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b00kdiary · 11 months

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Wildest dreams (IV)

ACOTAR The Batboys x Plus size reader

Where the reader finds herself gaining the attention of the most notorious males in Prythian and it seems that even her wildest dreams couldn’t prepare her for the night they would share.

Notes: This has Rhys, Cassian and Azriel with a plus-size reader since I literally couldn’t decide who it should be and thought that the best fantasy in the world would be all three :) Here’s to all my thick, fat, plus-size girlies who want some bat-boy love too xo

Warning: mature themes (18 +) swearing, body-image issues, smut and the bat boys being utterly infatuated with their thick, beautiful lady

Part I Part II Part III Part V

Rhysand’s room was bigger than my entire apartment.

That’s all I could think as we winnowed in and I spotted the ornate and large armoires, nightstands and table, the plush sofa, the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the bed large enough to fit five males.

Or three males with wings and one female.

I opened my mouth to retort something about how ridiculously lavish this entire place was but as I turned on my heels, I stopped short at the sight of the three males before me. They were watching me, their bodies still as death, and yet their eyes shone like stars, dark and enthralling, sweeping over my body like a caress of the wind.

I felt myself tighten, a shiver running down my spine at the need and arousal wafting off of them and as Rhysand moved to the side, smirking wildly and then leaned his back against the wall, tucking his hands into his pant pockets, I knew that it was happening.

“Do your worst darling” Rhysand purred, his voice like silk in my mind.

I bit my lip, my eyes moving back over to Azriel and Cassian, both of whom stood near the doorway, their attention patient yet hungry upon me.

But I didn’t want to be patient anymore.

My legs were shaking and numb, but I steeled my nerves and in the near silence of the room began walking over to the Illyrian males. I saw their bodies stiffen, their eyes tracking my slow and deliberate movements as I neared them.

I approached Cassian first, a shy smile gracing my face as his expression lifted into a cheeky and knowing grin and as I stood before him, close enough to feel the warmth of his skin and the strong male musk of his body, all I could comprehend was how badly I needed him.

“Kiss me” I breathed, my words near-silent as my hands grazed up to lay at his chest and I tilted my chin to look into his eyes.

To see the exact moment that he lost control.

Cassian surged forward with grace and ferocity, his head ducking to capture my lips and I felt a whoosh of air spring from my lungs at the impact. I gasped, back arching and nails curling into the fabric of his shirt at the first taste of the sweetness of his lips, at the way his hands instantly moved around my body to grip me against him like a vice.

His lips were hungry against mine, devouring and satiating as he trapped me to him, fingers digging into my flesh. I moaned as his tongue entered my mouth, invading and battling against mine, a struggle that I more than happily lost.

My brain was fogging over at the sheer demand and want that Cassian kissed me with, at the feeling of his strong hands and muscled chest, the feeling of how much larger he was in comparison to me.

I whined slightly as I pulled away, laughing quietly at the look of disdain on Cassian’s face. My chest was rising and falling in harsh waves, but I inhaled deeply, gathering myself before shifting my body and turning to lock my gaze on Azriel.

I waited, cocking my head to the side as we remained locked, his stare wholly dark, a small tilting smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Azriel mused, raising a brow at me and I suppressed the laugh that threatened to escape me.

“Aren’t you going to come join the fun?” I asked, my voice shaking but I raised my chin in defiance all the same. Azriel chuckled lowly and my entire body lit up as he began to stalk over, his body and dark shadows exuding power and dominance.

My body prickled in anticipation as he came to stand before me, stopping close enough that his chest brushed against my taut nipples, so sensitive that I inhaled sharply at the feeling. Azriel smirked, eyes shining, noticing that subtle shift in my heart rate and breathing.

“I want you to kiss me, Shadowsinger,” I said, lifting a shaky hand to trail my fingers softly over the smooth skin revealed at the base of his throat. I gasped as he caught my hand in his own, his large and scarred fingers closing tightly over mine and he tugged me closer, his breath at my ear.

“I don’t like being told what to do, sweetheart,” He said, low and sinister “Why don’t you try again?”

He pulled back marginally, his eyes narrowing in a challenge and though a part of me wanted to push back and give him hell, I couldn’t ignore how heavy my breasts felt or ignore the steady and throbbing ache that tormented between my thighs.

“Azriel” I whimpered, shivering at the smooth touch of his fingers now at my cheek, “Please.”

That’s all it took, I saw his smirk turn feral and then he had his hand around my throat, firm but not painful as he pulled me in and crashed his lips against mine. I moaned, eyes fluttering shut, and my body melted into the security and firmness of his hold, the feeling of his hand at my throat making my pussy soak and my head spin.

Azriel’s kiss was different to Rhysand’s reverence or Cassian’s ferocity, his lips moved against mine in deep, languid strokes, passionate and indulgent in a way that had every flick of tongue or scrape of his teeth shredding more and more of my self-control.

I arched my back as Cassian pressed against it, his hands stroking over the flesh at my waist and hips, squeezing and kneading the flesh. My body was electric as Azriel pulled back, but I barely had time to comprehend as Cassian’s lips dipped to the juncture of my throat and began sucking and biting against the sensitive skin.

I gasped, eyes screwing as my body and mind overwhelmed itself, the feeling of hands tugging and gripping and their mouths kissing and biting across my skin and neck. Azriel was now at my breasts, kneading and pinching the sensitive flesh and I groaned, my head lolling back and resting against Cassian’s chest.

The material of my clothes was irritating against my skin and in my frenzy of need, I didn’t hesitate to start tugging at the cloth. I watched as Azriel and Cassian both paused, deep and satisfied hums escaping them as I tugged down my dress, my breasts falling out and exposed to the harsh wind.

“Fuck” Cassian swore, his fingers tightening as he eyes my exposed chest and any feeling of vulnerability or shame washed away at that look. I twirled, capturing Cassian’s lips in mine, my back now pressed to Azriel’s chest as his hands moved to cup and fondle my breasts. I sighed into Cassian’s mouth as Azriel tugged at my nipples and I felt my whole body tremble at the feeling.

I bit lightly against Cassian’s lip as I drew back earning a gruff chuckle and a swift and harsh tug of his hands at my breast, and Azriel huffed out a laugh at the whimper of pain and pleasure that escaped me at the action.

“Please,” I pleaded, eyes wide as I raised my gaze to Cassian then turned my head to the side to look at Azriel.

“You want more angel?” Cassian asked, trailing a finger around my nipple in a whisper of touch and I groaned, nodding my head desperately in response. Azriel smirked, his head dipping to press a sweet kiss against my collarbone before he and Cassian both pulled back from me.

Alarm filled me at the sudden loss of warmth, but I watched as Rhysand walked over, grinning as he stopped just before me.

“Take a seat on the bed darling, we’ll take care of you,” He said softly, his hand gently as he tucked a piece of my hair behind an ear.

I nodded, moving to the huge bed and carefully, I sat on the edge. I watched with bated breath as they all stood, towering over me and I suddenly felt silly that my breasts were out, and they were all fully clothed.

As if hearing my thoughts, Rhysand’s gaze dropped and he marvelled at my breasts in the light, moonbeams streaming in through the open space and cascading over my skin. I blushed at the appreciation in his eyes, and he grinned in response.

I leaned back onto my arms as Azriel silently came forward, my breath stuttering in my chest as he dropped to a knee at my feet. He smiled softly, his scarred hands trailing down the exposed skin of both thighs before he lifted my right, bending it at the knee.

I furrowed my brows, but my heart fluttered as I watched his attention drop to the lacing of my heels and with swift fingers, he began undoing the ties.

It was oddly serene, watching as he untied and then removed my right heel, placing it at his side on the floor. He held my ankle, pressing a tender kiss to my shin before slowly lowering my foot back down and grabbing my left leg. Again, with unhurried agility, he untied and removed my left shoe, and I watched as they disappeared, magicked to cauldron knows where.

Cassian and Rhysand moved to sit on either side of me on the bed, and I sighed at the feeling of their thighs against mine and their hands on my skin.

Rhys kissed my jaw and cheek, his hands trailing against my neck and then lower, cupping my breast. I exhaled harshly, my eyes fluttering shut at the feeling, of pleasure filling me as his hands began to tug and roll the taut bud between his fingers. I sighed contently as his hand moved downwards, tracing over my stomach and then to the side of my waist.

And my body froze as his hand reached the two strings knotted together at my waist.

He immediately paused there when he felt me clam up, my breath halting in my lungs as I realised what he intended to do.

“May I untie this darling?” He asked quietly. I swallowed hoarsely, my head slowly shifting to meet his eyes. I was weary, insecurities and worries eating at me but the small and encouraging smile that Rhysand gave made the breath ease in my lungs.

I inhaled and exhaled to steady myself, my eyes closing for a moment to gather my wits. I focused on the feeling of Azriel’s hands at my thighs, the small, soothing circles he drew there, then on the feeling of Cassian’s chest pressed to my side and back, that strong wall of safety.

And then to the sweetness in Rhysand’s eyes.

That lack of judgement, the whole desire that I knew he felt, they all felt when they saw me.

I blinked my eyes open and with a steady exhale, nodded my head.

“Yes, you can untie it.” The words escape me with an easy exhale and Rhysand’s lip tilts at the corner, the stars in his eyes twinkling as he looks from me, down to that knot at my side. I try and force myself to breathe as he swiftly unties the knot and with nimble fingers, begins to unwrap the material to expose my body beneath.

Their eyes are all on me and I feel Cassian’s rough fingers trail my skin, helping Rhys to tug the dress down my arms, letting it pool around me on the bed. My face was heated, feeling my stomach, breasts and legs all bare to their eyes, the lace panty I wore covering my most intimate part.

I cringed moving my arms to cover myself, to cover all the parts I disliked that the moon was highlighting but Rhysand clucked his tongue, his hands gently pulling my arms away. I met his stare and saw the fire burning in them as his gaze trickled down my flesh, and not even for a second did I see him look unimpressed.

“So beautiful,” Cassian muttered hoarsely against my neck, kissing the flesh there and the sweet words made me purr, my eyes fluttering at the contact. I bit my lip, looking from Rhys to Cassian and then Azriel, and they all looked insatiable still, making sure to show me how much they adored my body with their dark eyes and feral smiles.

I turned my head, silent as I brought my lips to Cassian and he groaned as I dragged him into a deep, slow kiss, my hands moving to Rhysand, pulling him to touch me, needing the feeling of him on me. Cassian grows wilder, teeth and tongues clashing as he devours me, and I moan as Rhys fondles my breasts, the ache between my thighs growing.

I pull away when Azriel begins tracing over the band on my underwear, still on his knees before me, looking as if he was ready to worship every inch of my skin, so dark and tempting. I saw the question in his eyes as he looked at my underwear, and when I lifted my hips, he smirked, his hands gentle as he tugged the material down my legs, inch by inch.

He marvelled at the spot between my thighs, his breath hitching as he pulled the material down the last inch and discarded it on the floor behind him. None of them seemed to be breathing, not as I slowly parted my legs, my body trembling slightly before settling them on Rhys and Cassian on either side, their hands possessively clamped down on the flesh, keeping me spread wide open.

Azriel kneeled and stared, his chest rising and falling unevenly, rattled as he admired me and my body heated at the look, at the desire but that ache was steadily growing and I shifted uncomfortably, needing him to touch me.

“Come on, Az,” Cassian muttered, his freehand running soothingly through my hair, running it down my exposed back and I shivered in response, “She’s been such a good girl for us, stop teasing her.”

Azriel smirked, raising a brow at me as if in challenge and I pouted, my breathing stuttered and harsh in the silence of the room. But then my breathing stopped entirely when Azriel lifted both hands, resting them on either side of my thighs, and with his shining eyes locked on mine, his head moved forward- inching to where I needed him.

The first flick of his tongue had a moan mewling out of me and my back arched, resting against Rhys and Cassian beside me. Azriel huffed, the breath cool against the most sensitive part of me and then dove back in, still soft, his tongue whirling against my clit- still teasing.

“Oh Cauldron, Azriel, please.” I moaned and Rhysand laughed under me, his hand tracing my nipples, cupping, and fondling my heavy breasts, but it wasn’t enough. Azriel kissed my thigh, and just as I was about to growl at him, he latched onto my clit, and I gasped.

Azriel ate me like a man starved, his tongue lapping against me in long languish strokes one second and then flicking hard and fast against me the next, drawing wave after wave of pleasure from me. I moaned, my hips bucking, and Cassian and Rhys were at my side, holding me down, watching and pressing sweet kisses to my neck, or pinching against my nipple.

Azriel groaned against me, the deep heady rumble reverberating against my core and making me clench, my eyes falling shut at the overwhelming feeling that wrecked through me. I had males go down on me before, rarely, but it had never felt like this.

“How does she taste brother?” Rhysand mused, suckling against my neck and I curved my neck to the side to allow him better access, feeling his sly smirk against my skin. My body shook as Azriel pulled back, a light sheen of wetness coating his uptilted lip and an ethereal shine glinting in his hazel eyes.

“Like heaven, Rhys,” Azriel breathed, moving to lick a bold stripe up the length of my core, making me whimper and writhe, “Like fucking heaven.”

He goes back in, grinning against me as I pant, my hand coming to lace into his hair, my fingers knotting into the silken locks, tugging at the root when his teeth scrape against me. My moan is almost embarrassingly loud, but Azriel feeds off it, suckling harder and my toes curl when I feel two fingers prod me, and something in me coils as he pushes those two scarred fingers in and curls.

“Fuck, watching you like this is maddening angel,” Cassian groans, his head dipping and his mouth latching onto my nipple, his teeth biting against me. He does this in tandem with Azriel’s fingers fucking in and out of me and I’m a moaning, writhing mess before them.

“I can’t-“ I cry out, too many hands, too many sensations, too much pleasure. Then suddenly there’s a flash through my mind and I’m looking at myself, and Cassian and Azriel- through Rhysand’s eyes.

My body is arched, and Cassian looks feral as he toys and sucks at my breasts, looking euphoric as he pleasures me. And then Azriel, who sucks and nibbles on my clit, clueing onto how I’ve started to tremble, and my breath has begun stuttering, his fingers a steady, firm rhythm plunging into me, the sound so lewd.

“Look at how perfect you look, Darling,” Rhys purrs, caressing my mind “I think we could all stay here for the rest of our fucking lives and worship you.”

Azriel runs his teeth against my clit, his fingers curling inside me in tandem and that dam of pleasure and ruin within me snaps. My back arches, and I watch myself, moaning and chanting Azriel’s name as release courses through me, making me shake and buck and writhe.

He doesn’t relent, still nibbling slowly and his fingers curling in and out of me and Cassian pulls back watching me, admiring me as my chest rises and falls with sharp, desperate breaths.

“Fuck,” Cassian muttered, and I nearly had to beg Azriel to stop teasing me, when he plucked off from my clit, slowly easing his soaking fingers from my pulsing and aching core.

My face was flushed, and my body was sweaty and hot from it all, and as my eyes fluttered open and met with Azriel, my cheeks heated with shyness. He grinned, his mouth still wet and his fingers running soothingly across my thighs, easing the tension, and shaking in them, guiding me down from my high.

I didn’t say anything, instead, I ran my hand down Azriel’s hair and neck and slowly pulled him up onto his knees and his face closer to me. I tasted the sweetness on his lips, tasted myself on his lips, and groaned into it as he pushed his tongue into my mouth, kissing me deep and slow and needy.

I drew back hesitantly from the kiss, my face inches from the Shadowsinger’s and the adoration in his eyes made my heart skip a beat. He looked over me, seeing the sweat and heat, my heart still racing, and his eyes softened.

“We can stop here if you’d like,” He said quietly, his eyes showing he meant it, “We don’t need to keep going.”

“I want to,” I ran my thumb over his lips gently and then sat up, looking at a smiling Cassian and then at Rhys, who was smirking, gratification and pride shining in his purple eyes. “I want to, so bad.”

And that’s all it took.

_____________

@satellitesunshine @queenofangrymoths @highlady-ofillyria @ladespedidas @magical-mischief-makers @lyracarvahall @ummmmmwat @eerievixen @bitchyinternetinfluencer @meritxellao @rachelnicolee @fanfictioniseverything @queen-of-arda @magdalenka @bunnymallowo @azzydaddy

#acotar #sjmaas #sarah j maas #rhysand #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #cassian acotar #smut #azriel x reader #cassian x reader #rhysand x reader #acotar smut #plus size reader #curvy reader #rhys x reader #bat boys x reader

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fieldofdaisiies · 7 days

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Modern AU based on Blue Neighbour by Troye Sivan. Eris and Azriel used to be childhood best friends and in their teens they discovered they have feelings for each other. Beron found out about them and punished Eris and forced him to break the contact with Azriel. But when Beron dies years after, Azriel… songs used for this story: Wild, Fools, Talk Me Down, Youth, Rush, One of Your Girls (all from Troye Sivan) for @azrisweek | azrisweek masterlist | read on ao3 | includes explicit content

A loud, buzzing sound rings out in the otherwise silent meeting room. Azriel's hand immediately slams down on his thigh, trying to press the silent button of his phone through his suit pants — without success. He needs to pull it out, which is something Rhysand, his boss, doesn't like to see at all.

The phone is in Azriel's hand for a mere second when Rhys's voice echoes through the meeting room, his gaze stern when it lands on Azriel, "No phones in the meeting room!"

I guess that rule doesn't apply to everyone here because when the baby daddy gets sent a photo from little Nyx, he is rather quick to check his phone, completely ignorant to the no-phone rule, Azriel thinks, but doesn't dare voice.

He only tips his chin at his best friend and slides his phone back into the pocket of his pants, only for it to resume its vibration against his leg.

Rhys' gaze is still on him, still stern and slightly reprimanding. Azriel decides not to risk it and wait until the end of the meeting. The call can't be that important, can it?

Later, Azriel learns that he was wrong. The call was important, and the news he learns from the accompanying text messages pulls the rug out from beneath his feet.

Two missed calls and a message appear on his screen alongside some Instagram notifications that now seem very irrelevant. Azriel enters the break room, his phone already unlocked, and opens the messages from his mother. His heart slams to a halt.

Mum: Beron Vanserra passed away in the early morning hours. We are all invited to the funeral on Sunday, 11 am. Greg and I are leaving this evening. Join us, please! Love, mum!

Azriel's hands start to tremble, turning a little clammy. He never considered going home again, not after everything that happened, not since New York had become his new home.

He opens the chat, his thumb hovering above the letters, unsure how to respond. He doesn't want to leave his mother on read, especially not after a message like this, but he has no idea what to say… or do.

Azriel: Thank you for the information. I'll consider it.

He shoves his phone back into his pocket and helps himself to a cup of coffee before returning to the meeting room.

Maybe going home after more than ten years isn't that bad of an idea, Azriel thinks, but he knows it will re-open wounds that have finally almost healed.

And Azriel would see him again. Beron Vanserra's son. Eris Vanserra. And Azriel doesn't quite know if he likes the thought of that.

How will it go? How will he feel seeing him after such a long time? The last time he saw him, he was seventeen, a boy; now, he is almost 28, a grown-up man.

A lump the size of a peach starts to form in his throat, and he has difficulty swallowing even the smallest sip of coffee. His hands are still shaky, and breathing seems a little harder now. Azriel's gaze moves to stare at the tiny droplets of rain cascading down the floor-to-ceiling window.

They haven't spoken since he moved away, though the first few years in New York were filled with missed calls from Eris that went unanswered and were eventually blocked. He couldn't do that to him, give him hope, string him along, not when there was so much at risk.

Azriel tips his head to the side to think, to recall a moment in the past, a few strands of hair shifting with the movement. A few years ago, when Nesta, his best friend's girlfriend, downloaded Instagram for him, he found Eris and tried to follow him. The man never accepted his request and left Azriel with no idea what had happened in Eris' life. It makes him feel uneasy. Sad.

Did Eris move away? Did he stay in the village they grew up in? Did he fall in love? Did he marry? Has he fallen in love again?

Somehow, the thought of this makes a large crack appear in Azriel's heart, and he shakes his head a little. He will have his answers soon and then have to live with them, no matter the outcome. He wouldn't be staying long, only for the funeral. He doesn't have to worry or care about Eris for longer than the weekend. It should all be alright–

"Break's over!" Rhysand claps his hands. "Let's continue, shall we?"

Reluctantly, Azriel follows him back into the meeting room, his mind racing with questions he tries to push away. He doesn't want to think about Eris or seeing each other again,- but he can't avoid the directions his mind wanders.

Will they talk? How will they act around each other after so many years? How will Eris speak to him? Treat him?

His string of thoughts –thank God– is cut short when Rhysand directly addresses several questions that Azriel is too distracted and unfocused to answer. Usually, he is perfect at his work, but right now, his thoughts have strayed all over the place. He fidgets with a pencil, constantly flipping it over or tabbing a melody against the tabletop.

In the past, he had no real reason to consider returning home. He didn't have anyone to return home to. His mother moved away with him, and his abusive father left with his new family to settle in the West many years before he'd left that village with his mother. Azriel hasn't heard from his father since their move, which he isn't unhappy about. He is relieved to no longer have such a person in his family.

"The documents are on my desk by Monday, got that, Az?"

Azriel clears his throat and nods. He has no idea which documents Rhysand is talking about, but he’ll figure it out. Now, other things matter more- namely, making up his mind. Should he attend the funeral with his mother and her new husband, or should he stay and leave his past entirely behind?

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Mum: We're leaving at seven. Have you made up your mind? Love, mum.

Azriel has only stared at the text since returning to his loft. It is long past seven now, and he hopes that they have already left. It would buy him more time. More time to consider his decision and think about all the possibilities that could come up when he returns home. When he sees him.

Eris Vanserra. His first friend. His best friend. His first love. His first kiss. His first time. His first heartbreak.

Returning back to the village he grew up in, to the place he once loved so much and that later hurt him so much, isn't an easy decision. He was a young man then and hoped never to spend a day without Eris. They had made plans for their future that he tried to push as far away as possible in the years after he left but plans that he now remembers.

They often talked about it, relaxing in the meadow below the bright afternoon sun, limbs entangled, lips mere inches apart.

What if, what if we run away?

What if, what if we left today?

What if we let them fall behind and they're never found?

Everything was good in those moments. Together, they had dreams, hopes of a promising and bright future shared with each other. They wanted to move to New York together, study at the same university, get married, adopt children - but it was all wishful thinking. None of it came true. Azriel went to New York alone because he had to. But nothing was keeping him in his hometown either. No one was holding him there…

Azriel folds a scarred hand over his eyes. The marred skin of his hands still serves as a reminder of his twisted and messed up childhood, a reminder that his step-brothers never faced anything more than reprimanding for whatever they did to him.

