, Miss…”

“Feyre,” she replied, and the lovely name echoed through his mind, only stopping when she said, “Archeron.”

Archeron. Feyre Archeron. Miss Feyre Archeron.

Sister of Nesta Archeron. 

It wasn’t fair to her, he knew, as his thoughts began to run wild. Flashbacks from years before flooded his mind, of the Queen and her wishes for Rhysand to marry the cruel, ruthless woman that was Nesta Archeron. He had never wanted to, of course, had never even entertained the idea. There was a reason that Nesta Archeron had not wed.

Remembering that it was a lady who stood before him, Rhysand said, “An honor, my Lady.” 

Before she could reply, he was gone, slipping back into the ballroom and finding Azriel. He was in his carriage home soon after.

The next morning, sitting at his desk, he was staring at a report, but all he could think of were eyes that looked like the sea after a storm.

A soft knock came from the doorway and he found Miyam holding a tray. “Were you not planning to come to breakfast, my lord?”

Rhysand blinked, having been lost in the blurriness of the words on his page. “Apologies. I completely forgot what time it was.” 

“No worries,” Miryam smiled, setting the tray of food down on the corner of his desk. “You should eat, nonetheless.”

“Of course.” Rhysand sighed and grabbed a breakfast roll off the tray as he sat back in his chair. “Care to join me?”

“If I join you then we must converse,” Miryam replied, simply, as she sat down in the chair opposite of Rhysand. “Are you certain you’re up for conversation, my Lord?”

Rhysand huffed as he took a bite of his buttered roll. He was silent for a moment. It wasn’t until after a slice of bacon that he asked, “Do you remember my father?”

Miryam did not react. Instead, she thought for a moment before saying, “Yes, my Lord. I remember your father well.”

“As do I,” Rhysand responded. “And, if I’m being honest, sometimes I wish that I did not remember him all too well.” 

Miryam was quiet as she relaxed in her chair. She didn’t say a word, which is exactly what Rhysand wished. She was there, present, yet she gave him the space that he needed. 

“My father was cruel,” Rhysand began, quietly. “I do not think that there was a person in all of Velaris that respected him. They only feared him.”

A moment passed and when he wouldn’t say anything more, Miryam said, “Forgive me, sir, but if you fear that you are turning into your father, you are not.”

Rhysand’s eyes met hers. His jaw locked, but then his eyes closed and all of the breath released from his body. “Thank you, Miryam.”

He didn’t say what he wanted to, even though the thoughts rushed his mind. 

Miryam had no idea.

No one did.

No one realized what had truly gone on behind the closed doors of the Lunasa household. No one knew how much Rhysand truly loathed his father, how much he hated the man whose DNA he shared.

No one knew of the bargain that Rhysand had made to his father on his deathbed.

No, Rhysand would never marry. He couldn’t, for he could never have children. If he did, his final vow to his father would be for nothing.

Your line will end with me.

It’s what his father deserved, after all. 

Rhysand would give his life to an endless line of misery as long as it meant that his father’s name would not carry on. It was a vow he had made, a vow he would not break. 

The ton, the Queen, wanted him to marry, but he would not.

He hated his father more than he thought he deserved any happiness.

The Lunasa name would not continue on for another generation.

Rhysand would make sure of it.

<.> 

Cassian was lounged back in his chair across from Azriel, who had been staring at a basket of fruit for nearly twenty minutes. The glass of bourbon next him kept gradually getting empty, but his brother never spoke nor lifted the stub of charcoal staining his fingers to the sketch pad in front of him.

“You know, if the apple hasn’t jumped out and run off yet, I don’t think it’s going to move,” he drawled, bringing his own glass to his lips.

“I’m studying the lighting,” Azriel replied, his eyes still on the fruit, but they jumped down to the paper in front of him and he finally began to sketch. It was quiet again for a moment before he asked, “So, do you think you met your wife last night?”

The sigh Cassian heaved was dramatic enough that Azriel refrained from asking if he was considering enrolling in the Velaris School of Dramatic Arts. “I’m not sure. I didn’t even get to speak to Feyre Archeron.”

“You heard Helion,” Azriel said, eyes bouncing back and forth between the fruit and his work in progress. “The Queen seems pretty determined for the Diamond to marry Prince Tamlin.”

“Exactly,” Cassian said, slumping into his chair. “So if I can’t marry the Diamond, I’ll have to find a pearl.” Azriel did his best not to, but he was unable to stop the quiet laughter that left him. “You laugh now, but my wife will put the Diamond to shame.”

“And do you have any idea who that may be?” Az asked, smearing his thumb across the shading he’d just completed.

“The Diamond’s sister is quite beautiful,” Cassian replied, taking another drink.

Azriel’s hand hesitated, but he kept on. “Which one?”

“She has two?” Cassian asked, eyebrows raised. “I’ve only met Elain, and she’s lovely.”

Azriel’s thumb stilled, but it quickly resumed as he said, “She is quite lovely.”

“I’d like to ask her to dance once more at next week’s event,” Cassian went on. “Ask her some questions. See what lies beneath the beauty.”

“I have had few conversations with her, but she seems to have a good head on her shoulders,” Azriel said, invested in his art, trying not to show any sign of doubt. “Kind, she is.” 

“Good to know,” Cassian muttered. “Out of all the women I danced with last night, Elain was by far the brightest. I don’t know what it is with the women of Velaris, but they are lacking a certain…intelligence.” 

Azriel chuckled as he continued to study the bowl of fruit in front of him. “Most men do not wish to find an intelligent wife.”

“I do,” Cassian said, without any hesitation. “I admire beauty, of course, but there must be more than that.” 

“You’re speaking too truthfully for not being drunk enough,” Azriel chimed.

“I can remedy that,” he shot back, reaching for the bottle on the table between them. “But you may regret it.”

As Cassian refilled his glass, Azriel said, “I haven’t personally met the eldest Archeron sister, but from what Rhysand says, she’s a piece of work.”

“She’s not looking for a husband of her own?”

Azriel shook his head. “She was the Diamond of her inaugural season, and after a few disappointing seasons, she’s acting as both of her sister’s chaperones.”

“Their father?” Cassian asked, biting down on a piece of ice from his glass.

“A merchant, and a rather wealthy one, from what I understand,” Azriel mused. “They call him the Prince of Merchants.”

Cassian hummed and drained his glass. “One dance is too early to call on her at their home, isn’t it?”

“I’d say so, but you’ve never been one to make sound decisions,” Azriel said, and his eyes flicked to Cassian’s empty glass, “especially when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk, I’m drinking,” Cassian quipped. “But I guess you’re right. I’ll see her again at the next ball. If she’s as lovely as she seems, I’ll need to start courting her before someone else realizes it, too.”

Azriel stayed quiet, letting him plan his next moves. It wasn’t until Cassian reached forward and grabbed the apple from the basket, sinking his teeth deep into the firm flesh, that he let out an exasperated sigh and looked at his brother. “And if she’s looking to marry for love?”

“I can get her to fall in love with me,” Cassian said, mouth still full.

“And you?” Azriel asked, still not believing that he ate a piece of his model. “Could you fall in love with her?”

Cassian took another bite of the apple, then another, before meeting Azriel’s weary gaze. “We are nobility, Az. We do not get the honor of falling in love.” 

“Then what’s the point?” Azriel asked, unable to stop himself. “Why bother if it’s all for nothing?” 

Cassian shifted where he sat and looked pointedly at Azriel. “Just because it’s not about love doesn’t mean that it’s all for nothing. My name will live on for generations, and that is something to be proud of.” 

Azriel just slowly shook his head. “To each their own. Just…stop eating my fruit.”

Cassian did no such thing as he took a pear from the bowl and dug in.

<.>

Nesta, Elain, and Feyre sat at the dinner table in silence with their father. It was a lovely meal of roasted lamb and vegetables, and although it was uncomfortable, eating in silence was not unusual for the family of four. When their mother was alive, their nightly suppers had been lively. Now, a decade after her death, the girls could not remember what a lively, lovely dinner around their dining room table entailed. 

“What did you think about Lord Declan?” Isaac was asking Feyre. “His father is a renowned sailor from the continent. Not a bad match at all.”

She scrunched her nose as she pushed her food around her plate. “He was nice enough.”

“But?” Nesta asked, sensing her unfinished sentence.

Feyre glanced up at her sister. “He…smelled.”

“He smelled?” Their father asked.

“He smells like sweat,” Elain explained. “I remember that from last season. It’s like he hasn’t bathed in a few days.”

“Yes, exactly,” Feyre nodded. “And Lord Mullen was kind, but he’s so old, father—”

“Lord Mullen is a good friend of mine, Feyre, and he’s been desperate for an heir for a while.” He cut his lamb without looking up at her. “He’s also willing to invest in my business ventures. Not a bad match either.”

Feyre cringed, but nodded. “Yes, Father.”

“What about the prince?” Nesta asked. “You don’t think that’s an advantageous match, Father?”

He took a bite of his food before responding to his eldest daughter. “Until Prince Tamlin puts a ring on Feyre’s finger, I won’t believe his intentions are anything aside from the Queen’s.”

It grew quiet for a moment before Isaac said, “Elain, did you enjoy yourself last night?”

Elain had always been Isaac’s pride and joy and after her relationship with Graysen had fallen apart, he’s done his best to dote on her and make her smile. Of the three of his daughters, Elain was the only one Isaac bothered to pretend he cared about.

“Yes, Father,” she said, a smile on her face. Nesta and Feyre could both see it for the fake it was. “I can’t wait for the next ball.”

“Good,” Isaac said, and his smile was genuine. “You know, it’s not too late for you to marry. Did anyone gain your interest last night?”

Elain frowned at her plate but the pouting only lasted for a moment. “There were plenty of lovely gentlemen there, father. I danced with a few.”

“Is that so?” Isaac asked, watching Elain intently. “Such as?”

Elain took a bite of her carrots, if only to have a moment of silence. “Lord Cassian Nazari was kind.” She looked at Feyre. “And he smelled quite nice.”

Feyre chuckled at that, but their father was not amused. “Cassian Nazari has a reputation, but he has a grand fortune and is desperate for a wife, it seems. You should pursue that. He would be a good match.”

All three of the girls looked at Isaac, who had no idea he was speaking anything shocking.

It was Nesta that said, “Lord Nazari? Truly? Elain could do much better.”

“After the Greysen incident, that is no longer true,” Isaac said, simply. “We must be realistic. If Lord Nazari has taken an interest in Elain, he is the most eligible gentleman of the season, aside from the prince himself.” He waited for a moment before adding, “A prince and a baron. If only, Nesta, you would have married the Viscount.”

The room was silent. Elain and Feyre met each other’s eyes across from each other, but didn’t dare look at their father or sister at either head of the table. They heard as Nesta set her fork down against her plate, before she said, a calmness that belied the simmering rage in her voice, “I’d like to go to my room.”

He must have waved her off, because her chair scraped along the hardwood floor and Nesta’s terse, clipped steps could be heard retreating down the hall and up the stairs. Their father heaved a sigh, and said, “A governess. As if that’s respectable after everything she deserved.” He drank from his wine, before addressing his two youngest daughters. “I’ll be leaving for the continent in the morning. It is unlikely I’ll return before the end of the season. Your sister, however cloudy her judgment may be, will be acting in my stead as your chaperone. I look forward to both of your letters informing me of your matches.”

Elain’s hand was shaking as she, too, set down her silverware. “I promise not to disappoint you this season, father.”

“Very well,” he said and they could tell he was growing weary of the conversation. “This family has dealt with enough disappointment, enough scandal. One more failed season and we will not recover.” 

Feyre glanced at Elain and knew that her sister was fighting back tears. She wouldn’t admit it, though, not to their father, how much his words hurt. 

“There is no need to worry,” Feyre said, in her place. “We will make you proud.”

With a quick nod of his head, he pushed his chair back, dropped his napkin, and said goodnight. Feyre and Elain remained silent as they finished their supper alone. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[kingandfireheart]

The biggest Eris Vanserra moments from ACOTAR -ACOSF: What the fuck is happening in Autumn (Part 1)

I was originally very confused about how people seem to LOVE Eris all of a sudden, so I went back through the books to find out. SJM has definitely sprinkled the bread crumbs for some massive Eris revelations - will he have a redemption arc? does he even need to be redeemed? What are his secrets? Why did he leave Mor? Why did he protect Lucien? Why did he want to marry Nesta?

Cassian and Feyre voice doubts about Eris that really had me thinking about all of his scenes in the books:

" Beron studied his son with a scrutiny that made some small, small part of me wonder if Eris might have grown to be a good male if he’d had a different father. If one still lurked there, beneath centuries of poison. Because Eris … What had it been like for him, Under the Mountain? What games had he played— what had he endured? Trapped for forty-nine years. I doubted he would risk such a thing happening again. Even if it set him in opposition to his father—or perhaps because of that."

"You know what a monster your father is and want to usurp him; you act against him in the best interests of not only the Autumn Court but also of all of the faerie lands; you risk your life to ally with us … and yet you left her in the woods."

I went through all five books and pieced together the most telling Eris moments (they are all below the cut)

What I gained from this exercise was a few observations

Eris may have a moral compass - he curbs Beron's and his brother's bad behavior, and he stick his neck out to help in the war . He also seems to genuinely care for his soldiers. Eris pushes back against Beron, the oldest and most terrible High Lord, even when it results in punishment

Eris is playing a long game here, and it isn't limited to just him being high lord. We still don't have the full story on Mor and Lucien : what were the larger forces at play? Why did he buy Mor time? What did he show Rhys and Mor to convince them to trust him? Does he care for Lucien like a brother? Is he just a part of the schemes?

The Lady of the Autumn Court is definitely a big piece to the Autumn Court, Lucien, Helion, and Eris puzzles (Here is a list of her moments!)

See my other compilations of Character moments here: Lucien Sass, Nessian Mating Bond (Pre-ACOFAS), Cassian + Words of Affirmation (ACOSF), Lady of the Autumn Court

A Court of Thrones and Roses:

Tamlin tells Lucien's Story

"Lucien is the youngest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.”... “The youngest of seven brothers. The Autumn Court is … cutthroat. Beautiful, but his brothers see each other only as competition, since the strongest of them will inherit the title, not the eldest. It is the same throughout Prythian, at every court. Lucien never cared about it, never expected to be crowned High Lord, so he spent his youth doing everything a High Lord’s son probably shouldn’t: wandering the courts, making friends with the sons of other High Lords”—a faint gleam in Tamlin’s eyes at that —“and being with females who were a far cry from the nobility of the Autumn Court.” Tamlin paused for a moment, and I could almost feel the sorrow before he said, “Lucien fell in love with a faerie whom his father considered to be grossly inappropriate for someone of his bloodline. Lucien said he didn’t care that she wasn’t one of the High Fae, that he was certain the mating bond would snap into place soon and that he was going to marry her and leave his father’s court to his scheming brothers.”

A tight sigh. “His father had her put down. Executed, in front of Lucien, as his two eldest brothers held him and made him watch.” My stomach turned, and I pushed a hand against my chest. I couldn’t imagine, couldn’t comprehend that sort of loss. “Lucien left. He cursed his father, abandoned his title and the Autumn Court, and walked out. And without his title protecting him, his brothers thought to eliminate one more contender to the High Lord’s crown. Three of them went out to kill him; one came back.”

---

“As emissary,” I began, “has he ever had dealings with his father? Or his brothers?”

“Yes. His father has never apologized, and his brothers are too frightened of me to risk harming him.” No arrogance in those words, just icy truth. “But he has never forgotten what they did to her, or what his brothers tried to do to him. Even if he pretends that he has.”

Under the Mountain

When Amarantha tortures Lucien for Feyre's name:

Behind them, pressing to the front of the crowd, came four tall, red-haired High Fae. Toned and muscled, some of them looking like warriors about to set foot on a battlefield, some like pretty courtiers, they all stared at Lucien—and grinned. The four remaining sons of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

---

Lucien’s brothers lurked on the edges of the crowd—no remorse, no fear on their handsome faces.

---

“Her name?” she asked Tamlin, who didn’t reply. His eyes were fixed on Lucien’s brothers, as if marking who was smiling the broadest.

Amarantha ran a nail down the arm of her throne. “I don’t suppose your handsome brothers know, Lucien,” she purred.

“If we did, Lady, we would be the first to tell you,” said the tallest. He was lean, well dressed, every inch of him a court-trained bastard. Probably the eldest, given the way even the ones who looked like born warriors stared at him with deference and calculation—and fear.

---

Lucien sagged on the ground, trembling. His brothers frowned—the eldest going so far as to bare his teeth at me in a silent snarl.

---

A ripple of laughter spread across those assembled behind us, the loudest from Lucien’s brothers.

When Rhysand takes Feyre to the parties at night:

Faeries and High Fae gawked as we passed through the entrance. Some bowed to Rhysand, while others gaped. I spied several of Lucien’s older brothers gathered just inside the doors. The smiles they gave me were nothing short of vulpine.

---

We reached the throne room, and I braced myself to be drugged and disgraced again. But it was Rhysand the crowd looked at—Rhysand whom Lucien’s brothers monitored. Amarantha’s clear voice rang out over the music, summoning him. He paused, glancing at Lucien’s brothers stalking toward us, their attention pinned on me. Eager, hungry—wicked. I opened my mouth, not too proud to ask Rhysand not to leave me alone with them while he dealt with Amarantha, but he put a hand on my back and nudged me along

During the second trial:

In the crowd, red hair gleamed—four heads of red hair—and I stiffened my spine. I knew his brothers would be smiling at Lucien’s predicament—but where was his mother? His father? Surely the High Lord of the Autumn Court would be present. I scanned the crowd. No sign of them

---

“Answer it!” Lucien shouted, his voice hitched. My eyes stung. The world was just a blur of letters, mocking me with their turns and shapes.

The metal groaned as it scraped against the smooth stone of the chamber, and the faeries’ whispers grew more frenzied. Through the holes in the grate, I thought I saw Lucien’s eldest brother chuckle. Hot—so unbearably hot.

---

“Just pick one!” Lucien shouted, and some of those in the crowd laughed—his brothers no doubt the loudest.

When Tamlin and Feyre make out in the closet:

“You’re both fools,” he murmured, his breathing uneven. “How did you not think that someone would notice you were gone? You should thank the Cauldron Lucien’s delightful brothers weren’t watching you.

After Feyre breaks the curse:

The Attor and the nastier faeries had disappeared instantly, along with Lucien’s brothers, which was a clever move, as Lucien wasn’t the only faerie with a score to settle

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

A Court of Mist and Fury:

Lucien telling Feyre about Jesminda:

“Even if I what?”

His face paled, and he stroked a hand down the mare’s cobweb-colored mane. “I was forced to watch as my father butchered the female I loved. My brothers forced me to watch.”

Rhys tells Mor's story:

His throat bobbed. I could tell it was rage, and pain, that kept him from telling me outright—not mistrust. After a moment, he said, “I was there, in the Hewn City, the day her father declared she was to be sold in marriage to Eris, eldest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.” Lucien’s brother. “Eris had a reputation for cruelty, and Mor … begged me not to let it happen. For all her power, all her wildness, she had no voice, no rights with those people. And my father didn’t particularly care if his cousins used their offspring as breeding stock.”

“What happened?” I breathed.

“I brought Mor to the Illyrian camp for a few days. And she saw Cassian, and decided she’d do the one thing that would ruin her value to these people. I didn’t know until after, and … it was a mess. With Cassian, with her, with our families. And it’s another long story, but the short of it is that Eris refused to marry her. Said she’d been sullied by a bastard-born lesser faerie, and he’d now sooner fuck a sow. Her family … they … ” I’d never seen him at such a loss for words. Rhys cleared his throat. “When they were done, they dumped her on the Autumn Court border, with a note nailed to her body that said she was Eris’s problem.”

Nailed—nailed to her.

Rhys said with soft wrath, “Eris left her for dead in the middle of their woods. Azriel found her a day later. It was all I could do to keep him from going to either court and slaughtering them all.” I thought of that merry face, the flippant laughter, the female that did not care who approved. Perhaps because she had seen the ugliest her kind had to offer. And had survived.

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

A Court of Wings and Ruin:

Lucien tells his story:

“I’d say that sounds more High-Lord-like than the life of an idle, unwanted son.”

A long, steely look. “Did you think it was mere hatred that prompted my brothers to do their best to break and kill me?”

Despite myself, a shudder rippled down my spine. I finished off the apple and uncoiled to my feet, plucking another off a low-hanging branch. “Would you want it—your father’s crown?”

“No one’s ever asked me that,” Lucien mused as we moved on, dodging fallen, rotting apples. The air was sticky-sweet. “The bloodshed that would be required to earn that crown wouldn’t be worth it. Neither would its festering court. I’d gain a crown—only to rule over a crafty, two-faced people.”

Lucien+Feyre vs. Autumn Court Brothers:

“Father,” the one now holding a knife to my throat said to Lucien, “is rather put out that you didn’t stop by to say hello.”

“We’re on an errand and can’t be delayed,” Lucien answered smoothly, mastering himself.

That knife pressed a fraction harder into my skin as he let out a humorless laugh. “Right. Rumor has it you two have run off together, cuckolding Tamlin.” His grin widened. “I didn’t think you had it in you, little brother.”

“He had it in her, it seems,” one of the others sniggered.

I slid my gaze to the male above me. “You will release us.”

“Our esteemed father wishes to see you,” he said with a snake’s smile. The knife didn’t waver. “So you will come with us to his home.” “Eris,” Lucien warned. The name clanged through me. Above me, mere inches away … Mor’s former betrothed. The male who had abandoned her when he found her brutalized body on the border. The High Lord’s heir.

---

“This can end with you going under, begging me to get you out once that ice instantly refreezes,” Eris drawled. Behind him, cut off by his brothers, Lucien had drawn his own knife and now sized up the other two. “Or this can end with you agreeing to take my hand. But either way, you will be coming with me.”

---

Glaring—then considering. Watching the three of us as I said to Eris, to his other two brothers, to the sentries on the shore, “You all deserve to die for this. And for much, much more. But I am going to spare your miserable lives.”

Even with a wound through his gut, Eris’s lip curled.

Cassian snarled his warning.

I only removed the glamour I’d kept on myself these weeks. With the sleeve of my jacket and shirt gone, there was nothing but smooth skin where that wound had been. Smooth skin that now became adorned with swirls and whorls of ink. The markings of my new title—and my mating bond.

Lucien’s face drained of color as he strode for us, stopping a healthy distance from Azriel’s side. “I am High Lady of the Night Court,” I said quietly to them all.

Even Eris stopped sneering. His amber eyes widened, something like fear now creeping into them.

Lucien advises the Inner Circle:

Lucien studied me again, and it was an effort not to squirm. “My father would likely join with Hybern if he thought he stood a chance of getting his power back that way—by killing you.”

A snarl from Rhys.

“Your brothers saw me, though,” I said, setting down my fork. “Perhaps they could mistake the flame as yours, but the ice …”

Lucien jerked his chin to Azriel. “That’s the information you need to gather. What my father knows —if my brothers realized what she was doing. You need to start from there, and build your plan for this meeting accordingly.”