He doesn't allow himself to go down that traumatic path, and he reminds himself that their torture is wholly and entirely over and will remain in his past. He will never see his father, step-brothers, or step-mother again. That won't happen. He wouldn't allow it.

Instead, Azriel thinks back to the day he left and the tears he shed. He cried from the village to the airport, wetting the fabric of his mother's shirt as she held him in her arms and let him sob into her shoulder. The questions that plagued him on that ride to the airport plague him now, and he mulls them over once more:

What if Beron had never caught them? What if they had never fallen in love? What if he stayed and—?

Azriel sits up and wipes a cold hand over his face, brushing back a few strands of hair. A deep sigh parts his lips, and he turns on his phone. The picture of him, Nesta, Gwyn, Emerie, and Cassian staring back at him from the glowing screen

He recalls vomiting the moment he opened the door at the airport, and later, on the plane, he opened up to his mother, telling her everything about his sexuality and Eris. His mother had long suspected that Azriel and Eris had been more than just best friends, but she never said anything, wanting to give him time to open up. While holding his hand on the plane, she told him she didn't care if he liked boys or girls and would love him nonetheless. He will always be her little boy whom she is immensely proud of and loves wholeheartedly.

Azriel inhales a breath that feels too heavy and too large for his lungs, which have somehow constricted. He starts to type.

Azriel: You don't have to wait for me. I'll take a cab tomorrow morning.

Instantly, almost as if waiting for his reply, his mother sends a thumbs-up, and then three dots appear. It will take her a moment to answer. Azriel knows this, and he closes his message. In the meantime, he goes on Instagram, flicking through pictures of his best friends and their girlfriends, and with a loud sigh, he closes the app again. All those happy couples…

Azriel lets himself fall back into the bed, groaning when his sore back slams into the pillows. He drops his phone onto the mattress beside him, waiting for the ping of response.

Mum: Alright, Azriel. But let me know when you arrive so we can let you in. We'll be staying at Uncle Devlon's place. Love, mum.

Azriel is now the one to send a thumbs up.

Mum: It will be fine, my dear, don't worry about seeing Eris. I'm sure he missed you just as much as you missed him. Don't be afraid.

He leaves the message unanswered, trying to figure out how to respond. He isn't particularly afraid or worried. He doesn't know what he feels—too much at once, too little, or maybe nothing.

Azriel flips his phone away and folds a hand over his eyes, shielding them from the city lights filtering through the window. New York is falling asleep, but he is wide awake, far away from sleeping.

Deafening silence fills the room, surrounded by darkness; he suddenly realises that he is worried that Eris will ignore him. Concerned that there will only be small talk between them. Worried that Eris has moved on without him and no longer thinks about him like Azriel does. Worried that–

There will never be a future for them. And maybe this is good. Maybe Eris has moved on—of course he has, Azriel thinks. He has probably found a wife or a husband, and perhaps he even has children now. Ten years is a long time; a lot can happen in ten years.

Azriel's head starts spinning from all the thoughts and questions, so he decides to get up, shower, and start packing for his weekend trip.

His hair is still damp when, half an hour later, he returns to his bedroom. He dons some sleeping pants and falls into the bed, curling up on his side. His alarm is set, his phone is in flight mode, and his vague but adequate messages to Cassian and Rhysand are sent (he's going on a little trip for the weekend, and his destination and purpose are unrevealed).

A silent tear slips out of his eye, accompanied by a soft sob. One thing becomes apparent: yes, he is going home, but he is not going home to him. He will return to the village he grew up in, but not to Eris.

The lie he's told himself these past years, that he stopped caring about Eris, that he has stopped thinking about him, suddenly falls apart. Azriel has thought about him. A lot. And he still does. And sometimes, many times, he finds himself yearning for how it once used to be.

He wants to sleep next to him. And that's all he wants to do right now. And he wants to come home to him. And that's all he wants right now.

He doesn't just want to return to the place he once called home; he wants to return to where he fell in love with his best friend. He wants to return to Eris Vanserra, but not as a man whose heart was broken but as someone who can dare to hope for a future together.

He still wants Eris, and he hates that even after ten years, his wanting has never changed.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Azriel's heart presses down on him like a rock heavy with emotion as he closes the cab door. He waves off the driver with his weekend bag in hand and sunglasses pushed back into his hair. He sets off down the dry path leading into the centre of the village and to his uncle's house. The town is small now, and at 28, Azriel notes how close everything else is- his father's house and, a little further down the path, Eris' family home.

Almost like in a movie, pictures flash in front of his vision—of a childhood that seemed unburdened for everyone on the outside. A childhood that maybe wasn't too warm and loving, but one he shared with Eris. They grew up almost in the same exact way, with loving mothers, brutal fathers who didn't shy back from using violence, and brothers who supported that kind of action.

Azriel's jaw tenses, and he stops, only staring ahead at the houses, the facades weathered and dulled over time, at the village stretching out in front of him. Most things have stayed the same. He can make out the same swimming pools, houses, and living rooms he and his friends used to play in. Unchanged little houses with trees on the hills in the far distance where he and Eris used to spend quiet nights together.

As he walks a little further, he nears an old garden fence. The colour of it is already crumbling, but Azriel still remembers that it was here, right by this fence, next to the big apple tree, where they almost kissed for the first time.

"Are you finally going to tell me what happened?" Eris raises a questioning brow at Azriel, who scrunches his nose in response, his eyes half-closed due to the bright sun. He holds tightly onto his worn school bag and then says, "There is nothing to tell."

"Azriel, I can see your blue eye; it is quite obvious." He reaches out, his fingers curling around Azriel's upper arm, stopping him from walking. "I thought we would share everything with one another."

Azriel shrugs a shoulder. "It was nothing. I ran into–"

"His fist, right. He hit you again, didn't he?"

Azriel shrugs again.

"I am going to punch him."

"After I punch your father," Azriel chuckles, but the sound lacks warmth or humour.

"This is messed up," Eris mumbles and steps closer to his best friend, tipping his chin up with his thumb. "But you need to be honest with me. Tell me when he hurts you so I can be there for you."

Slowly, Azriel starts to nod, but then his eyes drop to Eris' lips. Suddenly, He is so much closer, only mere inches away. Eris' eyes are locked with his but also momentarily slide to Azriel's lips, his Adam's apple bobbing. "We can't do this," Eris whispers, but instead of moving away, he leans closer. Azriel does, too, holding his breath. "I know," he answers, his tone equally breathy. "But–"

Eris's baby brother Lucien interrupted them, calling Eris' name from the porch and then running towards the two best friends. Lucien was only seven years old then, and Eris picked him up easily when he reached them—he must be a teenager now.

Azriel remembers that they were both relieved that their moment ended that way, but only two weeks later, they really kissed, and from then on, there was no more holding back. They kissed a lot back then, but always in secret.

It was two months later that everything they had and loved ended. It was when Beron's cruelty reached its peak, and he—

"Azriel!" The squeaking of door hinges disrupts his daydreaming. "Didn't I tell you to let us know when you arrive?!"

"Mother." Azriel dips his chin after having turned around. "It's good to see you." He cracks a small smile when his mother throws up her hands in despair.

"You never listen to me, Azriel Marino!"

"I always listen to you, Mama." After closing the distance between them, he wraps his arms around her shoulders and kisses the top of her head. "Always."

Eleni Marino harrumphs loudly but hugs her son tightly. "Come in. Your uncle is looking forward to seeing you."

Azriel doubts that. His uncle probably only wants to see if he is still the small weakling he always used to call him. But the joke's on Uncle Devlon because Azriel is no longer small or weak. He has grown a lot, including his muscles, which Devlon probably never thought possible. He has changed a lot, and he can't wait to see the look on his uncle’s face.

"Uncle," Azriel greets upon entering the living and dining room, his chin dipping to his chest, his voice low. His gaze runs over the old man sitting in his armchair - ten years can do a lot to a man – who once used to be a strong and fit army general, is now an old man with white hair and sunken cheekbones.

"Azriel," he croaks and rises from his chair. "Let me look at you. You have grown up." He assesses him through half-closed eyes, shuffling towards him. "You've grown a lot, boy. How has college been treating you?"

Azriel wants to open his mouth to say that he dropped out of college after the first semester and decided to work instead, but when he meets his mother's gaze, she shakes her head, and it tells him everything he needs to know.

"College is good. Got good grades and made friends," Azriel says instead, knowing that to keep the peace here, it is wiser to lie a little. Devlon would only ask why he dropped out and then blame them for not having enough money to afford it. Consequently, he would blame Azriel's mother for not working hard enough to make studying at a uni possible for her son. And then blame her for not staying with his father. Abusive or not, it had never mattered to his uncle. So, this small white lie has to do.

"How's life been treating you, Uncle?"

Devlon shuffles away, wiping his mouth with his hand, and plops down on the armchair again. "Good, good," he mumbles, pulling a blanket over his lap and leaning back. Azriel is sure he dozes off a moment later so he turns back to his mother with a chuckle.

But there is no amusement on her face. Looking worried, she reaches out her arm to clasp Azriel's hand. "Lunch will be ready in around an hour. Go see him now."

Azriel's throat bobs, his fingers naturally curling tighter around his mother's hand. "What if he doesn't want to see me?"

"You'll only find out if he wants to see you if you go to him. Otherwise, you will be plagued with what-if questions and doubts for the whole weekend. Go see him and talk to him. I'm sure he has missed you just as much." Eleni inhales deeply, "After all, you also used to be best friends at one point."

Best friends and so much more, Azriel thinks. Slowly, he begins to nod, his hands having turned cold, his heart feeling a little heavier, and his feet are somehow rooted to the ground, making it impossible for him to move immediately. He needs just a moment longer, holding onto his mother's hand like he is once again the young man who was sobbing into her shoulder when they left ten years ago.

"Go now, Azriel. I'm sure he's still at the chapel, preparing everything for the funeral tomorrow."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

With his heart rapidly pounding, Azriel walks down the familiar path to the chapel he used to take many times when he still lived here, his mind swirling with memories. Every step he takes feels heavier as he nears the old house of prayer, wondering if Eris will truly be there.

He has mindlessly followed his mother's suggestions and now doubt gnaws at him about whether he should have come. Uncertainty clouds his thoughts, and nervousness tightens his chest. What if Eris doesn’t want to see him? What if he ignores him? What if he is mad at him?

Will he even recognise him after all these years?

Of course he will, Azriel thinks. He hasn't changed much. He has only grown and built up some muscles. His face is still the same.

His heart nearly breaks through his ribcage when he reaches the door, the crisp air burning down his throat with every inhale. For a moment, he feels like fainting or throwing up, but then his hand reaches for the door handle and pulls it down. The door opens slowly, too slowly, and silently. So silently that Eris doesn't notice him.

He is standing at the altar, arranging some flowers, and for a moment, Azriel forgets how to breathe.

Eris Vanserra is more beautiful than ever, breathtaking, to say the least. Azriel can't tear his eyes away, slowly letting his eyes run over the man in front of him, and his knees wobble. Eris has cut his hair, but not too short. He also gained some muscles and now wears a beautiful beard that perfectly complements his look.

Azriel stops on the threshold, unable to move further, hand still on the door.

"Stop that!" Azriel playfully smacks Eris' hand away, lying on the grass, laughing.

"A flower in your hair would look cute."

"I am not cute," Azriel grumbles, sliding his hand into Eris '. The red-haired boy lies down atop his chest and tips his head back to look up at Azriel.

"You are cute." Eris grins.

"Stop being cheesy."

"Never!" Eris smoothies his freckled hand up Azriel's chest, humming contentedly.

In the middle of this meadow, in the middle of nowhere, far from their village, they are safe. They have taken their bikes to get as far away from prying eyes as possible. Only here can they be true to themselves and love each other more deeply than friends love each other.

"Eris," Azriel hums, lifting the hand that isn't in Eris's hold to brush it through his boyfriend's auburn locks. "You make my heart shake, bend and break. But I can't turn away. And it's driving me wild. You're driving me wild."

Eris hums softly. "I love you, but why do I only find out now that you are one to spout poetry?"

Azriel's laughter rings out over the meadow…

It was probably the last time he had laughed so happily and freely. This moment was beautiful, as was the whole day. Azriel remembers that this day was also when they first slept together.

When he finally catches himself, his hand lets go of the door and he takes one step into the chapel. The inside is cold, and the scent of polished wood, aged hymnals, and candles lies in the air, mingling with the aroma of incense that adds a touch of spice.

Azriel inhales deeply, bracing himself for what he is about to say. A simple greeting, nothing spectacular, but he has no idea if he is ready for it. For whatever is about to follow the greeting.

But he doesn't have to speculate. Not when Eris has already noticed his arrival.

"I didn't think you would come." He places a candle next to the flowers, then steps back from the altar and turns to Azriel. His eyes run over Azriel slowly, and small flames flicker in Eris' eye. "But here you are. After ten years."

Azriel nearly chokes on his saliva, but in a croaky voice, he manages to say, "My mother—" only for Eris to interrupt him.

"Of course, your mother told you to come here," the red-haired male cuts in. "Of course, she is the reason you are here. She has always checked in. For the past ten years. Has always sent messages for Christmas and my birthday." A small, nostalgic smile appears on Eris' lips, and he wipes his hands down his thighs, clearing the soil and petals from the flower arrangement.

Azriel didn't know that, and it infuriated him that his mother had never told him—how dare she! How dare she keep contact with Eris and never tell him?

"Don't make it sound like a reprimand," Azriel grumbles. "I wasn't the one to break up–"

"You know why I broke up with you!" Eris counters.

"Because you were a coward."

A snarl parts Eris' lips, hurt flashing in his eyes, and at the exact moment, a pang of hurt pierces right into Azriel's heart. Is this truly how their first meeting after ten years goes?

"Says the one who didn't reach out a single time in all those years." A look of disgust spreads over Eris' face. He shakes his head and then approaches Azriel, stopping right before him. "Not one time."

"I tried to reach out, but you wouldn't accept my request on Instagram!" Azriel snarls,

"I don't even use this app," Eris retorts, "My little brother's girlfriend downloaded it for me, thinking it would be a good way to socialise and maybe meet a partner."

Azriel doesn't really know what to answer. He hoped their first meeting would be different after such a long time, but he had false hopes. Of course, it would go exactly like this. He should have reached out. He should have called, texted, come here, something.

But he didn't and now must pay the price for it.

"I didn't forget about you. Is that what you want to hear?"

A cold huff parts Eris' lips, followed by a cynical chuckle. "Hm, too bad that I did. And now I've got things to do. As you might know, my father died." He brushes past Azriel without saying another word, shoving the brown-haired male by his shoulder, and heads for the chapel door.

He doesn't give Azriel a chance to say something. A moment later, he is gone, and the door falls shut, a tremor coursing through Azriel at the loud pang.

He is taken right back in time. To the fateful day when his whole life fell apart. The day when Beron–

"I bet you're already hard for me." Azriel chuckles softly, his hand placed on Eris' bare chest, slowly travelling lower until it rests right above Eris' crotch, only the blanket and Eris' boxers separating between them. His lips find the spot right beneath Eris' ear that makes his boyfriend elicit the most sensual noises. Azriel loves those noises and could listen to them forever, so he lets his teeth run over Eris's sensitive skin, then pokes out his tongue and licks it.

"Always," Eris hums, hips jerking in response to his boyfriend's touch.

When Azriel's lips ascend, placing a trail of kisses up his boyfriend's throat, he slides his hand beneath the blanket, palming Eris through the fabric of his boxers.

Their lips meet in a frantic kiss, tongues fighting for dominance when he lets his hand slide beneath the fabric, but—

But the door slams open only a blink of an eye later, rattling the whole room. Beron barrels inside, seething with anger.

He most definitely drank a lot at the bar beforehand. He should have been longer, a few more hours.

Azriel only remembers a little of what Beron said to them, but a few words stuck.

"This is disgusting," he spits. "You disgust me!"

He hurdles for the bed, but both boys are unable to move. He is too shocked about Beron catching them and worried about what will happen now that he knows.

"What do you think you are doing, Eris Vanserra?" Beron shouts, pulling Eris up by his arm, and it doesn't take long for the first slap to land upon his face. "Rolling around in bed with a boy! You disgust me." He slaps him again, this time harder.

By now, Azriel is out of bed as well, screaming at the man to let go of his boyfriend and tugging at Beron's arm, but the man is more muscular. He shoves Azriel away; the young man knocks his head against the bedframe, and his vision goes black. Pitch black. Just like his heart, nothing but void filling the place that once used to beat happily for his boyfriend.

The moments after are a blur of consciousness and unconsciousness, and the next thing Azriel remembers is Eris breaking up with him, his face bruised and marred by markings of Beron's anger.

His throat is dry when he leaves the chapel, the back of his mouth aching. He couldn't help him back then because Eris didn't let him. He broke up with him and pushed him away — Beron prohibited them from ever meeting again. He claimed that Azriel had ruined his son, called him all kinds of homophobic nicknames, and threatened to destroy his mother's life should he ever try to get close to Eris again.

It was the most devastating moment of his life, surpassing even the time when his brothers burned his hands. Beron’s cruelty inflicted wounds on his heart that would never heal.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Azriel's sleep is restless, constantly rolling from one side to the other, the sheets tangled between his legs, his bare chest coated in cold sweat.

Moonlight filters through the curtain-framed window, casting the room in a gentle, blueish glow. It's still night and nowhere close to morning.

He raises his hand, letting his fingers coast over his lower lip.

"You need to smile, Az." A grin, reaching from one ear to the other, spreads over Eris' face while he is staring into the camera. "You are always so broody."

"I'm not!" Azriel snaps and playfully shoves his elbow into Eris' ribs who yelps.

"Idiot!"

"Say that again!" Eris turns to his best friend, and his breath catches. He reaches out, but stops himself.

"Idiot," Azriel chuckles and moves closer.

"Again." Eris leans in, eyes fluttering shut for a second, then dropping to Eris' lips.

"Id—" Eris' lips close over Azriel, but instead of pulling back, he kisses him right back, his hand falling to his neck, bringing him in a little closer. All hesitance is erased within seconds; there is only Eris on his mind—and his lips.

At first, their mouths meet clumsily, but soon they find their rhythm, lips parting, tongues exploring, tangling, and dancing. Eris places his hands on Azriel's hips, formally having kept them at his side, and that a little awkwardly. He draws Azriel closer, deepening the kiss and eliciting a soft moan from him.

"Not just best friends, huh?" Eris mumbles when pulling back from the kiss. A string of saliva still connects their lips, which he wipes away with the back of his hand.

Tears build up in Azriel's eyes. "I'm in love with you."

"I know," Eris answers, his thumb wiping over Azriel's cheek, catching some stray tears. "And I'm in love with—"

"Fuck!" Azriel rips away the sheets and sits in bed, his whole body feeling clammy from the cold sweat that had built up due to his vivid dreams. He knows he can't stay here, and he knows exactly where he needs to go. He just needs to see Eris and talk to him. He can't let the conversation from earlier hang in the air like this. He needs to fix what he ruined.

Grabbing the sweater he had earlier discarded in the room and donning it, he is out of the door before he can question his decision to go see Eris. He slips into his shoes as silently as a gazelle and then out the door, hoping his mother won't wake and question him about his whereabouts the following day.

Azriel straightens up when he walks down the path leading to the gate at the end of the garden. It creaks a little when he opens it, but he ignores it, only one target in mind: Eris. He still knows the way to Eris' place like the inside of pockets. (Maybe a little suspiciously, he queried his mother in the afternoon about whether Eris still lives there, and she confirmed it, so he knows exactly where he needs to go).

Azriel feels a sudden surge of energy – he wants to talk and fix what has been ruined this afternoon. And in the ten years he was absent.

He walks faster through the large, looming trees, their branches bending in the wind and leaves rustling and swirling.

Azriel remembers that Eris's favourite season always used to be autumn, and maybe this is a good sign. It is autumn now, visible everywhere outside.

But his blood runs cold, and his heart slams to a halt when his eyes land on a scene that also twists his gut. Hot and thick, jealousy bubbles up inside him, making the back of his mouth taste bitter.

"Well," Eris laughs, his features bright and joyful, his arm wrapped around the blond male's shoulders. "Thank god I have you."

Tamlin, if Azriel remembers correctly, flashes Eris a big grin. It makes the content of Azriel's stomach sour, and bile creeps up his throat. He can't believe that he truly lost his first love to him. This spoiled, rich prick!

"You are so lucky, Vanserra, to have me. What would you do without me?"

"I guess I would be hopeless," Eris laughs, pulling back his arm and letting it fall to his sides. "Thank you so much, really. For the arrangements, I couldn't have done them all alone, and with you being the best–"

Azriel can't make out the rest or hear what comes after best, but he can only guess that the word that belongs at the end of the sentence is boyfriend. Or worse, husband.

He can't believe it, and in his fury, and by trying to get closer, Azriel doesn't see a more prominent branch on the ground. His foot catches on it, causing him to trip and twist his ankle as he falls. "Fuck!" Azriel groans when his hands come in contact with the damp soil, and then pine needles pierce his skin. "Fucking bastard!"

He sits back on his heels and knows the moment he does, it was a big mistake. His ankle hurts like hell, and he has to bite down on the insides of his cheeks to keep from loudly alerting Eris to the fact that Azriel's sneaking around.

This is all so fucked up, Azriel thinks, and only wants to cry.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

"There you go," Eleni hands Azriel a new cold pack, then lets her hand rest atop his head. "You should have woken me, I didn't even hear you fall."

"I tried to fall silently," Azriel answers sarcastically and groans when he shifts on the couch. His ankle has swollen significantly overnight; stepping on his foot hurts insanely, but he wouldn't let it show. And he would most definitely never reveal what exactly happened. Another small lie – he tripped at the staircase when he got himself something to drink during the night.

He doesn't know if his mother truly believed him, but she didn't ask any further questions, and Azriel is more than grateful for that.

"I've been meaning to take a little boat ride with you, Azriel, but I guess we can forget that now."

As if good old Devlon could still ride a boat, Azriel thinks. "What a shame," he says instead, glancing at his uncle but then back at his ankle and the cool pack. The outer ice layer already starts to melt, and small droplets of cold water run down the sides of his foot.

Devlon doesn't say anything; a few minutes later, he asks Azriel's mother to follow him outside. They leave, and after checking if Azriel is alright with being alone, Eleni goes back into the kitchen to continue with lunch.

For a moment, Azriel wonders what his stepfather eats when his mother isn't there. Who cooks for him? Or does he order food or eat at his neighbours?

Honestly, Azriel doesn't care, so he rests his head on the pillow again, gets comfy, picks up his phone, and finds a few unread notifications. Most are from Cassian, who sent him photos and videos or tagged him somewhere. He decides to ignore them for now and clicks on the message from his good friend Gwyn.

Gwyn: Karaoke at 7, my place?

Azriel: Sorry, I can't.

Gwyn: ☹️

Gwyn: Are you brooding?

Gwyn: Should I get the romance movies out and come over to your place with some ice cream?

Azriel: You‘re not funny, Berdara…I'm busy.

Gwyn: Busy? Busy how? Are you on a date? 😏

Gwyn: 😏😏😏😏

Gwyn: Is he hot? Send a pic if he is!

Azriel places his phone screen down on the couch table and blows out a long breath. He lifts his gaze to the window, where he sees his uncle and stepfather standing outside in the garden, discussing something about the old cherry tree. He hears his mother in the kitchen, still cooking, and knows he has a bit of privacy.

He picks up his phone and clicks on Gwyn's name. Her lovely smile pops up on his screen when it rings, and then her voice sounds through the speaker, and Azriel lifts his phone to his ear.

"Hey!" Gwyn says, her voice tinged with a hint of worry. "You're alright?"

"I went home."

"Home to your apartment? Or home like…Massachusetts home?"

"The latter."

"Oh god!" Gwyn's voice is loud and tinged with surprise. "I'll ask again, are you alright?"

"I guess I am, I–"

"Eris?"

Just like his other best friends, Gwyn knows about his past with Eris. It wasn't too easy to open up, but on an emotional night together on his rooftop terrace with quite a bit of alcohol in their blood, he poured his heart out to his friend.

"I thought our first time seeing each other after such a long time would go differently."

"I'm sorry, Az," Gwyn mumbles sadly. "But I think you just need time. Maybe you can ask Rhys if you can stay a little longer?"

"I don't think it will help much." Azriel inhales a deep breath and sighs loudly. "Ten years is a long time, Gwyn. And not checking in with him once…it hurt him more than I could ever imagine." He lets his head fall back into the pillows.

"I understand, and I know that it is a damn long time, but if you still love him, it doesn't matter," Gwyn answers.

"It isn't weird that I still love him after such a long time?" Azriel asks, heart aching so much he folds a hand over his chest.

"Nope," his friend says, popping the p. "The heart wants what it wants, and if two souls belong together, they will eventually find their way back to each other. It isn't weird that you still love him; your first love will always play a big role in your life."

"Thank you."

"There's Nothing to thank me for, Az. Go get your man now." Her laughter is radiant even over the phone, and it gives Azriel the energy he needs to take the next step and do as she said: get his man.

"You think you can make it to the funeral tomorrow or– oh, I am so sorry, I didn't know you were on the phone."

Azriel places his phone down and shakes his head. "The call just ended, and yes, Mama, I can."

He has to. He didn't come all this way to stay in his uncle's home.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Another sleepless night follows the previous one, and as silly as it might seem to anyone who finds out about it, Azriel leaves Devlon's house once again in the middle of the night. This time limping, though. He drags himself down the staircase, which seems so much longer when you have a torn ankle. He manages to open the front door as silently as possible and slips through it.

It is the only chance he gets. The funeral is the following day, and then he will leave again. He has to talk to Eris, having been a coward all afternoon.

Once again, he is met by the crisp night air, only the sound of the wind dancing on the lake nearby and rustling the leaves of the large, looming trees in his ears surrounding him.

Picking up a few pebbles, he heads to Eris' family home. He walks down the small concrete path he has walked probably over two thousand times in his life. It still looks almost the same; a few trees have been cut down during his absence, but other than that, the buildings, the pavement, and the fences are still the same.

Azriel allows his gaze to stray, looking into some front yards. Even in the dark, he can make out the small swimming pools and swings. He remembers how he and Eris often met up at night, sitting on the swings in his uncle's garden, talking for hours about anything and everything.

They mostly only returned to their homes when the sun started to rise and slept until midday (of course, that was only possible during their breaks).

Azriel smoothes his hand through his hair, his heart having and picking up speed the closer he gets to Eris' place. Yesterday he was stopped, but tonight they will speak. His ankle still hurts, but he barely pays any attention to it, so focused on all the thoughts and questions in his mind.

What if he never moved away? Would they have found a way to be together and maybe already be married now?

He knows this is a silly fantasy, but one that is so beautiful it almost draws tears to his eyes. He can imagine them being married. He can imagine it so perfectly and loves the thought of it—and that even after ten years.

He and Eris fell asleep within each other's arms every night, waking together, having breakfast together, going to work, and then spending the evening together. And that on repeat for as long as they live.

It is what they always dreamt about back then. And it is what Azriel still thinks about now. It felt like that with no one he dated in the past ten years. He never felt like that. He never felt like he would love to spend the next 50 years with them, but with Eris?

With Eris, he can imagine everything.

His heart is racing like a wild horse when he enters the front yard of the large house, half of it swallowed by the large, looming forest behind it. They playfully used to call Eris' home Forest House when they were children, but when Azriel considers it now, he has to admit it really applies to it – it is a forest house.

He circles the house until he reaches his destination, still knowing exactly which window belongs to Eris' room. He climbed through it many times in their teen years, sneaking in in the middle of the night to–

Azriel cuts off his thoughts and turns his attention back to the pebbles in his sweaty palms. His gaze lifts to the window, and before he can stop himself, the first pebble slides out of his hand and strikes. Silence follows. He throws another. Then another. And another.

He is about to give up, his heart crushing in his chest, pressing down on his stomach, when a light flickers on in Eris' room. Eris appears in front of his window and glances outside, his long red hair tousled, and he is only dressed in thin sleeping pants.

Azriel lifts his arm, waving, and it takes Eris a moment to adapt to the dark and then spot him. He opens his window, shakes his head, and grumbles in an annoyed voice, "Go home and sleep!"

But Azriel won't give up that easily. "We need to talk." He is too stubborn to give up this time.

"So you can call me a coward again?" Eris huffs loudly.

"We need to talk about us," Azriel presses.

"At three in the morning?" Eris braces his hands on the windowsill, leaning closer. "My father is getting buried tomorrow, I need to sleep."

Azriel swallows his nervousness and worry, and his hands ball into fists, crushing the pebbles. "Please, Eris. Please, listen to me."

Eris steps away from the window, and Azriel's heart drops, just like his shoulders. The light in Eris' room goes off.

Then there is nothing but silence and darkness. The darkness creeps in around him. The wind howls, and a shudder courses through Azriel. He is shaking when he bends down to pick up some pebbles again, his ankle aching fiercely, but it is nothing compared to the pain inside his heart. It hurts so much.

But he won't give up like that. Not so easily. He messed up the previous day and in the years prior. This is his last chance, and he is going to take it.

The moment he lifts his hand, ready to throw another small stone, the house's back door suddenly opens.

Azriel's breath catches, and he feels like his knees will give in at any moment.

There he is. Having donned a thin tank top, Eris stands in the doorframe, his eyebrow raised. "Talk."

Azriel takes a step forward, trying to act as if everything is fine. "I am sorry for calling you a coward." He limps another step forward, grinding his teeth hard to bite back on the pain.

"Okay," Eris answers tightly, then his gaze dips, and he looks at Azriel's very obviously swollen ankle. "I assume that happened when you tried to spy on me Friday night? Did you see what you wanted to see?" Eris raises a brow, crossing his arms over his chest, the muscles in his upper arms rippling with the movement.

"I wasn't spying on you."

"Of course, Spymaster." The corner of Eris' mouth kicks up when he uses the nickname some kids gave Azriel in their childhood. He always used to spy on the adults and steal cookies and cakes when they didn't look, earning him this title. Azriel has completely forgotten about it, and his lips part in silent surprise.

"I went for a walk."

"At three in the morning?" Eris closes the back door behind him. "That's a normal time for people to take a walk."

"You were also taking a walk with your boyfriend."

"Boyfriend!" Eris almost shouts, then starts to laugh so hard he has to bend over. It infuriates Azriel, and he braces himself for hearing Eris say something like: "He is my husband, you dumbass."

"Tamlin is not my boyfriend." Eris has calmed a little and now approaches Azriel, his bare feet padding softly over the cool, dewy grass. "He is my best friend, and this guy is as straight as a pole and married to Briar. I'm not sure if you remember her."

Azriel can barely swallow around the lump of shame in his throat. "You are not–"

"No, Azriel. But why do you care?"

"Why do you think I care?"

"Yes, this is what I am asking, Azriel. Why would you care? When you didn't care enough to call a single time?"

"You'll never let me forget that, huh?" Azriel spits.

Eris closes the distance between them faster than Azriel can breathe and is in his face the next moment, forehead pressing against his. "Because it broke my fucking heart. It tore me apart and left my soul in shards on the ground. Because I loved you, and you just left me when everything fell apart."

Azriel's heart breaks anew. "Mum was moving away with me; I couldn't have stayed here alone."

"But you could have called."

"You broke up with me." Azriel flattens his palms against Eris' chest, feeling his warm skin despite the cold night air against his palms. But he doesn't push Eris away; he only rests his hands on his ex-boyfriend's chest. "I couldn't reach out again."

"Why?" Eris growls. "What hindered you? I thought you used to love me."

"I did love you," Azriel answers honestly. "That's why I couldn't reach out again. Beron hurt you so much because of me. He forced you to break up with me. He punched you bloody that night, Eris, I haven't forgotten about that. He broke your collarbone." Azriel swallows thickly, tears filling his eyes. "When I think back to this moment, I still hear your cries, I still see the blood–I couldn't let this happen again. You needed to get rid of me, and that for good."

"Azriel…" Eris breathes, and it seems as if he doesn't know how to continue.

Azriel's head starts to spin suddenly, having finally revealed the secret he kept to himself for the past ten years. He has finally given Eris the reason for his ignorance, and it feels like a heavy weight is lifted from his chest.

"You were too good to be good for me." Azriel's breath tingles Eris' skin, his gaze dropping to his lips. "You deserved so much better. You deserved someone else, someone better. You deserve someone better." Azriel looses a long breath that cascades down Eris' throat and his chest. "But that doesn't mean that I have stopped thinking about you."

"I haven't stopped thinking about you either," Eris admits, voice equally breathy, his hand sliding around Azriel's waist, bringing him closer. "Night and day, you have been on my mind. No matter what I tried, no matter who I was with, it was always you on my mind."

"It was always you, Eris." Azriel's Adam's apple bobs. They breathe the same air, their bodies almost flush against one another. And yet, it feels as if there are millennia between them. The time they have missed.

"Why haven't you told me before?"

"Because I was worried about you. I knew you would find a way to get to me and reach out, and if Beron found out–" Azriel inhales a long breath, his eyes close. "I never knew loving could hurt this good. And it drives me wild, 'cause when you look like that, I've never ever wanted to be so bad; oh god, you are still driving wild, Eris."

"You are driving me wild, Azriel," Eris huffs. "Showing up here like that, looking like that, and–fuck, I still want you the same way. Is that even possible after such a long time?"

Their lips meet in a hasty kiss, and their feet, even Azriel's injured one, move fully on their own accord until Azriel's back is pressed against the wall of the garden shed. Eris' hands vigorously roam his body, tongues tangling when their mouths open to one another.

Eris' hands and lips still know their way around, and it truly drives Azriel wild and insane. He feels like he is once again getting drunk on the taste of Eris, on the feel of his body against his own, and it seems like a fever dream that this is truly happening.

"You still want me, Eris?" Azriel breathes, their lips only parting for a slight second.

"Yes." Eris pushes against him, making him feel exactly how hard he already is, only from a few kisses. "I've never stopped wanting you. No one felt like you. Nothing felt like being with you. It was only ever you. And still is. I've wanted to hate you so much for leaving me alone, but I failed."

"I'm glad you did, because I did too. I failed at trying to forget you, at stopping to love you."

Eris' lips kiss a trail down the side of Azriel's throat, teeth grazing his skin softly and eliciting soft sighs from his former best friend. "You want me now?"

"I always want you, Eris," Azriel pants. "I have always wanted you."

Their bodies move fully on their own accord, guided and driven by sheer desire and need, the longing that has grown so much and so stark over the time they were apart. And after asking for Azriel's consent, there is no more holding back for Eris. For either of them.

Eris lowers himself to the ground, kneeling, and starts to toy with the button and the zipper on Azriel's jeans. They ignore the fact that they are outside, in the garden where people could see them. Their need for each other right here and now drowns out every little part of rationality.

After freeing Azriel's already half-hard length, Eris strokes him a few times, loving the soft, breathy gasps that leave Azriel in reaction to his doing. He smooths his hand down the hard length of his shaft, the skin yet soft beneath his palm, and then parts his lips.

"Ten fucking years," Eris rasps, tongue swirling to collect the bead of liquid already gathered at the tip before fully sucking him into his mouth.

He works him softly at first, and Azriel finds himself moaning at the feeling of his cock engulfed in the wet heat of Eris' mouth, his hand falling into his long red locks, tugging softly at first. Eris begins to suck harder and move his mouth a little faster; his hand grips the back of his mouth, holding on tightly.

Using his mouth and hand together, Eris hollows his cheeks and holds eye contact with Azriel, which is everything he needs to tip him over the edge. He bucks his hips into Eris' face until he comes with a shout, and Eris greedily swallows around him, drinking him down like he has been a starved male for centuries.

"Fuck yes!" Eris expresses when he sits back on his heels. He locks his hooded gaze on Azriel, his hand wiping over the drool and Azriel's come running down his cheek. "I've missed this."

"I missed you," Azriel answers and bends down, reaching for Eris to bring him in for a kiss, but cries out when his ankle twitches again.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"You regret what we did?"

"No," Eris answers tightly, carefully tending Azriel's ankle and applying the last bit of cream still on his fingertips. He wipes them clean on a cloth hanging from the table and picks up a bandage. Before he continues, he adjusts Azriel's leg on his lap. "No, I don't."

The moment Azriel cries out in pain, Eris immediately knows he needs to take care of Azriel's leg. He drags him inside the house to examine the injury despite Azriel's protests. Only a minute later, they ended up in the kitchen of Eris' home, now sitting at the dining table that is still familiar to Azriel, with only a small oil lamp lit on the kitchen counter.

"But why are you so calm then?" Azriel asks, hoping to catch his eyes, but Eris keeps looking at his ankle.

"I am just thinking…"

"About?"

"About us."

Us. It still sounds so beautiful, and when Eris says it, it gives Azriel hope.

"What did it feel like…going away, I mean." Eris lifts his eyes for a brief moment, hoping to catch his gaze.

Azriel sighs loudly. "It was awful. The first days, weeks, months. I only cried. I made new friends in New York that helped me out of my misery, but that doesn't mean I didn't miss you daily. I always thought about you and knew you were feeling the same." He wipes a hand over his eyes. "I knew that if I called you, I would only make it worse. For both of us. There was no way we could see each other again any time soon…"

Eris nods slowly. "I gave up at some point. I called a few times, but you never answered. Then, Beron forced me to delete your number and all the pictures I had with you. I could save a few on my computer, but the rest was all gone."

"All of our silly videos and photos?" Azriel asks and places his hand on Eris'. The man nods in answer.

"I'll try to find them on my old phone. I'm sure I still have it somewhere." A small smile appears on his lips and a little light returns to his eyes. "Also, those with your little brother." Azriel chuckles softly. "How is Lucien?"

"A menace," Eris breathes. "He was a sweet boy until puberty hit him with full force. He was all about girls and his appearance, but he still did well in school. He has been dating the same girl for a few years now. They got together when they were fourteen and are still going strong. She might be his soulmate. Elain, she's a sweet girl."

Azriel smiles at that. "I'm glad he's doing well."

"Yeah," Eris sighs. He deserves a good life. "He will be here for the funeral. He said it is a kind of closure."

Azriel nods slowly. "Did he move away?"

"No," Eris answers, "but he spends every other weekend with his biological dad."

Azriel remembers the little affair, the unspoken story of how Lucien and Eris only share a mother. Eris found out about it very early on and obviously told Azriel. Back then, they shared everything with each other.

"I'm glad to hear he has contact with him now." Azriel inhales deeply. At least someone has luck with their father, he thinks.

Eris smiles, at least a little, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "I've always hoped you would just show up here again someday. I even thought about going to New York, but I thought I would make a fool out of myself – suddenly showing up in the big city with hopes and dreams for us while it was possible that you were already married or at least had a partner."

A breathy chuckle leaves Azriel. "I was dating a few people in the ten years, but it never felt right. It never felt as right as it did with you."

"I know what you mean, Azriel. I know this feeling." Eris inhales a long, deep breath. "I've always thought it was because you will never forget your first love, and somehow they will always be important to you, but I now know that it is because there is no one in this world like you. I fell in love with you because you are my counterpart and everything I could and would ever hope for in a partner. I fell in love with everything about you, and no one would ever compare to you."

Azriel's fingers curl tighter around Eris, and he leans in, kissing his lips softly. "No one compares to you. I fell in love with your charm and wonderful character and soon realized that no one is like you. You are one in a million, and finding someone like you…I was the luckiest idiot on this planet until I ruined everything."

"Beron ruined it."

"I did, too." Azriel shakes his head. "I shouldn't have given up that easily. I should have fought for us. I should have fought Beron for you. I should have fought for our future."

Eris swallows thickly, a tear rolling down his cheek. "I broke up with you; maybe I shouldn't have given up that easily, either. Let's agree that we both made mistakes and didn't do everything right, but this was in the past. Let it be in the past and focus on the future."

"Can you forgive me so easily?" Azriel asks, his heart heavy, his stomach churning. He bites down on the inside of his cheeks.

Eris' shoulders lift with a deep breath. "I can, if you can forgive me for everything I've said."

"I can." Eris nips at Azriel's lips, then lets his forehead rest against Azriel's. "You will go back to New York tomorrow, right?"

"I'll ask my boss to allow me to stay a little longer," Azriel whispers. "He is one of my closest mates. He won't say no." He kisses the corner of Eris' lips. "But yes, I will have to return in a few days. I have my work there and…I can't give everything up there so easily."

"I know. I wouldn't want you to give up everything there." Eris' eyes close, and his heart sinks into his gut. He wants to leave with Azriel and move to the big city with him, but can he leave everything here behind so easily?

He has no job at the moment, as he has been taking care of his ill father in the past months and had to take leave and then quit. It wasn't easy, but working as a doctor before earned him a bit of money that he had on the side, which tided him over the months. So technically, he could start anew in the big city. But that would mean leaving everything here behind: his mother, his brothers.

"My apartment in New York is definitely made for two people, so…" A hopeful smile appears on Azriel's lips.

Eris smiles in return; this time, it reaches his eyes, where hope and anticipation spark to life.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"Are you ready?" Azriel looks at him, holding eye contact, although Eris seems to find reciprocating difficult.

Beron has never been a good father, but the funeral day isn't easy. Beron was still his father, and from time to time, they had good moments, moments where they could laugh and smile together. But those days were sparse.

He inhales a deep breath and exhales loudly. "I am."

Everyone is already inside; he and Azriel are the only people still left outside. The funeral will only begin when he enters, so he allows himself this time to breathe and collect himself, knowing he is not missing anything inside.

"I really am." He nods slowly. "You will sit with me?" Eris swallows thickly. "Stay with me?"

"Always," Azriel answers. I will never, ever leave you again." He pulls down the door handle, and they enter together. They stroll down the aisle leading to the altar together, their steps synchronised until they reach their bench, where Eris' mother and two of his brothers are already sitting.

Azriel's hand naturally slides into Eris when he sits down beside him. The pastor steps onto the dais, and piano music starts to sound from the back of the chapel.

"I'm here for you, Eris," Azriel whispers, not turning to look at Eris but staring straight ahead at the coffin. "Forever."

"Forever?"

"Forever. Move to New York with me."

Eris doesn't give him a verbal answer, only squeezes his hand in response, yet a slight smile that feels so out of place for a funeral appears on his lips. Always sounds just too good. Especially when it means forever with Azriel.

general Azris tag list (please let me know if you want to be added/removed): @azrielsbabyg @lady-riel @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @ladyelain @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @ofduskanddreams @acourtofladydeath @secret-third-thing @born-to-riot @chunkypossum @talibunny30 @berryzxx

thank you so much for beta reading @pippsmcgee and @moonlightazriel 💛

#azrisweek2024 #azrisweek #azris #azriel x eris #azris au

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rosanna-writer · 3 months

Text

a simple name and everything has changed (3/?)

Summary: we said hello and your eyes look like coming home, Rhys POV chapters Or: Rhys's slow realization that he's mated to Prythian's most chaotic human (and how much he loves her for it) Warnings: implied/referenced sexual assault, discussion of food insecurity and disordered eating Word Count: ~3.5k

This is Rhys's POV of ch. 19 - your mom's ring in your pocket, which is the initial discussion of the ring and the Weaver's cottage.

You can find it Here on AO3 or below the readmore.

It was a small miracle that I managed to read Azriel's entire report with Feyre standing so close to my wings. More than anything, I wanted her hands on them again. But for now, I was content with just the easy, comfortable way she rested her free hand on my shoulder. A small thing, perhaps, but Under the Mountain, it had been beyond my wildest dreams.

She was also peppering me with questions, and after she'd been deceived by Tamlin, it was clearly important to her that I answered all of them completely. So I did. The lack of information Azriel had been able to dig up worried me, and I didn't hide that from her, either.

Amren arrived shortly after that, and the size of her stack of books seemed…promising. Azriel might have run into dead ends, but I hoped he was only one at least.

"Research. As requested before you leave for Illyria, Rhysand," she said, dropping everything on the table.

Unsurprisingly, Feyre responded quicker than I did. "Research on what?"

"On you, girl. And whatever power has been thrumming in your veins since you were Made."

Feyre knocked back the last of her tea as if it were a shot of alcohol. If she were wishing she'd had something stronger before dealing with Amren first thing in the morning, I didn't blame her in the slightest.

"And I assume you found something, or we wouldn't be having this conversation," I said.

"I have theories, but books aren't enough to prove anything—we'll have to run tests."

I let my hand drift to Feyre's lower back. The thought of running tests on my mate rankled me, and I forced myself not to snarl, lest my Second bit my head off in retaliation.

"We don't have time for dramatics today. Please explain."

"Feyre has been claimed by the Night Court, and she's mated to its High Lord. It stands to reason that she's a creature of Night. But at the same time, her Making was a boon from Spring Court magic after taking Tamlin's place in the Great Rite. She may be…something else entirely."

The same thing had crossed my mind before, on nights I tried to focus on the sound of Feyre's slow, steady breathing across the hall instead of my own spiraling thoughts. I'd found my mate in the very court that had taken my family from me, and that didn't feel like a coincidence.

The violence should have ended the moment Tamlin and I became High Lords. But now, my newest recurring nightmare was of a third head in a box, sent down river by the Spring Court just like my mother's and sister's.