Mor said, “Eris might keep that information to himself and convince the others to as well, if he thinks it’ll be more useful that way.” I wondered if Mor looked at that red hair, the golden-brown skin that was a few shades darker than his brothers’, and still saw Eris.

Lucien said evenly, “Perhaps. But we need to find that out. If Beron or Eris has that information, they’ll use it to their advantage in that meeting—to control it. Or control you. Or they might not show up at all, and instead go right to Hybern.”

Eris in the Hewn City:

If the Ouroboros could not be retrieved, at least without such terrible risk … I shut out the thought, sealing it away for later, as Keir left. Leaving us alone with Eris.

The heir of Autumn just sipped his wine.

And I had the terrible sense that Mor had gone somewhere far, far away as Eris set down his goblet and said, “You look well, Mor.”

“You don’t speak to her,” Azriel said softly.

Eris gave a bitter smile. “I see you’re still holding a grudge.”

“This arrangement, Eris,” Rhys said, “relies solely upon you keeping your mouth shut.”

Eris huffed a laugh. “And haven’t I done an excellent job? Not even my father suspected when I left tonight.”

I glanced between my mate and Eris. “How did this come about?”

Eris looked me over. The crown and dress. “You didn’t think that I knew your shadowsinger would come sniffing around to see if I’d told my father about your … powers? Especially after my brothers so mysteriously forgot about them, too. I knew it was a matter of time before one of you arrived to take care of my memory as well.” Eris tapped the side of his head with a long finger. “Too bad for you, I learned a thing or two about daemati. Too bad for my brothers that I never bothered to teach them.”

---

“Of course I didn’t tell my father,” Eris went on, drinking from his wine again. “Why waste that sort of information on the bastard? His answer would be to hunt you down and kill you—not realizing how much shit we’re in with Hybern and that you might be the key to stopping it.”

“So he plans to join us, then,” Rhys said.

“Not if he learns about your little secret.” Eris smirked. Mor blinked—as if realizing that Rhys’s contact with Eris, his invitation here … The glance she gave me, clear and settled, told me enough. Hurt and anger still swirled, but understanding, too.

“So what’s the asking price, Eris?” Mor demanded, leaning her bare arms on the dark glass. “Another little bride for you to torture?”

Something flickered in Eris’s eyes. “I don’t know who fed you those lies to begin with, Morrigan,” he said with vicious calm. “Likely the bastards you surround yourself with.” A sneer at Azriel.

Mor snarled, rattling the glasses. “You never gave any evidence to the contrary. Certainly not when you left me in those woods.”

“There were forces at work that you have never considered,” Eris said coldly. “And I am not going to waste my breath explaining them to you. Believe what you want about me.”

“You hunted me down like an animal,” I cut in. “I think we’ll choose to believe the worst.”

Eris’s pale face flushed. “I was given an order. And sent to do it with two of my … brothers.”

“And what of the brother you hunted down alongside me? The one whose lover you helped to execute before his eyes?”

Eris laid a hand flat on the table. “You know nothing about what happened that day. Nothing.”

Silence.

“Indulge me,” was all I said.

Eris stared me down. I stared right back.

“How do you think he made it to the Spring border,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t there—when they did it. Ask him. I refused. It was the first and only time I have denied my father anything. He punished me. And by the time I got free … They were going to kill him, too. I made sure they didn’t. Made sure Tamlin got word—anonymously—to get the hell over to his own border.”

Where two of Eris’s brothers had been killed. By Lucien and Tamlin.

Eris picked at a stray thread on his jacket. “Not all of us were so lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.”

Rhys’s face was a mask of boredom. “It would seem so.”

And none of this entirely erased what he’d done, but … “What is the asking price,” I repeated.

“The same thing I told Azriel when I found him snooping through my father’s woods yesterday.”

Hurt flared in Mor’s eyes as she whipped her head toward the shadowsinger. But Azriel didn’t so much as acknowledge her as he announced, “When the time comes … we are to support Eris’s bid to take the throne.”

Even as Azriel spoke, that frozen rage dulled his face. And Eris was wise enough to finally pale at the sight. Perhaps that was why Eris had kept knowledge of my powers to himself. Not just for this sort of bargaining, but to avoid the wrath of the shadowsinger. The blade at his side.

“The request still stands, Rhysand,” Eris said, mastering himself, “to just kill my father and be done with it. I can pledge troops right now.”

Mother above. He didn’t even try to hide it—to look at all remorseful. It was an effort to keep my jaw from dropping to the table at his intent, the casualness with which he spoke it.

“Tempting, but too messy,” Rhys replied. “Beron sided with us in the War. Hopefully he’ll sway that way again.” A pointed stare at Eris.

“He will,” Eris promised, running a finger over one of the claw marks gouged into the table. “And will remain blissfully unaware of Feyre’s … gifts.” A throne—in exchange for his silence. And sway.

“Promise Keir nothing you care about,” Rhys said, waving a hand in dismissal.

Eris just rose to his feet. “We’ll see.” A frown at Mor as he drained his wine and set down the goblet. “I’m surprised you still can’t control yourself around him. You had every emotion written right on that pretty face of yours.”

“Watch it,” Azriel warned.

Eris looked between them, smiling faintly. Secretly. As if he knew something that Azriel didn’t. “I wouldn’t have touched you,” he said to Mor, who blanched again. “But when you fucked that other bastard—” A snarl ripped from Rhys’s throat at that. And my own. “I knew why you did it.” Again that secret smile that had Mor shrinking. Shrinking. “So I gave you your freedom, ending the betrothal in no uncertain terms.”

“And what happened next,” Azriel growled.

A shadow crossed Eris’s face. “There are few things I regret. That is one of them. But … perhaps one day, now that we are allies, I shall tell you why. What it cost me.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Mor said quietly. She pointed to the door. “Get out.”

Eris gave a mocking bow to her. To all of us. “See you at the meeting in twelve days.”

Inner Circle Reacts to Eris Alliance:

Mor whirled on Azriel. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Azriel held her gaze unflinchingly. Didn’t so much as rustle his wings. “Because you would have tried to stop it. And we can’t afford to lose Keir’s alliance—and face the threat of Eris.”

“You’re working with that prick,” Cassian cut in, whatever catching-up now over, apparently. He moved to Mor’s side, a hand on her back. He shook his head at Azriel and Rhys, disgust curling his lip. “You should have spiked Eris’s fucking head to the front gates.”

Azriel only watched them with that icy indifference. But Lucien crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake.”

Perhaps Rhys had not filled him in on everything, then. On what Eris had claimed about saving his youngest brother in whatever way he could. Of his defiance.

“Your whole family is despicable,” Amren said to Lucien from where she and Nesta lingered in the archway. “But Eris may prove a better alternative. If he can find a way to kill Beron off and make sure the power shifts to himself.”

“I’m sure he will,” Lucien said.

High Lord's Meeting

(the highlights - there's a lot of Beron, Eris, and Helion to piece together here)

Beron—slender-faced and brown-haired—didn’t bother to look anywhere but at the High Lords assembled. But his remaining sons sneered at us. Sneered enough that the Peregryns ruffled their feathers. Even Varian flashed his teeth in warning at the leer Cresseida earned from one of them. Their father didn’t bother to check them.

But Eris did.

A step behind his father, Eris murmured, “Enough,” and his younger brothers fell into line. All three of them.

Whether Beron noticed or cared, he did not let on. No, he merely stopped halfway across the room, hands folded before him, and scowled—as if we were a pack of mongrels.

Beron, the oldest among us. The most awful.

Rhys smoothly greeted him, though his power was a dark mountain shuddering beneath us, “It’s no surprise that you’re tardy, given that your own sons were too slow to catch my mate. I suppose it runs in the family.”

Beron’s lips curled slightly as he looked to me, my crown. “Mate—and High Lady.”

I leveled a flat, bored stare at him. Turned it on his hateful sons. On—Eris.

Eris only smiled at me, amused and aloof. Would he wear that mask when he ended his father’s life and stole his throne?

---

Tamlin only angled his head at Rhys. “When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?”

Heat stained my cheeks. This wasn’t outright battle, but a steady, careful shredding of my dignity, my credibility. Beron beamed, delighted—while Eris carefully monitored.

---

Rhys went on, “I … convinced her that it would serve little purpose.” “Who knew,” Beron mused, “that a cock could be so persuasive?”

“Father.” Eris’s voice was low with warning.

For Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and I had fixed our gazes upon Beron. And none of us were smiling. Perhaps Eris would be High Lord sooner than he planned.

---

“If you want proof that we are not scheming with Hybern,” Rhysand said blandly to them all, “consider the fact that it would be far less time-consuming to slice into your minds and make you do my bidding.”

Only Beron was stupid enough to scoff. Eris was just angling his body in his chair—blocking the path to his mother.

--

But Beron said, “You may be inclined to believe him, Rhysand, but as someone who shares a border with his court, I am not so easily swayed.” A wry look. “Perhaps my errant son can clarify. Pray, where is he?”

Even Tamlin looked toward us—toward me.

“Helping to guard our city,” was all I said. Not a lie, not entirely.

Eris snorted and surveyed Nesta, who stared back at him with steel in her face. “Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.”

If they knew Elain was Lucien’s mate … It was now another avenue, I realized with no small amount of horror. Another way to strike at the youngest brother they hated so fiercely, so unreasonably. Eris’s bargain with us had not included protection of Lucien. My mouth went dry.

But Mor replied smoothly, “You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things don’t change over the centuries.”

Eris’s mouth curled into a smile at the words, the careful game of pretending that they had not seen each other in years. “Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.

---

Only Eris knew how far that alliance went—information that could damn this meeting if either side revealed it. Information that could get him wiped off the earth by his father.

Mor was staring and staring at Azriel, who refused to look at her, who refused to do anything but give Eris that death-gaze.

Eris, wisely, averted his eyes. And said, “Apologies, Morrigan.”

His father actually gawked at the words. But something like approval shone on the Lady of Autumn’s face as her eldest son settled himself once more.

---

Beron’s face darkened. “Watch your tone, girl.”

“She doesn’t have to watch anything,” I cut in. “Not when you fling that sort of horseshit at her.” I looked to the alchemist. “I will take your antidote.”

Beron rolled his eyes.

But Eris said, “Father.”

Beron lifted a brow. “You have something to add?”

Eris didn’t flinch, but he seemed to choose his words very, very carefully. “I have seen the effects of faebane.” He nodded toward me. “It truly renders us unable to tap our power. If it’s wielded against us in war or beyond it—”

“If it is, we shall face it. I will not risk my people or family in testing out a theory.”

“It is no theory,” Nuan said, that mechanical hand clicking and whirring as it curled into a fist. “I would not stand here unless it had been proved without a doubt.”

A female of pride and hard work.

Eris said, “I will take it.”

It was the most … decent I’d ever heard him sound. Even Mor blinked at it.

Beron studied his son with a scrutiny that made some small, small part of me wonder if Eris might have grown to be a good male if he’d had a different father. If one still lurked there, beneath centuries of poison.

Because Eris … What had it been like for him, Under the Mountain? What games had he played— what had he endured? Trapped for forty-nine years. I doubted he would risk such a thing happening again. Even if it set him in opposition to his father—or perhaps because of that.

Beron only said, “No, you will not. Though I’m sure your brothers will be sorry to hear it.” Indeed, the others seemed rather put-out that their first barrier to the throne wasn’t about to risk his life in testing Nuan’s solution.

---

Rhys lifted a brow. “Your staggering generosity aside, will you be joining our forces?”

“I have not yet decided.”

Eris went so far as to give his father a look bordering on reproach. From genuine alarm or for what that refusal might mean for our own covert alliance, I couldn’t tell.

---

This argument was pointless. And I didn’t care who they were or who I was as I said to Beron, “Get out if you’re not going to be helpful.”

At his side, Eris had the wits to actually look worried.

But Beron continued to ignore his son’s pointed stare and hissed at me, “Did you know that while your mate was warming Amarantha’s bed, most of our people were locked beneath that mountain?”

I didn’t deign responding.

“Did you know that while he had his head between her legs, most of us were fighting to keep our families from becoming the nightly entertainment?”

---

Beron shot to his feet, not bothering to brush off the dust, and declared to no one in particular, “This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.”

But Nesta rose from her chair. “This meeting is not over.”

Even Beron paused at her tone. Eris sized up the space between my sister and his father.

She stood tall, a pillar of steel. “You are all there is,” she said to Beron, to all of us. “You are all that there is between Hybern and the end of everything that is good and decent.” She settled her stare on Beron, unflinching and fierce.

“You fought against Hybern in the last war. Why do you refuse to do so now?” Beron did not deign to answer. But he did not leave. Eris subtly motioned his brothers to sit. Nesta marked the gesture—hesitated. As if realizing she indeed held their complete attention. That every word mattered.

---

She looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering—impressed, even, by the strange, simmering woman before them.

I didn’t have the words in me—to convey what was in my heart. Cassian seemed the same.

Beron only said, “I shall consider it.”

A look at his family, and they vanished. Eris was the last to winnow, something conflicted dancing over his face, as if this was not the outcome he’d planned for.

Expected.

The Lucien Paternity Revelation:

Helion began asking why we wanted to know, what Hybern was doing with the Cauldron … and Rhys fed him answers, easily and smoothly.

While we spoke, I said down the bond, Helion is Lucien’s father. Rhys was silent. Then— Holy burning hell. His shock was a shooting star between us.

I let my gaze dart through the room, half paying attention to Helion’s musing on the wall and how to repair it, then dared study the High Lord for a heartbeat. Look at him. The nose is the same, the smile. The voice. Even Lucien’s skin is darker than his brothers’. A golden brown compared to their pale coloring.

It would explain why his father and brothers detest him so much—why they have tormented him his entire life.

My heart squeezed at that. And why Eris didn’t want him dead. He wasn’t a threat to Eris’s power—his throne. I swallowed. Helion has no idea, does he?

It would seem not.

The Lady of Autumn’s favorite son—not only from Lucien’s goodness. But because he was the child she’d dreamed of having … with the male she undoubtedly loved.

The War:

Out of a rip in the world, Eris appeared atop our knoll, clad head to toe in silver armor, a red cape spilling from his shoulders. Rhys snarled a warning, too far gone in his power to bother controlling himself.

Eris just rested a hand on the pommel of his fine sword and said, “We thought you might need some help.”

---

But Beron. Beron had come. Eris registered our shock at that, too, and said, “Tamlin made him. Dragged my father out by his neck.” A half smile. “It was delightful.

---

Rhys’s voice was rough—low. “And what of your father?”

“We’re taking care of a problem,” was all Eris said, and pointed toward his father’s army. For those were his brothers approaching the front line, winnowing in bursts through the host. Right past the front lines and to the enemy wagons scattered throughout Hybern’s ranks.

The Final Meeting:

Eris was bruised and cut up enough to indicate he must have been in terrible shape after the fighting ceased yesterday, sporting a brutal slice down his cheek and neck—barely healed. Mor let out a satisfied grunt at the sight of it—or perhaps a sound of disappointment that the wound had not been fatal.

Eris continued by as if he hadn’t heard it, but didn’t sneer at least. Rather—he just nodded at Rhys. It was silent promise enough: soon. Soon, perhaps, Eris would finally take what he desired—and call in our debt.

We did not bother to nod back. None of us.

Especially not Lucien, who continued dutifully ignoring his eldest brother. But as Eris strode by … I could have sworn there was something like sadness—like regret, as he glanced to Lucien.

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

A Court of Frost and Starlight:

Mor's Flashback (TW: physical abuse, violence)

But the Autumn Court male standing beside Keir … Mor made herself look at Eris. Into his amber eyes.

Colder than any hall of Kallias’s court. They had been that way from the moment she’d met him, five centuries ago.

Eris laid a pale hand on the breast of his pewter-colored jacket, the portrait of Autumn Court gallantry. “I thought I’d extend some Solstice greetings of my own.”

That voice. That silky, arrogant voice. It had not altered, not in tone or timbre, in the passing centuries, either. Had not changed since that day.

Warm, buttery sunlight through the leaves, setting them glowing like rubies and citrines. The damp, earthen scent of rotting things beneath the leaves and roots she lay upon. Had been thrown and left upon.

Everything hurt. Everything. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but watch the sun drift through the rich canopy far overhead, listen to the wind between the silvery trunks.

And the center of that pain, radiating outward like living fire with each uneven, rasping breath …

Light, steady steps crunched on the leaves. Six sets. A border guard, a patrol.

Help. Someone to help—

A male voice, foreign and deep, swore. Then went silent.

Went silent as a single pair of steps approached. She couldn’t turn her head, couldn’t bear the agony. Could do nothing but inhale each wet, shuddering breath.

“Don’t touch her.”

Those steps stopped.

It was not a warning to protect her. Defend her.

She knew the voice that spoke. Had dreaded hearing it. She felt him approach now. Felt each reverberation in the leaves, the moss, the roots. As if the very land shuddered before him.

“No one touches her,” he said. Eris. “The moment we do, she’s our responsibility.”

Cold, unfeeling words.

“But—but they nailed a—”

“No one touches her.”

...

She began shaking, hating it as much as she’d hated the begging. Her body bellowed in agony, those nails in her abdomen relentless.

A pale, beautiful face appeared above her, blocking out the jewel-like leaves above. Unmoved. Impassive. “I take it you do not wish to live here, Morrigan.”

She would rather die here, bleed out here. She would rather die and return— return as something wicked and cruel, and shred them all apart.

He must have read it in her eyes. A small smile curved his lips. “I thought so.”

Eris straightened, turning. Her fingers curled in the leaves and loamy soil.

She wished she could grow claws—grow claws as Rhys could—and rip out that pale throat. But that was not her gift. Her gift … her gift had left her here. Broken and bleeding.

Eris took a step away.

Someone behind him blurted, “We can’t just leave her to—”

“We can, and we will,” Eris said simply, his pace unfaltering as he strode away. “She chose to sully herself; her family chose to deal with her like garbage. I have already told them my decision in this matter.” A long pause, crueler than the rest. “And I am not in the habit of fucking Illyrian leftovers.”

She couldn’t stop it, then. The tears that slid out, hot and burning. Alone. They would leave her alone here. Her friends did not know where she had gone. She barely knew where she was.

“But—” That dissenting voice cut in again.

“Move out.”

There was no dissension after that.

And when their steps faded away, then vanished, the silence returned.

The sun and the wind and the leaves.

The blood and the iron and the soil beneath her nails.

The pain.

Eris in the Hewn City:

“I would suggest reminding Beron that territory expansion is not on the table. For any court.”

Eris wasn’t fazed. Nothing had ever disturbed him, ruffled him. Mor had hated it from the moment she’d met him—that distance, that coldness. That lack of interest or feeling for the world. “Then I would suggest to you, High Lord, that you speak to your dear friend Tamlin about it.”

“Why.” Feyre’s question was sharp as a blade.

Eris’s mouth curved in an adder’s smile. “Because Tamlin’s territory is the only one that borders the human lands. I’d think that anyone looking to expand would have to go through the Spring Court first. Or at least obtain his permission.

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

A Court of Silver Flames:

Mor meets with Cassian:

“Eris bought me time.” Her words were laced with acid.

Cassian had tried not to believe it, but he knew Eris had done it as a gesture of good faith. He’d invited Rhysand into his mind to see exactly why he’d convinced Keir to indefinitely delay his visit to Velaris. Only Eris had that sort of sway with the power-hungry Keir, and whatever Eris had offered Keir in exchange for not coming here was still a mystery. At least to Cassian. Rhys probably knew. From Mor’s pale face, he wondered if she knew, too. Eris must have sacrificed something big to spare Mor from her father’s visit, which would have likely been timed for a moment that would maximize tormenting her.

Cassian meets with the Band of Exiles + Eris:

Lucien’s gold eye clicked, reading Cassian’s rage while warning flashed in his remaining russet eye.

The male had grown up alongside Eris. Had dealt with Eris’s and Beron’s cruelty. Had his lover slaughtered by his own father. But Lucien had learned to keep his cool.

---

Eris was their ally. Rhys had bargained with him, worked with him. Eris had held up his end at every turn. Rhys trusted him. Mor, despite all that had happened, trusted him. Sort of. So Cassian supposed he should do so as well.

---

Eris snorted again at Cassian’s fumbling, and, unable to help himself, Cassian at last turned toward him. “What are you doing here?”

Eris didn’t so much as shift in his seat. “Several dozen of my soldiers were out on patrol in my lands several days ago and have not reported back. We found no sign of battle. Even my hounds couldn’t track them beyond their last known location.”

Cassian’s brows lowered. He knew he shouldn’t let anything show, but … Those hounds were the best in Prythian. Canines blessed with magic of their own. Gray and sleek like smoke, they could race fast as the wind, sniff out any prey. They were so highly prized that the Autumn Court forbade them from being given or sold beyond its borders, and so expensive that only its nobility owned them. And they were bred rarely enough that even one was extremely difficult to come by. Eris, Cassian knew, had twelve.

“None of them could winnow?” Cassian asked.

“No. While the unit is one of my most skilled in combat, none of its soldiers are remarkable in magic or breeding.”

Breeding was tossed at Cassian with a smirk. Asshole.

But Eris shrugged a shoulder. “I think plenty of parties are interested in triggering another war, and this would be the start of it. Though perhaps your court did it. I wouldn’t put it past Rhysand to winnow my soldiers away and plant some mysterious scents to throw us off.”

---

Eris’s long red hair ruffled in the wind. “Whatever it is you’re doing, whatever it is you’re looking into, I want in.”

“Why? And no.”

“Because I need the edge Briallyn has, what Koschei has told her or shown her.”

“To overthrow your father.”

“Because my father has already pledged his forces to Briallyn and the war she wishes to incite.”

Cassian started. “What?”

“Explain what the fuck you mean by Beron pledging his forces to Briallyn.”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like. He caught wind of her ambitions, and went to her palace a month ago to meet with her. I stayed here, but I sent my best soldiers with him.” Cassian refrained from sniping about Eris opting out, especially as the last words settled.

“Those wouldn’t happen to be the same soldiers who went missing, would they?”

Eris nodded gravely. “They returned with my father, but they were … off. Aloof and strange. They vanished soon after—and my hounds confirmed that the scents at the scene are the same as those on gifts Briallyn sent to curry my father’s favor.”

---

“What does Beron say?”

“He is unaware of it. You know where I stand with my father. And this unholy alliance he’s struck with Briallyn will only hurt us. All of us. It will turn into a Fae war for control. So I want to find answers on my own—rather than what my father tries to feed me.”

Cassian surveyed the male, his grim face. “So we take out your father.”

Eris snorted, and Cassian bristled. “I am the only person my father has told of his new allegiance. If the Night Court moves, it will expose me.”

“So your worry about Briallyn’s alliance with Beron is about what it means for you, rather than the rest of us.”

“I only wish to defend the Autumn Court against its worst enemies.”

“Why would I work with you on this?”