"If Tamlin thinks I stole power from him and swore fealty to Rhys on Calanmai…" Feyre said, and at the sound of her voicing my fears aloud, I couldn't hold back a growl.

Amren nodded, a quiet signal that she understood that the growl wasn't aimed at her. "Agreed, and because treasure troves with objects from both Spring and Night are few and far between, it's time to stop stalling. You have a promise to keep."

Perhaps I should have growled at her anyway—I needed at least another century before I could look Feyre in the eye and tell her about the ring waiting for her in the Weaver's cottage. She'd risked her life to free me, and I was certain that if I came anywhere close to insinuating she still had something to prove, she'd have my balls. And rightfully so.

Just the thought of telling her was enough to loosen my grip on my power, and pathetically, the darkness drifted towards Feyre, clinging to her arm as if it were afraid she'd leave.

"Find another method," I ground out from between clenched teeth.

"Feyre has to go claim it anyway."

"She's already proven more than enough."

"Spare me, Rhysand. We all know what you were thinking when you put that bargain tattoo on her finger."

Amren was right, though. The look she was giving me was familiar—I'd gotten used to it when I was a boy still mastering my powers and she was tired of me giving anything less than my best during a lesson.

"Tell me what you're talking about this before this comes to blows." Feyre shrugged my hand off her back, and I slid it into my pocket before I made a bigger fool of myself and reached for her again.

It truly wasn't fair that Feyre looked that beautiful when she was angry.

Amren, of course, wasn't going to deign to provide an explanation. It wasn't her business anyway. I took a breath and steeled myself, fully expecting the full truth would fan the flames of Feyre's temper.

"There's a ring," I said. "An heirloom of my family, passed down from female to female. My sister wasn't born yet, so my mother gave it to me when I was a boy. A reminder that she was always with me, even during the worst of my training, and I safeguarded it with preserving spells, the way our kind do for anything valuable. When I reached my majority, she took the ring away and gave it to an ancient, wicked creature called the Weaver, who added it to the collection of treasures she amassed over millennia."

It wasn't everything, and Feyre was smart enough to figure that out on her own. "Why would your mother give it away?"

Gods, I could kill Amren for this. She pretended to be above it all, but I knew during her next meeting with Mor, she'd be sharing every last detail of me squirming.

"Another test. If I were to marry or mate, then the female would either have to be smart or strong enough to get the ring back. And if she wasn’t either of those things, then she wouldn’t survive the marriage. I promised my mother that any potential bride or mate would have to pass, but I think if she were still here…she'd agree that you've already done more than enough."

I waited for more of Feyre's anger, but she just blinked, clearly bewildered. "A wedding ring?" she said, as if it weren't patently obvious.

"Yes, but you're under no obligation to—"

When she spoke again, the uncertainty making her voice waver damn near broke my heart. "You— You haven't…sent someone after it before me, have you?"

As if anyone would have been stupid enough to want to marry me. I couldn't imagine what could have put the idea in her head.

But then again, I'd been the one who'd made her feel unwanted enough to run off to the House of Wind as soon as we'd returned to the Night Court.

"Cauldron, no," I said, scrambling for a way to remind her—in front of Amren, of all people—that there had never been anyone else for me and never would be.

"And this isn't— You're not…proposing?"

Cauldron boil and fucking fry me. Now was hardly the time to be having this discussion—I had no idea what Feyre's views on marriage were or if the mating bond changed them. She'd always be my mate first and foremost, but…I couldn't deny the appeal of calling her my wife too, and she might be more comfortable with a more human way to refer to me.

But it was just as likely she was feeling rushed and didn't want any of that at all.

A pounding at the door heralded the arrival of the rest of my Inner Circle, and I made a silent prayer of thanks to the Mother as we filed into the sitting room. I hadn't been able to think of anything to say, and they'd saved me from continuing to gape at Feyre like a fish.

Feyre went quiet as the conversation turned to dealing with the Illyrians who'd supported Amarantha. From Cassian's report, it seemed that there were more than I'd expected, but news of my return had sent them scurrying into the forest to hide. We'd have to flush them out.

I didn't relish the thought of several days in the Steppes, away from Feyre. But I knew the Illyrians, and I'd lose more respect by staying in Velaris and sending someone else to do my dirty work. Then again, it might be for the best—I wasn't sure I wanted Feyre to witness me kill again, no matter how much they deserved it.

Eventually, there was a lull in the conversation, and Feyre filled it. "If we need to make a statement to keep control of Illyria, then we could give them to the Weaver and kill two birds with stone."

If Feyre wasn't exactly the sort of person who might have once felled two birds with a single stone, I would have thought she was joking. But I knew better. Feyre didn't like waste, whether that was food scraps or ammunition or a taking a life; she was merely efficient and the farthest thing from squeamish.

Strong enough to survive the marriage indeed.

"Are you suggesting that we allow a death-god to eat a few rogue Illyrians in exchange for the return of your wedding ring?" I said, smiling.

Feyre didn't smile back—her face was set in that characteristic determined grimace of hers. "Amarantha refused to free her human slaves. I'm the Night Court's resident human. What better way to punish them for supporting her than turning them over to me?"

She had a point, and the rest of the Inner Circle seemed to think so, which was a relief. If Feyre were to accompany us to Illyria, I wanted to avoid objections from Cassian and Azriel.

"If we're cracking a few wing bones, Feyre might as well get a turn," Cassian said.

"It's Illyria, not Velaris, so word will get out, which we can spin in our favor. Distaste for slavery instead of petty revenge against those who supported the bitch who made Rhys her—" Mor said, then stopped.

Whore. That had been what she'd about to say. I should have been used to it after fifty years, and it wasn't as if Mor was flinging it at me as an insult. My cheeks burned with shame anyway.

"The bitch who hurt him," Mor amended, and somehow, it made me feel worse. I hated the thought of any member of my family feeling the need to tiptoe around me.

"I'll never be offended by you telling the truth. Even about that," I said. Mor took my hand and squeezed it.

"No one reasonable would fault you for slaughtering your rapist's supporters. But for the unreasonable ones…it's also true that involving Feyre could help dispel the rumors that Prythian's savior is a pawn you intend to discard."

I understood—for the most part, the other courts were more concerned with rebuilding the damage that Amarantha had caused, and they likely would be for decades. But as Mor had worked to put treaties and agreements back in place, there had been more than a few polite—if very pointed—inquiries regarding the wellbeing of Feyre Cursebreaker. For now, Mor's letters back had contained equally pointed reminders that the Cursebreaker had been through an ordeal and didn't deserve to be bothered. We couldn't keep that up forever, though.

"Assuming the Weaver is willing to bargain, it's not a bad plan," Azriel said. From him, that was a ringing endorsement.

"Hell of an assumption, though," Cassian added.

Feyre was looking at me expectantly, clearly waiting for me to weigh in. I was suddenly uncomfortably aware that I had the authority to order her to either come to Illyria or stay back in Velaris, regardless of what her wishes were. I considered Feyre my equal in everything, but there were ancient laws and magic at play. Emissary or Lady of the Night Court…either way, her power was limited.

If nothing else, I wanted her to know that I wouldn't command her to face any danger. I had the bravest mate in Prythian, but Feyre deserved a chance to rest instead of shouldering the weight of the world. "All of it is your choice, Feyre. If you don't want to risk leaving Velaris, no one will force you," I said.

"I'm not shying away from any of it. I'll go," she said without hesitation.

Nothing stopped Feyre. I dropped my shields just enough to let her feel my swell of pride at her willingness to face this head on, even after everything she'd been through.

Cassian mussed her hair, and a memory came to me, unbidden—he used to do the same thing to Azriel, back before the War, when Az was still sporting those hideous bangs that swooped low across his forehead. And they way Feyre was trying and failing to scowl at Cassian…my heart squeezed. My own sister had always given me that look when I'd gotten on her nerves to break up the monotony of formal court events.

"Send your mate and your dogs out to the yard if they insist on playing, Rhysand. The adults still have matters to discuss," Amren said.

"Amren, if you wanted to play—" Cassian said, taunting her the way he always did when she called him my dog.

And as if on cue, Mor groaned. "Can we not? We're supposed to be working."

Under the Mountain, I'd resigned myself to never hearing them bicker like this again. After a decade, I'd forgotten their voices, their faces. That's when I'd stopped hoping.

Hearing it again while I shared the sofa with Feyre…it felt like a gift. She caught my eye as Cassian smoothed her hair back into place, and I smiled, just grateful for all of them.

But I could hardly afford to get maudlin with a court to run and Prythian in disarray, so I forced myself to focus on the task at hand.

The meeting was a long one; I trusted Mor and Amren to keep everything running smoothly in my absence, but there was so much more up in the air than usual. Unfortunately, they'd likely be at it for a while—according to Cassian's reporting, the rogue war-bands had scattered, and it would take time to track down each group that had splintered.

There was work to be done, so none of us lingered longer than necessary. We were up before the sun the next morning.

As I was washing my face, I felt a pang of anxiety from Feyre's side of the bond. A few disjointed images and feelings crossed the bond—a tree covered in snow, the twang of a bowstring, hunger pangs. It vanished as quickly as it came.

Something had stirred an old memory for her, I supposed. But it seemed she'd mastered it, so I refrained from giving her a fright by winnowing into her room while she was still dressing.

Instead, I met her downstairs and immediately lifted her into my arms to fly. Feyre felt like she'd gained a bit of weight, which was good. The tangible evidence she'd been eating right and gaining muscle from training soothed some of my worries.

I started to ask if she was alright, but the second her feet were off the floor, she relaxed and buried her face in my shoulder. I couldn't help but smile. Since returning home, I'd quickly learned that she wasn't a morning person, and there was something adorably Feyre about the way she'd clearly decided it was too early to talk—but not too early to cling to me.

"Good morning to you, too," I said.

"We have somewhere to be," she said, somehow managing to sound both half-asleep and accusatory.

I kissed her temple, then winnowed us into the sky above Windhaven. The immediate cold rush of air against my face felt like freedom. Feyre—now fully awake—cried out and held on tight as I spread my wings.

My shoulders immediately barked in protest, even though all I'd done was slow the descent. Feyre wasn't particularly heavy, but I still wasn't strong enough to fly upward while carrying her—the latest goal the healer had set for me was getting above the wards around the House of Wind to winnow down to the street with Feyre in my arms.

But now we were gliding to the ground smoothly, and that was progress. Incremental, but still progress, even if my back strained with each occasional flap of my wings.

Fearless as ever, Feyre lifted her head from my shoulder to look straight down at the camp below us, despite the altitude still being enough to turn the stomach of anyone wingless. I expected more questions, but she was silent as she took in the view.

From the air at least, it didn't appear that Windhaven had changed much. Amarantha had mostly considered Illyria beneath her notice, and while her beasts had been free to roam into Steppes, they'd avoided it. Too few resources, too many warriors with killing magic.

Thanks to Cassian's reports, I knew Illyria was more or less intact, but it was still a relief to see it for myself. In those last seconds before Amarantha had taken my power, I'd chosen to protect Velaris, throwing the rest of my court to the wolves in the process. It was sound strategy—if anyone could defend themselves, it was the Illyrians, and there wasn't much worth saving in the Hewn City—but not being able to protect everything had left me with a heavy sense of guilt that had weighed on me for fifty years.

During the war, my father had treated my mother's people as cannon fodder. Perhaps I wasn't any better, despite striving to be.

It took all of my concentration to keep from stumbling as we landed. Centuries of muscle memory were the only reason I didn't break an ankle and drop Feyre in the process. But it looked effortless, and that was most important.

I set Feyre down, and—as usual—she slipped into a role naturally, standing up straight and maintaining eye contact, a clear signal she wasn't afraid. That she wasn't lesser.

Devlon approached, flanked by the same warriors as always, and for a moment, I could almost believe no time had passed since I'd last been here. "Your dog," he barked with a nod at Cassian, "already completed camp inspections yesterday. Don't tell me you've brought a human to check for dust in the barracks, too."

I bit back a growl at the way he'd spoken about Feyre. Starting a fight within seconds of my return hardly sent a message that everything was under control. If it weren't for centuries of practice holding my temper back around Devlon, his brain would have been leaking out of his nose.

"After fifty years away, it's good to see your sparkle hasn't dimmed, Devlon. Feyre Cursebreaker is a member of my Inner Circle, and she wouldn't be here to clean up a mess if you'd kept a tighter leash on your men," I said.

And perhaps crushing minds would be unnecessary—Feyre was already reaching for an ash arrow. I'd never seen her shoot, but it didn't surprise me that she pulled it out of the quiver with expert, lethal grace. She knew exactly what she was doing as she smiled and tapped it against her thigh.

Devlon scowled. "These last fifty years have been difficult for us all."

It was all I needed to hear to be sure that he'd keep Windhaven in check while we were in the forest. Devlon might have hated me, but he was reliable and followed orders despite looking for loopholes and grumbling about it. If he wasn't insulting me to my face, the situation was still salvagable.

"I'm not interested in hearing your excuses. The current state of your camp is pathetic, and if I see one more misstep, you can consider yourself court-martialed," I said, then started off for the trees.

I was desperately curious to know what Feyre thought of Illyria. Growing up in this place had shaped me—in many ways, even more than Velaris had—and the part of me that craved my mate's approval needed to hear that she didn't hate it here.

I reached down the bond, intending to ask her, but as I opened my shields slightly, a silver of a thought slipped through from her end. …Rhys's stupidly long legs…

It was a miracle I didn't laugh aloud, just kept my face blank as I reached through the opening she'd left for me. Stupidly long legs? But you look so delicious framed between them.

"Save it for when we're back home, Rhys," Feyre muttered.

Behind me, Azriel snickered, but I didn't have it in me to care, not when Feyre had just called Velaris home.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her nock the arrow in her hand. Even to acute faerie hearing, her footsteps were silent. Her eyes were wary as she scanned the trees ahead of us, and her nostrils flared as she took in the pine-scented air.

A couple weeks of comfortable domesticity with her in the townhouse had nearly made me forget that Feyre was, at her core, a predator. Not quite a warrior, but someone shaped by years of stalking, trapping, skinning, and gutting, all to keep her family fed. Someone who slipped through the forest with all the lethality befitting the Queen of Nightmares.

I'd watched Feyre trap the Middengard Wyrm like a rabbit, but perhaps that had barely scratched the surface.

#feysand #we said hello and your eyes look like coming home #a simple name and everything has changed #he really went through the FULL SPECTRUM OF EMOTIONS here

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redheadspark · 1 year

Note

Hello love! Could I request an Azriel fic with #1? I feel like it would be really wholesome! 🌹💜

A/N - AAHHHH! This is adorable! Simply adorable! Thank you for requesting this, friend!

Crown

Summary - It's the simple things in life that bring out Azriel's joy

Warnings - Just some cute fluff :D

"This is quite the collection, High Lady,"

"I know, I hate it! Oh, please don't tell Rhsyand anything, it'll break his heart!"

"Your secret is safe with me,"

Feyre giggled as you two strolled through her smaller chamber that housed all of the crowns, tiaras, and other jewelry that was given to her by her husband, High Lord Rhsyand. She was searching some of the jewelry she wished to keep and other pices that she could donate, and the rest will be in the Night Court Archives that were nestled deep under The House of Wind. Rhysand gave her permission to choose which ones she wanted to keep for her own use and the rest will be sorted, which was rather nice on his end some most of the pieces were handed down to him by his family. Feyre was no lover of jewelry, and even with the smallest earrings or necklace, she would rather decline wearing them. However, she was strickign when wearing her crowns or tiaras when meetings were held or visiting anoter Court.

Yet she was showing you this room for another reason.

"So, which one do you like?" She asked as you were a bit conflicted. You saw massive crowns with gems the size of your palm embedded on the headpiece, tiaras small and dainty with precious little rocks that looked more like raindrops or morning dew. Feyre could see the hesitance on your face, giving yoru arm a pat as she manuvered the pair of you to another section of her collection.

As part of her wedding gift to you and your fiance Azriel, Feyre offered you to wear one of her crowns at the wedding ceremony. You two were close friends, ever since she came into Velaris and she was introduced to the Inner Circle. You loved her spirit and stubbornness, not being a cookie-cutter mate to Rhsyand. You instantly loved her art and painting, taking a few pointers from her after the Battles against Hybren and when there was peace in Velaris again. You two grew close, and she was the first friend you told about your engagement to the Spymaster himself. Feyre and Rhysand wished to contribute to the wedding planning as much as they could, and although you and Azriel made them swear to keep the ceremony and reception very small and intimate, they still planned everything out for you two.

All the way down to the attire, in which you were going to wear the High Lady's jewels.

"Azriel told me you two were going to be married in Elaine's garden at the Townhouse, right?" She asked, you nodding your head as she then reached out into a small pocket in the wall, taking out a very delicate and intricately designed crown. The base looked like vines wrapped around one another making the circle, leaves made of pure gold, and some yellow gems that looked molded into gold. Throughout the rest of the piece, there were small emeralds and yellow diamonds, making the crown look more like a halo of enchanted leaves.

You gasped, Feyre's face beaming as she held it in her delicate yet deadly fingers.

"I think we found the right one," She commented, reaching up to place in your hair. It wasn't heavy, nor was it light. The weight almost threw you off for a moment, but Feyre moved some of your hair from your eyes and along your jawline to see how the crown would look.

She moved you over to a mirror that was propped on a cabinet, you saw your reflection in the mirror and the shock ever leaving your face. You felt like a princess with a crown on your head, something you never thought you would feel. Coming from humble beginnings and needing to survive on your own to get your own food, you always had to endure and adapt to what life threw at you.

Yet ever since Azriel came into your life, blessings were coming in left and right. He made sure you were loved, that he supported you in all the choices you made, and he always made sure you never had to go hungry again.

You were seeing the reflection of your inner soul wearing that crown: a Princess about to marry her Prince.

"Perfect, simply perfect," Feyre said from behind you. You nodded with evident tears in your eyes.

It was perfect. Beyond perfect

"Almost done back there?"

"Mmmm nope. Are we being impatient?"

"Never!"

Azriel chuckled behind you as you were facing the view of Velaris in front of you, sitting cross-legged on the blanket that you brought for your picnic as you were working on the cross stitch that you also brought along. The small buzzing of bumble bees to your left, the soft wildflowers along the right side, and the howling winds that were swooping down from the mountains were in front of you.

The perfect day for an outing.

Being married to the Spymaster of Nigt Court was nothing short but adventurous. You knew going into the marriage that Azriel would have to make some compromises. If he had to go give aid to Rhysand or the safety of Velaris was at risk, if he had to go in the middle of the night to spy on another Court, it was always up in the air with your husband. Yet you never once grumbled about it, because you knew he would always come back into your waiting arms. It was his promise to you on your wedding day and in his vows that he swore he worked on for months on end: Azriel promised to never have you be alone in your bed or in your relationship with him.

He has fulfilled that promise.

It's been a good 5 years since you two were married, only the Inner Circle and a handful of priestesses in attendance. He wanted it that way since Azriel thought a massive wedding and mating ceremony would be far too much for you two. Yet you had the best night of your life with him as your husband and surrounded by people who loved and supported the pair of you. After your honeymoon, you both found a small little house that was near the outskirts of town, near the farmlands and the forests that seemed to be more of a fixer-upper. Yet you found it a challenge, rolling your sleeves up and getting right to work with a shocked husband right behind you.

Within a month, the house was liveable, and within a year's time, it was perfect.

"Alright, I think it is finished!"

You placed your cross stitch down and turned around, seeing your husband and your 8-month-old daughter named Eve in his lap grinning at your as Azriel was holding a flower crown in his hands.

"A crown fit for a queen," he said lightly, Eve babbling in his lap as she tried to reach up to take the crown with her chubby fingers. Both you and Azriel chuckled while he placed the flower crown on your head. Massive twigs were molded into a circle, with daisies and wildflowers laced around along with a few poppies that were nearby. Once the crown was placed in your hair, Eve shrieked at the sight of her mother wearing flowers and Azriel beamed.

"Just as gorgeous as the day I married you," He hummed, leaning over to kiss you softly on the lips.

There were trials and struggles coming your way with Azriel, but you two always faced them together. Small spats and fights were had late in the night about his well-being and safety, yet they always ended with you two holding each other in bed and whispering apologies. Stress from work and from working with the High Lord and High Lady would try and defy the pair of you, yet neither of you would let it.

And lastly, a small health scare you had left you with more questions than answers. The smallest possibility that you couldn't bear children broke your heart for some months. Azriel held you close as you cried into his chest after Madja told you the news, having you feel more broken than ever.

"You mean more to me than anything. If being parents is not our path, then I'll live with that. I can't live in this world without you or your joy, and if it's just the pair of us in this life, I'll take it," Azriel reminded you as a vow when you two were wrapped in each other's arms in bed. You knew it was true, and although it was a saddened feeling that you may not have a child, you would rather have Azriel.

However, your daughter Eve came into your lives a year later. Her father's wings and eyes, your hair and freckles, she was perfect. Seeing her swaddled and held in her father's arms, watching his eyes fill with tears as he kissed her dark mop of hair hours after she was born, it was all worth it.

"My little Eve Star," he cooed at her.

Eve cried out in Azriel's lap, not getting attention from either parent. You pulled away from Azriel, laughing as you scooped her into your arms and kissed her cheeks.

"Did you help your father make my crown, my little Eve Star?" You said to her playfully, tickling her sides and hearing her giggle in delight.

"Of course she did, she had her mother's creativity you know," Azriel joked.

Sometimes you thought back to the crown Feyre lent you for your wedding, which later was given to you as a Winter Solstice and Wedding Anniversary gift, and you thought of it as a blessing. But the true blessing was the flower crown on your head, made by the one being that brought you more joy than anything.

You would take flowers over gems any day.

The End.

Spring Prompt Session

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x female reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel acotar #azriel x female!reader #acotar fluff #acomaf fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #acotar fandom #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #a court of frost and starlight #a court of wings and ruin

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witchysquirrel · 2 months

Text

Epiphany

Chapter Fifteen

WARNING: suggestiveness, smut (oral sex: m receiving, face fucking, etc.) 18+, minors DNI

Cassian ran to Ravenna, cheering as he picked her up and swung her around. She giggled as he spun her, overjoyed at the fact that he’d been able to take to the skies again. She thought back to when she'd first seen his wings, completely macerated. She'd never thought she'd see him leave the ground again. He set her down, and she continued to laugh as he pressed kisses all over her face.

He pulled away, taking her face in his calloused hands. “I didn’t think I would ever fly again, when I first woke up that day in the healing tent,” he told her. “But I have you. So somehow I’m alive and I just did it.” His eyes were watery, and she hugged him tightly, then kissed his jaw. Cassian sniffed, digging the key Rhys had given them out of his pocket to open the front door to the cabin.

As they got closer, Ravenna discovered that it was a beautiful oaken cabin, with a wrap-around covered porch and stained glass accents in the windows. It was nestled in a clearing surrounded by trees and forest, and although it was dark, Ravenna could hear the river running nearby. It was utterly peaceful, and as they entered, they each marveled at the huge wood-burning fireplace and hearth that were situated on the far wall of the living room. The living room, kitchen, and sunroom downstairs were all outfitted with the finest furniture, luxury sofas, silken area rugs, glittering chandeliers that somehow meshed with the rest of the more rustic accents. Upstairs they found three bedrooms, one of which was where they left their bags and shoes, and changed into comfier clothing.

“Ooh, look at this,” Cassian called from downstairs as Ravenna was making her way down.

She joined him in the doorway to the basement, which appeared to contain a throne room of sorts. It was beautiful. Why a throne big enough to accommodate Illyrian wings would be needed in a wooded cabin was beyond her, but she supposed that was Rhysand’s business and none of hers. She asked Cassian's opinion anyway. “What could he possibly need a throne for in a cabin in the forest?”

Cassian shrugged absently. He had already begun to imagine himself sitting atop the throne, Ravenna hovering over his–

“Hungry?” she called from the kitchen then, snapping him out of his fantasy. He shook his head to clear his mind, then crossed into the kitchen to find her pulling ingredients out of the cabinets one by one. Either Rhys had anticipated them, or this cabin just had everything you could possibly ever need. Bowls and platters of all shapes and sizes, spoons and spatulas, all basic ingredients and seasonings.

“Cookies?” he asked, beaming at her across the island counter.

She nodded. “Sit with me while I bake.” He took a seat at one of the bar stools, leaning over the counter to watch her. “By the way, if I didn’t say it before, I’m proud of you for flying so fearlessly.”

“Thank you,” he replied. “I was fucking terrified for a second though.” They both laughed as Ravenna began creaming together butter and sugar in a blue ceramic mixing bowl, tucking her hair behind her ears to keep it out of her face. “Your power has always astounded me, but you basically restored my wings entirely.”

She glanced up at him as she went to work on the bowl with a mixing spoon, giving him a half-smile. “Good thing you kept me around,” she answered, then pointed at him with the spoon. “Don’t be mad at me when they’re sore tomorrow, though.”

He rolled his eyes at her playfully, then smiled. “How did you figure out you could heal?” he asked, leaning in. “Were your parents healers as well? I can’t believe these are questions I’ve never asked.”

She laughed at him as she cracked a couple of eggs into the bowl, tossing the eggshells into a trash can underneath the sink. Ravenna wiped her hands on the navy blue apron she wore around her waist. “My parents both came from families of healers, but weren’t healers themselves,” she explained. “They were a bit surprised when their four year old created a hospital for injured chickadees she found on the sidewalk... It’s just something I was born with. They didn’t send me to Dawn until I was thirteen though, someone must've told them it was valuable or something."

He nodded along as she spoke. “It’s interesting to me that they sent you to Dawn alone,” Cassian said. "Why didn't they go with you?"

Ravenna shrugged as she stirred quickly. “I guess I’ve never thought about it,” she replied. “You were all at Windhaven alone. And with more dangerous powers than mine will ever be.” She let a small laugh pass her lips as she began to fold in the flour.

“Hey, I’m sure you could heal someone to death if you put your mind to it,” Cassian said with a chuckle.

“I’m good without the death part,” she replied, scrunching her nose up as she poured bits of chocolate into the bowl. Cassian watched her float around the kitchen gracefully, mixing the chocolate in with the dough. He pondered what she’d said. He knew she obviously didn’t prefer the gore and death they were so accustomed to, but for the first time he wondered how much it affected her. Almost like he could feel some sense of regret or anxiety trickling down the bond.

Ravenna had always been such an enigma; delicate, yet fierce, graceful and bold, quiet, with the loudest, most infectious laugh in every room. He’d seen her unleash on enemies when she needed to, but most of the time he'd watched her outsmart them – she was quick, decisive, knew when to run and rescue, and when to fight. There was a prayer she said over each of the fallen she came across or attended to as they died, he’d heard her say it so many times he knew it by now; ‘Be free, be proud of who you’ve been, rest, you have loved and are beloved.’ She was the gentleness, the eye of the storm in every battle he'd been part of. It all made sense now that they were mates, how much he admired her, why he loved her the way he did. She was everything he needed.

She’d just put the first batch of cookies into the oven and started to wash some of the dishes. Cassian came up behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her. He placed a kiss under her ear, a spot of hers he’d discovered earlier that night. She tilted her head to the side for him but continued washing the dishes. He sucked at the soft skin there and she made a muffled sound at the warmth of his lips there.

Ravenna sighed into her mate. “We’re going to be here a really long time if this is day one,” she breathed. Cassian chuckled into her neck.

“I won’t do anything,” he said, his voice low near her ear. “We need sleep so we’ll have the energy to do all of the things I want to do to you tomorrow... and the next day, and the next day....”

The timer on the counter went off, which was exactly the interruption Ravenna needed in order to be able to ignore the bulge straining against Cassian’s pants. She set down whatever dish she was holding, completely unsure if she’d cleaned it or not, and retrieved the cookies from the oven. Cassian followed, arm snaking around her waist as he stood at her side. He began reaching for a cookie, but Ravenna smacked his hand away.

She looked at him, incredulous. “First of all,” she began. “I’m supposed to offer you the food, you don’t take the food. And second, they are so hot right now, you will absolutely burn your tongue if you put that in your mouth right now.”

“I’m sorry. They smell so good,” he replied, sheepishly. She smiled and shook her head, transferring the cookies to a cooling rack.

“Now we let them cool,” she told him, leading him to sit back down. “Already hard again, huh?” Ravenna quipped, gesturing to his crotch.

His eyes flashed to hers. “I can’t help it,” he replied, adjusting his pants. “And don’t act like I can’t smell you right now. The frenzy goes both ways.”

Her cheeks turned bright pink as her core burned with arousal at his words, and she had to cross her thighs together. “Well I couldn’t ignore you,” she said. “Especially now that I know what you’re hiding in there.” She gestured to his crotch where the leather looked like it might tear open to reveal him at any second.

“That is exactly how I feel about everything you are currently wearing right now,” he said. “Now that I know what’s underneath, I don’t think it should be there any more.”

Ravenna scoffed, then transferred a cookie onto the white saucer she’d found in one of the cupboards. It was warm and gooey, cooled enough to eat. She came back over to Cassian and set it on the counter.

“Gourmet, just for you,” she said, picking it up to bring it to Cassian’s lips. He held her gaze as she lowered it to his mouth. He took a bite, watching her as she popped the rest of the cookie into her mouth. The crisp dough melted in your mouth, especially fresh out of the oven warm like they’d been, the chocolate rich in contrast. When she’d finished chewing and swallowing, she brought her fingers to her lips, depositing them into her mouth to lick the leftover melted chocolate from them. Cassian’s eyes tracked her mouth, his lips parted slightly as he watched her. She made him continue to watch her as she stood, took the plate to the sink, and washed her hands. She took a drink of water from a nearby glass, then turned back to him.

“We’re officially mates,” Ravenna said, turning back to him. He was already standing again, staring at her.

“Yeah,” he breathed, the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

They met each other halfway, lips crashing together, hands reaching for somewhere to grip. He held her face in his hands as his tongue dragged along her bottom lip. Ravenna was finished with any form of teasing as desire for Cassian took over, and her hand immediately moved to his pants. She palmed him a couple of times through the fabric, allowing him to moan into her mouth when he finally had some friction. Finally though, she took him by the hand and dragged him into the room with the throne in it.

“Sit,” she said, her voice echoing through the marble room, dark eyes boring into him. He licked his bottom lip, wordlessly obeying her commands. He took his place on the throne, arms resting flat on the sides, feet in line with the dais beneath. Cassian looked up at her from below his brows, adjusting in the seat. She made her way towards him, crawling into his lap. Ravenna kissed him, from his lips, across his jaw, down his throat, to his collarbones. Her hands finally drifted to his waistband, undoing the laces and pulling the zipper down firmly. She kissed down his chest, lips grazing the hard muscle of his torso as she made her way down.

Cassian gasped as she tugged his pants the rest of the way down and took his length in her hand, kneeling between his legs. She looked up at him so sweetly as she took him into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the tip. She hollowed her cheeks out, taking him deeper and deeper, growing wetter at the noises he made in response.

“You take my cock like it’s nothing,” he muttered, panting as she bobbed her head, ungodly noises coming from her mouth as her saliva leaked down his inner thighs. She looked up at him again as she came up for air, and he took a handful of her hair in his fist, pulling her closer. She hummed against him, dragging her tongue over his slit before taking him down her throat again, choking on the size of him.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned, adjusting his hips on his throne. She pulled back, falling back on her heels where she knelt before him.

“You can do whatever you want…by the way,” she said, quietly. He nearly melted, leaning back further on the throne.

“Just tap my thigh if it’s ever too much or you need to stop,” he told her. She acknowledged him with a nod. Readjusting his grip on her dark mass of curls, he began slowly thrusting his hips upwards to meet her mouth.

“Ravenna,” he breathed, squeezing his eyes shut as he ground his hips up into her mouth. “You have no idea how fucking good this feels.”

She moaned against him as he increased his pace, earning a string of curses from his mouth at the vibration it brought. Cassian was surprised to find he was already about to cum, and he let himself go as he fucked into her mouth sloppily. He could hardly contain himself at the sight of her, eyes teary, spit running down her chin.

“You’re gonna make me cum, fuck,” he grunted, pulling her head down, the back of her throat bringing him closer and closer to his end. Finally Cassian let his orgasm rush through him, blowing his load down her throat. She licked up every last drop of his cum, bringing him close to overstimulation as she lapped at his twitching cock. Finally he lifted her to his lap and brought her mouth to his, kissing her messily, licking her mouth clean of him. He wiped her tears, kissing her face gently.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he whispered to her. She looked up at him, a smile in her eyes.

“I don’t think I ever will,” she replied, leaning into his chest. “Can you take me to bed?”

He lifted her easily in his arms, kissing her face a few times before carrying her to one of the bedrooms upstairs and laying her down gently. She crawled underneath the covers, curling up within the comforter. Cassian showered, and by the time he returned, Ravenna was snoring quietly under a curtain of dark hair.

He stroked her face with the back of his hand, then crawled into bed next to her, ready for sleep to take him.

Epiphany Masterlist

A/N: sorry yall but there’s gonna be a steady stream of smut for a sec…. it makes sense for the plot and I’m not gonna pass up an opportunity 🕺🏻🕺🏻🕺🏻🕺🏻

#acotar #acotar fic #acotar oc #cassian acotar #acotar fanfiction #cassian x oc #acotar smut #cassian smut #spicy content #cassian angst

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honeybeefae · 1 year

Text

The invitations came flowing in for everyone in the Inner Circle. After the war with Hybern and the entire mess that was Briallyn, everyone was wanting to return back to normal and what better way to celebrate that than with a good old fashioned solstice party?

Feyre, Nesta, and Elain, were surveying the new dresses they had designed for it while Mor and Amren were going over different jewelry options. Rhysand and Azriel, the latter which was reluctant to even go, were also in the midst of getting ready when a sharp knock on the door caught their attention.

“Why was he invited again?” Azriel grumbled, crossing his arms as Rhysand matched his sour look.

“Nesta needed someone to accompany her tonight.” Was the only response the High Lord gave before opening the door, revealing a smug looking Eris.

He was dressed impeccably, the dark red of his suit complimenting his skin nicely along along with some of the golden embroidery on the sleeves and pocket. Although that color didn’t quite match the theme, Rhys couldn’t deny that somehow it still worked.

“Wipe that smirk off your face. This is just a formality.” A soft yet firm voice scolded, Eris’s eyes lighting up when Nesta walked into the room. Her sisters followed behind, none of them very happy with the arrangement, but they knew he could care less.

“Of course, of course.” Eris replied smoothly, straightening his stance. “Though I must admit, formality or not, you look stunning.”

“Watch it, Red,” Cassian growled, appearing in the door frame with a deep scowl. “High Lord or not, I have no problem teaching you-“

“Shhhh,” Nesta shushed her mate, turning to look at him while wrapping her arms around his neck. “Don’t waste your breath with threats. You know who I’m coming home to tonight.”

Cassian glared at Eris for a few more seconds before looking down at Nesta, his eyes softening as he gave her a deep kiss. He made it a point to turn them to the side so the red head could get the full picture, staking his claim just in case.

All Eris and the rest of the Inner Circle could do was roll their eyes. Cassian released her and bent down to her ear, whispering something that had her ears turning pink before wishing her a good night. Rhysand and Feyre were the first to walk out and winnow away as the rest slowly trickled out behind them.

The only three left were Nesta, Cassian, and Eris, as the air in the cabin grew thick with tension and a primal need to assert dominance between the two men. She couldn’t help but to snort as they sized each other up, Cassian obviously more physically built.

Eris only gave him a slight tilt of his head and a cocky grin, snaking his arm around Nesta’s waist.

“I’ll suppose I’ll be dropping her off later…unless she changed her mind about her company tonight.” He taunted, not even flinching when Cassian stepped into his personal face with a warning sneer. “Such a brute.”

“I like brutes.” Nesta quipped, sending Cass a wink. “Now both of you relax before you tear me in half.”

A quick image of her being tore in half in a much different way flashed across her mind after she said the words, her breath stopping for just a moment before she regained control.

“You know the rules.” Cassian stated, talking more to Eris than Nesta, but they both nodded. “Have her home before midnight or banned be damned, I will come find her.”

“I think that temper is what got you in this predicament in the first place.” Eris chuckled, holding his hands up innocently when Nesta gave him a look. “But I give you my word I will return her.”

“Good.” He nodded, giving his mate one last look and whispering. “I love you.”

“I love you too, brute.” She smirked, taking Eris’s arm as they both winnowed away to the Summer Court.

He stood there in silence, his mind running over worst case scenarios, before huffing and going over to the desk. Cassian started furiously writing a letter to Tarquin, begging him to lift the ban as unwanted images of them dancing together haunted his brain.

(In honor of the summer solstice ((where I’m from at least!)), enjoy this little blurb! This was SO much fun and honestly???? A threesome between Nesta, Cassian, and Eris, sounds SO good and that’s how I wanted to end it but idk😁 I hope you guys liked it and happy summer solstice!)

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azsazz · 2 years

Text

Fire & Water (Part 2)

Eris x Reader

Summary: Part 2 to Fire & Water as requested by many :)

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3,691

(Part One)

_________________________________________

You did not expect to find yourself back in the Night Court so soon.

What you had been hoping for when you had found your mate was that he’d sweep you off your feet, take you away for a fortnight or two, and spend the time exploring each other, never to be separated again, like Nesta and Cassian or Feyre and Rhysand.

But this was Eris.

Ever so cunning and methodical he had taken you apart and put you back together with promises against your skin and licked down your spine, the morning light casting a golden circlet around the two of you through the thick brush.

They can’t keep you there for long, Eris’ mouth brushed against yours, a reassuring feeling thawing your worries. I won’t let them.

You didn’t think you’d ever get used to that feeling. The burning for him deep within your soul, his feelings flowing easily through the open gateway.

And sure, he was still as much as a prick as you thought he was all this time, but no longer would it be directed at you. You were his equal in every way, challenging his ideas, the both of you hoping for a better future for not only yourselves, but the fae around you.

The Night Court made you itch. You did not belong in the lands where the darkness was praised, half of the city's citizens preferred over the sub-court beneath the territory or the ones left to suffer in the mountains. The High Lord did not care for the people trapped there, those that yearned for change, to be in the place where dreams were talked of coming true.

It was all bullshit.

All of it.

Rhysand had been less than happy when he arrived to retrieve you, as if you were a babe and your playdate was over. The High Lord scowled at the male by your side, not touching but standing closer than you would have been comfortable with when he’d brought you here.

And you could see in his violet eyes that he knew exactly what you and Eris had been up to during your time in the Autumn Court. The stars winked out one by one, clouds rolling in the dark night of his eyes, lightning zipping in fury.

You were covered in Eris’ scent, the sly male had made sure of that. But his face gave away nothing, schooled into that cool and arrogant heir, eyebrows raised in defiance, the slightest turn of his mouth upward.

The pair were in a stalemate, sizing each other up, until you took a step towards the Night Court male. Each stride closer to your sister's mate tore a canyon in your heart. You so desperately did not want to return to Velaris, with Feyre’s chosen family, the place where you’d only be used as an unknowing pawn in their scheme, where plans for you were made without your approval.

You refrained from looking at Eris, who watched you go. You kept your head held high, not pointed towards the ground like you were used to doing in the presence of Rhys. The assurance that you would be free from the Night Court grip soon and in the safety of your mate’s own – where you were wanted – helped you more than you thought.

And the tinge from the hidden bond was reassurance enough. Your sisters and their friends did not need to learn of this quite yet.

Rhysands grip around your bicep is firm, not enough to hurt, but enough to make the point that he is more than unhappy with what you’ve done. You set your jaw, your power boiling in your veins. You were always doing something wrong, something to embarrass his court, your sister’s court.

You toss one last look over your shoulder, you can’t help it. Eris stands tall, hands balled into fists but tucked tightly into the pockets of his trousers, exuding aloofness. His amber eyes are irate, hot coals burning so bright they’re begging you to let him attack.

You flood the bond, a caress to his shields, a wave of cool waters dousing that flame, that anger. He can read it in your eyes, soon.

The darkness swallows you whole and you shudder at the feeling. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to this, like you’re tumbling through a void of black, stomach in your throat as his grip tightens, keeping you at arms length like the scent of the Autumn Court burns his nostrils.

You falter when you appear in his office, stumbling to gain your footing, your head spinning from the darkness. When the room stills you nearly roll your eyes but you hold yourself back, not wanting to plunge back into that spiral making your stomach churn. Your entire family is here, sisters and their respective partners, lounging on the large, expensive couches like an intervention. Even Azriel is there, though he looks unbothered as always from his spot at the window, like he’d much rather be anywhere else. Maybe Rhysand had called them all to this room while he stared down your mate.

Rhys releases you, though you knew he wanted to shove you into the center of the room, family flanking you on both sides. You wonder who will speak on the matter first.

Unsurprisingly, it’s Feyre. “(Y/N),” she sighs, taking her mate’s hand when he perches on the arm of the sofa, always needing to tower over someone. “What did you do?”

And you really don’t want to hear it, anything that any of them have to say. None of it matters and it hasn’t for a long time. Not since they started treating you differently when you had come out of that cauldron.

Even Elain, who had been coddled over by nearly every member of the group, looked like she was disappointed in your actions.

“Isn’t that what you sent me for?” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest in both defiance and defense. You felt like a caged animal with them all surrounding you. You wished the Autumn male was here right now, in fact. “To get him to ally with us no matter the cost?”

“Gods,” Cassian responds for them, clearly bewildered with your actions, “We didn’t mean you had to sleep with the bastard.” Why the brute had chosen to add to the matter was beyond you, and you used your power to stifle the flames rising to your cheeks at his words.

“I’ll very well fuck who I please,” you growl, looking each of them in the eye, letting your words sink in. “Nesta, control your mate.”

Cassian’s siphons flash bright, his hands curling into fists. He’d never dare lay a hand on any of his mates sisters, the action a reflex more than anything.

Watching the muscle in his jaw flex you bite back a smirk at the angered male. Maybe you were starting to act too much like your mate already.

But you were a wild horse, and you would not be broken by the Night Court.

“(Y/N),” Mor is the next to speak and it’s all you can do to bite your tongue. Eris had told you all about what had happened between them and you had no reason not to believe him. Even if Eris was not your mate you had always known the crafty male to speak the truth. “We’re just trying to help.”

“If you wanted to help you would let me in on things instead of using me as a pawn in whatever game you’re all playing.” Your voice is deathly serious, arms crossed tightly over your chest, your only sign of discomfort.

“We’re trying to keep you safe,” Feyre finally speaks, but her voice isn’t one of a sister, it’s laced with the tone she uses when she's commanding like a High Lady. It makes your temper boil.

“Newsflash Fey, I don’t need protecting.”

“You do if you let that Autumn swill between your legs,” the still pouting brute mutters, but the entire room goes still at his words, your spine locking up, hands curling into fists, your fingernails biting into your palms, watching him with rage filled eyes as he sips on the dark liquor in his cup.

“If my sister did not love you you would be choking to death on that drink right now,” your steely voice is level, and you unleash a tiny drop of your power, halting the liquid in his throat just for a moment longer so that he heeds your warning. By the way his eyes widen and he glances towards you he knows exactly what it is you’re doing.

“Is that a threat?” Rhysand asks from his spot next to Feyre, eyes darkened.

“It’s a promise,” you respond, spinning on your heel to leave the room. They let you.

__________

Your heart is pounding when you get back to your room. You’re so angry at them, the people who claim to be your family, to have your best interests in mind. They don’t. They don’t know a thing about you or what you’re going through.

You’d seen what they’d done to Nesta. Taken her fiery rage and forced her into behaving. She was a different person than you knew back in the human realm. You’d never thought she’d succumb to the darkness of the Night Court, yet here she was, trying to put you in your place like the rest of them.

You couldn’t stay here.

Mind spinning and trying to hold your tears back you catch sight of the fire in the hearth, burning bright…welcoming you. The crackle helps ease your anxious mind and you stalk straight towards it, swiping the crock of water and a few sheets of the paper they’d given you off of the large desk in your room on your way.

You collapse onto the floor in front of the blazing fireplace. Taking a few deep breaths to calm you down, you will your powers into being. The water flows from the pitcher beside you with the utmost control, better than you’d ever seen before. It wraps around your hand, snaking between your fingers like a liquid glove, and then you reach into the hearth.

You watch with curious eyes, as the water and the flame battle, sizzling and turning into steam, but the liquid holds firm and cold, doesn’t boil and scald you or evaporate, leaving the fire to burn you. No, it’s a caress of the flame, lapping gently at the water.

Oh how it makes you ache.

You grab a fistful of ash at the bottom of the dwelling, the soot black and loose. Removing it from the fire you place it on the floor in front of you before shaking off the liquid from your hand.

Eris had told you that if you needed him for anything, all you would have to do is write in fire’s ash on a piece of paper and throw it into the inferno.

You really hoped it holds true.

“I’ll get it,” he had told you, forehead pressed against yours before your brother had come to retrieve you, “If you write a note with the cinders from the hearth and throw it into the fire I will get it.”

“Ash?” you asked incredulously. This world was truly something else. “Won’t that be messy?”