“Because we are indeed allies.” Eris’s smile became lupine. “And because I do not believe your High Lord would wish me to go to other territories and ask them to help with Briallyn and Koschei. To help them remember that all it might take to secure Briallyn’s alliance would be to hand over a certain Archeron sister. Don’t be stupid enough to believe my father hasn’t thought of that, too.”

The Inner Circle Assigning Cassian to Eris:

And then Cassian had been slapped with a new order: keep an eye on Eris. Beyond the fact that he approached you, Rhys had said, you are my general. Eris commands Beron’s forces. Be in communication with him. Cassian had started to object, but Rhys had directed a pointed look at Azriel, and Cassian had caved. Az had too much on his plate already. Cassian could deal with that piece of shit Eris on his own.

Eris wants to avoid a war that would expose him, Feyre had guessed. If Beron sides with Briallyn, Eris would be forced to choose between his father and Prythian. The careful balance he’s struck by playing both sides would crumble. He wants to act when it’s convenient for his plans. This threatens that.

Eris meets with Rhys and Cassian:

“You’ve turned into quite the little traitor,” Rhys said, stars winking out in his eyes.

“I told you years ago what I wanted, High Lord,” Eris said.

To seize his father’s throne. “Why?” Cassian asked.

Eris grasped what he meant, apparently, because flame sizzled in his eyes. “For the same reason I left Morrigan untouched at the border.”

“You left her there to suffer and die,” Cassian spat. His Siphons flickered, and all he could see was the male’s pretty face, all he could feel was his own fist, aching to make contact.

Eris sneered. “Did I? Perhaps you should ask Morrigan whether that is true. I think she finally knows the answer.” Cassian’s head spun, and the relentless itching resumed, like fingers trailing along his spine, his legs, his scalp. Eris added before winnowing away, “Tell me when the shadowsinger returns.”

Eris meets with Cassian and Nesta:

“The Dread Trove,” Eris mused, surveying the heavy gray sky that threatened snow. “I’ve never heard of such items. Though it does not surprise me.”

“Does your father know of them?” The Steppes weren’t neutral ground, but they were empty enough that Eris had finally deigned to accept Cassian’s request to meet here. After taking days to reply to his message.

“No, thank the Mother,” Eris said, crossing his arms. “He would have told me if he did. But if the Trove has a sentience like you suggested, if it wants to be found … I fear that it might also be reaching out to others as well. Not just Briallyn and Koschei.”

Beron in possession of the Trove would be a disaster. He’d join the ranks of the King of Hybern. Could become something terrible and deathless like Lanthys. “So Briallyn failed to inform Beron about her quest for the Trove when he visited her?”

“Apparently, she doesn’t trust him, either,” Eris said, face full of contemplation. “I’ll need to think on that.”

“Don’t tell him about it,” Cassian warned.

Eris shook his head. “You misunderstand me. I’m not going to tell him a damned thing. But the fact that Briallyn is actively hiding her larger plans from him …” He nodded, more to himself. “Is this why Morrigan is back in Vallahan? To learn if they know about the Trove?”

---

Cassian grimaced. “Technically, Azriel and I did. Your soldiers were enchanted by Queen Briallyn and Koschei to be mindless killers. They attacked us in the Bog of Oorid, and we were left with no choice but to kill them.”

“And yet two survived. How convenient. I assume they received Azriel’s particular brand of interrogation?” Eris’s voice dripped disdain.

“We could only manage to contain two,” Cassian said tightly. “Under Briallyn’s influence, they were practically rabid.”

“Let’s not lie to ourselves. You only bothered to contain two, by the time your brute bloodlust ebbed away.”

Eris snorted. “There were certainly more than that, and you could have easily spared more than two. But I don’t know why I’d expect someone like you to have done any better.”

---

“Did you even try to spare the others, or did you just launch right into a massacre?” Eris seethed.

---

Nesta took one step closer to Eris. “Your soldiers shot an ash arrow through one of Azriel’s wings.”

Eris’s teeth flashed. “And did you join in this massacre, too?”

“No,” she said frankly. “But I wonder: Did Briallyn arm the soldiers with those ash arrows, or did they come from your private armory?”

Eris blinked, the only confirmation required. “Such weapons are banned, aren’t they?” she asked Cassian, whose features remained taut. The conflagration within her burned hotter, higher. She returned her attention to Eris. If he could toy with Cassian, then she’d return the favor. “Who were you storing those arrows for?” she mused. “Enemies abroad?” She smiled slightly. “Or an enemy at home?”

Eris held her stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nesta’s smile didn’t waver. “Would an ash arrow through the heart kill a High Lord?”

Eris’s face paled. “You’re wasting my time.”

Eris and Nesta dance:

"Don’t believe the lies they tell you about me.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Oh?”

Eris nodded to where Mor watched them from beside Feyre and Rhys, her face neutral and aloof. “She knows the truth but has never revealed it.”

“Why?”

“Because she is afraid of it.”

“You don’t win yourself any favors with your behavior.”

“Don’t I? Do I not ally myself with this court under constant threat of being discovered and killed by my father? Do I not offer aid whenever Rhysand wishes?” He spun her again. “They believe a version of events that is easier to swallow. I always thought Rhysand wiser than that, but he tends to be blind where those he loves are concerned.”

---

Cassian could only stare at Eris’s throat, pondering whether to strangle him or slit the skin wide open. Let him bleed out on the floor.

“That’s not my decision,” Rhys said calmly to Eris. “And it seems foolish for you to offer me anything I want in exchange for her, anyway.”

His jaw tightened. “I have my reasons.”

From the shadows in his eyes, Cassian knew something more lay beneath the rash offer. Something that even Az’s spies hadn’t picked up on at the Autumn Court. All it would take was one push of Rhys’s power into his mind and they’d know, but … it went against everything they stood for, at least amongst their allies. Rhys demanded their trust; he had to give it in return. Cassian couldn’t fault his brother for that.

Eris added, “It is a bonus, of course, that in doing so, I would be repaying Cassian for ruining my betrothal to Morrigan.”

---

Again, Rhys’s lips twitched. So bloodthirsty, Cassian heard his High Lord croon to his mate. But Rhys said, “Anything I want, whether it be armies from the Autumn Court or your firstborn, you would grant me in exchange for Nesta Archeron as your wife?”

Cassian growled low in his throat. His brother was letting this carry on too far.

Eris glared. “Not as far as the firstborn, but yes, Rhysand. You want armies against Briallyn and my father, you’ll have them.” His lips curved upward. “I couldn’t very well let my wife’s sister go into battle unaided, could I?”

Eris, Cassian, and Nesta meet (the last time before the Rite)

Cassian only gave her an amused wink before continuing, “Your letter seemed to imply that your father was making a move. Out with it.”

“My father went to the continent again last week. He came back seeming normal, without the glassy-eyed aloofness my soldiers displayed. He did not invite me to accompany him, or explain what he discussed with Briallyn. I can only assume the fallout is approaching, though, and wanted to warn you. It was not something I could risk putting in writing. But for now … for now, it seems as if the world is holding its breath.”

---

“That’s absurd,” Nesta snapped. “What do we have to gain?”

Red flame sizzled in Eris’s eyes. “What did the King of Hybern have to gain by attaining the Cauldron and invading our lands?”

“We have no interest in conquest, Eris,” Cassian said, crossing his arms. “You know that. And we’re not going to use the Trove.”

Eris barked a laugh. Nesta could see that he didn’t believe them—that he was so used to the twisted politics and scheming of his court that even when the simple, easy truth was offered, he could not see it. “I find myself not entirely comfortable with your court possessing two items in the Trove.” His gaze shifted to Nesta. “Especially when you have so many other weapons in your arsenal.”

---

Eris picked at a piece of lint on his jacket. At his side hung the dagger Rhys and Feyre had gifted him, simple and plain compared to the finery on him. Her dagger. “You’d be truly stupid to go after Briallyn directly.”

“Leave the heroics to the brutes, Eris,” Cassian said. “Wouldn’t want to risk cutting up those pretty hands.”

Eris’s fingers curled slightly on his biceps. Nesta reined in her smile. Cassian’s words had found their mark.

---

Eris only said, “If you fail in retrieving the Crown, you risk Briallyn using it upon you. She could turn you on each other. Make you do unspeakable things. Even reveal to her where the other two objects are. And you’d have no choice but to tell her everything.” He worried about them revealing their alliance—for his own sake. “You threaten to expose us. Do not pursue the Crown.”

---

Eris glowered. “Has this been the plan the whole time? To string me along, make me an enemy of my father, then use the Trove against all of us?”

“You made yourself an enemy of your father,” Cassian said, smiling faintly. “When he finds out, I wonder if he’ll let your hounds rip you to shreds, or if he’ll do it himself.”

Eris paled slightly. “Don’t you mean if he finds out?”

Cassian said nothing. Kept his face neutral. Nesta stifled her smugness and did the same.

Eris observed them. For the first time since Nesta had known the male, uncertainty banked the fire in his gaze.

And then he turned toward the other subject in his letter, facing Nesta before he asked, “And my offer for you?” Not one ounce of affection or longing laced his words.

Nesta lifted her chin, smirking at last. “I suppose once we have the Crown in our hands, the Night Court won’t need you after all. Neither will I.”

She could have sworn Cassian was repressing a laugh, but she kept her gaze on Eris, who went rigid, rippling with rage. “I do not appreciate being toyed with, Nesta Archeron. My offer was sincere. Stay with the Night Court and you risk your ruin.”

Cassian cut in smoothly, “Try to fuck us over, Eris, and you risk yours.”

Eris’s upper lip curled. “Do whatever you want.” He straightened, as if shaking off any emotion, face going cold and cruel again. “It’s your lives you gamble with, not mine.” He chuckled, nodding to Cassian. “So what if the world loses another brute to war? Good riddance.”

Eris getting kidnapped and ensnared by the Crown:

Azriel said tightly, “My spies got word that Eris has been captured by Briallyn. She sent his remaining soldiers after him while he was out hunting with his hounds. They grabbed him and somehow, they were all winnowed back to her palace. I’m guessing using Koschei’s power.”

---

I had to use that brash princeling Eris to draw him in.” A soft laugh. “Eris tried to help his soldiers when they surrounded him during his hunt. Help those wretches. He rode right up to them, rather than gallop away as any wise person would. They grabbed him with minimal fuss. Even those infernal hounds of his could do nothing as Koschei winnowed him away.”

Eris might be a good male?

Eris went on, “Always mix truth and lies, General. Didn’t those warrior-brutes teach you about how to withstand an enemy’s torture?”

Cassian knew. He’d been tortured and interrogated and never once broken. “Beron tortured you?”

Eris rose, tucking his book under an arm. “Who cares what my father does to me? He believed my story about the shadowsinger’s spies informing him that a valuable asset had been kidnapped by Briallyn, and that you lot were disgusted to arrive and find it was me, rather than someone from the Summer or Winter Courts or whoever stoops to associate with you.”

Cassian unpacked each word. Beron had tortured his own son for information, rather than thanking the Mother for returning him. But Eris had held out. Fed Beron another lie.

And then there was the way Eris had spoken about the other courts. Something had been off in his words, his tight expression. Was the male jealous?

Cassian opened his mouth, more than ready to launch that question at him and bestow a stinging blow.

Yet he hesitated. Looked into Eris’s eyes.

The male had been raised with every luxury and privilege—on paper. But who knew what terrors Beron had inflicted upon him? Cassian knew Beron had murdered Lucien’s lover. If the High Lord of Autumn had been willing to do that, what wouldn’t he do?

“Get that pitying look off your face,” Eris snarled softly. “I know what sort of creature my father is. I don’t need your sympathy.”

Cassian again studied him. “Why did you leave Mor in the woods that day?” It was the question that would always remain. “Was it just to impress your father?”

Eris barked a laugh, harsh and empty. “Why does it still matter to all of you so much?”

“Because she’s my sister, and I love her.”

“I didn’t realize Illyrians were in the habit of fucking their sisters.”

Cassian growled. “It still matters,” he ground out, “because it doesn’t add up. You know what a monster your father is and want to usurp him; you act against him in the best interests of not only the Autumn Court but also of all of the faerie lands; you risk your life to ally with us … and yet you left her in the woods. Is it guilt that motivates all of this? Because you left her to suffer and die?”

Golden flame simmered in Eris’s gaze. “I didn’t realize I’d be facing another interrogation so soon.”

“Give me a damn answer.”

Eris crossed his arms, then winced. As if whatever injuries lay beneath his immaculate clothes ached. “You’re not the person I want to explain myself to.”

“I doubt Mor will want to listen.”

“Maybe not.” Eris shifted on his feet, and grimaced again. “But you and yours have more important things to think about than ancient history. My father is furious that his ally is dead, but he’s not deterred. Koschei remains in play, and Beron might very well be stupid enough to establish an alliance with him, too. I hope that whatever Morrigan is doing in Vallahan will counteract the damage my father will unleash.”

----

Eris was still their ally. Was willing to be tortured to keep their secrets. And Cassian didn’t need to be a courtier to know his next words would slice deep, but it would be a necessary wound. Perhaps it would be enough to push things in the right direction.

---

“You know, Eris,” he said, a hand wrapping around the doorknob. “I think you might be a decent male, deep down, trapped in a terrible situation.” He looked over his shoulder and found Eris’s gaze blazing again. But only pity stirred in his chest, pity for a male who had been born into riches, but had been destitute in every way that truly mattered. In every way that Cassian had been blessed—blessings that were now overflowing.

So Cassian said, “I grew up surrounded by monsters. I’ve spent my existence fighting them. And I see you, Eris. You’re not one of them. Not even close. I think you might even be a good male.” Cassian opened the door, turning from Eris’s curled lip. “You’re just too much of a coward to act like one.”

[nikethestatue]

The Heirs of Shadow

Prompt: here

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Language and Fluff

Part I

Calanmai

 The shadows danced along the obsidian walls of the chamber, jumping and fluttering across the marble floor and the intertwining carved beasts that scaled the width of the room, waving across the walls and the ceiling.

Behind the doors, Elain could feel the pulsating throb of the revelry that was taking place in the opulent halls and loggias of Hewn City. Fire Night. Calanmai. Beyond the onyx-black bowels of the city, up, up, up somewhere in Night Court, the night skies were streaking with falling stars. Starfall.

Starfall was somewhere else though—they had glimpsed it, taken in its beauty, but now, Calanmai was in full swing.

Azriel’s powerful, muscular body strained over hers, his arm gripping her hip so hard, she was sure that it would leave bruises. Not that Elain cared—she loved the marking of his love on her flesh. She loved the lilac bruises that he left on her neck with his lips and teeth, and the outline of his hands on her thighs, her waist, her…everywhere. For a man who was known for his self-control, and who embodied cold, calculated sophistication and cruelty to all those who did not know him well, Azriel, the Spymaster of the Night Court, loved Elain Archeron with an uncharacteristic degree of unrestrained passion and blind, all-encompassing adoration. He was not above kissing her with uninhibited ambition in public, or slipping his scarred hand into her jacket and cupping a handful of her soft breast or pinching her behind when fancy struck him. It struck him frequently. His love was reciprocated, at last, and there was no limit to his indulging of his gorgeous female. His betrothed and his Lady. The glittering band of her betrothal bracelet was testament not only to their mutual love, but also his wealth and the degree to which he was willing to spoil her. In fact, he had picked out every diamond, every amethyst, every pearl that comprised the intricate flower design of the bracelet himself. Gone were the days when he had to hide his love and desire for her, when the only acceptable gift was a dainty necklace of stained glass. In fact, he designed a very similar necklace for her yet again, only instead of glass, it was rubies and pearls and pink diamonds.

The glint of the necklace in fact, bounced against her creamy skin, the pendant sliding between her swaying breasts. He kissed her, slow and hot, watching her body arch beneath him. The kiss was slow, but not gentle, their mouths fusing together in desperation, as if they’ve been apart for too long, that the previous 500 years were unbearable for him and he needed to fill his lungs with her, with her breath, her very soul, as he sucked and sucked on her lips.

Elain’s nails sunk into his broad, thickly muscled shoulders, and Azriel dipped his head, groaning into her throat, dragging his tongue from her hot, pulsating vein back to her lips, sliding back into her mouth. She kissed him back, sloppy and heated, her lips swollen and ruby-red, before pressing the heel of her palm into his chest and pushing at him.

“I want to look at you,” she moaned, her eyelids heavy with want.

He pulled up and did as he was told, settling on his knees and allowing her to trace the skin of his cobbled abdomen with her fingertips. He was running hot and volatile, his dark brown skin gleaming like dirty bronze beneath the faelights, his wings spayed and open behind him, casting shadows on his sculpted, inked shoulders. His soft, inky-black hair fell across his forehead, sticking slightly to his damp skin, and she smiled at him and rubbed her thumb between his eyebrows.

His thick cock glided in and out of her tight glorious heat and he pushed inside of her with an obscene, wet sound, feeling the smooth thrust of his shaft in her.

“My good girl,” he murmured, extracting loud, explicit moans from her parted lips, while his thumb settled on her pulsating, engorged clit, rubbing firmly, with precise, firm pressure. Elain’s head rolled back, her honey-golden hair fanning out over the dark-gray satin of the pillows. She felt overflowing, torturously stuffed with him, which was the most glorious, gorgeous fullness that she could ever imagine.

“Open up for me, beautiful,” he ground out, “so I can ride you like you need,”

Elain obliged compliantly, wordlessly splitting even further for him, as Azriel gripped her thigh and pulled her deeper onto his shaft, while hoisting her leg onto his shoulder.

“Look at us, my love,” he urged, thrusting harder into her, his gaze gluttonous with pleasure and utter satisfaction. Elain could barely lift herself up on her elbows, but she looked between their bodies, watching her splayed pink folds, his member disappearing in and out of her, glistening with their arousal. His long brazen finger thrust alongside his shaft, the fit impossibly tight, but so wonderfully pleasurable.

She squeezed her breasts in her palms, absently fingering her nipples, watching the explicit show between her legs, while Azriel smiled at her and kissed her foot that rested on his shoulder. She bit her lower lip, enjoying the indecent scrutiny with which his eyes skimmed over her body, as both of them watched the workings of his cock inside of her.

“Do you want to taste, my sweet?” he offered, his midnight voice smooth and sensual, encouraging even more debauched behavior from her, and she nodded eagerly.

Licking her lips impatiently, she murmured, ‘yes’ and he rewarded her with a smile, while slowly pulling out of her stretched passage.

“Az, my love,” she moaned, emptied of him, instantly missing the presence of his thick, long member in her, her hole twitching at the loss. But he pulled her up gently by her back of her neck and instantly fed the shaft in her mouth, thrusting deep and far into her throat. She choked softly around him, but swallowed compliantly, sucking his length down into her mouth.

“That’s my girl,” he approved, holding the back of her head and pumping between her lips, watching her watch him. Her eyes, the color of milk chocolate, blinked rapidly, as she struggled against the girth of the member, but sucked on his bravely and eagerly. He enjoyed the sucking, noisy and wet, her tongue working on him constantly, licking their intermingling juices, but then he patted the corner of the bed, and Elain knew what he desired. She scooted over, and lay back on the cool sheets, never releasing the cock from her mouth, holding it tightly in her hand, as she lapped on the broad head of it, playfully dipping the tip of her tongue into the tiny slit.

They’ve been at it for hours now. Calanmai. Fucking, eating, drinking, fucking, fucking. That’s what people did on Calanmai. Elain figured that perhaps, this would be her new favorite holiday. Always to be celebrated here, in Hewn City, her new home.

The Lord and Lady of Hewn City, feared and venerated—that’s what they were. Who would have thought that Elain would love Hewn City, its obsidian beauty, its marble and granite lined ‘streets’, its unbridled opulence, its soaring columns, its ceilings lit up with faelights that were ensconced in chandeliers that were dripping crystals and silver.

They had begun today’s festivities by following its ancient custom of the Great Rite. As the Lady and Lord of the Underworld, they did not need to ‘choose’ each other, for they were already chosen—chosen the moment the Darkbringers acknowledged Azriel as their Commander General, and Rhysand how no other choice but to pass the crown of Stewardship to his shadowsinger. With Keir dead, all assumed that the magic and the power of the Hewn City and the Darkbringers would pass on to Mor, or one of the sons, yet, it skipped the family entirely. The magic of Hewn City left the bloodline of the High Lord, moving over to Azriel’s line. And just like that, Azriel became Prince of Velaris, the Lord of Hewn City, and Elain, his chosen Lady.

Today was the first year they presided over Fire Night, and while Azriel worried about Elain, she reminded him that she was the Lady of Hewn City and therefore, would participate in all rites and rituals, just like Feyre participated in them as the High Lady of the Night Court.

The entire population of Hewn City, tens of thousands of them vibrated and pulsed in anticipation, gathered in the Great Hall, hundreds spilling outside, thousands crowding the balconies and terraces above.

For Elain, it was the initial walk that was the most nerve wrecking. Naked, she was expected to enter the hall and await Azriel’s arrival. But she squared her shoulders, and draped in nothing but jasmine and moonflowers that cascaded down her unbound hair she made her walk, regal and unhurried, as any queen. When he’d arrived, the new Lord and master of the place, the place shook with a different kind of energy.

And then, they joined together on their throne, in front of their subjects, and Azriel rode her long and hard, until she barely remembered that she was being watched by thousands of eyes. She was eager and willing, taking him in any position that he desired, until he filled her with seed and spilled the rest of it upon the stones of his domain, signifying the start of Calanmai.

The insemination was met with wild cheering and Elain felt nothing but prideful satisfaction after the ritual was concluded and his seed dripped down her thighs, for all to see. She was their Lady, the benevolent one, the kind and just one, while Azriel still inspired fear and trepidation in most. The seed that filled her and poured out of her as she walked through the throngs of people, all of whom looked at her with admiration and excitement, was a sign of good things to come. After centuries, perhaps millennia of stagnation, Hewn City would rise again to its former glory. Lady Elain would be the catalyst for it.

Azriel settled atop of her, her head thrown over the edge of the bed, and rubbed the head of the member over her lips, tugging on it slowly, his eyes wide with the anticipation of pleasure.

“I love Calanmai,” she vowed with a joyful sight, and he laughed.

“Indeed?”

She nodded, licking the tip of the member. “You aren’t tired?” he asked, for they’ve been entangled for a while now. She shook her head no. “Tired? Until you, my lord, render me unable to walk tomorrow, then I might consider myself tired!”

“Is this what you want, my girl?” he asked, his voice gravelly and breathy with lust. Beads of liquid dribbled onto her tongue from his straining member. She whined with anticipation, nodding impatiently, while he guided the shaft into her mouth, her position allowing him to slide deeper and deeper and deeper.

There was nothing that Azriel didn’t love about Elain. Nothing. There was no word ‘no’ in his vocabulary when it came to her. She was his strength, his rock, the one person in this world who offered him complete understanding and acceptance, who supported him gently and lovingly through every peril and cataclysmic change that had taken place in their lives.