He puffs out a breathy laugh that makes you grin. “If you want to reach me badly enough, wouldn’t you be willing to get a little dirty?”

He notices how your smile turns feline and rushes to speak again, his dick already twitching in his pants at the thought of that alluring smile. If you say what he thinks you’re going to say he won’t ever let you go.

“It’s how I communicate with my brother.”

Your mouth pops open at the admission. After all of this time, he was still in contact with Lucien?

Surely the Inner Circle knows nothing about this.

“What?”

He presses a reassuring kiss to your forehead, his hands cupping both of your cheeks. “Lucien will protect you. He wants to come home too.”

Dipping your finger into the black powder you begin scrawling your message across the paper, detailing what you had returned to, scrunching your nose when it comes out scraggly and messy. You hope he’ll be able to read it.

Reading it over once more you fold it up, tossing it into the lit fire. The flames swallow it whole, turning consuming it in an instant and you sit, hands resting on your knees as you stare into the amber blaze, waiting anxiously for a response.

Almost as fast as it disintegrates another appears, and you douse the flames again as you reach into the hearth quickly, eager to read your mate's response.

I knew I should’ve killed that brute that last time I was in that awful court.

You puffed out a breath, scribbling back to him, I hardly think that his comments are worthy of death.

It’s worthy of something, my darling.

You’re a bad person, you muse, already feeling calmer, folding up the little paper and sending it back his way.

You wait eagerly until the paper jumps out of the raging hearth, Eris’ handwriting hurried and small, running out of room. Yet you’re smitten.

You roll your eyes, biting at the smile on your lips as you read his message. Cocky male, that’s for sure.

There’s a knock on your door that has you scrambling, crumpling the note and sweeping your hand in a frantic arch, the rest of the water from the vase sweeping the ashes back into the fireplace, sending the fire crackling and hissing loudly.

“Come in,” you call once you're on your feet again, returning the pitcher to the desk. You stuff the note haphazardly into a drawer and smooth down your skirts with your jittery hands, like you’ve already been caught.

You don’t want to speak to anyone, but you know they won’t leave you alone until they have the reassurance that you won’t be doing anything to make them look bad.

Thankfully, it’s just Lucien. He slips into the room, the door snicking shut quietly behind him.

“Would you like to sit?” you ask in lieu of greeting, waving towards the fluffy sofa in the room, adorned with overstuffed pillows and an expensive cashmere blanket. The fire-haired male follows you, taking a seat opposite you.

You pull the heavy blanket over you as you settle in on your side.

“How was the Autumn Court really?” he asks, watching you with a skeptical look in his eye, the mechanical one making a soft noise, scanning you where you sit.

You wring the soft material between your hands, “Are you asking as a friend or as Rhysand’s Emissary?”

“I’m coming to you as a friend and as the Emissary of Autumn.”

So Eris had been right when telling you that he and Lucien were working together. It makes your lips want to twitch up into a smile. These sneaky foxes.

“It was…” you trail off, looking down at your hands in your lap. You’re still weary, how no one had spoken up on your behalf, how you’d barely even talked to Lucien up until this point, but if your mate says that it’s okay to trust his younger brother, then maybe you should. You need someone on your side after all. “He’s my mate.”

The admission is quiet, blushing and smiling down at your lap before your gaze flicks up to Lucien’s, who watches you with kind eyes and a soft smile of his own. He knows what finding a mate is like, like finding that piece of you you’d always known was missing, even if his mate didn’t reciprocate.

“Do you want to be with him?” he asks gently.

You nod softly, “I really do.”

“Then we should get you back to him.”

Your brows furrow but your heart flutters at his words. Seeing Eris again and so soon? You open your mouth to respond but Lucien is already speaking again.

“If that’s where you want to be then they can’t stop you. But you should go before more…drastic measures are taken with you.”

“Drastic measures?” you question, fisting your hands together in the blanket. All anyone wants to do here is stifle you, their ways and protectiveness over you feels like you’re drowning all over again.

But you know how to control that now.

“I don’t know exactly what they are planning,” he starts, “They don’t exactly trust me either. Probably more so that I’ve offered to come talk to you. I’m sure Rhysand is expecting me to gather intel from you, but in reality, I’m ready to go back too.”

“But what of Elain?”

The auburn haired male flinches when you speak his mates name. The look on his face is pained. “She–her gardens wouldn’t grow as well in Autumn,” he says like he’s trying to convince himself of this as well.

You scoff and he looks at you, startled. “I’ve seen the forests and heard of the orchards. There are plenty of things she can grow that would flourish there.” And if you were being completely honest, having at least one sister on your side wouldn’t be all that bad, even if Feyre and Nesta would surely place the blame on you for uprooting Elain’s life.

He studies you for a long moment. There are still so many things that need to be figured out before he’s actually allowed back in the Autumn Court – his father being number one – but maybe there is enough time for Elain’s feelings for him to change. But on the other hand, if he helps you escape the Night Court and is found out, it could mean another world of trouble for him.

He chooses not to respond to your words, instead, he leans closer to you on the couch and speaks in a whisper, “There’s a glamour cloak under your bed. Once you put it on it will hide you even amongst the strongest of fae eyes,” his own mechanical hums happily at his next words, “My father made it.”

And you knew that he was not talking about the High Lord of Autumn, but that of Day.

Would Lucien indeed return to Autumn or would he feel more at home at the Day Court, the place he’d some day rule over. Elain would surely love the vibrancy of the day Court over that of both Autumn and Night, and you smile softly at the thought of her being happy.

“You have to get out of the city. Tonight. I’ll find you and winnow you the rest of the way.”

“How will you find me if I’m not able to be seen by the eye?” you whisper back, leaning closer. Your heart is pounding with fear and excitement. Surely if one of the Inner Circle catches you sneaking away you’ll surely be locked up and watched at all times.

“I can sense it’s magic,” is all the answer he gives you before he’s pushing up off of the couch and retreating towards the door. He throws a last look over his shoulder at you, “I’ll let them know you don’t want to be disturbed tonight.”

“Lucien,” you call as his hand twists the knob of the large door. He pauses, turning back towards you.

“Tell my sisters–” the words catch in your throat. The male nods in understanding before he’s slipping into the hallway.

__________

On a good day, you still hadn’t managed to make it down the 10,000 steps of the House of Wind, and today, when you were covered with a heavy cloak, it was worse.

You’d nearly tripped thrice so far, feet catching on the cape made for a male much taller than you, but you had to keep it on just in case one of your sister’s family members was climbing the stairs as well.

But as you struggled to breathe, legs shaking, you wondered why it even mattered at all. Surely they’d hear your labored breathing, your feet scuffing on the steps down, down, down.

The only thing that kept you going was knowing that you’d get to see your mate soon.

Hopefully he’d still like you if you smelled like a sweaty mess.

You wanted to scream when you finally reached the bottom and out into the crisp cool air. Your lungs are burning as you try to pull in a full breath. You don’t even know how your legs are holding you up, and your head is still spinning like the spirals down from the house.

If you sit down you may never get up again.

Each step was both lighter and heavier at the same time. Lighter because you were closer and closer to being with your mate, heavier because of the sisters you were leaving behind.

Once you reached the place Lucien had sent you to, you waited, leaning up against one of the trees, closing your eyes and wiping your brow. You tucked the cloak tighter around you, the thick canopies above swallowing the night sky, reminding you of the Autumn Court forest, alive and angry.

Lucien appeared out of nowhere, startling you. You had forgotten he could winnow, and he set his sights on you immediately, “We need to hurry.”

You didn’t question him as he held you tightly to his body and winnowed you from the Night Court. This was the winnowing you were comfortable with. Wisps of smoke and golden warmth wrapping you up instead of the darkness nightmares were made from, cold and lethal shoving you between spots in the world.

Lucien helps you from the cape, draping it over his own shoulders as you thank him. He nods to you, then to the male behind you who’s presence turns you into jelly.

The younger brother doesn’t say a word, only winnows back to the Night Court on an Autumn breeze.

You turn ever so slowly, heart jumping in your chest as you meet the wicked auburn gaze of your mate.

“Welcome home, (Y/N).”

#eris vanserra x reader #eris #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris/reader #acotar #acomar #acowar #acomaf #azsazz #mate #autumn court

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witchthewriter · 2 years

Photo

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐅𝐞𝐲𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

SFW🌿

⭑ They had been married for many years when they met you. Amren and Nesta had formed a new group for young women that were interested in magic and witchcraft.

⭑ You were eager to join and had grown close to the women. You were taught how to heal, how to defend and attack; physically, emotionally, and mentally.

⭑ Amren was especially interested in your abilities and how well you connected with the materials. Like this is what you were meant to do.

⭑ She would talk her High Lord and Lady about you. It was only in passing; the army could use good medics, as well as the realm.

⭑ I think it would be Feyre’s idea to have a poly relationship and Rhys was a tad hesitant at first, but it was so natural when they met you.

⭑ Like the cauldron had blessed their union with a third mate.

⭑ You got along so well with both of them. Feyre did most of the talking while Rhys sat back, a loose arm around his wife.

⭑ Their children had big days - training, learning, etc. So they didn’t know about you until Rhys and Feyre were sure about you

⭑ Feeling protected at all times - you always felt safe because you were associated with the most powerful people in the realm.

⭑ Feyre loves showing you her art - particularly the paintings that she’s made of you.

⭑ You and Feyre gang up on Rhys a lot; and you have strong opinions that you aren’t afraid of sharing

⭑ Being targeted at one point or another, but the Inner Circle always has your back

⭑ Mor loves you. She loves the idea that Rhys and Feyre brought in another person into their marriage.

⭑ Elain is strongly against it, but after a few years, she would get over it. After all, they have eternity.

⭑ Bonding with Rhys over history, your love for magic, and what he’s done with Velaris.

⭑ Having sad days and you don’t want to get out of bed, so Feyre curls up behind you and strokes your hair, while Rhys flutters about, making you tea and a hot bath.

⭑ Rhys taking you flying

⭑ Date nights are so fricken FUN. Dressing up and going out to dinner, dancing, or going to the cabin ...

⭑ Rhysand orders are very VERY large bed so the three of you can sleep comfortably

⭑ But you usually sleep in the middle with Rhys spooning you and Feyre facing you, her soft breath tickling your face

⭑ You bond with the High Lord and Ladies children, who have grown up at this point. Nyx is the eldest, who understands the dynamic and finds it interesting. But also very weird because duh, it’s his parents.

⭑ Being really good friends with Azriel, Amren, and Nesta. You understand their reserved nature.

⭑ Cassian loves throwing you over his shoulder and Nesta calls out, “YOU BE CAREFUL WITH HER!”

⭑ Feyre is usually the last one to wake up each morning

⭑ Rhys leaning against the doorway, his hands in his pockets and his eyes twinkling, “Hello Beautiful,” he purrs.

⭑ You and Feyre get tipsy together and Rhys comes home and he’s like, “oh god...” while pinching the bridge of his nose. And you both see him and squeal, “Rhyyyysssssss!!! We missed you!” And you both run and jump on him.

⭑ Feyre’s pet names for you are, ‘love,’ ‘my heart,’ ‘honey,’ and ‘sweetheart.’

Relationship Tropes:

Wild Chaotic (Feyre) x Awkward innocent (You) x Calm and Collected (Rhys)

Moon (Rhys) x Eclipse (Feyre) x Sun (You)

Tall (Rhys) x Smol (You) x Slightly Taller than Smol (Feyre)

NSFW🔞 minors dni!

⭑ You would be in the center of a lot of sexual encounters

⭑ Rhys and Feyre had dabbled in nearly every kind of sex over the centuries. So, they were excited to try it with a newcomer

⭑ Feyre was insatiable whenever you were around; her hands finding their way under your shirt, groping your breasts

⭑ They always respect your boundaries and want to hear what you want, what you like, and dislike.

⭑ Standing and Rhys is on your right side, Feyre on your left. They’re both kissing either side of your neck, your shoulders, your chest.

⭑ They never leave you out, or make you feel like you’re the third wheel. You’re the center of attention. They’ve lived with each other for centuries, so now you’re the highlight in their marriage.

⭑ You and Feyre like to get on your knees in front of Rhys and kiss, suck, and lick his cock and balls.

⭑ Rhysand loves sloppy head; where spit, and cum are smeared over your face, dribbling down your chin.

⭑ Nipple play. Both Rhys and Feyre like their nipples pulled and bitten. Especially Feyre.

⭑ Bathing together. Wedged between Feyre’s legs as you clean Rhysand’s wings, she massages your back, while Rhys rubs her knee.

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uukipi · 29 days

Text

ok work pocket sized Rhysand

#i had like three ppl at con ask me if i plan on making a lil sticker of him #so here u go queens #also saw ppl asking in da tags so also here u go #hes so puntable #hes so smug #eats him and chews and spits him out and-#i need to see this man blended #rhys acotar #rhysand #rhysand acotar #pocket sized rhysand #pocket sized rhys #acotar art #acotar #acotar fanart

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asnowfern · 4 months

Text

Til Forever Falls Apart - Chapter 3

Summary: The great kingdom of Ye was not always held captive by Hybern and their three suns. Up until over a year ago, the kingdom still teemed with life but the invaders came with their unholy deal with the heavens and entrapped their lives in an endless cycle of heat waves and forest fires. Faced with the ultimatum to either fight or perish with the world, Feyre agreed to be a spy within the Moonstone Palace. There were just two people she had to look out for: Raven, her ally and fellow spy that she was to assist in the rebellion efforts, and Prince Rhysand, the cruel prince that betrayed their country.

A Chang E/Moon Goddess inspired tale🎑

Read on AO3 | Master List

A/N: LNY might be over but the story is still progressing well! ☀️☀️☀️ Once again, the biggest hug and thanks to my lovely betas, @reverie-tales and @witch-and-her-witcher for the never-ending kind words and encouragement! I love the both of you!💕💕💕

Chapter 3: We are the wolves that swallow the sun

Rally the people. We strike three nights after the wolf swallows the sun.

It was a folded parchment that opened up to less than the size of her palm. The curve of the scrawl was decisive, almost dismissive in the enormity of its content.

Feyre’s eyes darted around, stormy blue searching for any evidence of the spy’s presence in her room. Even though she knew, as always, that there would be none to be found. He knew how to avoid suspicion in more ways than one, as she had bitterly learnt.

She carefully folded back the note, fingers idly tracing along the crease line of the paper. She tucked it deep within the lapels of her plain dark robes, her hand stilling in the robes that she still wore to sleep out of habit. Even though there was no real need to wear them anymore. Not when there were no more night jaunts around the mountain.

A familiar knot twisted in her stomach, sending acidic bile up her throat at the memory of the public execution of the guard. Bloodied beyond recognition, stepping into the gallows with his sister. Even from her spot far into the crowd, the crystal clear sight of streaming tears and terrified eyes would forever haunt her.

It’s time you accepted the new reality we live in.

Licking dry lips, Feyre swallowed heavily. She hastily extracted her hand and pushed aside crimson stained guilt. She redirected her focus back to devising a way to deliver the message — even as the memory of wide, teary eyes that turned glassy and vacant continued to weigh heavily on her mind long after.

***

The content of the note remained a flowing stream in Feyre’s brain for days, blue grey eyes traced the words she had memorised by heart, eroding and reshaping until it was the only thought.

Rally.

Strike.

There was one word missing — as if just a mere mention could curse the entire operation. A word that would have Feyre’s heart beating wildly. The start of an end.

Revolution.

She lowered her gaze to the ground immediately, not wanting to catch the eye of any wandering patrolling soldier for an unnatural display of jubilance.

Feyre fixated her stare at the hem of rough fabric on the gatekeeper. Her hand peeped out with a slightest glimpse of a fair wrist as she passed the man a simple wooden plaque, the dips and grooves etched into its surface denoting her exit pass and her lowly status as a palace maid. She pocketed it a couple of seconds later, her mouth locked in a tight polite smile.

The door creaked open in protest, streaming in harsh light so bright Feyre bit back a hiss. She winced, attempting to adapt to the change in environment.

The gentle creep of orange lanterns were eclipsed by the blazing assault beams of the four suns that presided over Ye. The cool flow of the mountain air overtaken by the oppressing heat waves.

The umbrella spread open over her with a crack. She pulled the brim of her straw hat over her eyes, fingers tugging on the soft cloth covering her face until nothing but silvery blue pupils were all that could be seen. She soon felt the familiar heat radiating off the cracked ground through her slippers. Her lungs tightened, the heavy air no longer something they were accustomed to.

Feyre followed the cracked path out of the mountain, cloaked in the anonymity of the working class. She huffed through the fabric now sticking uncomfortably to her face. Despite it all, a pressure loosened in her chest, facial muscles relaxing as lips curled upwards when the sight of her beloved city came into view.

Her brows furrowed as she walked through its streets. A knot twisted in her belly. People were hunched below straw mats, forcing their bodies to shrink under the paltry cover. Their most treasured possession, the gourd shaped clay bottle, clipped at the belt closed to them. The stink of despondency ruled the air.

How had things gotten so bad in a mere number of weeks?

Feyre took a turn into the alley of master crafts and ducked into the shelter of the upscale tailor. She blinked twice, pupils dilating in adjustment. Her head swivelled around, taking in the rolls and rolls of silk of various shades and beautiful patterns.

To her left, behind the counter, someone cleared their throat, drawing her attention. She whipped her head towards the sound, only to be greeted by an unexpected but definitely welcomed face.

Dark brown hair, a freckle splashed nose, and chocolate eyes that glint in warning as he greeted her, “Welcome, miss. Are you picking up an order?” Play along.

Feyre didn’t hesitate to retrieve a note from her sleeves, unfolding it on the dark surface of mahogany and said in a no-nonsense manner, “Yes, I’m picking up a order from the Moonstone palace on behalf of Lady Amarantha.”

Jurian picked up the paper, humming in feigned satisfaction as he scanned through the contents. “Ah, yes.” He disappeared underneath the countertop, “We expected you days ago.”

She pressed her lips into a line, brows knitted. She had only received the order earlier this morning. What was he driving at?

She racked her brain, replying only after a few belated seconds in what she had hoped to be a humourous and harmless manner, “The order might have gotten detoured along the way. Lady Amarantha has been awfully preoccupied recently,” she wrinkled her nose in distaste, “especially with Prince Rhysand.”

His head popped back up, the muscular triceps of his arms flexing through the loose material of his sleeves to place a large box on the counter with a gentle thud.

He asked lightly as he carefully took out the elegant folded robes, “Prince Rhysand, huh? I heard they are close.”

Feyre swallowed back a grimace at the convergence of two of the most feared people under the mountain. “Yeah, they seem to have gotten even closer since the escape of the two prisoners.”

She looked pointedly at the rebel leader who levelled a stern look at her. Don’t go there.

She raised a brow. Make me.

He tutted and lifted his hand away from the paper wrapping to rest it dramatically on his chest, “Terrible incident that was. The city was on lockdown for days. Practically every house was raided.”

Her heart picked up a beat, her saliva turning tacky as she forced out evenly, “Was anyone taken in for questioning?”

Blue grey eyes told a different story, shining desperately. My sisters?

Jurian’s face softened in understanding. “There was some rough housing at the Archerons just as there were at a few other homes but nobody was hurt and the soldiers always left soon after.”

Her eyes squeezed tightly in relief and she exhaled with a shuddering breath. “I’m glad.”

He stacked the last of the wrapped clothes and pushed it towards her across the table, flashing her a warm, reassuring smile. “Here’s the order for Lady Amarantha. Always a pleasure doing business with the palace.”

She took the package from him, subtly sliding the note from Raven into his waiting palm underneath. “Likewise, mister.”

With a final nod at the not-quite shopkeeper, Feyre inhaled deeply before stepping back out of the shop, her eyes narrowed into slits to direct her sight at the sandy floor and avoid the blinding light. It was only when the signature crack of a horse carriage sounded from behind in warning that she made to shuffle to the side, her head raised slightly and noticed the young child squatting in the middle, playing and tossing around little stones.

Her limbs surged forward, her mind propelling her with blinders, nothing but a single thought: get the girl out of the way.

The package slipped through her arms as they wrapped around the kid, yanking her snugly into her middle and rolling them away from the path. The carriage didn’t even slow, the gust of wind it generated as it passed them shoved her back, her feet shuffling to maintain balance, her grip tightening around the scruffy girl.

A rock dropped in her stomach and anchored her damningly into an ocean’s floor when she let the kid down with a gentle smile and glanced back out onto the road. She ran over to her fallen trampled package, fingers trembled as she gingerly pulled the fabric out. She traced lines down the torn material for the fitted dresses, her body shivered in anticipation.

And to think she had been so careful to avoid the “Amarantha orientation.”

***

Feyre couldn’t help the pathetic whimper that escaped her as a cracking whip inflicted liquid fire ran down her back. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her nails digging deeply into her own arms, drawing blood — an ant bite compared to the agony growing in her back. Her body flinched at the sound of the next crack, in awful anticipation of the next stroke to split tender skin.

A silky drawl pulled her away from the all-consuming pain, “Oh, Amarantha. I didn’t realise you had other activities going on.”

She unwittingly lifted her head just an inch. Just enough for blue grey eyes to meet violet. Just enough that she caught a glimpse of icy fury that overtook violet eyes and flashed dangerously. She didn’t question what her pain-addled brain might or might not have concocted. With her petite frame still keeled over where she remained prostrated to the lady of the palace, her lips shaped into a silent desperate plea. Help.

The redheaded lady surveyed her long nails with cool detachment, the gold and turquoise detailing of her acrylic nail extension glittered in the interior light. Her pitiless black gaze lit up in amusement. “Rhysand,” she purred, “Please, join me. We have just started.”

The prince blinked and the gleam in his eyes dissolved into indifference. The smooth hem of the prince’s robe swished past Feyre, his slow yet graceful movements were a blessed reprieve. He settled into the armchair next to Amarantha, raising his hand to summon a plate of delicate confectioneries.

Dread coiled within her, there was no help to be found. She shifted her gaze back to the cold, hard rock floors.

The guard next to her raised his punishing device and sent it flying towards her once more. The strike on her already torn back rendered her unable to hold back pained cries. Not that it mattered to the two nobles carrying out casual conversation, the sound of their chatter rising above its tortured counterpart.

“Oh, the clumsy thing,” the lady tutted, condescension and disdain leaking with every word, “she had the nerve to tear up my newly tailored dresses. Imagine that! One of them is worth at least a year of her salary.” Her cruel smile could be heard rather than seen, “A whip for every month’s pay seemed to be the most logical exchange.”

There was a crunch of nuts with the cool reply. “Indeed, it’s so hard to find good help these days.”

Tears rolled down her face the next time the thick leathered coil hit her back.