Sexually, Elain was brave and tolerant, experimental and curious. Every part of her was enticing and sensual, but nothing excited him more than her willingness and ability to take him in her throat, usually, without him even asking for it. Elain surprised him daily, but her voracious sexual appetite was a marvelous, unexpected gift for him. Because it matched his own perfectly.

He gently cupped her hollowed cheek and rubbed his thumb over the warm, flushed skin of her face, murmuring, “you feel so good, my love. So wet and ready for me.”

Elain hummed against his member and gasping and panting, and the vibrations of her mouth against the head of the member had him moaning, his head thrown back. She stroked his muscled stomach, running her palm over the hard, defined ridges, while he began thrusting between her lips, the tip striking the back of her throat with each push.  He gingerly cupped her head, her soft, messy locks a tangle in his fingers, and kept it steady, while she allowed him to use her mouth the way he liked it.

Azriel was not a talkative man, and because he was quiet and reserved and cerebral, most assumed that he was a tender lover. He was not.

So when he plunged into her mouth, it was not gentle, though he was always considerate and acutely aware of all her emotions and reactions. Spymaster, after all.

“My good girl,” he began a litany of praise, “you feel so good. My sweet, beautiful Lainey—are you enjoying yourself, my love?” he looked over his shoulder for a moment and a smirk played on his lips. She was clenching her thighs in desperation, gurgling and panting softly around his member, and he pumped harder, clasping her jaw and muttering, “is sucking my cock making you even wetter?”

She attempted to nod, but it was virtually impossible, though he didn’t need confirmation seeing her rosy folds bathed in her arousal. Taking pity on her, he slipped three fingers in her, and they slid in easily and fully, the walls of her sex clutching at them strongly.

“Where do you want me, sweetheart?” he asked, his hand working inside of her with quick, deep thrusts, while he used her mouth brutally, watching tears spill down her cheeks from the pressure. She did not respond in any meaningful way, indicating that it was up to him to find his pleasure within her, wherever he wanted. He smiled and caressed her sweaty, flushed face, while she chocked lightly against him, stroking his balls with her usual tenderness. He moaned, especially when he glanced lower and gritted through his teeth, “Love, I can see my cock in your throat,” he gasped, his eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness, cloaked in oily lust. Every time he pushed, the member bulged and imprinted in her throat, and he couldn’t help himself and gently lay his scarred hand on the spot, feeling the vibrations of his dick against his palm. He almost came right then and there, himself panting and gasping for air, and even if this certainly wasn’t the first time he saw his cock protrude in her throat, it never failed to cause some instinctual male reaction in him. His wings flared and snapped open, uncontrollable, guided by nothing but base instinct to show his female who was inside of her. By the Cauldron, if he could stay like this forever, he would.

Alas, he could hold back no longer and with a few well-placed thrusts, he felt Elain’s throat contract on him and that was his undoing. His release swept like a tidal wave over him and came in her mouth, making her groan with feral pleasure as he spilled and spilled into her. He was thinking that maybe Calanmai was his favourite holiday as well.

He collapsed alongside her, his wings a mess beneath him, but he didn’t even care. His breath was ragged and heavy, but she lovingly fed her nipple between his teeth and he sucked, tucking her beside him, murmuring an endless string of ‘I love you’ and ‘thank you’ into the soft, wonderfully comforting globe. She held his head against her breast, moaning sweetly, delighted at his steady sucking, wiggling against him to get more.  

Once they’ve calmed down a lit, she kissed his neck, while twisting her wrist before her eyes, watching the sparkling and gleaming bracelet explode with a thousand tiny lights in the shadows of faelights and the fire in the marble fireplace.

“Do you really love it?” he murmured, kissing her hand.

“Being yours…your bride and your Lady is all that I want,” she admitted, “but,” she smiled, “yes, my love, I love it. Isn’t it stunning?!”

He nodded, “I think I did well.”

“I can’t believe that you designed it yourself!” she kissed his chin, then his lips. “What other incredible talents do you possess that I am not aware of?”

He turned onto his back, rearranging his wings in some semblance of acceptable order and tugged her next to him. Running his finger over the bracelet, he said, “well, let’s see—I sing.”

“Uh-uh,” she pouted. “But never in front of me!”

“One day, my sweet, one day,” he teased.

“What else?”

“I enjoy building things…carving wood. I think that deep down, I am just a humble carpenter.”

Her brow furrowed, “have I seen any of your work? Or are you being stupidly humble as usual and refusing to show it to anyone?”

He laughed, amused by her indignation.

“No, I don’t believe that I am stupidly humble when it comes to my work. You might have seen it. Most of it is at Rosehall,”

“Oh, speaking of which—I promised your mother that I would visit!” Elain snapped her fingers, frowning at having forgotten.

He kissed her brow and said, “I am sure she’ll understand. Her daughter-in-law is a Lady of Hewn City,”

Elain smiled at the title.

“Even though,” she insisted, “I love her and I want to visit her. She said that she and the girls had made spice blends and mulled wine over the winter break and she wanted us to have it. And she also promised gifts for Calanmai,”

“You are my gift for Calanmai,” he whispered tenderly and kissed her. “My gift for every day. My gift for life.”

Elain cupped his cheek and kissed him back, running her tongue over his lower lip. She smelled and tasted of him, and he shuddered from the sensation, from the realization of how thoroughly his she was. His gift indeed.

Remarkably, it also made him hard.

Elain smiled and ran her finger down his chest, then his stomach.

“I am sorry, Lainey, I know you are tired,” he scrambled quickly, embarrassed by his response to her. Even by Fae standards, he was no spring chicken—not a green youth to be hardening at every kiss of these sweet, soft lips. Yes, he was a male in his prime, but,

“Once more?” she requested softly, batting her lashes at him and he grinned.

“Whatever my lady wishes,” he nodded with a courteous flair. The he kissed her and whispered into her lips, “tell me what you’d like, sweetheart?”

She chewed her lower lip, contemplating, the action making him ever harder. She found that very hardness at the ready for her, and wrapped her hand around him, rubbing him tightly, as she settled in the crook of his arm and he kissed her again.

“In my bottom, please,” she requested shyly.

Her secret, intimate pleasure that only Azriel was aware of. It thrilled him to know that she found pleasure with him, in him, in many different ways—from the simplest and most mundane, to the very intimate and personal, and only he could provide it for her.

“If that’s alright with you?” she added and he laughed, bringing her closer to his chest.

“I don’t think that I need to be pressured, sweetheart,”

She smiled and he parted her thighs, settling just behind her, muttering in her ear, “will you be a good girl for me? My good girl?”

She nodded, breath hitching in her chest, her breasts rising and falling in anticipation and she flicked her plump nipple with his fingers before biting it softly. She squirmed and her legs fell apart of their own volition, while he pressed his thumb into her clit and ground into it, watching her eyes roll back in pleasure, while he lined his member with her little opening. It was well-stretched from their previous bout, as he’d taken her everywhere in front of their Court, and then again, when they returned here, to their private quarters.

He pushed into her, easing slowly and carefully, and her back arched in his arms, as she pressed her face into his neck, moaning loudly. There was always a bit of pain, especially in the beginning, at the initial breach, and the sharp bite that he received on his clavicle was an indication of just that. She gripped the immense muscles of his shoulder, grunting and moaning into his neck, squeezing his arm so hard, it was sure to leave bruises. He was inside of her, his cock enveloped in such mind-boggling tightness that he ceased all movement, just to avoid coming at once.

He clasped her jaw and made her look at him. Her eyelids were heavy and a love-addled, blissful look settled on her face, while he lightly kissed her parted lips.

“Does that feel nice, my girl?” he asked, finally sliding a bit deeper, each shallow, easy thrust opening her up a little more.

“Az, Az,” she groaned breathlessly, “I can’t…it’s so…ohh,” she swallowed his thumb, still wet with her slick, needing to suck on something while he plunged forward, rocking his hips into her.

“Elain,” he hissed low and winced at the sweet, torturous friction that the walls of her bottom offered to his invading shaft. He pressed her to him, slowly bringing his hips against hers, and finally settling fully inside, while she went still and pliable in his arms.

The ache inside of Elain was particularly wonderful right now, even if she felt like she was being split inside—it always happened for a few moments—while her body spread to accommodate him.

“I fucking love you,” he moaned into her mouth, pulling his thumb out so he could ravish her with his tongue, while he returned back to her clit and stroked steadily.

He did not set an unreasonable pace, but rather moved languidly and deeply inside of her, kissing her to his heart’s desire. She nestled into his arms, stroking and kissing him lovingly, mewing and panting against his thorough, merciless thrusts.

“You feel sublime,” she confessed, watching him squeeze her breast, toying and tugging on the nipple.

“Did I tell you that I love you?” he asked, placing light, tender kisses all over her face. She laughed. “About a minute ago.”

“Good. Because I love you.”

“I love you too, Az,” she wrapped her arm around his neck, and then shuddered in his embrace, stuttering into his shoulder, “yes, yes, yes…like that…”

“You like that, my beauty?” he pumped harder now, knowing that the discomfort and pain were gone and she stretched wonderfully around him, taking him to the balls.

“Yes, yes,” she nodded, eyes shut, pleasure settling and growing somewhere inside of her. She milked and squeezed his cock frantically, urging him to move and give her more, and he did, pounding deeper into that marvelous tightness, against the lush silkiness of her quivering, trembling behind.

“Azriel,” she almost screamed, and then turned and swiftly straddled him, impaling herself with unstoppable determination, her wet, gleaming sex played widely in front of him, her other opening swollen and bursting around him.

Her plump tits bounced as she rode him, unconcerned about anything at this moment, her hair hanging limply over her body, her nails dug into his chest, her hips undulating on his cock.

“Baby, come for me,” he urged her, mesmerized by the wantonness of her creamy, pale body atop of him, the rhythmic bounce of her beautiful ass on his thighs, her determination to take what she needed from him.

With a roar that awoke the beasts, she shuddered and trembled over him, her rectum twitching and squeezing him so hard that he was unable to even work her through her climax, as he arched beneath her and his ecstasy was complete, as he spurted hot and thick inside of her. She went limp and he caught her in his arms, gently squeezing her against his chest and then waiting until the waves subsided for both of them, before kissing her hungrily.

He lay her down and then carefully withdrew, dragging his seed out of her with one long pull.

“Happy Calanmai,” she giggled and kissed him.

“Happy Calanmai, my love,” he stroked her damp hair.

He took her to the bathing chamber then, and they cleaned each other up quickly, for even the stoic Azriel was tired and all he wanted was to snuggle with his love and sleep. With her, he slept. She was his miracle.

By the time they returned to the bedroom, the bed was remade, the sheets changed and the subtle scent of jasmine perfumed the air. The wraiths who served at their court were nothing but efficient.

Elain’s beasts, two creatures who sat in stone for millennia, while Hewn City awaited its true master, and slumbered in its decadence, under the rule of the Night Court’s High Lords, awoke when the magic and power descended upon Azriel.

The creatures, and there were many of them here, awoke. But two, the ones who guarded the entrance to the City, were touched by Elain’s hand and released first. She freed them all, though some she put back to slumber, to be awoken when needed, though unlike before, they fed regularly, as opposed to once a decade.

But the two—Asterin and Sorrel—were Elain’s perpetual companions. The great fanged beasts, with powerful slithering bodies clad in impenetrable scales and with massive claws, not to mention keen intelligence and perfect understanding of language had made even Azriel a bit uneasy at first. Asterin was more physically powerful, but also playful, if volatile and temperamental, while Sorrel was calmer, if more brutal, and extremely overprotective of Elain.

Hewn City, especially during the transition of power, was not the friendliest of places, its new Lord well-known, disliked, feared and resented by a swath of its population. Even Elain, with her kindness and good-natured character, was not immediately successful in turning the tide of public opinion. Therefore, Azriel was more than concerned about leaving her here, if he had business elsewhere, but with Asterin and Sorrel, even his worries were put to rest.

The beasts were not exactly wyverns, or dragons, but creatures of their own. Like Rhys, they were able to summon their wings at will, which was perhaps something specific to Rhys’s bloodline, or somehow connected to Hewn City, but whatever the reason was, it was very, very useful. Elain had noted that having not one, but three winged creatures in the bedroom would be…excessive. Hence, when she and Azriel went to their palace atop the Court of Nightmares’ mountain, the beasts were free to fly and frolic about as much as they wanted. They also offered winged transportation to Elain.

At last, all three sisters were able to fly. Feyre simply summoned wings just like she always did. Nesta received her white mare pegasus, which she named Marena, from Helion (who still held out hope that she and Cassian would join him in some erotic escapade), as a mating gift. And lastly, Elain flew on her fanged beasts. Their three males could barely keep up.

Luckily, the beasts also went into hibernation when ordered, becoming stone-like, just like the sculptures that they once were. Because they insisted on sharing the quarters here, it was rather imperative that there was some privacy—because Azriel did not need to suddenly glance at a pair of slanted green eyes while licking Elain’s pussy.

Azriel deposited Elain on the bed and she wrapped her arms around him, giving him a hearty hug.

The shadows had returned—they left when they sensed that their master was about to engage in something private with the mistress—while Asterin and Sorrel coiled around the bed.

Even though their private apartment was located far inside the Hewn City Night Palace, they could still hear the partying occupants of the underworld Court. Azriel rolled his eyes and Elain laughed in return. He threw a shield over the bedroom, blocking the noise.

“Who knew that you’d fit right in, with Calanmai becoming your favourite holiday?” he muttered, squeezing her behind.

“I suppose the Cauldron doesn’t only make stupid mistakes,” she shrugged. “And once in a while gets something right.’

 Part II

The Heirs of Shadow

 Spring was in full bloom across the Night Court territory, slowly but surely crossing into summer.

The wind in Elain’s hair was sweet and scented with roses and pine. Asterin was like an enormous scaly snake-like puppy, swooshing through the air, making all sorts of unnecessary maneuvers beneath Elain’s saddle. “Hey! I will be going on Sorrel when we return,” she warned her beast and Asterin gave her a petulant snarl, but slowed down. The flight made Elain queasy and she was glad to see the cypress and pine-covered hills, and beyond them, a flower-covered meadow and a glittering, turquoise lake.

The stucco-covered villa stretched along the banks of the lake, one wall covered in ivy, and the other, in pink and white roses. As Asterin and Sorrel approached the villa, two children rushed out of the wrought iron gates, waving their arms in the air, jumping and yelling. Elain smiled at them, waving back.

“Elain, Elain,” the children rushed towards her the moment Asterin touched down, “we missed you so much! You came! Can we play with the wyverns? Can we go flying?”

Elain dismounted and squatted in the grass, opening her arms and then getting tackled onto her back, once the two children slid into her arms, hands and legs flailing about, smiles and at least one mouth with missing teeth grinning at her. She kissed soft cheeks and thick black hair, so alike to that of their oldest brother—Azriel.

“You two are such hooligans!” she laughed, finally managing to sit up, but they wouldn’t let get up, so they remained in the grass.

“Where is Az?” asked Nataliya, playing with Elain’s braid and closely inspecting her emerald earrings. “These are pretty! Do you have presents for me?”

“Nat, it’s rude to ask that!” at nine years of age, her brother Riad was the voice of reason and propriety. More than any other child, he reminded Elain of Azriel—a uniquely handsome boy, with a contemplative and scholarly attitude and yet remarkably swift, agile and fast. She’d watched him climb the old oak tree that grew on the property in under a minute. Sometimes, he and Azriel would go for a run, and the boy would keep up the entire time, without complaint, steadfast and determined, just like his brother.

“Why it’s rude if I want a present?” demanded Nataliya, shrugging. Elain kissed her head and said, “Lucky for you, I do have presents for everyone!”

The girl squealed, her round face breaking into a happy smile. “That’s good. I want them! You wanna see our baby?”

“Of course,” Elain nodded and then gave each one of them a hand and they tugged her upwards.

“Come on, Elain! You can do it,” Nat encouraged her, grunting.

“Is Az gonna come?” asked Riad quietly, once Elain was up, and they walked towards the villa, holding hands.

“Not right now, my loves. He is very busy,”

“He is High Lord!” exclaimed Nat, squeezing her chubby hands in delight. “He is busy, Riad!” she added confidently, “so he can’t come visit.”

“Maybe you can come and visit us in Velaris?” proposed Elain.

“Be careful what you ask for, darling!” a laughing voice interrupted their conversation.

Azriel’s stunningly beautiful mother was smiling at them, standing by the gate. Her lustrous black hair cascaded in rich, ebony waves around her, and the bright green eyes were in fine contrast to her dark golden skin. Her eldest son inherited her sensuous full mouth and every time Elain laid eyes on the woman, she could see Azriel’s visage in her face.

“We’d love to have you all,” insisted Elain, throwing her arms around her mother-in-law.

“Ma, we gonna go play with the wyverns!” announced Riad.

“Yes, with wyverns!” Nat nodded immediately. She was not yet five, and basically repeated everything that Riad did and said. “Which one is good?”

Elain chuckled, “they are both good. Asterin, the green one, likes to swim, so maybe you can go to the lake with her. And Sorrel, the gray one, she may even fly you about, if your mother permits,”

“Ma!”

“Ma!”

Rosamunde winced a bit, but Elain murmured, “they’ll be perfectly safe.”

“Alright, but,”

Before she could even finish her sentence the two ran off towards the beasts.

“Ellie, you look wonderful,” Rosamunde locked arms with Elain and they slowly made their way inside Rosehall. A riot of flower beds greeted them and Elain sighed with delight. Who would have thought that she and her mother-in-law possessed the same interest and passion? Though Elain felt that Rosamunde’s gardens put hers to shame.

“Thank you,” she smiled, looking around.

The villa was a tranquil and stunning place, nestled in a valley, surrounded by low mountains and crystal-clear waterfalls. Azriel had purchased the estate long ago, while he was in love with Mor and had hoped that they would have a blissful future together. While he knew that they would always be tied to Velaris and Hewn City, he had imagined that Rosehall would be their escape, their private place to enjoy.

It was stunningly picturesque, with a mild tempered climate year-round, and a town a few leagues away, which supplied the estate with everything that it needed. However, things did not go as planned and instead, Azriel gifted the house and the lands around it to his mother, for her wedding to her life-long and long-suffering lover, partner, friend and the male who had waited for her for a century, and ultimately helped to rescue her from the clutches of Azriel’s father. The male was now an elected mayor of the town—a long way to come for a humble hunter who had once fallen in love with an Illyrian laundress and loved her for all the days of his life.

“So do you!” exclaimed Elain, breathing in the fragrant air and smiling widely. She loved Rosehall. It was a serene and gorgeous place, full of delightful smells and exquisitely stunning scenery.

“Come, come,” Rosamunde pulled her by the hand and they entered the house. It was cool and dim, but once they made their way down the terracotta-tiled hallway and stepped into the opulently enormous kitchen, light flooded the place. This kitchen was Elain’s inspiration for her own home—grand and open on three sides to take advantage of the glorious views outside, it was also homey and cozy, a place to accommodate a bustling, busy family. All the doors were open and a pleasant breeze wafted in and out, bringing in the scent of flowers and mingling with the smell of freshly baked tarts.

“Sit, sit,” Rosamunde offered and immediately sat a tall glass of lemonade before Elain.

“How’s my Azzie?” the mother asked, joining her at the long butcher block that stretched in the middle of the kitchen. A mother’s privilege, to call the famed shadowsinger, the feared spymaster, and now Lord—Azzie. Even Elain didn’t dare, though she teased him with it at times, causing many dramatic eyerolls in response.

“He is good,” Elain smiled a happy, satisfied smile which did not escape Rosamunde’s notice. Her charming daughter-in-law looked blissful and for some reason, it made Rosamunde’s heart ache with joy and pride. “Works too much,” Elain continued, sipping her lemonade, and helping herself to a peach cake which Rosamunde supplied promptly. Like all mothers, Rosamunde was convinced that both Azriel and Elain were too thin and did not eat enough. Hence, each time they visited, they returned laden with bushels of food, treats, jars of preserves and gods only knew what else. Now that there were two wyverns to carry the care packages, Elain couldn’t imagine how much she’d be given. Not that she minded.

Azriel had introduced Elain to his mother just after the betrothal and they had come here and spent a few days getting to know each other. Rosamunde had four children then, besides Azriel—Enid, who was over three hundred years old, and who was married to an Illyrian General (not an asshole, as Azriel explained), and then, hundreds of years later, she birthed four children almost in a row—unheard of in Fae society—Rafael, Riad, Nataliya and finally Ellena, with whom she was pregnant when she and Elain met.

Ellena now sat up groggily in a little play crib that stood in the corner and looked around, having just awoken from her nap. Seeing Elain, she immediately stood up and extended her arms to her.

Family. Elain had loved her father, but…family…

There used to be a family, but it was never quite normal, cohesive. Her mother only doted on Nesta, their father was frequently absent, Feyre was a solitary, quiet, dreamy child and Nesta was a formidable creature of her own. Elain learned how to navigate the dynamics early on, floating quietly between all of them, playing the peacemaker, being the good daughter. And while her sisters, and her nephew were her blood family, this—this was her new family, the one she loved. Her Azriel and all her new little nieces and nephews, and her mother-in-law, who was both a mother and a friend, and her father-in-law—an enormous, gregarious male who reminded her of Cassian, but who was even larger than the Illyrian General. When she came here, she felt in place, happy and cared for.

Rosamunde watched from the corner of her eye how Elain and Ellena hugged and cooed at each other, giggling and whispering, and she already knew that Elain wouldn’t let the baby go until it was time to leave. The three of them, well two, since Ellena mostly stuck her hands into things and smooshed food around, prepared lunch and then went outside, slowly walking down the path that led to the lake. Riad and Nat were using Sorrel as a slide, climbing on top of her and then sliding down her scaled back into the water, shrieking and screaming with joy and excitement, while Asterin lounged next to them, sunning her hide, watching them with lazy amusement.

“You smell like Az,” Rosamunde murmured suddenly, as they took off their dresses and waded into the water, because Ellena was throwing a fit and wanted to slide off Sorrel as well. Elain only allowed her a little jump off the wyvern’s tail, but Ellena loved it and screamed with delight, falling all over the place, while to two of them tried to catch her.

Elain, her shift irreversibly soaked, glanced at the female, as she helped Ellena climb up Sorrel’s tail. It was an unusual comment for Rosamunde to make. They were very close, and even though Rosamunde was over 700 years old, she looked like a woman in her early 30s, which made it easy for them to become friends, because on the surface they looked like they were almost the same age. And Azriel was born so, so long ago that Elain hardly ever thought of them as a mother and son. However, some conversations were off limits, and they certainly never discussed her and Azriel’s intimate relationship, even when they talked about males and their ways around the bedroom, giggling and joking over a few glasses of wine.

“Well, I,” Elain began saying, feeling a blush spreading over her chest and neck. “We…”

Yes, of course they’d made love in the morning, before she came here. They made love every morning. Every evening.

Rosamunde waved her hand at her, laughing, “Oh Cauldron! Please spare me the details!”

“Oh,”

“All I am saying is that your scents—they’ve amalgamated. I,” she sniffed delicately, “recognize him within you…Not just on your skin,”

“Really?”