“I’m bored,” There was a shuffling of heavy fabric falling to the ground as the prince proclaimed with heavy intent, “Amarantha, finish up and come find me after. We have affairs to discuss.”

The Hybern official lifted a hand to command the guard, “Hold.” Picking up the folded paper fan from the outstretched hand of one of her attending ladies, she flicked it open, covering a portion of their faces as she whispered into Prince Rhysand’s ear.

Prince Rhysand gave a brief nod before he walked away from Lady Amarantha, his lips curled in disgust for a brief second.

It was with sweet merciful relief that Amarantha ended the punishment without any further strikes and let Feyre get dragged back to her room. Her will folded in an instant as she draped herself over her bed, the entirety of her front pressed into its firm surface. She allowed her heavy eyelids to fall closed and the darkness to swallow her whole.

***

She drifted in and out of consciousness, eyelids at a constant flutter. At first, alternating between quiet bliss and scorching burn. But even that small mercy was taken away as the torment started to seep in like water through dense soil.

Night had fallen and held her room in its dark grasp when she next opened her eyes. Feyre rounded her back to prop herself on her elbows, groaning as her muscles screamed in protest at the movement. Shakily, she reached for the pitcher of water on the table.

Unreliable muscles gave way and sent her crashing towards the ground, only to be stopped by strong arms that wound carefully around her — holding her front firmly while avoiding pressure on her back.

“Careful there,” he murmured.

Her traitorous heart stuttered at the familiar baritone voice. “Raven?”

The spy didn’t reply, opting to lift her gently back on the bed. He slid the stiff pillow beneath her armpits, rolled up towels just below her breasts and beneath her waist so that the entirety of her back was elevated.

“I am going to cut your clothes open now.” Raven announced flatly, the signature clicks of scissors bounced around the room.

“W-wait,” she weakly protested even as the scissors smoothly slid along the length of the fabric. The slicing stopped immediately.

With a different type of heat blossoming over her cheeks, she remained silent, acutely aware of the large hand that still remained at her side.

“Feyre? Is everything alright? Did I hurt you?” He asked in audible alarm.

“Feyre?” He repeated in slight bemusement when he realised she hadn’t said anything.

Feyre huffed despite the pain it sent spiralling through her, embarrassed by her reaction, “Just do what you have to.”

The spy emitted a sigh as if the sight of the red marks splashed across her back pained him just as much as it did her, and the scissors glided along her back once again. She whimpered as he peeled the sticky cotton away from the coagulated wound. His hands never shook or wavered, a quiet but gentle strength that applied salve and wrapped clean bandages around her torso. The double agent murmured soft apologies and soothing encouragement whenever she hissed at the contact.

“Thank you,” she muttered in relief after her wounds had been wrapped up, the pain now much more muted beneath snug bandaged covers.

“Shhh, I’m not done.” A mild amusement laced through his voice.

She stiffened for a moment when thick fingers began to skillfully release the multiple pins holding her hair up and send matted curls cascading down her sides. A splash of water and a warm towel began wiping her hair, careful fingers skillfully teasing out the knots.

Feyre felt a tension in her release with each untangled knot. The next sound that escaped her mouth was no longer a whimper or a hiss but a content sigh.

“Relax,” the spy murmured, his hand sliding skillfully through tresses to rub at her neck.

Feyre did the opposite, stiffening at the sensation. “You don’t have to—”

“I don’t have to do anything.” He cut in sharply, “but I want to. So just keep quiet and relax.”

Raven was quick to stifle any further noise of protest climbing up her throat, moving skilled fingers to press into the corded muscle of her neck and elicit another relieved breath.

She should still be mad, still angry. At him for manipulating her, at her own naivety to assume her actions would have no consequences.

But just for tonight where her back was torn apart and comforting hands combed through tangled curls and glided smoothly over tired neck and shoulders, she couldn’t find the strength to pick up the anger and resentment. She found herself melting into the pillow instead, helpless against the ministrations.

“I’m still upset,” she grumbled, the tone petulant even to her.

“So be angry with me,” he agreed easily, his fingers in a constant motion, weaving locks into a simple braid, “I did what needed to be done but it didn't get easier. Or maybe, it shouldn’t get easier.” The last tortured word was a drop into the ocean, a self-reminder perhaps. Or a secret confession? She wasn’t sure.

Feyre expected the seasoned spy to make his move after his fingers made a parting reluctant caress and secured her hair into an easy braid, but he remained still, a hovering presence.

She twisted slightly, hissing at the movement, and asserted quietly, “There is always another way. It’s up to us to find it.”

The demonic mask jerked away, the moment shattered, splintered glass falling down. Raven said harshly, “There is no more us. You should leave the palace. Take your sisters and head west to the Illyrian camps. You’ll be safe there.”

“Leave?” She asked, her mind unwittingly drawing up the contents of the note once more. “And you?”

“The plans are already set in motion.” He drew himself to full height, brushing his hands along the neat lines in the front of his robes. “You should leave while you can.”

Her lips pursed into a line at the dismissive tone. “You’re not answering me.”

“There is nothing else for you to do here.”

Despite the burn that each move revived, she pushed herself off the bed to sit upright to meet the black mask head on. She challenged, echoing his words, “And when the wolf swallows the suns? Is that the day the tide turns? Where we take back what we are owed?”

“The palace will be a bloodbath, Feyre. Until Cassian and Azriel succeed in taking over the city and storming the palace, this place will be nothing more than a battlefield. It’s not,” he shot out, full of agitation, before taking a breath as if he needed the moment to collect himself, “it’s not what you signed up for.”

Feyre snapped.

“I signed up to fight against Hybern, to drive them back to whatever hellhole they spawned from! Exactly what I’ve been doing since the day they conquered Ye!” She jabbed a long index finger at him, chest heaving. “So don’t treat me like a child.”

She held his gaze unwaveringly. “I can help. Let me stay and fight with you.”

The beat stretched between them, then the mask sucked in a breath.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

***

The bandages loosened and dropped into its usual mess at her waist, tacky with the hours old salve. She gathered it aside and stood in front of her desk. Using her handheld mirror sat in the heart of her outstretched palm, she bent her knees in varying degrees trying to catch a glimpse of the status of her back in the letter-sized mirror propped on her table.

The criss-crossed lines had scabbed over with significantly less red inflammation. The skin was tight, the telltale healing itch crawling like ants around her back.

It had been mere days, all too fast for her to have recovered so much, and there was no doubt in Feyre’s mind that this was largely due to the salve stored in the shallow cylindrical container fancier than anything in this room. A healing salve that exceeded the capabilities of anything one could find on the open market.

She tried not to dwell on it: the salve or the man who first applied it on her.

After awkwardly but gingerly wiping down her back, she refreshed the wound with a fresh application of balm and a new set of bandages. Shrugging on her robes and neatly tying the knots of the cord around her waist, Feyre noted her much improved back mobility and left the room.

Servants were typically allowed no more than two days of bedrest after receiving a corporal punishment. However, the work responsibilities would unofficially be lighter for at least a week — a sort of solidarity amongst the peasants who were nothing more than cogs in the machine.

It was with this privilege that Feyre could have the luxury to squat over the wash area, relishing the refreshing sensation of cool water travelling from the bamboo tubes to her opened palms to her cheeks, in the middle of the afternoon.

She hummed contently as she raised the water pooled in her palms to her lips. The thud of the bamboo tubes swinging from one to another with the weight of the travelling liquid was a warm rounded noise, pleasant to the ears.

Then a spark of movement from her peripheral ensnared her attention. A snaking manoeuvre in the corner of the cavern that felt distinctly familiar.

She maintained the minute distance between her mouth and her palms, her face hidden by her hands. Subconsciously, the maid crouched lower so that she remained out of sight, her frame hidden behind the water conveyance system. Stormy blue eyes tracked the action until they widened as she registered the all too recognisable cut of aristocratic lines on beautiful brown skin.

While still dressed in dark silks, the robes he wore today clung to his body, fitted to give its wearer better mobility. The prince had a bow slung over his chest, a quiver of arrows was secured around his shoulders. Shrewd violet eyes gave the space one last look over before he slipped away.

It was none of her business, really. As a wearer of the crown, the heaven blessed royal could behave in any way he wanted and nobody would or could question him for it.

Still, this meant nothing to Feyre as her palms relaxed to let clear water splash back into the large receptacle and she followed after the prince. Keeping a healthy distance between the both of them, she curved herself and melted into the shadows of the dips and divots of the rocky surface that she now knew intimately.

Rhysand led her through a long tunnel that Feyre vaguely recalled wound to the upper caves out of the mountain. Up and up they climbed. So single minded in her focus to escape notice that she pushed away other thoughts, including the nagging feeling that she was missing something important.

Then she spotted Rhysand slide a dark shimmering cloth over his eyes, drew back the bow and sent an arrow flying towards the blinding sun. The image was a striking blow in her mind.

Raven?

Rhysand?

Raven.

Rhysand.

Could Rhysand be Raven?

With the prince’s face obscured, even by nothing more than the flimsy fabric, there was no denying her gut that demanded her to recall the same muscular silhouette, the same way he moved through the tunnels earlier, the same wordless power he commanded.

But it couldn’t be, could it?

Even as self-preservation demanded her to stay hidden, Feyre felt her limbs stretched to reach out to the prince (or spy?) as he collapsed onto his knees, arms visibly shaking in effort to get back up on his feet.

A pressure closed around her throat as she saw how the tremors ran through his body when he pulled back the bow once more, lightning blue crackling around him. She breathed with him only when the second arrow speared through the sky once more, now in a different direction.

Lightning split down the sky through the prince and the bow clankered against the ground, taking its archer with it.

To hell with it.

Feyre moved frantically, muscles acting on their own accord, too late to halt his crash to the ground.

“Rhysand!” She cried out, decorum thrown off the cliff edge they were on, shaking his spasming body into her lap.

A low groan escaped him, eyelids fluttered beneath the clothed surface. “Feyre?”

Her stomach lurched at the distinctly familiar lilt. “I’m here.”

Rhysand closed an iron grip around her arm and despite her sputters, continued to tug on her sleeve sharply in a bid to pull himself up. He explained in between pants, “All three suns need to be down or all of this will be for nothing.”

His now upright chest rose and fell rapidly, his body still racked with spasms. He barely managed to draw back the bowstring when more lightning blue sparked from the bow and into his body. A guttural growl escaped his throat, muscle feathering at his jaw.

“You can’t,” she whispered in dreaded realisation, watching as more sizzling energy swirled around him, a sickening singe of smoke filled the air.

Sure enough, the bow clankered against the ground once more, next to the unconscious prince.

Her heart thundered, pounding drum beats in her ears. But gently, gingerly, Feyre pried the bow from his hands and untied the sash from his face. His brows were creased, frantic micromovements of eyeballs fluttered long, dark lashes and bellied his distress.

She shifted her gaze to the weapon, fingers tracing lightly over the archaic symbols etched into the hard yew surface of its limbs.

Drawing the final arrow that laid on the ground, she darkened her world under shimmering fabric, astounded at how it transformed into the sparkling outlines of the suns above.

With a shuddering breath, Feyre released the bowstring and sent the third arrow spiralling towards the sky.

A/N: Soooo the cat's out of the bag👀

#feysand #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #til forever falls apart #loosely based on the Legend of Chang E

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readychilledwine · 11 months

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Cassian Week Day 2 Prompt Gentle-

A/N: Cassian has My heart, but I rarely can write him as a love interest the way some people so amazingly can. When I think of Cassian, I think of my older brother. A kind, loving, and gentle person who, due to his larger size, was cast into this role of a dominating force, and Cassian embraced it. "Gentle" is my absolute favorite prompt from this week, and I had planned to keep this to myself, but I have so many little fics and drabbles already locked away that I wanted to make sure anyone else who sees Cassian as the safe big brother also had something to read.. So enjoy 💜

Warnings- implied injury and unedited (you know the best warning)

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Reader is the youngest Archeron sister, and after being made, has begged Rhysand to allow her to have combat training. Hand to hand doesn't go as planned, though, when Azriel gets asked to spar her so Cassian can watch and take notes on her progress.

—----------

Your back hit the training mat with a loud thud. All you could do was blink the shock from your system as Cassian ran over to your side separating you from Azriel. The loud cough and gasp you released as your body screamed for oxygen had you rolling to your side.

"What the fuck, Az?" Cassian was in shock. His voice was muffled to your ears as you tried to focus on calming the burning sensation in your lungs.

"She was doing so well, I just-" Azriel sighed at the look Cassian shot him, "I got caught up in thinking it was someone more experienced. I thought she could handle it." Azriel's own guilt hit you instantly as he watched you curl up on the ground. "Y/N, I am so sorry. I didn-"

"We haven't even begun to discuss what to do when someone is about to throw you or slam you down. She has only trained for a few weeks, Azriel." Cassian moved to you, kneeling on one knee at your side as your body continued to try to breathe through the pain in rushed pants. "Y/n, are you okay?" Cassian's rough hands braced your neck softly as he sat you up and leaned you against his thigh. "Arms above your head, baby. You knocked her breath straight out of her." Cassian moved you again, trying to stop you from decompressing your chest and stomach, "Next time, push your body weight the opposite way he is throwing, y/n. Do not let Azriel rag doll you." Azriel scoffed at the comment, kneeling down next to you on the other side and holding your hand in his.

Cassian pulled you in closer to him with a glare. He was softly rubbing his hand up and down your spine slowly to coach you into deep breaths. "Breathe sweetheart, you're okay. In through your nose, out through your mouth. There we go, just like that." Cassian smiled brightly at you as your breathing became more regular. "Rhys and Nesta are going to kill you." He looked at Azriel with a serious expression. "Ness already is upset we are forcing her to train. She might actually steal a knife and stab you."

Azriel sighed deeply. "That would get Nesta out of her room at least." They both watched as you cracked the smallest smile before leaning into Cassian more. "I think she's done for today. That will leave a nasty bruise. I'll have one of the twins go to the room to rub salve on it."

Cassian nodded in agreement. Your eyes met the upset ones of another male as Cassian began to speak again. "I'll carry you up to your room, y/n. Az, can you clean up here? I want to talk her through what she did well and wrong. Y/n, Please don't tell Rhys about this.."

"He already knows," you whispered softly before pointing to the doorway where your sister's husband stood. His hands were tucked into his pockets as he studied the scene before him. Anger graced his face as he took in your disheveled, messy braid of dark brown hair, your red face, and your soft pants from being unable to take a full breath yet. Cassian chuckled lowly while looking between Rhys and Azriel. "Be nice, Rhys. I asked. It was-"

"I told Cassian to train you," the high lord said sternly. "Strictly for this reason. Now I get to tell Feyre you were hurt tonight when we speak."

Azriel was the first to turn as Cassian gently picked you up, supporting your knees with one of his arms. "Let's go get you a bath, princess," he whispered gently into your ear. "They're about to fight and it might get ugly. Our dear Rhysie has some pent up anger that he does not want to admit to, and Azriel is always more than happy to fight him."

You nodded, arms going around his neck so you could tuck yourself further into his chest. "Why did he want you to train me?"

"I would never throw you this early. Soft gentle movements until you have more experience, more balance, better strength. Az didn't want to baby you. Rhysand and I did. Because. Well. You are the baby." His voice was soft as he reached the room you and Azriel had begun to share since being made.

He continued after opening the door. "Azriel felt that was unnecessary. That you were capable and babying you after you begged us to ensure you never felt helpless again was unfair."

"And he won because of the bond?" Cassian nodded to the question as he set you down on the bed and Sat beside you.

"We compromised. I told him I would train you with progress updates every two weeks where he was involved. That is why he was there today. To spar you while I watched to see what I needed to fix, what we could progress on. I will be talking to him, though. You were not ready for that level of hand to hand. He needs to be more gentle with my baby sister."

Cassian's hand continued rubbing up and down your back as he held you. "Your footing was wonderful. You have made so much progress in the past couple of weeks. Feyre would be proud." He smiled down at you, then switched to a serious face, "You had a few strikes we need to work on, and we need to teach you how to get out of a few holds again. You did very well, though. I am very happy with your progress."

You smiled against his chest. "It must be the good, gentle teacher."

Cassian hummed as he placed a kiss on your head and pulled you in for another warm hug. "Or the aggressive dedicated student."

#cassian acotar #cassianappreciationweek2023 #cassianxplatonic!reader #cassian x reader #day 2: gentle

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b00kdiary · 1 year

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Wildest Dreams (III)

ACOTAR The Batboys x Plus size reader

Where the reader finds herself gaining the attention of the most notorious males in Prythian and it seems that even her wildest dreams couldn't prepare her for the night they would share.

Notes: This has Rhys, Cassian and Azriel with a plus-size reader since I literally couldn't decide who it should be and thought that the best fantasy in the world would be all three :) Here's to all my thick, fat, plus-size girlies who want some bat-boy love too xo

Warning: mature themes (18 +) swearing, body-image issues, smut and the bat boys being utterly infatuated with their thick, beautiful lady

Part I Part II Part IV

“This is where you live?” I muttered, my eyes scouring my surroundings in disbelief.

I lifted my eyes to the right, meeting Rhysand’s gaze, my brain forcing me to not focus on his hand trailing aimlessly at the nape of my back. He smiled, shrugging modestly as he nodded as if this wasn’t the most extravagant yet cosy home I’d ever seen.

“It’s beautiful,” I said softly, turning back to the ornate red-carpet and wood-panelled walls. The males remained silent behind me, allowing me to take in the room and I glanced back, trying not to overwhelm myself as realisation set in.

The realisation that I was here alone with these three males.

Rhysand had winnowed us all here after I had accepted their invitations, using his Daemati skills to tell Sadie where I was going- I could still see the shit-eating grin she gave me from across the floor as we left.

I had felt exhilarated after saying yes, exhilarated and needy as my words seemed to ignite a fire within them too, as if they envisioned the night ahead we’d share. And yet, now that I stood here, alone, unprepared, uncertain with them before me, that confidence dwindled into ashes.

They seemed to notice it too, their body language easy and unthreatening as they stood before me.

Rhysand stood tall, hands tucked into the pockets of his pants, eyes soft and patient upon me. My gaze travelled to Cassian who sat on the arm of the sofa, a warm smile playing on his lips at my stare. And then finally my eyes moved to the left, where Azriel stood, arms folded, back leaned against the wall, watching me as keenly as I watched them.

I tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ears as the silence lingered on and I couldn’t help the way my fingers fiddled and pulled, knowing that this was not the kind of interaction they were used to.

We all stood too far away and wore way too much clothing.

Rhysand huffed a breathy laugh and my eyes drew from their haze as I looked at him, my cheeks heating at the knowing smile he wore, amusement and interest dancing in the shine of his purple eyes.

“Would you like a drink?” Azriel suddenly asked, his voice quiet. I paused, not expecting the question but I nodded slowly, smiling timidly in acknowledgement of my nerves.

“Yes, I would, if it’s not an issue,” I said, trying to even out the shaking in my voice as I spoke. Azriel nodded, pushing off the wall and began moving towards me, to the room in the back.

“Why don’t we all go? I could do with a drink and getting to know Y/N darling better” Rhysand spoke, and I felt a rush of relief flow over me at the words. My eyes met his, and from the small nod and quirked smile, I knew he was doing this for my benefit.

“My Lady” Cassian smirked, walking toward me and hooking out an elbow for me to take. I giggled, slipping my arm through the loop, and nestling myself up against the hard, strong muscles and warm skin.

“Well, thank you, Lord Cassian” I winked and he chuckled, his head throwing back, momentarily revealing the strong column of his throat. I tried to not make my stare obvious as he began leading me through the adjoining doors into a room with a large oak table.

Azriel had brought out a bottle of red wine and began setting down four glasses, filling them all up swiftly. I observed him as he moved, so graceful with his shadows dancing around him, and he somehow managed to look beautiful even while doing a task as menial as pouring drinks.

Noticing our entrance, he smiled and began to walk over, his feet ever silent as he stopped, handing me a glass. I took it, whispering a thank you and as my fingers passed him I felt the scars and roughness brush against my own.

I paused, brows furrowing as I looked down at his hand, still outstretched.

I had heard rumours of the Shadowsinger’s burns and yet from the severe scarring it seemed that whatever he had endured was far more horrific than any gossip had detailed.

Azriel didn’t move as I stared at his hands and I didn’t allow myself to appear disgusted or pitiful or anything of the sort. Instead, I reached out my shaky hand and traced a soft line of my fingers over the back of his hand and down his fingers, following the jagged and red scarring.

He shivered, so small it was almost imperceptible but I felt it, and as I raised my eyes and locked them with his I felt a small whoosh of air escape his lungs as if he had been holding it in this entire time.

There was little to be said, nothing that could ease that wound so I smiled, a smile that was genuine enough that I knew he could see the words unspoken in it, see it in my eyes as I watched him. He didn’t reply, merely nodding his head, a small tint now staining his structured cheeks and a smile tilting at the corner of his mouth.

We pulled away from one another, and as Azriel turned back towards the table, I noticed that Cassian and Rhysand had already taken their seats. Rhysand sat at the head of the table, his body leaned back and thighs outstretched with Cassian before him on his right and Azriel taking a seat on the left.

I inhaled deeply, gripping the glass tightly in my hand, conscious not to shatter it from the butterflies swarming in my stomach. I walked silently, intending to sit at the chair beside either Cassian or Azriel but as I moved past Rhysand, his hand gripped mine, his fingers curling gently around my wrist.

I turned, surprised and I chuckled lightly at the smirk that lined his lips.

“Yes, Rhysand?” I asked, quirking my brow up at him and he smirked fiendishly, tugging my hand to pull me toward him.

“I fear I cannot bear to part with you darling” He muttered, purple eyes shining with mischief and teasing as he dragged me over to him.

I rolled my eyes, as I got closer to him, my thighs brushing his “I’m sure you’ll manage-“

I gasped out in shock as he pulled me onto him, his hands swiftly snaking around my hips to settle me on his thigh. I gawked as my hand instinctively flew to his shoulder and it was a miracle that my wine didn’t go flying over him.

“Much better,” He said simply, grinning as I stared at him in bewilderment before taking a casual sip of the wine in his hand.

I heard the amused snickers of both Cassian and Azriel and as my eyes moved to them they flashed wolfish smiles at me, eyes raking over how I sat on Rhysand’s right thigh, my arms clutching onto him for support and my thighs clamped shut.

I was as rigid as a board and I’m sure I looked ridiculous.

I glanced down nervously at Rhysand’s thigh, my body tense against the powerful, thick muscles contorted under me. He didn’t appear to be struggling under my weight and barely seemed to acknowledge me at all.

Rhysand merely sat there, smirking, sipping from the glass in his left hand while the right was wrapped around my waist, his long fingers drawing faint circles against the material just under my breast.