Something passed across the female’s face, a small smile of recognition. Then she nodded, her face remaining unreadable, much like her son’s.

She nodded, “Yes. The cedar and the jasmine. A lovely scent indeed.”

“You smell good Elain?” Nat barreled into Elain’s arms, wrapping her arms around her neck.

Elain kissed her wet hair and said, “I guess I do. Are you ready to go and eat lunch?”

“No! I want to do this more!”

“Why don’t we come back after lunch and you can play more?” Elain proposed, somehow managing to convince the unruly bunch to actually get back into the house. While they walked, Nataliya declared, “I wanna be High Lady!”

Elain chuckled, “Yes? Why? What will you do as High Lady?”

Nat thought for a second and then said, “Gonna wear pretty dresses,”

“You already wear pretty dresses,” countered Elain.

“More pretty,” insisted the girl. “And eat cake!”

“So as a High Lady you’ll be wearing pretty dresses and eating cake?”

Nodding, the budding High Lady hooked her little finger over Elain’s bracelet and added, “Will wear this too! And crowns.”

“Well, well,” Elain laughed, “all good things.”

Nat seemed pleased by the prospect of her High Ladyship and skipped ahead, dreaming of crowns and cake.

“You know,” Rosamunde’s voice was thoughtful and quiet, “she may sound silly,”

“I think she is adorable,”

“She is, but even if she is only dreaming of nice dresses and cakes now, I am glad that she is able to dream like this at all. It wasn’t available to us—females—before. There were no High Ladies—not for a very, very long time. So much so, we’d forgotten that we could be one. It’s ironic that it took a human woman to bring the practice back to the Fae world. Now it’s you, and Lady Feyre, and Lady Viviane…I never thought I’d see this.”

“But your son is also a Lord,” reminded her Elain, gently pressing her lips to Ellena’s damp curls. “Was it a surprise?”

They’d never discussed the power transfer—not at any length. It was all very sudden and there hasn’t been time or perhaps even desire to talk about it.

“No,” Rosamunde shook her head, “not exactly a surprise. We hail from an ancient race of Fae—from a Court that no longer in existence,”

“Dusk?”

“Yes. They say that when Dusk was destroyed a few hundred families managed to survive and escape. They were the original inhabitants and builders of Hewn City. Over the centuries, bloodlines thinned, some mixed with other Fae, some with Illyrians…My bloodline is pure,”

Elain shot her a surprised look. Azriel had never mentioned this before.

“Azriel is a true and direct descendant of the Dusk Court nobility—through me—and perhaps even their High Lords…So, no, I was not particularly surprised. That’s why Keir and that family were always ‘stewards’, and not Lords.”

She sighed and looked ahead, as they approached the villa.

“My son,” she said softly, “has had a difficult life. An unhappy life. A life of incredible violence and heartache. A life without childhood, or love, or anything positive or any light…That he is a shadowsinger is not a good thing, you know…It’s a curse, not a blessing. But,” and she glanced at Elain, her sad, soft face, “now he has you. Gods, Elain, you have no idea how happy you make him.”

Elain blushed, a tear-touched smile on her face. “I,”

“Elain, love, you will never know,” Rosamunde wrapped her arm around Elain’s shoulder. “He isn’t a man of many words, but believe me when I say this—I would have been heartbroken if he was granted this burden of power without you at his side. It would just be another weight added onto his shoulders, and I wouldn’t want that for my son. But you came along, and everything fell into place…You and him, and how the Power chose both of you,”

“We aren’t mates,” Elain reminded her quietly, knowing how much importance the Fae placed on the bond.

“And? Perhaps you are even more than that?” Rosamunde shrugged. “Believe me—I’ve seen some happy matings, Rhys and Feyre, for example, but I’ve seen some bad ones as well—Rhys’s parents come to mind. Your own mate bond ended up being faulty…What if you have more than a bond? Not just a bond of love, but that of power? Think about it…” she cocked her brow.

Elain hadn’t considered that option, but now she pondered the suggestion, the implication of it all.

“And you?” she asked instead.

Rosamunde smiled and looked back, towards the town which nestled under the mountains, leagues away.

“And I am an example that bonds don’t matter. No one can possibly love me more than Finrod does, and seven hundred years later, I still get weak in the knees at the sight of him—just like I did when I beheld him the first time, when he won an axe throwing competition and then flared his wings with more gusto than Cassian would,” Rosamunde began to laugh and then Elain joined. But then, her brow furrowed and she asked,

“Wait—Finrod doesn’t have wings!”

“I have wings!” yelled Nat, as she entered the house, and Rosamunde called after her and Riad to go and dry themselves and change.

Surely Elain wasn’t losing her mind. None of the family had wings. Her expression must have been so apparent that Rosamunde chuckled and clapped her on the shoulder, “We do,”

“But…what?”

“Do you know how Rhys can summon his at will? As does Lady Feyre?”

Elain nodded, so confused she felt like she was in some kind of out-of-body experience.

“That’s because Rhys has Hewn City blood. From his father. His mother was fully Illyrian. Us—we are the opposite. I am of Hewn City stock, but Azriel’s…father…” she grimaced, “was Illyrian. So Azriel has permanent wings. We—my children, and Finrod—can summon them at will. I don’t use them much, though they could be useful. Mine are mostly vestigial—I can hardly fly and,” her beautiful face darkened with sorrow, “and…”

Elain squeezed her hand in support and acknowledgement.

“I couldn’t save my baby,” Rosamunde choked, tears filling her eyes, “I couldn’t save Az…They probably would’ve caught me anyway, but I might have had a chance…But, but,” she sobbed and stopped, burying her face in her hands, “I couldn’t…I can’t fly. I couldn’t save him…I couldn’t save my boy…”

“Mam, ma,” Ellena babbled, seeing her mother in distress, and Elain brough her arms around the two of them, kissing both of them, the three of them crying together. For a little boy who couldn’t have a childhood and couldn’t be saved.

 …The rest of the day wasn’t as eventful. They had lunch, with Nataliya demonstrating how to summon her wings and ripping her dress in the process, which caused a flood of tears, and laughter from Riad, and then Nataliya smacking her brother in retribution, and him scowling and pouting for the rest of the meal.

“You two are clearing the table,” ordered Rosamunde, and Elain had to hide her smile at their indignation.

“Az mentioned that he works with wood and that you have some pieces that he’d made,” she remembered. “Do you mind showing them to me?”

“Of course! Come,” they grabbed Ellena, who wouldn’t let go of Elain anyway, and walked through the house, with Rosamunde pointing out beautiful pieces of carved wooden furniture and decorative pieces.

“After Az was sent to the camp,” she recalled, “they allowed him to apprentice with the carpenter there…Because of his hands and his inability to fly, the Commanders didn’t think he’d be useful, and would ever be able to fight. So they figured that he should learn some kind of trade, if he didn’t make it as a shadowsinger for the High Lord, and it also allowed him to work with his hands and fingers, because he still had trouble with them even after 3-4 years after…” her voice faded and she didn’t finish her thought.

Elain ran her fingers along a beautifully carved mirror frame and murmured, “he is truly talented…”

He mother nodded. Then said, “I think he might carve something for you soon…”

“What?”

“Something for the house, I am sure.”

 Azriel landed in the front lawn of his estate.

It was a large, rambling cottage that became available after the war—the family that lived there moved to a smaller place and the house sat unoccupied for a year. Azriel’s been eyeing it ever since it became vacant, but he didn’t need a place that big for himself and back then, he didn’t think that he ever stood a chance with Elain.

Asterin and Sorrel were lounging on the grass, lazily chewing on Elain’s roses, pretending to smell them. At seeing Azriel they immediately shifted, feigning innocence and acting like they weren’t gnashing on the bulbs just now. He shook his finger at them and they turned away, ignoring him.

He was forever thankful that unlike Hewn City, the cottage, while large, couldn’t contain two enormous, fanged beasts. So, they stayed outside. He reckoned that everything fell into place when Elain entered his life, including the location of this house—far away from everyone, secluded in brambles and weeping willows, it was just outside of Velaris, with stunning views all around—the city on one side, and the sea on the other. His presence made people nervous enough, even back when he was just a shadowsinger and spymaster of the High Lord, and an Illyrian with seven siphons. Now, as Lord of Hewn City, with a Cauldron-made betrothed, two fanged beasts in tow, and Bryaxis who loved visiting as well, having befriended Elain a while back (since two monsters as friends weren’t enough), Azriel did not make for a desirable neighbour. Thankfully, there were no neighbours around. Therefore, if Bryaxis felt like sitting in the garden, wrapped in dark shadow of terror, it didn’t result in a pile of bodies who died of pure fear.

“My love, are you home?” he called out, shucking off his jacket and weapons, and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

“I am here!” Elain’s voice sang back and instantly his heart gladdened. That voice was like a balm on his soul, sweet and welcoming, and Azriel had to mentally pinch himself to remind himself that this was real. This was his life. This was his home, the one he built with the only woman that he ever truly ever loved and who loved him unconditionally and with an undimming, everlasting passion. His Elain. His Elain who chose him against all odds, and who promised to walk with him side by side, regardless of what befell them in this life. And with her next to him, he felt no fear.

“Holy gods, what are you doing?” he cried, when he entered their vast kitchen and saw Elain balance herself precariously on her toes, on the top step of a stepladder, reaching for something on the top shelf of their pantry. “You couldn’t have waited for me?!”

She laughed at him, kissing the air in greeting and said, “You are fussier than your mom!”

“What are you doing?” he came closer, and crossed his arms on his chest.

“She gave me so much food, I am trying to arrange it all,” Elain giggled, “I think she thinks that we are starving.”

He snorted a laugh.

“I felt bad for Sorrel who had to haul all these baskets on her back,”

“I imagine that Sorrel managed just fine.”

He came closer and playfully pecked her bottom through her gauzy skirt, and she squirmed with enjoyment.

“My Lord Azriel!” she admonished him playfully.

“Lady Elain,” he slapped her buttock lightly and said, “get off that stool and give me a kiss! What smells so good?”

“Dinner!”

He went to the cupboard and started pulling out plates and wine glasses and setting the table.

“Six jars of pickles! Three jars of jam,” she was counting out loud, “Three jars of marinated peppers. Six baskets of dried mushrooms…Azriel, if I see you tucking into those blackberry tarts before dinner, I swear,”

In the next moment, she was swept off her feet and into a pair of strong arms, his mouth descending on hers in a savage kiss. She screeched and laughed, clutching at his shoulders, before softening against him and draping her arms around his neck. Her lips opened in invitation and he swept his tongue inside, gently overpowering her with his kiss.

“I love you,” she moaned into his mouth, running her hands through his hair.

“I’d like to hear the rest of your threat,” he invited with a chuckle, “about the blackberry tarts,”

“I’d make love to you,” she whispered into his ear, lightly biting his earlobe, “if you eat a blackberry tart,”

“Then perhaps I should have two?”

“Perhaps…”

“And if I eat a pickle?” he proposed, returning to her lips, placing small, loving kisses on her mouth and her eyes.

“The punishment remains the same,” she breathed.

He breathed in deeply, with satisfaction.

Then stilled, abruptly.

Elain looked at him in surprise when he pulled away from her mouth.

His hazel eyes blazed—blazed like the green forests of Illyria, like the obsidian of Hewn City, like the stars of the Night Court. Those eyes devoured her. His perfect, beautiful face, usually so tanned and golden, paled. She’d never seen him pale.

“Az?”

Confusion and fear were written on her face.

“El,” he sobbed.

He…sobbed.

Azriel’s gorgeous eyes filled with tears, huge and thick, the eyes brimmed with them before spilling onto his face.

“Azriel,” she cried in alarm, cupping his cheek.

“Elain,” he gasped, his voice so choked with emotion, so raspy, she could barely hear him, “my love. Elain. My love,” he kept repeating, as if in shock, as if he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Az, I love you, please, my darling, what is,”

“We are going to have a baby,” he blurted out.

Her eyes widened and his hand instinctively went to her stomach. He lay his heavy scarred palm on her belly, setting her down on the floor, and dropped on his knees before her.

She pressed her hand over his, still disbelieving his words, as they stared at each other, both in some kind of stupor of complete elation and doubt.

“Are you certain?” she begged softly, her eyes pleading with him for confirmation, for this to be true.

“I smell it…it’s so clear,” he inhaled again, and then again, “you and I and someone else in there,”

“Oh, by the Cauldron,” she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, “you mother…Oh…”

“What?” he pressed his cheek to her stomach, wrapping his arms around her hips.

“She knew. I think she knew…She commented on our smell,”

“What did she say?”

“That we amalgamated into one scent,”

He chuckled softly, kissing her hands, her stomach, whatever his lips could reach, “We certainly amalgamated. I think it’s a bit more than just a scent though,”

Suddenly it dawned on Elain. It all came crushing at once and she wept, squeezing her face, a smile on her face so wide, it hurt her cheeks.

“We’ve made a baby?” she gasped, “Az, we’ve made a baby.”

“We’ve made a life together,” he murmured, awed. For a male who was so used to taking life, whose very existence was dedicated to war and blood, the thought of creating one, of creating something pure and good along with this female that he loved beyond reason, was simply magical.

“On Calanmai, you think?” she marveled, remembering the Great Rite, and everything that they did that night.

“I am certain,” he nodded.

“Our magical baby,” she grinned through her tears, looking down at him, at her stomach, and their hands, cradling it together.

  It was a warm summer day, with the sky of the clearest blue and the sun beating down.

Azriel had worked up a sweat, but he loved it. It was quiet around their house, other than for the chirping birds and the rustling of leaves. Out as far as the eye could see stretched the azure sea—this view was one of the reasons Azriel bought this specific house. It was absolutely glorious and he loved the gleaming amethyst brilliance of the water, the smell of salt and brine in the air. One side of the house overlooked the city skyline, in the back, the towering mountains, and ahead, the vast expanse of the sea. When he was old and gray, he imagined that he’d be sitting out on the terrace, with Elain on his lap, and never tire of the view or of her. Not a Lord, not a spymaster or an Illyrian with too many siphons, but Azriel. He’d never tell her, but he already knew what he’d have written on his tombstone, if he ever had one ‘Here lies Azriel. He loved Elain, who made him happy’.

He looked up from the piece of wood that he was polishing. In their beautiful garden, the whole menagerie of their creatures napped or lounged. Deep in the shadows of the two weeping willows was a smudge of impenetrable darkness—Bryaxis came to look at the sun and smell the flowers. Around it, Azriel’s own shadows fluttered and floated. It was a little too bright for them out here, so they hid alongside Bryaxis, nestled in his darkness. Azriel figured that they could talk with each other, though he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what the topic of their conversation would be. Asterin was cooling off in the pond, while Sorrel was sleeping on the grassy bank, sunning her wings. He supposed that he was also a strange creature, just like them, with his wings, that he was also presently sunning and his unnatural power. Perhaps, only Elain was the normal one amongst them, though probably not.

Elain was crouched in the flower bed, a wide-brimmed hat obscuring her face, even if her thin sleeveless shirt allowed a very generous and tempting glimpse of her unbound breasts under the unbuttoned collar.

“You look like a cat who just drank all the cream,” she noted, without moving her head or looking at him.

“And you are acting like an expert little spy,” he laughed, and walked over to her.

His scarred hand crawled under her hat and he squeezed the back of her neck, massaging gently.

“Mmm, that feels good,” she hummed, leaning into his hand.

Then, with a smirk, she complained, “I am hot.”

He chuckled and stooped over her, his palm migrating from the back of her neck to the front, squeezing her throat lightly and tilting her head back. The hat tumbled on the grass.

“Can I help you remove some of this offending clothing?” he offered, leaning deeper over her, his face ghosting hers in the barest of touches. He whispered and her tongue darted out and licked on his lips quickly.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Please…”

He snapped his fingers, without taking his eyes off her and then said, loudly, “Hey! All of you! Find somewhere else to be!”

The monster, the beasts and shadows all made an indignant noise, and attempted to turn around, but Azriel shook his head, “No. No. Go. Leave. Come back later. All of you.”

His shadows flew closer to him, in hopes of being spared, but he flicked his wrist at them.

Elain was laughing.

“You are a terrible host!” she murmured, when he slid on the grass next to her.

“I am a stupendous host,” he countered, stroking her throat, before tilting her head the way he wanted to and placing his lips on the thin, smooth skin. He kissed. Softly. Unhurriedly. Up and down, from her ear to her shoulder, while his deft fingers unbuttoned the few buttons of her shirt.

“Stupendous, huh?”

“Uh-uh,” he breathed against her neck, and parted her blouse, sliding it down her arms and then arranging it so she could lay her head on it. “They lounge on my lawn. They swim in our pond. They eat your flowers. They terrify the neighbors,”

“We don’t have any neighbors,” she reminded him with a chuckle. “You hate people,”

“I don’t hate people,” he corrected, kissing her nose and then her lips, “I care about people. That’s why I don’t have them around, so they don’t die of terror should they come upon Bry or your sweet beasties,”

“You are my sweet beastie,” she whispered, stroking his face.

Azriel smiled, and agreed, “That I am. And, you’ve been very naughty, tempting me with these all morning long,” he cupped her bare breasts, which always fit so well within his palms and rubbed his thumbs over the nipples. Now, a month and a half into her pregnancy, they began to fill out, growing just a bit heavier and fuller almost daily. It fascinated him and, well, he couldn’t deny that it made him quite happy as well.

“You can play with them,” she offered.

“Yeah?” he leaned into her and wrapped his mouth over the nipple, pulling hard and deep, teeth and lips clamping on the sensitive tip. A violent shudder rushed through her, and she tugged on his hair, pushing his face into her soft breast…and if he was going to suffocate now, he’d die a happy male. But she released her hold on his head a bit and he sucked deeply and steadily, while working her out of her skirt.  She wiggled out of it and kicked it with her foot, while going for the ties on his trousers, pulling on them impatiently. He laughed over her breast and then looked up at her, “eager, are we?”

Elain flipped him on his back and muttered, panting lightly, “Az, I need you,”

“You have me, love,” he assured her, as he pulled out his cock and stroked it a few times. She looked down, hunger in her beautiful brown eyes, her lower lip between her teeth, body almost shaking with anticipation.

He wrapped his hand over her hips and nudged her forward, murmuring, “come, my baby, take what you need.”

Elain didn’t have to be asked twice. The horrible ache in her core was becoming unbearable and there was only way to soothe it. While Azriel slid his trousers down his legs, finally getting naked beneath her, she straddled him and guided his thick cock inside of her.

“Oh gods,” she moaned, her eyes closing and head lolling to the side, pure, ravenous bliss written all over her face. She sunk on him slowly, for no matter how aroused she was, how wet and ready, his size did not allow for a singular initial thrust. It always had to be a tempered, gradual push, which they both loved, for it only heightened their senses, the anticipation of what was about to happen.

His fingers dug deeply into her thigh probably adding to an existing bruise, but Elain loved carrying his bruises on her body. Beneath her gauzy dresses, or the more daring, risqué outfits that she wore in Hewn City, or her gardening dungarees, or the simple skirts and shirts that she wore at home, her lovely, curvy body bore the marks of Azriel’s love. It was their secret, just like the bargain tattoo that was hidden on her thigh—only for him to know.

The moment he was situated in her, he set an ambitious pace, his hips working almost against his rational inclination, but the way the walls of her sex gripped him with such sublime strength and clenched and pulled him in every time he made a move was so overwhelmingly pleasurable, he stopped, just to gather his thoughts for a moment.

“You take me so well, my girl,” he grunted, “so tight,”

“Az, move,” she pleaded desperately, her palms pressing into his chest, her hips grinding onto him. “Faster…”

He sat up, biting his lower lip, his palm gripping her breast almost painfully, as he squeezed her nipple between his fingers, twisting it harshly. She panted loudly, the bit of pain always being something she craved, something he offered and she chased.

“Anything you want, baby,” he finally calmed himself enough to begin thrusting into her in earnest. Even when she was on top, she liked for him to do most of the work, and he did not object whatsoever. He lay back down, letting his eyes roam over her gorgeously lush body, mesmerized by her bouncing breasts, as they bopped and swayed with every thrust of his hips. He cupped her soft, pert ass and gently spread the cheeks, mashing them in his palms, his fingers pushing occasionally against and around her other little hole, eliciting pleased moans and cries from her parted lips.

“Az, my love, you feel so amazing,” she breathed. “Why does it feel so good?”

“Because you were made for me and I was made for you,” he said simply.

“Yes,” she nodded, “yes,”

His eyes drifted down her body and he buried himself inside of her, thrusting to the hilt and holding still. She moaned loudly, her head rolling back, unbound hair ticking his thighs. He ran his hand over her torso, her throat and her breasts and then paused at her stomach, pressing lightly to her lower belly. He could feel and see the small bump—not that of their baby—but his cock that was so deep, it pushed out from inside of her.

Azriel groaned loudly, wondering if he’s ever been so hard before. He has. But every time it felt new and different, the sense of possession almost indescribable.

He grabbed her hand and pressed it to the same spot. Her eyes widened with lust mixed with amazement and she rubbed the cock that was pocking her stomach.

“El, fuck,” he swore low and hissing, “fuck it feels nice, baby…” he held her hand right there, and she moved and stroked her stomach. “You are so tiny, I can see myself moving inside of you,”

She grinned, “You like that, bad boy?”

“Yes, my sweet, this boy really, really likes seeing you take my cock!”

 Cassian could barely breathe.

He loved Elain, but the flowers…Her garden was gorgeous, a feast for the eyes, a work of art—and torture for his nose and eyes and throat.

Azriel and Elain had been holed up in their luxurious secluded cottage for over a month.

He saw them here and there, they visited once, maybe twice, and then there was the dinner at the River House, which they declined to attend, citing Hewn City business.

“Go check on them!” ordered Nesta.

“Why don’t we go together?” proposed Cassian, but she said, “I don’t want to ambush them. Just…it’s casual if it’s just you.”

So here he was, being casual.

Somehow even Rhys found out that he was going to visit them, and the High Lord ordered him to report on their well-being.

The two wyverns, or whatever they were, flew over the sea, flipping and diving into the water.

Cassian landed in front of the house and knocked. No one answered. He knocked again, harder this time, but was greeted with silence.

It was a nice day, so he figured that the two of them being in the garden was very probable. Elain with her flowers or berry bushes, and Azriel just watching over her like a hungry wolf in love. The male was so obsessively in love, Cassian figured that if he could spend eternity watching Elain garden, Azriel would be perfectly satisfied with his life.

Rounding the corner, Cassian was faced with the most disturbing scene that his 543-year-old eyes had seen—naked Elain, grinding on Azriel…riding his cock.

Oh gods. Oh gods.

His sister. His little sister. That’s who Elain was to him. She was his little petal, his sweet flower girl. Riding Azriel’s enormous cock. How that thing even fit into her was a miracle.

Oh gods. His eyes. He pressed his palms over his face and ran back. He slammed into something, refused to open his eyes, and ran until he was well out on the front law on the house.

Mother’s tits! Why were they outside? He knew why they were, because it was a nice day and it was perfect time for lovemaking, but gods, did Azriel have to do it with her?

Breathing heavily, Cassian shot up in the air. He’d fly around, for a few hours. A few hours should be long enough, right? Maybe a few days?

Yes, theoretically, Cassian knew that Elain and Azriel were lovers. They were betrothed and swore their love and loyalty to each other before a priestess, and one day, planned to perhaps marry, as humans married—Elain’s idea, though she was cooling off to it, no longer concerned about the human rituals and their ways. But they were both reserved people, rarely displaying overt affection towards each other and somehow, it was difficult to imagine them in more intimate situations.

 Azriel had scented his brother nearby.

Elain was whimpering atop of him, as he was pounding into her and right then, his brother was of no concern to him. He wanted to bring his girl over the edge, and she was close if the fluttering of the walls of her pussy around his cock were anything to go by. Her breath came out in deep, hoarse sighs and she stretched over him, her hair draping over her breasts and his chest, swooshing and tickling his chest. She squeezed her breast in her hand, rolling her nipple, as she plunged down on him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

“Close, sweetheart?” he held her hips tightly, angling her so that her clit ribbed against his pelvis, while kissing her mouth. She nodded breathlessly and fell atop of him, sinking her teeth into his neck and sucking, as she thrashed and moaned into his shoulder, whispering how much she loved him.

“I love you too, my beautiful girl,” he murmured into her hair.

 Azriel was working on an intricate carving in the piece of wood, chiseling slowly and carefully into the plank. He might have planned too complex a design, if he had to admit it, but he had eight months to complete it, so with some perseverance he figured that he’d be done just in time.

“I know you are there,” he said without raising his eyes from his chisel, “stop being weird.”

Cassian stepped in front of him, sniffling and hacking, rubbing his eyes with his fingers.

“Were you hiding there long?”

“You know I wasn’t hiding,” Cassian sneezed, “I just flew in.”

“Flew back in,” corrected Azriel, smirking.

“My eyes did not need to see what they saw earlier,” Cassian sat heavily on a bench, shaking his head. “And stop smiling!”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for someone so modest and easily perturbed,”

“Umm, I am not easily perturbed at all,” he interrupted, “unless I see my sister doing all those things with you,”

“Well, she is my betrothed female and my Lady,” Azriel reminded him casually, “so we do ‘do those things’ as you call them,”

“I don’t need to be reminded!”

Elain appeared—thankfully dressed—with a smile on her face, and exclaimed, “Cass! I didn’t hear you come in!”

She skipped towards him and threw herself into his embrace. He swung her around in his arms, and kissed her head.

“I’ve missed you, petal!”

“I’ve missed you too!”

“You look—stunning,” he had to admit, giving her a once over. “Gods…you are glowing!”

She smiled shyly, ducking her head and then playfully slapped his shoulder, murmuring, “such a flatterer,”

Azriel was observing them silently, still carving the wood, though Cassian sensed some tension in his brother. Azriel was never jealous, especially not of him, but just in case, Cassian stepped away from Elain and sat back down on the bench. Azriel reminded him of a newly mated male, and for a moment, he wondered if they had a mate bond snap for them, which would explain their absences and secrecy.

He watched them exchange a quick glance, but a bout of sneezes interrupted his puzzlement at all of this cagey behaviour. Could Elain have been given two bonds? Elain was mysterious, her power still not entirely revealed, her Cauldron-given abilities developing and unraveling bit by bit. Her power matched Azriel’s in many different, intricate ways, most of which Cassian could not understand. Even Rhys had trouble comprehending what the two of them were capable of, and how vast that power reserve actually was.

“Cass, let me get you something for your allergies,” Elain offered. “Do you want lemonade?”

“Don’t fuss Lainey,” he began, but she waved him off. “Lemonade for my brother is not fussing. I have an ointment that will help you,”

She went back into the house and Cassian draped his arms over his knees, looking out at the sea. This was a damn nice view! No wonder they didn’t want to leave. They split their time between their four residences—Hewn City palace, Azriel’s apartment in Velaris, occasionally they used the palace on the mountain, but typically only for formal meetings, but this—this was their home.

“You are quiet,” Cassian noted, glancing at Azriel.

His brother seemed to have relaxed a bit, even his wings snapped not as tightly as before, and he shrugged in his usual Azriel way, saying nothing.

Cassian finally glanced at the wood that Azriel was working on and he nodded towards the fine carvings, “it’s beautiful…what is it?”

Azriel drew his scarred finger over the wood, and after a moment, said, “it’s headboard for a crib.”

“A crib? Really? Who asked you to make a crib?” wondered Cassian, cocking his brow.

Then he stilled, his eyes widening, “Shit?! Rhys and Feyre? Are they having another baby?”

“I don’t know,” Azriel chuckled, amusement in his eyes, “they haven’t told me.”

“Who else?” pondered Cassian. “Don’t be an asshole! Tell me!” he whined.

“Maybe you?” Azriel winked at him.

“What?” Cassian paled, “wha-…Nes,”

“Oh gods, no!” groaned Azriel, laughing, “I am kidding. Can’t you smell anything?”

“I can’t smell shit!” Cassian wiped his nose, “I am all stuffed up. What am I supposed to be smelling?”

“Elain.”

“What about Elain?”

In the next moment, Cassian tackled Azriel in his hug, both of them landing in the grass, a scream of joy ripping from Cassian’s chest.

“Elain?” he cried, tears springing in his eyes, “a baby…a baby for you,” he rocked Azriel against his chest, and for once, Azriel gently, easily embraced him back.

“Az, I…” Cassian, for once, was speechless. ‘”I am so happy…I am so happy for you,”

Azriel grinned, emotional again, his chest heavy and tight with joy.

“Actually, I need to make two cribs,” he said. “Care to help, uncle?”

[redbone135]

Hi, Red!! Hope all is well with you these days :) Is it hotter than Hades down there yet?

It's getting hot up here and it made me think of you so I thought I'd shoot you an ask :)

Also: I am REEEEALLY struggling to get through this ACOTAR series... Ugh. Book two IS better and I like Rhys (I did just read the nightmare scene though, that was really good) and Azriel but... it's still a struggle. How about you? Have you been able to finish the ACSAL trilogy?

Hey, sorry for the super late response - I got a new phone and took Tumblr and Insta off of it in an effort to limit my screen time, but then Sara needed my laptop because it has a webcam, so I’ve been pretty technology free for the last... too long, lol. 

It is unbearably hot these days, much hotter than last year, which probably means we’ve got a bad hurricane season coming on. How about y’all, enjoying the summer days that you love so much? 

I’m sorry you’re struggling. I do remember the first half of the second book being okay, but nothing special. But once I got to the second half I read it all in one sitting. But hey, not every book is for every person. Where are you now? I wonder if you’ve gotten to my favorite scene yet... Rhys is great, so is Lucien. Az reminds me of my old roommate. A lot. So much so that I picture him looking exactly like Twi. His story in the later books... no spoilers, but I think you’ll continue to like him. 

I haven’t read any more. Sorry. Things have been so busy here with life stuff... plus I finished my first novel, so I’ve been talking to and trying to read a bunch of Indie authors works so I can ask questions about editing and publishing processes if I decide to go that route. Like I said, it’s just been crazy busy, but things should slow down around September, and hopefully I’ll be able to pick up the next two then and just binge read the heck out of them. 

[tealnymph-writes]

A Song of Shadows: Chapter 3

Title: Azriel POV - A Heated Training Session

What was Azriel thinking during that steamy training session? Was he as distracted as Gwyn was?

Read on AO3

Azriel X Gwyn

Warnings: A little steamy

Word Count: 3,511

Masterlist

It was so fucking hot, Azriel thought as he stripped off his shirt. Giggles erupted from several of the young priestesses who had already arrived for training.

Azriel didn’t care. He was sick of this heat. Besides, he already had enough trouble focusing during training. He didn’t need to make it worse.

Ever since Gwyn had given him the friendship bracelet that now permanently rested on his wrist, he had started realizing he had feelings for her. It started out small but had grown to the point that she was all he could think about. She drowned out all thoughts and feelings he had ever had for any other female. She was everything. It made him happy. Beyond happy.

But he couldn’t, wouldn’t, try to start anything with her. Her friendship was too precious. He would wait until she made a move first. And if she didn’t, then he would content himself with being her friend.

But training had become almost unbearable. He loved training with Gwyn but seeing her in leathers made his body ache with desire. So, there was no way he was going to suffer more than necessary by keeping his shirt on today.

Just then, the doors to the training area swung open and out came Gwyn. She looked perfect, as usual. She was so damn beautiful.

He watched her step out, then freeze. She was looking straight at him, but she seemed to have lost all sense of reality. Had the sun disoriented her? He tried getting his shadows to find out, but they ignored him. They never told him anything about Gwyn; they wanted him to work for it.

“Hello,” he called over to her, hoping to bring her back to the present. “You were almost late. You’re not starting to slack on me, are you, Berdara?”

“I am right on time, thank you very much,” she testily responded as she strode toward him. He let his eyes slowly roam over her gorgeous legs. He wanted those legs wrapped around him.

“What are we doing today, anyway?” She asked as she stopped in front of him. “I want to know how miserable I’m going to be.”

He chuckled. “Sounds like someone’s cranky.”

“I am not! I’m just hot.”

“Come on, a little heat never hurt anyone.”

“That’s not true. We could get heat stroke and die.”

“We’re fae. Heat stroke would take a lot longer than two hours to set in, let alone kill us. You’ll be fine.”

She only stuck her tongue out in response.

His shadows, surprisingly patient today, had waited to go over to her until now. As they gently settled around her hair, he saw her annoyance ebb.

“I’m sorry for being irritable,” she finally said. “I just hate the summer. It’s too hot.

"I don’t like the summer either,” he replied, the ghost of a smile teasing the corners of his mouth.

Before he could say anything else, Cassian and Nesta emerged from inside. Their conversation cut short, he walked with Gwyn to the other side of the training ring.

“Alright, we’re splitting into two groups today,” Cassian called out. “Since it’s so damn hot, I don’t want everyone to try learning new skills today. Instead, we’ll practice ones you’ve already learned. Hand-to-hand techniques with Azriel or sword play with me. You choose.”

Hoping Gwyn would follow, Azriel moved toward his designated area. To his satisfaction, she joined his group. Positioning herself directly in front of him. He wasn’t sure if that made him excited or nervous. He would have an excellent view of her, but he ran the risk of his body reacting a bit too noticeably.

As he began the lesson, she copied his movements. He led them through a series of exercises to warm-up, then moved onto the fighting techniques they had previously learned. Before long, he was drenched in sweat. All of them were.

As he instructed the group, he tried not to look too pointedly at Gwyn. She was always stunning, but especially so when training. Always so focused, so determined. Not to mention the added benefit of training leathers not hiding a thing. Not one damn thing. He could see every luscious curve of her body.

As the lesson wore on, a few of his shadows that had settled around Gwyn unexpectedly drifted back to him to whisper in his ear. The lovely bird seems nervous and her scent is strange, they told him, using their pet name for her.

Worry filled him. Was something wrong? He couldn’t smell her from this position. His shadows were reluctant to tell him what had changed in her scent, but he promised them it would be kept a secret. After a moment, they gave in.

Her scent is full of arousal. For you.

His mind went utterly still. He shouldn’t have made his shadows tell him. What she was feeling was private. He shouldn’t know. Yet he also couldn’t help but feel a surge of joy. Could this mean she felt the same as him?

It didn’t matter, at least not at the moment. He might be upwind from her, but he was not the only one here. She would be teased mercilessly if Cassian, or Nesta for that matter, caught her scent.

He decided to try drawing her out of whatever thoughts were causing the shift. He might be excited by the idea of her thinking about him, but he didn’t want her to get teased for it.

“Are you paying attention, Gwyneth?” He asked, pretending to correct her. “You’re letting your elbows drop and your feet are sloppy.”

“I am not,” she protested. Good. Annoyance might override her distraction.

He went back to the lesson, stopping every so often to correct Gwyn for mistakes she wasn’t making. His shadows kept flitting back to him, telling him when her scent was getting too strong. He was desperately trying to help her keep it under control.

The problem was that it required his full attention be on her, which made his own scent become a risk. What if she scented his arousal? He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, but he also couldn’t help it.

Covered in sweat, a flush creeping up her neck, she looked incredible. He wanted to taste her. To coax her full lips open with his own. Feel her skin against his. Strip those tight leathers off of her inch by glorious inch. He wanted to slowly learn exactly what made that beautiful mouth moan.

He knew he would have to go slow with her if she ever allowed him near her like that, but he would do so gladly. She deserved someone who would go slow, who would let her have control when she needed it. After what she had gone through, it would take time before she was fully comfortable being with someone. But he was willing to walk that journey with her. It would be his honor if she wanted that with him.

After 45 minutes, he decided enough was enough. His thoughts were driving him crazy and she seemed to be struggling too. He needed to think of something else. He told everyone to take a break.

“What’s got you so distracted, Gwyn,” he asked as everyone dispersed. He had to act like he didn’t already know.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she insisted. “I am not distracted.”

He raised an eyebrow at her but didn’t push. He already knew the answer. He shrugged at her before striding toward the table laden with water and snacks.

He could feel her watching him. He didn’t need his shadows to tell her she was still thinking about him. He was downwind now; he could smell her. The scent hit him like an arrow straight to his most sensitive areas. All logic and reason left his body. Her scent was normally pleasing to him, but this was different. Laced with her arousal – arousal for him – her scent was intoxicating.

Now he was the one losing focus. He needed to get this under control. He made his plan, then strode back to her.

“Let’s spar, Gwyn,” he said as he approached. “You clearly need more personalized attention today.”

She blinked. “What?”

He allowed himself a small smile at the blush that crept up her cheeks. He couldn’t help but find some amusement in the situation. She was finally as distracted in training as he normally was.

“Sparring, Gwyn.” He said again. “I said, let’s spar because you clearly need more personalized attention.”

He figured sparring would force her to be more focused, and it might help hide her apparent arousal from the rest of the group.

“Oh, right, sparring,” she replied, her brow furrowing. “Can’t we just end the training early today? This heat is unbearable.”

He rolled his eyes. “Your enemies won’t wait to attack until the weather is more to your liking.”

“Well, who said I want to spar with you? Maybe I want a more difficult opponent.”

He snorted. His plan was working. “Oh, please. I’ve taught you everything you know. You couldn’t beat me in a real fight on my worst day.”

“Oh, really? Wanna bet?”

He smirked. “Fine, but I get to set the terms.”

“Fine, but be careful with your terms, Az,“ she quipped, matching his confidence. "You don’t want to end up regretting it.”

“Alright, if you win, I’ll take you to that little restaurant by the river you liked so much,” he offered.

Her eyes lit up at the offer, as he knew they would. He had taken her to his favorite restaurant on the edge of the Sidra about a month ago and she had loved it. She had been nervous about going, but he had convinced her she would enjoy herself. And she had. They both had. Taking her back was the least he could do for causing all of this.

"Okay, I’ll accept that,” she told him, excitement erasing her irritation. “And what if you win?”

He wanted her determined to win, so he decided to toy with her a little. “If I win, then you have to accept Mor’s invitation to her birthday party next month.”

“But that’s at Rita’s!” She gasped out. “I can’t go to that. There will be so many people, I won’t know anyone, and and…”

“If I win, you have to. You’re the one who agreed to let me set the terms of our bet,” he taunted “You said you could beat me, so you should have nothing to worry about.”

She huffed, taking the bait.

“You’re on, Shadowsinger,” she called over her shoulder, as she strode to the sparring ring.

He chuckled as he obediently followed her, satisfied he had won. Once he had instructed the others to continue practicing among themselves, they both took their places.

“If we’re going to do this, I want it to be a real fight,” she said. “No mock-punches, no fake kicks. I want this to be a proper match.”

“Fair enough,” he responded, not revealing anything. “But you’re going to regret this, Berdara.”

“We’ll see about that,” she promised.

With that, they began circling each other like snakes, each of them preparing to strike. Looking for the first sign of weakness in their opponent.

She struck first, as he expected her to. He knew that she was aware of how he fought, that he didn’t like moving first. Besides, he wasn’t worried about winning this match. He only cared about keeping her away from everyone else so she could be as lost in her thoughts as she wanted to be.

He blocked her blow, easily pivoting to avoid it. Just because he didn’t care about winning, didn’t mean he was going to make this easy on her. No, it just meant that he could let his mind wander a little bit too.

She was like a beautiful dagger when she fought. Pointed and focused, unassuming but dangerous. All sloping curves and sharp angles. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Her skin looked so warm from the scorching heat and sparring. He wanted to feel it for himself. To help her out of her stifling leathers. He wondered what sounds she would make if he slowly, gently ran Truth-Teller’s cold blade down her bare skin, its hilt across her most sensitive areas.

She kept attacking and he kept blocking. It was like a perfectly choreographed dance. She struck, he parried. Neither one ever gaining the upper hand, the sun still beating down from above.

He let his mind drift again, curious what thoughts were running through her head. He assumed it was his shirtless appearance that had frazzled her to begin with, but where had her mind wandered now? Her scent was still thick with arousal. His pants grew painfully tight.

He wanted her. All of her. He wanted to taste her on his tongue. He wanted to feel her body pressed against his, nothing between them. To trace every inch of her with his hands, his mouth. He wanted her to let him teach her all that he knew of pleasure. It would be an honor and a joy to explore that with her if she let him.

The fight went on and he could tell she was growing annoyed. He had not made a move to win. It was confusing her. Suddenly, she left her abdomen open. A rookie mistake, probably to lure him in for the obvious shot. But what was her plan after that? Surely, she didn’t want him to win.

He took the bait, curiosity getting the best of him. His well-aimed blow knocked her flat on her back. He moved to pin her, but she swung out with her legs. He didn’t have time to pivot before she collided with his ankles, sending him tumbling to the ground next to her.

She twisted toward him as he fell on his back. Before he could recover from the fall, she leaped on top of him, pinning him between her legs. His arms shot out, aiming for her hips.

That’s when he saw it. The opening he had just given her. He had walked into her trap like a moth to the flame. It was too late for him to correct his mistake. She was already drawing her fist back for the final blow.

As realization flooded him, her fist connected with his jaw. The force of the blow pounded into the vulnerable corner of his jawbone - just like he had taught her.

The other side of his face collided with the dirt as the force of the punch knocked him to the side. His hands stopped their maneuvers toward her, going to his face instead.

He was down. Defeated. She had won.

“Owwww,” he groaned, too shocked to hide the pain that was shooting through his face.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” She gasped, sounding oddly panicked. “I didn’t know I could hit that hard, I’m so sorry!”

She leaned forward to examine him, putting one hand on his bare chest and the other reaching toward his jaw. He grimaced at her touch but allowed it. The feeling of her gentle hands almost overriding the pain.

“I’m fine,” he assured her, despite the bruise already blooming where her fist had made contact. “I think my ego is more injured than my face.”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated as she gently examined the injury. He marveled at her for a moment. She had just struck him harder than he would have thought possible, yet here she was tending to his injury. She was an enigma.

“Gwyn. I’m fine. Really,” he reassured her. “You don’t need to apologize, I promise.”

“Okay,” she quietly conceded, finally meeting his stare. His mind went still. The look in her eyes was not like any he had ever seen from her. There was something more there.

Something between them had shifted, he was sure of it. The thought sent his heart racing. He should look away, let her escape his gaze, but he was frozen in the moment. Afraid to move. Not only because of the joy he felt as she looked at him, but because of the growing ache she was causing throughout his entire body. Happiness and arousal intermingled, rendering him incapable of action.

She was still straddling him with her hands resting on his chest. He could feel the warmth between her legs. It was driving him insane. One wrong move and she would notice the increasing hardness beneath her. He needed her to move, but he couldn’t find the will to turn away from her. He was barely resisting the urge to pull her hips closer to him. To grant them both the friction their bodies were craving.

A booming laugh echoed across the training area, bringing them back to the present.

“I never thought I’d see Azriel get his ass handed to him,” Cassian laughed. “Well done, Gwyn.”

The realization that they had an audience hit him like a brick. He needed to get a grip. Luckily, she finally moved to stand up, offering him a hand in the process.

They both quietly brushed themselves off. Not looking at each other. He couldn’t look at her, not with the images of her straddling him still flashing through his mind. Not with the lingering feeling of her throbbing core still a steady pulse through his body.

“How about we call it a day?” Azriel finally spoke, running a scarred hand through his hair, trying to calm himself. “I think you’ve earned it.”

He was frazzled, worried. What if he had scared her? What if she was uncomfortable? He would never forgive himself.

“Okay, if you say so,” she agreed. “I guess I have to accept Mor’s invitation.”

"If you want to,” he replied, confused. “But you won. Fair and square. You don’t have to accept anything.”

She met his gaze and blinked, almost like she was shocked. Maybe she was still flustered. He certainly was. He couldn’t think straight. The feeling of her body pressed against his was too fresh.

“Well, as long as you hold up your end of the bargain, I can at least consider Mor’s offer.”

“It’s your choice. I won’t force you. But if you do want to go, I’ll be there the whole night. You could hang out with me if you want.”

He couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out. Her words had sent a rush of hope through him. Maybe she was just feeling the same things he was. He ran a hand through his hair again, trying not to show his excitement.

“I’ll think about it,” she offered.

She turned to leave, but he caught her by the shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. He still owed her.

“How about I meet you on the balcony at 7?” He asked, trying not to think of how their bodies had fit so perfectly together. He failed miserably.

“For what?”

“Dinner”

“Oh, right. Dinner”

Shit! Did she not want to go? Maybe she was uncomfortable.

“Unless you don’t want to go.”

“Of course I want to go,” she protested. “I won, so you owe me.”

“Okay, then I’ll meet you at 7?” He asked again, seeking her confirmation. He wanted to make sure she was comfortable spending time with him after today.

“I’ll see you at 7,” she promised, suddenly smiling at him. Any worry he felt leaving him. That gorgeous smile made everything okay.

Before he could respond, she moved toward the doors to the stairwell.

“Gwyn,” he called.

She turned to look at him, waiting. He noted that her eyes lingered on his bare chest. He couldn’t stop his satisfaction at knowing she hadn’t stopped thinking about him.

“You fought well today,” he complimented her, not letting his male pride show. “Good job.”

“Thank you,” she smiled brightly, her eyes positively sparkling. Her happiness was enough to make his heart burst.

He let himself watch as she turned back to the doors. She was so damn beautiful. Could he really be so lucky? Could she really have feelings for him? The lingering pain in his jaw was nothing compared to the bliss the thought brought him.

She disappeared into the stairwell just as Cassian clapped him on the shoulder.

“Well, that was quite an exciting training session,” Cassian said, mischief dancing in eyes. “Wasn’t it, Az?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Cass,” he responded, still too happy to understand Cassian’s meaning.

“Oh, I think you do,” Cassian laughed, starting to move away. “I can smell it all over you, Brother. At the rate you two were going, I was worried you were going to ravish her right in the middle of the sparring ring.”

Azriel was too shocked to defend himself. He had thought he had kept his, and Gwyn’s, arousal hidden. Apparently, he was wrong. Maybe he should take a cold bath before dinner to make sure his scent went back to normal. Yes, a very cold bath would help…

[writtenonreceipts]

ACOTAR, Feysand ~1.7 words, just a little thing for the holidays.

Home for the Holiday

A fire cackled happily in the hearth as Feyre moved around the living room of the house.  She strung garland from the fireplace, keeping the ends from the sparks that fluttered out on occasion.  Lining the mantle were stocking hooks and ceramic snowmen.  

Leaning over one of the half empty plastic bins, Feyre pulled out a few cheap decorative pillows declaring Let it Snow! and Ho! Ho! Ho!

They were the same pillows from years past.  Ones that should most certainly be tossed out and exchanged for new ones, but these were the first decorations her sisters and her had purchased after their parents died.  And Feyre couldn’t bring herself to toss them out just yet.  Besides, Nesta might kill her if she tried.

“Okay, the hot cocoa is ready!” Elain called out from the kitchen.  

Feyre glanced over to see Elain poke her head around the corner.  She wore a terrible disarray of mismatched pajamas combined with an apron that had reindeer prancing around on it.

“Thanks, Elain,” Feyre said, she smiled and turned back to the oil painting she had made last year of an angel.

“You want your usual peppermint?” Elain asked, her painfully kind smile alluding to something akin to pity.

“Sure,” Feyre said, if only to get Elain to stop making that face at her.

Elain disappeared and Feyre sighed heavily.

No matter what Feyre had tried the past few weeks, nothing seemed to put her in the mood for the holidays.  No amount of baking, shopping, decorating, family time had made a difference.

All because her boyfriend couldn’t be there for the holiday.  He’d recently accepted a job promotion, which was wonderful, but it required him to move out of Veleris and to Hybern.  Once, Rhysand had sworn he would never leave Veleris, the city he loved so much, but Amarantha had made a far too appealing offer apparently.

Feyre took a deep breath.  At least they’d managed to skype yesterday.  It wasn’t the same of course.  Christmas Eve without him was turning to be unbearable and Elain’s doe-eyed stare was not helping.

Maybe she should just go to bed.

“Merry Christmas!” Nesta called out.  She entered the house with a loud bang, followed by a curse. “Hell.  I might have broken Lucien’s present.  Oh well.”

“Be nice!” Elain yelled.  She rounded the corner with a giant mug that she handed to Feyre before going to help relieve Nesta of some of her many bags. “Geez, Nes.  How much crap do you have.”

“Some of it’s Cassian and Azriel’s,” Nesta grumbled.  She flipped her braid over one shoulder as she hurried the rest of the way into the house and dumped the bags on the couch. “They had something to take care of.  Probably a prank.  I wouldn’t be surprised if Cassian tried to stuff himself down the chimney.”

“Maybe he should,” Elain mused, “it might actually cheer Feyre up.”

“I’m fine,” Feyre insisted.  She punctuated her words by taking a long sip of cocoa, whipping cream staining her upper lip. “We’ll skype all day tomorrow...when he’s not in a meeting.”

“Who does that woman think she is, not letting her employees have time off?” Nesta said.  She pulled presents from the bags and began arranging them beneath the tree. “I mean I know we don’t really celebrate Christmas, but it’s a holiday.  It’s family time.”

“He’s the project leader for this really important account,” Feyre sighed. “He loves his job.”

“He loves you more,” Nesta said.

The words were so sudden and unexpected that it took Feyre a moment to register them.

“What do you mean?” she asked her older sister.  

Neta shrugged as she finished placing presents under the tree.

There was nothing else to say on the topic as Elain demanded a sister picture, followed by a heated discussion of which Christmas movies they watch first.  It was barely eight o’clock, but they all seemed ready to delve into whatever tradition they could get their hands on.  Or maybe it was just Elain and Nesta trying to distract Feyre from Rhysands absence.

While they were in the middle of one movie, Lucien arrived.  He’d finished up his shift as a nurse in the ER earlier than expected.

“We’re just getting to the good part!” Elain told him as he came over to sit on the floor just in front of her.  Despite there being plenty of space on the couch, he still was in the habit of avoiding being closer to Nesta then necessary.

“Where are the others?” Lucien asked. “There’s a storm coming in.  It started snowing while I was on my way into the city.”

“What?” Nesta demanded sitting up straighter.  She paused the movie and looked at Lucien. “It’s snowing?”

Feyre looked to the front window, where indeed, snow could be seen in the distant street lights.  A white Christmas for certain.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Lucien was saying.

Nesta was having no part of that, however.  She had her phone out in an instant and was calling Cassian.

“He knows how to drive in the snow, Nes,” Feyre said.  Her sister held up a hand to silence her.

Rolling her eyes, Feyre stood and gathered empty mugs of hot chocolate to take to the kitchen.  Apart from the tree and the small tea lights dangling over the kitchen counter, the house was dark.  But not in the miserable sort of way.  This was the kind of dark that exuded warmth and hope.  

The fire had died down hours ago and was not smoldering, keeping the house toasty.

As she set the empty mugs in the sink, Feyre looked out the window just above and watched the snow falling in thick folds through the night.  It made her all the more grateful for being inside right now, but she just couldn’t get over the seed of loneliness in her heart.  

She couldn’t cry about it now or else Elain and Nesta would try and cheer her up and it would ruin their Christmas Eve.  Rubbing a hand over her face, Feyre filled the empty mugs with water so they would be easier to clean.

Just then the front door burst open and Cassian’s booming laugh broke the silence.

“Merry Christmas!” He shouted.

In the living room, Feyre could hear feet pounding and knew Nesta was jumping up to engulf her boyfriend in a hug.  She listened as boots were kicked off and Cassian made a loud noise of pain, likely in response to a punch from Nesta.

“Where have you guys been?” Elain asked.

Cassian didn’t respond.  She heard when Azriel entered and took his sweet time to close the door behind him.  She would need to put on a thicker pair of socks.

Making sure her eyes were clear, Feyre rounded the corner from the kitchen. 

“Do you guys want some hot chocolate?” She asked and then stopped in her tracks.

Because not only were Cassian and Azriel there grinning like five-year-olds but a third person was there too.

Feyre slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming, because there disheveled and jetlagged and still breathtakingly handsome was Rhysand.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

Unable to hold herself back, Feyre ran to him, flinging herself in his arms.  He caught her easily and held her tightly against him.  Tears leaked from Feyre’s eyes as she buried her nose in his neck.  Despite the long three months apart--his touch, his scent, everything was so, so familiar.

“What are you doing here?” She whispered, tears unabashedly slipping down her cheeks. “I thought you said you’d get fired if you came back.”

Rhysand cupped her face in his hands beaming down at her with his brilliant violet eyes.

“It’s hard to fire someone when they’ve already quit,” Rhysand said.  He gave her a lopsided grin and shrugged.

“You what?” Feyre gaped at him. “This is your dream job, Rhys.”

“Nah,” he said with a shake of his head.  “Not really.”

Around them, their friends and family got distracted by other things to allow the couple time alone.  Someone started the movie back up and a Christmas song was playing in the background.  

Feyre fisted her hands in Rhysands jacket, unwilling to release him yet.  She still couldn’t believe that he was here before her.  Nor could she fully grasp what he was telling her.

“I couldn’t keep working there,” Rhysand said.  “Not for her.  Not in that place.  Not so far from you.”

Feyre bit her bottom lip, shaking her head. “You love your job.”

Rhys’ response was automatic. “I love you more.”

No matter how often she heard them, the words still sent a thrill through her.  She laughed lightly and looked away from him to where Azriel was stoking the fire and Cassian drew Nesta in his arms as they sat on the couch.  Elain leaned her head on Lucien’s shoulder as she mouthed the words along to the movie that played in the background.

The house was full of love and family for the first time in a long time.  Feyre had spent so long searching for these feelings of peace and comfort and now she had them.  She didn’t want to do anything to alter them--to diminish them.

But she also couldn’t let Rhys walk away from his work.

“Rhys,” she began.

His warm hand slid to cup her chin, gently tugging it up.  It took her a moment to meet his gaze.  Mostly because she was, again, tearing up.

“Everything about that job was tearing us apart,” he said as he leaned his forehead against hers, “and I refuse to let that happen any more.”

Feyre surged forward and kissed him.  There was so much they needed to figure out now.  So much to talk about and plan.  But for now, she was content to kiss him.  Content to be with him, with her family.

“I love you,” she murmured against his lips.

“Merry Christmas, Feyre darling,” he said.

And it was.  It was a glorious night together with snow falling down outside, the fire roaring in the hearth, and they were all together.

.end.

#

thanks for reading!

tags: using my general tags

@tottenhamboys20  @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @bamchickawowow @ladywitchling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @courtofjurdan @sassys-world @sleeping-and-books @superspiritfestival 

@my-fan-side  @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

[redheadspark]

hi! could i request number 14 with azriel from acotar? <3

A/N - I think this is amazing for Azriel! Thanks for requesting this, anon!

Gorgeous

Summary - Azriel knew how to make his mate feel loved

Warnings - Just some fluff

“What a beautiful day for a swim!”

Mor was about to hum in agreement with you when water splashed you both, a pair of squeals came from you and Mor as Cassian broke up from the water and laughed from getting you both doused in water.  Although you wanted to glare at him and tell him off for getting your outfit all wet, it was a bit better to be cooled off from the hot sun that was beating down on Velaris.

Summer in Velaris was magic.  Pure magic.

Everyone would spend most of their days out of their homes and in the sun, soaking it in for all its worth since Velaris was sheltered and hunkered down because of the recent winter storm. Plenty of wildflowers were in bloom, the summer fruits were ripe and ready for picking in the local orchards, and the rivers and beaches were always popular.  

Thankfully, thanks to having connections to the Inner Circle, you knew of the perfect watering hole that only High Lord Rhsyand knew and would use regularly.  

It was small little lake that was near his River House, big enough to have all of the Inner Circle enjoy but small enough to not be seen by the naked eye.  Well hidden behind massive trees and bushes, it was the perfect place to cool off and unwind when the heat would be unbearable.  Rhysand loved using the lake with Feyre, both with friends and in private. But now that Nyx was old enough to learn how to swim, Rhsyand would take his son out there daily to learn.

Today, he invited the Inner Circle to a few hours in the lake, mostly to relax from all of the planning that was going on for the upcoming meeting with Spring Court and the tyrant Tamlin.  You were glad to get some time away from your office and desk at the Community Center, knowing it was going to be ran perfectly without you needing to delegate everything.  But it wasn’t just you that was looking forward to a dip in the water.

But your mate as well.

“Well I’m glad you’re not getting me wet, my dear,” Nesta said in a grin as she took off her cover up, revealing her two piece set that she was wearing that was a deep blue and showing off her curves.  Cassian merely smiled up at his mate, holding out a hand to help her in the water with ease.  

“I know better, honey,” he reassured her as he kissed her cheek, the two of them swimming off together with giggles on their lips.  You then looked over to Mor, seeing her roll her eyes as she gestured to the small patch of grass to the right of the lake.

“I’m gonna get myself a tan,” She hummed to you, walking off with her own summer dress swishing with her hips.  You had to give her credit for her confidence, you wished you had some of that in your own life.  Not that you were completely meek and unwilling to have your own sense of confidence about yourself.  But Mor’s was more cosmic and organic, seeping out of her as if it was second nature to her.  

You felt a touch along your arm, a scarred hand brushing your skin that made your slightly sliver.  The scent of citrus was now in your nose as the small sensation of cooling shadows licking our lower back got your attention.  

“You not going to join them, dear?”

Azriel.  Sweet Azriel the Shadowsinger himself and your mate of 4 years. 

“I was waiting for you, Az,” You teased, feeling him smile as he pressed his lips against your cheek while he stood behind you, “You missed Cassian’s cannon ball, it was quite marvelous!”

“I’ve seen him do those cannon balls before.  Mediocre at best,” Azriel said in a snort, having you chuckle as he then walked over to stand next to you.  You watched him take off his thin shirt, revealing his tan skin along his toned muscle and the swirled of markings that were branded there.  Of course you felt flustered from seeing him like this, then again you got to see more skin from him since you two were mates and no ashamed of loving each other behind closed doors.  

Then again, that almost made you rethink of how you viewed yourself.  Azriel called you beautiful and radiant, and most of the time you believed him. But maybe it was the odd stares you would get from citizens in town when you two walked together or were eating out at Rita’s.  Azriel never minded the opinion of others, he simply tuned them out.  But you couldn’t help but wonder what they were thinking.

A plain fae with a Spymaster. 

“Aren’t you going to come swimming with me?” Azriel asked you in an alluring tone as he eyed you in your own black cover up.  You were a bit sheepish, clutching the cover up a bit tighter and shifted back and forth on your feet.  Azriel may have sensed that you were holding back a bit, reached over to move his fingers to push back the hair that was on your shoulder, “I know which one you picked out with Mor last week: my favorite one that is green that makes your eyes so bright.”

You are wearing that swimsuit, Mor making you try it out in the shop when you two were shopping.  She thought it hugged your hips and curves perfectly, making your skin glow and bringing out the highlights of your hair.  So when you showed Azriel the swimsuit that same night, almost like a preview for him to see in your shared home, he looked at you with such love in his eyes.  Knowing that you almost made the Spymaster fall to his knees from your simple beauty.  

But that just with your mate, not out in public.

“I think you are beyond beautiful,” Azriel reminded there in front of the lake, your eyes moving to look at his hazel orbs, seeing how calm he looked and yet filled with love and emotion, “There’s nothing that you can do that can make me love you any less, right?  And I think you are gorgeous in anything you wear,”

His words were laced with truth, and you smiled from hearing the deep tremor of his tone vibrate against your skin.  His fingers moved up then to the top of the cover up, touching the fabric and silently waiting for your permission to remove it.  You nodded, feeling that small piece of confidence all thanks to your mate.  

He pushed the cover up past your shoulders, letting it fall to the ground around your feet.

“Oo la la!  Looking sexy over there!” Mor hooted from her spot along the glass, drinking her glass of white wine and one of Nesta’s adult books in hand.  You looked down, the two piece that you wore did make you feel rather pretty as the material shined in the sun.  

“Very nice!  You look great!” Cassian hummed in agreement, his smirk there as Azriel wrapped an arm around your shoulders to glare at Cassian.  

“Easy there, Cas,” He warned his friend, then looked down at your swimsuit with looks of love on his face.  He leaned over to kiss your bare shoulder and then whispered in your ear, “Gorgeous.  Simply gorgeous.”

Leave it to you mate to make you feel loved and whole.  He would hold you in his arms in bed early in the morning or late in the night, knowing it was your safe space when you were falling asleep or waking up.  He made your favorite foods on your stressful days, delivering them to you personally at the Community Center during your lunch break.  He snuck in kissed along your skin when you were feeling down or not yourself, his own way of showing you with the love he always had for you.  

The love you had for Azriel never seemed to be enough, but it was enough and more when it came to his love for you.

“Enough eyeing each other like that, thank the Cauldron our nephew isn’t present!” Nesta lightly scolded with a chuckle as she then gestured to the water, “Come join us!”

You were about to say something to her when Azriel wrapped his entire arm around your waist.  You looked over at him to see him give you one of his own signature grins.  

“Glady,” He replied, then taking the pair of you into the water with a massive jump.  You cried out from the sudden jump, but laughed as you both broke up for air from being under water.  The cool water felt immensely better from being too hot from the water, and also from Azriel’s compliments about you.  

As Azriel kissed you in the water, your fingers running in his dark locks and his fingers touching along your bare waist under the water, you felt that love again the very first time you two met what seemed like so long ago.  It felt just the same, the fluttering in your stomach, the running thoughts, the instant smile that never seemed to go away.  That new sensation of love never left, all thanks to Azriel and his undying love to you. 

Even wearing a simple swimsuit made you feel like a goddess, all because of your mate. 

The End

June Summer Prompts

[booksimp]

Flame of Autumn - Part Two

A/N: Part two of Midnight at Rita’s is finally here, everyone! Sorry it took so long, I started a new job and I’ve been a bit overwhelmed. As you can tell, I’ve named this series something different. That’s because Midnight at Rita’s was supposed to be a smut one off, but it has a mind of it’s own and has become an actual fic. This will be part two of a series called “Flame of Autumn”. This fic is going to be quite long, and more elaborate than anything I’ve written here so far. I hope you enjoy!

“Oh, fucking hell.” I curse, clapping a hand over my mouth in shock.

Azriel chuckles sardonically, running a hand through his already sex mussed curls, puffing out a shocked breath. His cheeks are an adorable shade of pink, eyes wide.  

“Well said.”

For a few moments, we just sit and feel the bond thrum between us, like the plucked string of a cello. We’re still flushed and dazed, our panting breaths the only sound in the room as we stare at each other. 

A strange intermingling of emotion overwhelms me. Elation, joy, desire. A desire to take hold of Azriel and never, ever be parted from him. But all of it is entirely eclipsed by a sense of dread. It wraps itself around my throat, my heart, like a noose of ice. 

A mate is just another person to lose, to endanger with my own existence. 

The faces of all those that have suffered to protect me, that I ultimately lost, flash across my vision. A macabre version of a scrapbook. Just as easily as he perceived my earlier insecurities, Azriel notices the rising emotions in me. With the mate bond newly revealed, I wonder if the connection we’d felt all night had been the first clue. That, and his uncanny ability to read me like an open book. 

“Sabine, I don’t expect anything from you. But I- I’d like to explore this. We can go at whatever pace you’re comfortable with.” 

His face shines with hope as he takes my hand in his, squeezing gently. A hesitant reach down the bond caresses against me. His eyes are open and earnest, a shy smile on his face. The epitome of honest and trustworthy. 

I wonder what he would think if he knew Sabine isn’t my real name. 

A pang of guilt shoots through me, at the dishonesty of it, and it's suddenly hard to breathe. Lying to others has become disturbingly easy over the years I’ve been in hiding. I’m skilled at it now, diversion and distraction like second nature. But the thought of keeping up the ruse with my mate is unbearable. Having to lie every day, and to the person who should know the absolute truth of myself? I can’t do it. I won’t do it. 

I’m opening my mouth to admit things I haven’t in years, when my mothers face flashes through my mind. She was the first to implore me to hide my abilities, and the first to die because of them. 

“You threaten his crown. He will destroy everything you love to keep you quiet, my girl. You cannot give him more ammunition. You get close to no one. You keep moving. Don’t ever come back here.” 

Her words ring in my ears like I’m hearing them for the first time. I shut my mouth with a snap. I can’t tell Azriel anything, for fear of bringing the wrath of my father down on him. Can I even stay in Velaris? 

When I first heard of the hidden city of the Night Court, heavily guarded by the most powerful High Lord, I rejoiced. Isolated and with a varied population, it made the perfect hiding place. Not to mention that Velaris is far outside the reach of my fathers court. I’ve felt almost safe here, and the thought of leaving this city, of leaving Azriel, has my heart sinking into my stomach. Azriel slowly places a hand on my cheek, breaking me free of my internal struggle. Concern shapes his features, hazel eyes heartbreakingly gentle. He is too perceptive to not see the indecision and fear in me, bond or not. Without meaning to, I speak. 

“Okay.” 

A relieved grin graces his lips. I feel the apprehension fading from him, being replaced with soft joy. It makes my decision for me. Azriel is an Illyrian, not exactly an easy target. We’re in the safest place there is for me. If I guard my secret well enough, I can stay. Stay, and see where this newfound bond leads us. I pray to the Cauldron that I’m not making a stupid, selfish mistake. 

“Are you sure?” His brow furrows, intent on my response.

In that moment, I know that no matter how strongly he feels, Azriel will let me walk away. If I decide he’s not what I want, he would honor my choice no questions asked. It only makes me more certain of my decision. I’ve never been one to tolerate a controlling male.

“Absolutely. Are you?” I ask, inching closer to him, still clutching the sheets against myself.

His eyes flicker down to my chest, and back to my eyes. When a faint blush paints his cheeks, I nearly drop the bedding in shock. So the confident male can get flustered. I file the information away for later, barely containing a smirk. 

“Of course I am, I’ve waited almost six hundred years for you.” His voice is low, each syllable more sure than the last. 

My heart soars inside my chest at his words. Depthless hazel eyes bore into mine, and his shadows brush against my bare skin. They send shivers all along my body, and I edge even closer to him. He meets me in the middle of the bed, his forehead touching mine as his gaze roves over me like I’m a precious, once lost jewel. I do the same, drinking in the sight of the magnificent shadowsinger before me. My mate. 

Long ago, some inexplicable force decided that he belonged to me, and I him. I wonder what makes us so compatible, and I find I’m excited to discover every reason for myself. I want to know all the simple, small details of him like the back of my hand. I want to memorize the planes of his face, every color in his eyes.

If my mother could meet him, I imagine she’d remark on the beautiful grandchildren we’d make her. It's that thought, and the sudden realization that we are both very naked, that has a fierce blush coloring my face. 

“Maybe we should get dressed.” I whisper, only slightly breathless. 

Azriel’s eyes run along my sheet-clad form once more, before he pins me with  that now familiar alluring smile. 

“As you wish.” 

He says again, only making me more flushed at the memory. Without an ounce of shame, the Illyrian rises to his feet and walks to the dresser at the other end of the room. He begins digging through the drawers, before selecting some grey sweatpants and a long sleeve black shirt for himself. I’m still wrapped in his sheets, attempting to not gawk at the unobstructed view of his ass, when Azriel looks over his shoulder at me. He smirks at my obvious observation of his body.

“Do you want something other than your dress? Something more comfortable?”

I look down at the rumpled silk garment on the floor and grimace. He’s right, the thought of shimmying myself into it right now is about as appealing as a cold bath in the middle of winter.

“Yes please. Preferably something a bit warmer.” 

He nods, and picks a few items from his dresser. He places them on the bed before me and fixes me with a sweet, slightly shy grin. 

“Are you hungry? I have pastries from the bakery down the street. I could make coffee?” 

My ears perk at the mention of food, and my stomach grumbles in agreement. I like that instead of pushing me to continue our conversation about our future, he’s making sure I’m fed and comfortable. That warm, light sensation flutters in my belly again.  

“I never turn down coffee or carbs.” I manage to get out, smiling coyly. 

“Noted.” Azriel smiles again, a quiet amusement in his eyes. 

He leaves me to change, heading towards the kitchen to start the coffee. I put on the sweatshirt and black briefs left for me. Both are too big, but they’re warm and soft against my skin. Worlds better than the dress. I pull the collar of the sweatshirt up to my nose and inhale his scent of cedar and moonlight and rain. Gods, what does he bathe in that makes him smell so good?

For the first time all night, I’m able to observe Azriel’s bedroom. My eyes widen as I take in the beautiful A frame ceiling with exposed wooden beams. The soft patter of rain on glass draws my eyes to the east wall, which is made entirely of paneled windows. Silver rivulets of water run down their surface, reflecting flickering beams of moonlight into the room. The floors are a dark oak, the walls a calming sage.

Candles burn on Azriel’s overflowing bookcase, and the fireplace crackles merrily on the opposite wall. I reach out hesitantly with my ability, and feel the heat of each flame flicker inside my awareness. For a moment, I watch the candle flames dance and twist under my will. It's rare that I ever have the chance to explore my gift, the small flames too often exploding into an uncontrolled inferno that attracts attention. But I can’t help playing just a little.   

The sound of a kettle whistling startles me from my reverie, and a few tea lights extinguish entirely. I wince, and quickly light them again before following Azriel into the kitchen. 

He’s at the counter, adding hot water to a french press. The earthy scent of coffee tickles my nose as he presses the grounds down, the muscles of his arm flexing deliciously.

“How do you take your coffee?” He asks, gesturing towards a pale box of pastries for me to choose from. 

“Cream and sugar. Lots of cream.” 

“You like your coffee sweet.” He smiles to himself as he pours extra cream and sugar into my cup, as if adding the observance to a mental list.

 I pad closer and peer at the box of pastries over his broad shoulder. On the front it reads ‘Diana’s Bakery and Coffeehouse’ in elegant script. I bite my lip to keep from laughing as I open the familiar box, and take a bagel from inside. 

He notices me smiling at the pastries and raises a thick eyebrow at me, the corner of his lip quirking up.

“What is it?”

“Nothing it's just - well I work at Diana’s.” I laugh, taking a bite of the magically warmed bagel after liberally smearing it with cream cheese. 

“You do? But I’ve been in there everyday this week, I haven’t seen you.” 

He passes my mug to me, filled to the brim with creamy coffee, and I take a careful sip. He leans against the marble counter, hazel eyes looking me up and down, that small smirk making an appearance once again. What is it about males liking us in their clothes? Not that I’m complaining. 

“Well, you wouldn’t. I work in the back with Diana as her baking apprentice. I even baked those cinnamon rolls.”

 I know they’re mine by the slightly imperfect glazing. Diana is meticulous and every single treat she bakes is always flawless.

He points to the icing covered cinnamon rolls inside the box, mouth gaping in shock. 

“These cinnamon rolls? They’re the best I’ve ever had. I’ve been buying you guys out everyday.” Azriel exclaims, eyes wide and alight with surprise. 

“Oh, so you’re the reason I’ve had to make twice as many recently?” I chuckle, pink staining my cheeks. The fact that Azriel loves my baking brings me way too much delight to be proper. 

“I’m sorry, but Cassian and I can’t get enough of them. What do you do to them? They’re like biting into a cloud!”

“I can’t tell you that! It's a secret recipe!” I wink, a goofy grin on my face.

Azriel rolls his eyes and smiles, grumbling about how secretive bakers are as he deposits a large mound of cinnamon rolls onto a plate. A truly genuine smile breaks across my face at the sight. He collects his own mug and leads me to a comfy couch, where we both plop down and tuck into our midnight snacks. 

I can’t help but watch him, completely mystified. This sexy, adorable male is my mate? I’ve never felt lucky a day in my life, but as Azriel finishes his third cinnamon roll, I can’t help but feel like the fates smiled on this one aspect of my life. Having finished my bagel, I sip on my coffee and relax into the couch. I’ve been running for a long time, keeping everyone at arm's length, never staying in one place for more than a few years. But maybe I can stay hidden in Velaris and keep Azriel a lot closer. Maybe I don’t have to be alone. I want that future so badly it becomes hard to breath.

“So you bake. You dance at Rita’s. What else?” 

Azriel’s voice brings me back to the present, and I glance up from my coffee cup. Silent laughter dances in the hazel depths of his eyes, his plate of pastries discarded on the coffee table. Suddenly self conscious under his intent gaze,  I reach a hand up to feel the tangled masses of my dark hair. I grimace when I realize what a mess it’s become. It will probably need to be dyed again as well.

“I play music. Mostly the piano. I write sometimes. And you?”

The admissions, however small, make my throat tight with anxiety. I haven’t told anyone anything true about myself in years, and I haven’t touched a piano in just as long. The feeling is nerve wracking, and I can’t help but feel exposed. My eyes follow the upward curve of his lips as he smiles at me, one arm draped over the back of the couch. 

 “I can see you playing piano. You have the hands for it.”

I blush at his statement, my gaze falling to my entirely ordinary hands. What does that even mean?

“I’m something of a homebody. If I’m not with my brothers, I’m probably here with a book. I train, I work, I come home."

That explains the mountains of novels all over his room. And the incredible body. He reaches over and runs a hand through my slightly curling hair, the hours I’d spent straightening it made useless. He curls one of the ringlets around his finger, giving it a slight tug, before he tucks it behind my ear. Every single nervous thought evaporates at his touch.

“I like your hair like this, especially since I’m the one who made it this messy.” 

He murmurs, a sudden heat in his eyes. I feel my body warm in response to that look, and I have to divert my gaze down at my lap to keep from jumping him right there. Again.

“You’re a shameless flirt, shadowsinger.” I mutter, playing with the silver ring of leaves on my finger, noticing that his thigh is now pressed against mine. When had he moved so close?

“Not usually, trust me. My brothers would be astonished.” He laughs, running a hand through his own messy hair. 

“Not usually?” I trace a finger along the back of his hand, fascinated by the combination of scarring and complex veins. 

He shivers slightly, and I smile in satisfaction. He’s not the only one who can play that game. 

“I make exceptions for my mate.” He whispers, taking my hand from his and pressing a kiss to my palm, lips soft and warm. 

“I was supposed to have drinks with my brothers. They must think I decided to stay in.”  He laughs against my skin, kissing his way to the pulse point of my wrist.

“Little do they know, huh?” I gasp, made breathless by his ministrations and the thought of exactly why he’d ditched his brothers tonight.

“Little do they know. When you’re ready, I - uh. I know they’d love to meet you.” He looks up at me, cheeks filling with color as he straightens. 

My stomach drops, and a bit of reality comes crashing down. A mate is one thing, but letting his family into my life? They’d be two more people to lie to, two more people in danger because of me. I avoid any straight answers, and decide to divert his attention elsewhere.

“Tell me about them?” I drink from my mug, using it as an excuse to break eye contact. I can’t shake the feeling that he can see down to the very truth of me when our gazes meet. 

“Their names are Cassian and Rhys. Complete idiots. But those two have saved my life in so many ways.” His eyes glow with a warm, far away look, a goofy smile on his face. 

“It sounds like you love them very much.” I speak softly, not wanting that radiant look to ever leave his face.

“I do. Do you have any siblings?” His eyes flicker back to me, the distance clearing from them. 

“An older brother. Micah.” I try not to let my voice break on his name, the longing slamming into my chest like a horse at a full sprint. 

I curse myself for using my brother's real name, a slip up I wouldn’t have made with anyone else. Azriel’s mere presence is enough to disarm me, and it's a struggle to focus with him this close. I haven’t seen Micah since the day our mother was murdered by my fathers sentries, and we both fled for our lives. In opposite directions. The day that started my life on the run. 

“Are you two close?” Azriel’s shadows curl around me as he squeezes my hand in silent support, like he already knows the answer. 

“We used to be, when we were young. Not so much anymore.” 

I tense, hoping that he doesn’t push the subject. I can’t exactly tell him the truth of our forced estrangement. At least not yet.

“Where are you from?” 

 His tone is light, and I am endlessly grateful for the change in conversation. He doesn’t seem to miss a thing when it comes to me. The thought is a constant inkling of worry in the back of my head. 

“Not Velaris.” I reply quickly.

It technically isn’t a lie, but the evasion feels even worse.

“I could’ve guessed that, love. I’ve lived here for hundreds of years, if you lived in Velaris I would’ve found you sooner. Are you from the Night Court?” 

He chuckles, taking up another strand of my hair to play with. For a moment, I forget that he’s waiting on a response. 

“No, Summer Court. Adriata. Did you grow up in Illyria?” 

 I attempt to change the subject, the subterfuge like spoiled milk in my stomach. I wish I could tell him all about my little cottage on the outskirts of the Autumn Court, about my mothers smile, and Micah’s penchant for getting me into trouble. Instead, I have to wriggle my way out of letting him get to know me. This is going to be harder than I thought. 

“Unfortunately, I did.” Shadows rise from deep within his eyes, blotting out almost all the light in them. 

I’ve heard many stories about the brutality of Illyria. Their perilous winters and sprawling mountains, the discipline that they ingrain into their children, how they throw themselves into the path of war. I wonder who put the scars on his hands, his wings, and I feel sick for an entirely different reason.

I search his eyes for answers, glimpsing an age old sadness there. I feel him trying to shove it down deep, but he can’t hide from me anymore than I can from him. A burning rage seethes in my chest at that sadness. It makes me want to grow claws and rip and tear, scorch those responsible with my flames.

He closes his eyes and rests his head where my shoulder and collarbone meet, a deep sigh leaving him. From the tension in his body, I know he wants me to let the topic drop. So instead of asking the questions on the tip of my tongue, I kiss the top of his head and stroke his back softly. He practically purrs, pressing closer, telling me to continue. I smile softly, trailing my fingers down his spine in slow circles. His back is deliciously firm, and rippling with muscles from his often used wings. Heat scorches across my face as I remember how I brought him over the edge just by kissing them, the absolute unleashing of it. 

“I- I didn’t realize. That, well um- your wings. That they were so-“ I stutter pitifully, the blush spreading down my neck. 

Azriel leans back to meet my eyes, a slight smile beginning on his face, previous troubles forgotten. 

“You didn’t know?” He asks, disbelief in his tone and a glint of amusement in his eye. 

“No, they just looked very kissable.”

He throws his head back and gives a loud, full belly laugh. I beam at the musical sound, satisfaction flowing through me. I want to make him laugh like that again and again.

“An Illyrian males wings are the most sensitive part of their body. If touched in the perfect spot, we can finish from that alone. As you saw. But they are also our greatest weapon, and we protect them accordingly. For that reason, I usually keep them far away from any - partners.” He explains after sobering from his laughter, voice soft and a slight blush painting his elegant cheekbones.

“But you make exceptions for your mate?” I ask, eyes downcast as I play with the cuff of his long sleeve shirt.

“I do. Only for you.” He takes my hands from his sleeve, and presses them to his lips once again.

I glance up at him, to find his eyes already on me. The warmth and tenderness I find there has my heart flying in my chest, and tears pricking my eyes. I blink them away hurriedly, looking to his wings instead of the intense emotion he’s showing me. For some reason, the adoration I see there has a small burst of fear running through me. 

“I’m glad you let me touch them. They’re beautiful.” I whisper reverently as l behold the incredible expanse of his wings. 

Vibrant plum and lavender, veined with maroon and the silver of scar tissue. I can’t even think of these beautiful, majestic wings being mutilated like that. My hands ache to touch them again, feel their silky warmth. 

“You definitely showed your appreciation for them.” He leans closer, his breath fanning across my cheek as he whispers in my ear. 

It sends shivers deep into my core, and I have to squeeze my thighs together and hope he doesn’t catch my scent. The confident, seductive Azriel of earlier tonight is back. 

“Not yet I haven’t.” I murmur, emboldened by my renewed need for him. 

The need comes quickly, overwhelmingly. Especially now that I know what being with him is like. Entirely world shattering. He may have ruined every other male for me. Again, not that I’m complaining. A low rumble comes from deep in his chest, and he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me onto his lap with ease. 

“Is that so?” There’s a sultry promise in his voice, and I feel him stir against my thigh. 

The room is filled with our mingled arousal as he inhales against my neck. 

“I still can’t believe I found you.” He groans, pressing kisses against my throat. 

I let my eyes fall closed, shocked anew at how easily he reduces me to a gasping mess. His hands begin to roam over my hips and waist, his touch worshipping and disbelieving. When I begin to slowly move myself over his growing arousal, I feel a shift in him. His hands halt their exploration, and he tenses beneath me. I open my eyes to find his face veiled with worry, his brow creasing. 

“You don’t have to, Sabine.” He cups my face in his hands, dark eyes gleaming with concern. 

I try not to flinch at the false name, and I wonder what his voice would sound like saying the name my mother gave me.  

Shoving those thoughts away, I shake my head, a small grin forming on my lips. Does he not see how infatuated I am already? Of course I don’t have to, but I want to. 

“Az, you idiot.”

And with that, I plant my lips on his. He doesn’t need further convincing. His body responds to mine eagerly, a low growl building in his chest. My back meets the leather couch as Azriel maneuvers himself above me, his hands sliding under the hem of my sweatshirt. He is somehow gentle and commanding all at once, his skin burning hot against mine. I sigh into the kiss as I give myself to him, entirely content to do so this time. 

“You are the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen.” 

He whispers against my lips, that reverent tone back in full force. My eyes prick as my chest fills with equal parts warmth and fear. I can see how easy it would be to love my mate. To fall fast and completely. And the part of me that’s been running scared from those I once loved is terrified.  

“I’m scared.” I murmur back, surprised at my own honesty.

I feel his frown against my lips, and he only holds me tighter. 

“I’m scared too, love. But I won’t ever hurt you. You’re - You are everything.” His eyes, soft and dark and endlessly kind, convince me. 

I smile sheepishly at him, holding out my left pinky. 

“Promise?”

Without hesitation, he wraps his finger around mine. 

“I promise.” 

The next morning, sunlight streaming in through the expansive windows wakes me. A sleepy contentment keeps me drowsy and warm, and I stretch like a cat after a particularly restful nap. 

“Good morning.” 

Cauldron, his morning voice is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.

I blink my eyes open, the blurry image of a very amused Azriel coming into focus. His black hair is tousled and falling onto his forehead, and pillow marks color his cheeks. 

Delicious.

I cuddle closer to him instead of replying, not ready to start the day yet. He wraps both arms around me as I bury my head in his very bare chest. Memories of last night rise to the surface, and I feel my cheeks warm. After his pinky promise, Azriel made love to me. That's the only way to describe the beautiful, tender way he touched me. He made sure every ounce of doubt was replaced with complete trust. It was the most intimate I had ever been with anyone in my entire life. 

“Did you know that you talk in your sleep?” He asks, a teasing grin curling his full lips.

I can’t help but remember those lips on my body in the living room. And the bedroom. And the bathtub. Needless to say, we didn’t sleep until dawn.

“W-What did I say?” I can only imagine the mortifying things my sleep self has to say to this male.

“Just my name. Over and over again.” His voice deepens, eyes darkening.

“Shut up! I did not!” I hiss, giving his shoulder a shove. 

He only chuckles and waggles a brow at me, before placing a kiss to my forehead. He smells even better in the morning, his cedar scent more potent. How is that even possible?

“How did you sleep?” 

He brushes my hair over my shoulder, peppering even more kisses across my collarbone. I shiver under his attention, my eyes falling closed again.

“Better than I have in a long time.” I admit, my voice still raspy with sleep. 

“So did I.” 

He runs gentle hands through my hair, our legs still entwined intimately. I haven’t felt this safe and content in someone’s arms since I was a girl, when my mom would hold me after I woke from nightmares about monsters under my bed. Azriel already feels like home, and the thought doesn’t scare me as badly as it did last night. Thoughts of my father seem distant and insignificant now, chased away by the bright morning light and warmth of my mate’s presence. 

“I wish I could stay here with you all day, baby.” He groans, a deep sigh leaving him. I can feel his reluctance in how firmly he presses me to him, strong arms locking me against his chest. 

“Then stay.” I grumble moodily, a frown curling my lips downwards. I know we can’t stay sequestered in his apartment forever, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. 

“I have to do some work for my brother today, but you’re more than welcome to stay in my bed. In fact, I hope you do.” Azriel chuckles, untangling his limbs from mine and kneeling before me. He drops a tender, lingering kiss on my lips  before standing.

My cheeks warm as my blood sings in my veins, and my breath catches in my chest. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the way his touch affects me. I hope I never do. 

“Oh? What kind of work do you do for him? Does he have his own shop or something?” I yawn my way through the question, cuddling myself into his vacated warm spot. 

Azriel smiles over his shoulder at me, while sliding into Illyrian fighting leathers. My mouth goes dry at how the skin tight garment outlines his muscular thighs and powerful chest, accentuating the golden tones of his skin. Hubba Hubba.

“Actually, Rhysand is High Lord of the Night Court. I’m his Spymaster. I have spying to do.” His lips twitch as if he’s trying to not let the easy smile fall from his face as he continues dressing. He watches for my reaction intently.

The blood in my veins turns to ice, freezing my heart in place as my eyes shoot open in shock. 

Azriel’s brother Rhys is... Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court. All sleep leaves my body, and I have to fight to stay still. Every instinct is screaming at me to run, run far and fast. 

Because Rhysand knows my father, seeing as he’s High Lord of the Autumn Court.

In fact, I know Beron has met Rhysand many times. He often spoke about the half breed bastard who challenged his authority at meetings.

I met Rhysand at Beron’s court once, when I was barely fifteen. It's been decades, but he could easily recognize me as Beron’s bastard daughter. And he could tell my father where I am, maybe even deliver me to him. 

Even if he doesn’t recognize me, grown and changed as I am, Rhysand is a Daemati. He could rip the truth from my own mind with hardly a thought. And the High Lord of the Night Court has a reputation for finding pleasure in that sort of thing. The thought has me shivering despite the warm blankets tucked around me. 

“Oh. You didn’t mention that last night.” I rasp, trying not to look like I’m about to throw up. My stomach roils, and my palms dampen with cold sweat. 

“I forget that he's High Lord sometimes. He’s just Rhys to me.” Azriel shrugs, with his back now turned to me as he readies himself for the day. I thank the Cauldron for it. 

I can only imagine the stark horror in my expression, and I take a few extra moments to reign my emotions in. Gods, no wonder Azriel can read me so effortlessly. It's not only because of the bond, he’s a spymaster. Reading people is his job. A job he performs for a mind stealing, murdering monster of a High Lord. Bile rises in my throat, and I feel my heart crack in my chest. 

Azriel is not who I thought he was. The trustworthy, gentle male I spent the night with could just be another mask he wears. A tremble begins deep within me.

“When will you be back?” I try to sound eager, like I can’t wait for his return. 

In reality, I’m trying to find out how far away I can get before he even realizes I’m gone. 

“Tonight. I just need to visit some - colleagues in another court.” He says, while lacing his sturdy looking boots into place. 

What court is he ‘visiting’? Will he be spying on other High Lords for Rhysand? Despite the new revelations about his dangerous brother, I feel a stab of fear for my mate. Any High Lord would slaughter him in a moment if they caught him spying on the Daemati’s behalf. 

“Will you be safe?” I hear the worry in my own voice, and Azriel either hears it as well or can feel it from me. Damn mate bond. 

The male perches on the bed next to me, a reassuring smile on his striking face. The two versions of him that exist in my head clash terribly; the vulnerable, kind Azriel of last night and the formidable Spymaster I’ve heard grave stories about. My gaze falls to the dark dagger strapped to his leg. Truth Teller. I try not to shiver as the light glints lethally off its razored edge. I wonder how many truths he’s tortured out of his enemies using it. 

“Of course. Always, but especially now.” Azriel strokes stray curls out of my face, his eyes brimming with unabashed tenderness. He kisses me soundly, a promise to return. 

My stomach flips and suddenly my heart is no longer racing out of fear. For a moment, I almost forget the hidden lethalness and only see Az. But that’s foolish. I can’t shiver at the sight of his famed blade and crave his touch at the same time. 

“I’ll see you tonight?” I ask, mentally calculating how long I have to leave Velaris. I go through the well rehearsed steps of my escape plan, focusing on mundane details to keep the fear and longing from rendering me completely useless.

“Of course.” Shadows of worry cloud his eyes, and I can almost see the sharp, spy's mind calculating behind them.

Azriel kisses me once more, his lips hesitant for the very first time.

His mouth tastes like sorrow, and I feel a flicker of something down the bond. It's gone too quickly for me to decipher it. I curse internally, hoping he only thinks I’m intimidated by his brother’s position. Between the bond and his spymaster abilities, who knows what he can decipher from my reaction alone.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?” He stands, tucking his wings in close and letting his shoulders droop slightly. 

He searches my face, lips slightly turned down at the corners, brow furrowed. 

“I’ll be here.” The lie burns my throat like acid, and I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes.

Instead, I pretend to settle deeper into the bed, closing my eyes as I bring the blankets up to my chin. I don’t want to see the confusion and worry in his gaze. And I can’t watch him leave, knowing that I may never see him again. Azriel squeezes my thigh softly, whispering another farewell as he leaves the room with a sigh. 

I wait until I no longer feel the thrumming current that is Azriel’s presence,  when I know he’s well and truly gone. Then I spring into action. I burst from the bed, and head straight for Azriel’s dresser. I yank a pair of sweats from the drawer and pull them on hurriedly, shaking so hard it takes me three tries to get my legs through the correct hole.  I practically run through the living room, propelled forwards by thoughts of obliterated minds and the dank cells beneath the Autumn Court. 

I glimpse the forgotten mugs and pastry box from last night on the coffee table. Tears prick my eyes at the memory of the hope I felt during that meal. I told Azriel, my mate, more than I’ve shared with anyone in years. He let me see some of the anguish he carries with him, buried so deep it's become a part of him. I gave my body to him. And he felt like home. Can I really run from that?

Yes, I can. I have to. I was a fool to think that I could ever be outside my father’s reach.

On impulse, I hunt down a pen from the kitchen cabinets and scrawl a quick, cowardly note on a scrap of paper. Shame coats my tongue so thoroughly I think I may choke on it.

I’m sorry. - S 

  With the note finished, I raise the hood to conceal my face and tear down the stairs, avoiding the elevator Azriel first kissed me in. Soon enough, my bare feet are slapping against the rain slick pavement, my heart cracking with every step. I don’t stop to notice the people that watch me fly by, or the sun shining over the Sidra. I let the fear cloud every guilty thought, until all I know is adrenaline. 

Once I reach my apartment, I change into clothes more appropriate for an escape attempt, and collect my emergency bag from beneath some loose floorboards. Not the most creative hiding spot, but it’s better than my underwear drawer. 

Less than an hour later, I’m standing on the rickety, wooden deck of a foreign boat, sailing away from Velaris. Tradesmen man their vessel, hardly paying attention to me as I stare out over the water from their starboard side. I can imagine the mystery I pose. A lone, cloaked female, begging to stow away on their watercraft.

The money I slipped to their captain keeps the curious glances to a minimum, and I hope it keeps their mouths shut in the future. Either way, I won’t be settling where I first disembark. I’m not entirely sure where I’ll go yet, but maybe that’s for the best. If I’m entirely impulsive, my actions will be harder to predict.

I’ve run scared so many times over the years that I’ve lost count, but I’ve never been so conflicted. Every mile I put between me and the shore of the Sidra is another knife shoved up under my ribs, and it becomes harder and harder to breath. Eventually, the vibrant colors of the Rainbow fade from view and the citrus scent of the river becomes the salty brine of the ocean. Hot tears sting my eyes, and I let them fall. The hood of my cloak covers my face anyway. 

“Goodbye, Az.”