I shivered at the touch, so casual and smooth and yet, it ignited a fire and need within me.

“Are you-“ I breathed, turning my head to fully look at Rhysand, who raised a brow at me “Are you sure I’m not hurting you?”

I started snapping my head back at Cassian laughing, loud and bellowing and my heart plummeted into my stomach like a stone in the sea. I grimaced, my face burning with embarrassment and suddenly I wanted the ground to swallow me up and spit me out somewhere that wasn’t there.

“I’m sorry” Cassian snickered, clutching his chest and I tried to hide the burning in my eyes “Rhys may be smaller than me, but even I can tell that he’s held swords heavier than you.” I paused at his words, my breath stalling as confusion filled me and I looked up quickly at the general.

“Honestly angel,” Cassian said, his face softening “Surely, you don’t think that Rhysand’s that weak?”

The words were quipped jokingly and I felt Rhys shake under me, laughing lightly, Azriel’s lips shifting too. I almost did laugh, but I shook my head, solemn as I looked down at the glass in my hands suddenly finding the liquor more interesting.

“The males I’ve been with…” I paused, a small bitter scoff escaping me and I knew I didn’t need to continue. There was a silence after my words, a silence strong enough that I could hear my heartbeat in my chest.

Why did I say that?

I heard a glass clink against the table, and then a hand was at my chin gently tilting my head up to meet with a familiar sky of purple. I saw the sincerity and resolve in Rhysand’s face as he watched me, that hand now caressing against my cheek soothingly.

“Those males were assholes” He started simply, and my brows rose at how gravelled his tone was. “For any man to see you, to have the honour of being with you and not treating you with the respect and reverence you deserve, he is no real male.”

My breath stuttered as I stared, so captivated by his words, by his eyes and I could not stop how my body seemed to melt against him, seemed to fall into his comfort and warmth.

“Y/N you are many things, intelligent, funny, loyal, kind,” He said, listing off all the things that he had gathered in the last few hours since we had met, and those words lit my heart. “But you’re also utterly beautiful, and perhaps few have said it, perhaps they’ve said otherwise.”

His eyes sparked, dark and dangerous as he saw my expression drop, and saw exactly what males had said to me before. I would have felt embarrassed, and humiliated by that truth if not for how adamantly his eyes sparked in denial.

“But I can speak for myself, and my brothers when I say that we appreciate every inch of you, we desire every inch of you and even if you cannot understand it, it doesn’t cease to be true.” His words became almost as soft as a whisper, and when his eyes lowered to my lips, lowered and flashed with want, I knew exactly what I wanted too.

And I would not hesitate to take it.

I moved with surety, simply placing the glass of wine on the table before turning, my head shifting forward and to the side as I brushed a sweet and needy kiss against Rhysand’s lips. He sighed, a content exhale as his hand cupped my cheek and his lips moved against mine with more resolve.

It was gentle yet consuming, the kind of kiss that made my head spin and my body utterly numb. I was overwhelmed by the feeling of his lips against mine, his tongue sweeping teasingly and his hands caressing me, holding me like a lifeline.

I could faintly taste the sweetness of the wine on his tongue and I moaned quietly, my body shivering at the deep groan that reverberated in Rhysand’s chest in response. My fingers grip the fabric of his shirt tighter as his tongue fans over mine, and his hand digs possessively into my waist, trapping me against his chest.

My brain was beginning to fog over, and my body igniting with need and pleasure as Rhysand slowly pulled away, his teeth dragging across my bottom lip as he did so, eliciting a gasping mewl from my lips.

I fluttered my eyes open, flustered and breathless as I met Rhysand’s gaze and I felt a deep unrelenting shiver rush over me at the thrill I saw in his eyes.

I bit my lip, the realisation that Cassian and Azriel watched us drawing me back to reality and I felt guilt riddle me that I wasn’t being fair with my attention. I drew back slightly, shifting to maybe move to Cassian or Azriel but Rhysand’s arm tightened like an iron grip around me.

“Your brothers are going to think you’re being greedy, High Lord” I purred as I looked back over my shoulder and Rhysand’s deep, low laugh in reply made me feel dizzy.

“I don’t know, they seem like they’re enjoying themselves” Rhysand shrugged and instinctively my head turned forward, eyes shifting to the two silent, immovable males before me. They sat, eyes dark, smirks feral and I could smell the arousal and desire in the air as they kept their gazes locked upon me.

“In fact” Rhysand continued and I could hear the smile in his voice, “I think they might even have some pointers.”

I blinked, my brows furrowing in confusion but I slowly understand what he meant as I felt Rhysand begin kissing against my neck, wet and sucking against the skin there. I huffed a breath, my eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he closed his lips and flattened his tongue against a soft spot.

“Keep your eyes on us sweetheart” Azriel muttered, his voice clouded and the authority behind it made me quickly bat them open again, a blush tinting my cheeks at the approving smirk he gave in response.

Rhysand continued kissing his way down the curve of my neck and as he settled my back against his chest I sighed, my chest rising and falling heavily at the feeling of his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.

His hands began to wander, playful, careless glides of his finger over my sides, up and down my thigh kneading the flesh there, between and under my breasts, everywhere but the places I needed him.

“Rhysand” I groaned, sneering in annoyance as yet against his fingers trailed over my breast skimming the sensitive and pebbled nipple, but he didn’t stay there for long.

He laughed, kissing my collarbone and my back arched as his hands trailed high up to the apex of my thighs.

And stopped.

I groaned, growling low in my throat as my annoyed scowl flickered to the smirking, arrogant High Lord under me. He blinked, raising his brow in a challenge and I couldn’t help how my thighs clenched in response.

“Rhysand’s being very mean,” Cassian tsked, chuckling and as my eyes flicked to his he grinned, licking his lips as he leaned forward to rest his arms on his knees. “Give our angel what she wants.”

“And what’s that?” Rhysand asked, his voice dripping with faux innocence, his nose brushing the length of my throat. I bit my lip, holding back my gasp even as my cheeks began to heat with embarrassment.

“She wants you to touch her,” Azriel said quietly, hypnotically “She wants you to really touch her.”

My breaths began to stutter as Rhysand’s right hand grazed under my breast and he began tracing one long-ringed finger over my breast and across my nipple, visible through my dress.

I exhaled harshly, watching as he traced circles around the sensitive bud, his touch going from barely there to firmer. The room was silent as his hand moved up and he cupped my breast in his large hand, his fingers pinching my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

A moan slipped from my lips as he tugged, a content smile gracing his face as my body began to shiver slightly under the ministrations of his hands at my breast.

“Is that better, angel?” Cassian cooed, his hand coming up to rub at his face, his eyes unable to leave the hand that cupped me. I breathed out as Rhysand’s fingers played with my other nipple, rolling the bud in deft circles.

“No,” Azriel said, a knowing glint in his eyes as he cocked his head “It’s not enough, is it sweetheart?”

I swallowed once, my eyes captivated by his gaze and despite how hot my face felt, I shook my head in agreement, revelling in the smirk Azriel gave me.

“No?” Rhysand asked, his voice whispered against my ear.

I bit my lip in anticipation as his hand left my chest and slowly, so tauntingly slow, began descending my stomach. He drew casual and lazy circles against the flesh of my stomach as he glided lower, and I wasn’t sure if I was more breathless at the fact he was touching my stomach or that he was getting closer to where I needed him most.

He paused at the slit at the side of my dress, revealing the skin at my thigh and if moved, the underwear I wore beneath.

“Here?” He breathed, biting the lobe of my ear gently when I didn’t respond. I watched his hand, watched with desperation as it stroked near the seam of that slit and rested there.

“More” I pleaded, not caring how desperate I sounded.

“Tsk” Azriel shook his head, enjoying my pleas “Such a needy girl.”

“She is a needy girl” Rhysand agreed, his fingers slipping under the dress for a second before stroking back out again. I sighed, screwing my eyes shut in a mixture of pleasure and frustration, my body wound so tight, I could barely think.

“Come on, look at her” Cassian sighed, impatience lining his handsome face. “Give her what she wants… what she needs Rhys.”

Rhysand cocked his head and I glanced at him, nearly pouting at the taunting smirk he threw at me. But my body settled, melting as his hand slipped completely under the dress and cupped right against my clothed cunt.

“Fuck” He growled, slipping into an uncontained sort of provocation as the palm of his hand pressed against me. I moaned quietly, and his body trembled under me “So fucking wet.”

I didn’t hesitate to shift my position as Rhysand’s other hand guided me to spread my thighs, so that one lay sprawled over his thigh, exposing my simple black thong to Cassian and Azriel. Nerves bubbled in my stomach at the vulnerability but as they stared, infatuated and as Rhysand ran his fingers over the slit, my mind went blissfully blank.

It seemed that no one had the patience for mocking anymore, not as Rhysand’s hand lifted and traced over the band of my underwear.

“May I?” He asked quietly, nuzzling into the curve of my neck affectionately.

“Please” I whispered.

He groaned low in his throat as he slipped those deft fingers passed the material and into my thong.

I inhaled as he ran a finger over me, the rough callouses of his battle-trained hands rubbing against my most sensitive part eliciting breathy moans from my lips. Rhys exhaled deeply, his eyes blazing as he ran two fingers down, collecting the wetness there.

“Rhys” I sighed and I felt pure male satisfaction from him as he messily rubbed my wetness up against my aching clit.

“Fuck” I heard Cassian groan, his voice husky with appreciation and I blinked my heavy eyes open, my body lighting as the two males intently watched me, their eyes glued to the spot between my legs and Rhysand’s hand slowly circling within.

“Faster” Azriel commanded, his face hard and eyes unmoving I arched my back and screwed my eyes as Rhysand followed his words, two fingers rubbing swift circles against my clit.

I writhed, unable to keep my eyes open as pleasure rocked through me, my hips grinding back and forth as I ride Rhysand’s fingers, his lips at my neck encouraging and indulgent. His pace is firm and steady, rubbing against a spot that has my thighs clenching from how good it feels.

“Cauldron, Rhys I can’t-“ I whimper, my head now back against his shoulder, one hand gripping the material of my dress while the other dug my nails into Rhysand’s forearm.

“That’s it” He praised gruffly, his other hand coming up tugging at my sensitive nipples.

“I think she’s close Rhysand” Cassian mused and I could hear the pleased grin on his lips.

“Are you darling?” He asked, his fingers never stopping, his body pressing me unbelievably close to him as he muttered hoarsely against my ear. “Are you close?”

My legs began to tremble as that familiar chord within me tightened and my breathing began stuttering out as I shook my head, my lips parting to say yes but my brain was too fogged over for any words to leave my mouth.

My lips gaped open again and I felt that chord within me snap as Rhysand’s fingers shifted a little to the left. I gasped, moaning and writhing, my hips bucking as pleasure and release coursed through me like a tidal wave. Rhys hummed in approval, his fingers continuing their punishing pace against me.

“Look at how good she looks, moaning while she comes all over your hand brother,” Azriel said, and the dirty words had my back arching and hands fisting as I rode through the pleasure sparking through me.

I exhaled and inhaled sharply, my chest rising and falling as Rhysand’s fingers slowed, guiding me through my high before eventually stopping. I tried to even out my breathing, focusing on the smooth feel of Rhysand’s wet fingers now on the skin of my thigh and I slowly blinked my eyes open, lifting my groggy head from his shoulder as I did so.

My face was flushed and my body still trembled from the aftermath of Rhysand’s touch as my eyes locked with a grinning Cassian, a more subdued but satisfied Azriel and then back to Rhysand, who lifted his lips in a gratified lazy smirk.

“You look pretty worn out darling” Rhysand noted, smug and smirking and I rolled my eyes at his male satisfaction, even if he was in fact right.

“Sure you can handle two more Illyrian males tonight?” He cocked his head and images appeared inside my mind again.

Cassian, his hands gripping my waist as he wrapped his lips around my nipples, teeth tugging against the hard flesh. And then of Azriel, on his knees before me, head between my thighs, scarred hands holding down my flailing hips.

I shivered as the promised images dissolved and reality came flooding back, Rhysand’s filthy and seductive grin rippling over me like electricity.

I smiled softly, turning my gaze to Cassian and Azriel, both of whom looked on the edge of their seats, bursting with restraint and appetite.

“It’ll take more than that to burn me out,” I shrugged, raising my brow at them in a challenge.

And I felt my toes curl in anticipation as both their eyes lit with fire and they smirked.

_____________________________________

@queenofangrymoths @satellitesunshine @highlady-ofillyria @ladespedidas @illyrian-dreamer @magical-mischief-makers @lyracarvahall @ummmmmwat @eerievixen @bitchyinternetinfluencer @meritxellao @rachelnicolee @fanfictioniseverything @queen-of-arda @magdalenka @bunnymallowo @azzydaddy

#acotar #sjmaas #azriel acotar #rhysand #cassian acotar #azriel x reader #cassian x reader #rhysand x reader #acotar smut #plus size reader #rhys x reader #bat boys x reader #smut

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fieldofdaisiies · 4 months

Text

Strokes of Fate | pt. 1

paring: Feyre x Rhysand | type: angst | words: 3,4k words | warnings: none | masterlist

"You see what the painting looks like, right?" Rhys huffs loudly, flashing his best friends an incredulous look over his shoulder. The CEO's stands in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, his hands in the pockets of his pants, shoulders slightly slouched, expression incredulous.

Rain drops cascade down the glass, the coming storm mirroring the whirlwind brewing inside of him. The painting was a present, but—

"It reminds me of a pile of trash," Cassian, his best friend, hollers and tilts his head to the side to examine the painting again. His eyes narrow and he brings up a hand, folding three fingers over his mouth.

"It could also be two plastic bags…filled with trash," Azriel adds, fighting the urge to laugh.

Rhysand flips both of them off when he finally fully turns to them. "Idiots," he grumbles but when his eyes land upon the painting he has to agree with their descriptions. The figures on the painting could truly be mistaken for trash. He has absolutely no idea what the three objects should even display, but he truly hopes his friend didn't try to paint him, Az and Cass and rather aimed for something abstract.

Cassian lounges comfortably on the plush couch, legs crossed at the ankles, Azriel next to him in an armchair, both chuckling at the awfulness that graces the wall behind Rhysand's desk.

"You know, I truly appreciate all kind of art, " Rhysand says, turning slightly to look at the painting once again, then back to his friends. His voice carries a tone of bemusement, tinged with a hint of annoyance. "But this... piece of art looks like someone let loose a child with a crayon and then called it a masterpiece."

Cassian chuckles, the sound a welcome relief in the otherwise gloomy atmosphere. "Well, she isn't the tallest…one could sometimes mistake her for a child. I am sure her pants are child-sized."

Azriel cackles, but the CEO only rolls his eyes at his two idiotic friends.

"What do I do now?" Rhysand turns away from them again, looking at the rain-covered window once more. "How do I get rid of it? And how do I get a good painting for my office instead?"

"What? You don't like the painting Amren made for you?" Morrigan, his cousin, appears on the threshold, red heels eliciting a clicking sound with every step she takes into the office. "I warned you about her artistic talent, but you wouldn't listen."

If someone looked close enough they would have seen that Azriel's breath caught for a small second, a flicker of a moment, but the man quickly turns his attention back to Rhys, waiting for him to answer.

The blond female tosses a pile of papers onto her cousin's desk and grins at him. "It truly looks like a tornado broke loose and whooshed all over the canvas."

"That's also a great description," Cassian quips, air-high-fiving Morrigan who winks at him.

"You need to give her more work to do. She has too much free time and gets bored easily. I am scared she picks up knitting —or worse sewing— next and makes clothes for all of us."

Rhysand throws his cousin a look over his shoulder that speaks volumes. "She has enough work to do…but I assume she gets bored when she is done working, Maybe you should spend more time with her." A gleeful smile graces his handsome face and now Morrigan is the one to flip him off.

"I live with her, Rhys, I already spend all my time with her." Lifting one hand, the female brushes a strand of blond hair over her shoulder, braces her other hand on her hip and then turns to the other two men. She gives them a once over, thinking, and then turns back to Rhys. "I might know someone who could help you."

But Rhysand doesn't deign her a look anymore, eyes focused on a distant point outside. His gaze wanders beyond the droplets, into the city itself. Not much can be seen from up here, but movement still catches his eye.

"She's wonderful, just finished her degree, aiming to become a big artist. She is not new to the branch and has lot of talent, her pieces are wonderful, almost outstanding, and—"

"I doubt she can create a painting for my office. She's probably a street artist doing portraits of people who pass by. I need a real artist. A good one."

"Like Amren," Azriel throws in and earns himself a round of laughter. Not from Rhys. He isn't laughing, his face stays stern, annoyed. "Very funny," he comments.

"You are impossible!" Mor huffs dramatically. "She is amazing, Rhys," she insists, "not a street artist, well she might be now, but she will be great and well-known in a few years. She has a certain way with the brush, creating magnificent pieces of—"

"Alright, invite her here and we will see about it." Rhys leans forward, eyes furrowed, transfixed on a female figure rushing through the rain towards a narrow alley. It's a deadlock and someone—

"She can't be worse than Amren, can she?" he mumbles, suddenly very unfocused on the conversation.

Someone is following the female figure outside. The rain distorts his sight, his office, elevated and the city below shrouded in darkness, adds to the difficulty of seeing the scene properly. And even though, he doesn't know the figure outside a feeling of unease fills his entire being. It's like an unfamiliar sensation he can't shake off, a pit of unease forming in his stomach.

"You are rude, Rhys," his cousin comments, but he ignores her.

All his attention is on the rushing female outside. And the men following her.

She darts into the alley, disappearing momentarily from view. Rhys's mind races, assessing the situation, the potential risks. His heartbeat quickens, and he himself is surprised about this reaction.

The city outside his window is drenched in rain, no people are around who can help her.

His gaze moves to the watch on his wrist - 7:07. It is already dark outside, one of the wonders of autumn.

He hesitates for a moment, torn between staying in the warm confines of his office and the prospect of later climbing into his car, now parked in the carpark of his company, and then safely and soundly driving home, or—

Something about the situation gnaws at him, urging him to take action, urging him to move.

He turns from the window, quickly, and with a swift movement, grabs his coat. "One second," he tells his best friends, his cousin, not giving them room to ask for where he is going.

He dashes out of his office, ditching the elevator that would take too long to arrive, taking the stairs instead, two steps at a time.

Outside, the rain pours down on him, soaking through his clothes within seconds. But he covers his face with his hand, shielding his vision from the rain. Rhys hurdles towards the alleyway, his heart pounding in his chest, rapidly.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

"You know how he is." Feyre slumps against the door with a loud and terribly annoyed sigh. "He won't ever let go. He is so persistent and he can't accept that I moved on."

"Classic Tamlin, I would say," Ressian chuckles and tosses her damp brush, the one she had just washed out and cleaned of colour, at Feyre. "I never understood why you got with him in the first place. He always seemed a little…strange." Ressina presses her lips in a thin line, watching Feyre closely.

Feyre shrugs a shoulder, after having casually dodged the brush that came flying at her. "He was nice at the beginning," she says matter-of-factly.

Ressian fights the urge to roll her eyes because she never liked Tamlin that much.

Feyre shrugs again. "Whatever, I'll juts turn my phone off until tomorrow morning…maybe he'll get the memo. "Grabbing her bag, Feyre swings it over her shoulder, then shoves her phone into the outer pocket and grabs her pencil case (the one that does not fit into the bag) and a few spare sketch books (that also don't fit into her bag).

But Ressina stops her, holding up a hand. "Don't you dare turn off your phone until you are home! It's dark outside already. New York City is dangerous, baby."

"Danger means nothing to me," Feyre says with a chuckle, but there is gratitude in her eyes.

Ressina cares about her, and the young artist knows this. She will keep her phone on, and also close to her so in case of an emergency she can reach for it. But she doubts she will need it. She has walked the way home to her flat many times - also at night.

A frown appears on her friend's face and she lifts her hand, to show Feyre a vulgar gesture for so bluntly ignoring her worry.

"I will be safe, Sina. Thank you for caring and worrying about me." Feyre smiles. And reluctantly, Ressian returns the smile. "That's what friends are for, right?" She grabs her own coat of the hanger. "Text me when you get home, so I can sleep in peace."

Feyre bows her head and with her heart warming at the wonderful friend she has found leaves the studio.

The art gallery's doors close behind her with a creak, and the young artist is immediately enveloped in the damp, and cool evening air of New York City. Cars honk everywhere, streetlights draw shadows across the large building and despite the smell of fuel in the air, Feyre draws in a deep inhale.

The rain leaves a soft sheen of water on the streets and Feyre groans audibly - she is wearing her new Converse after all and they are not made for wet streets. The weather forecast didn't tell her about rain, but then…she hadn't checked it so she couldn't have known.

It is just bad luck, she concludes. Just like her failed relationship with Tamlin, heir to the Springer company and now her ex-boyfriend. That was also a whole lot of bad luck.

Feyre, holding her sketchbooks as tightly and closely as possible, hoping to shield them from the drizzle, takes one small step after the other, her feet still somehow walking fast.

Her hair is dampened by the rain, and she clutches the sketchbooks even tighter when a car drives past her. She hurries through the dimly lit alleys, her shoes sounding against the wet pavement.

She just wants to get home. As quick as possible. And…only to go out again.

She has to go out again later. She needs to get groceries. For her ill father. And probably also Elain, her older sister, who looks after their father. With Nesta at the dance academy four hours away, the two of them are left with dealing with their ill father. Feyre is incredibly happy that Elain does all the taking care of him, and she only has to go shopping for their food, but right now she just wants to fall into bed and zone out for the day. The day has been stressful enough.

"No way," Feyre huffs under her breath when she feels how the rain intensifies, tiny droplets falling onto her head and running down her face. She pulls her coat tighter, over her sketchbooks, her breath forming small clouds in the chilly air.

The sounds of shuffling from other pedestrians heading to their homes or wherever they are going, is only interrupted by her ragged breaths and the occasional honk of a car. Soon, Feyre thinks. Soon I am in my home. And soon I will leave it again…What a mess.

She doesn't allow herself to think further about it. To think about leaving her cosy home again.

The rain-slicked streets of New York reflect the glow of the city and under different circumstances Feyre would marvel at them, try to remember them so she could paint them later. Not today. Not when the sky is emptying itself on top of her. She hurries along, her steps quickening with every passing block. Her arms strain under the weight of all her stuff, hoping not too much water will get on it. But since the raindrops already soak through her coat, her hope that her sketches will be safe is slowly fading.

Out of the blue, Feyre catches movement in the corner of her eye. It is different to the other people passing by (the few who also have no other choice than walking in the rain) or the cars driving by.

A prickling sensation skitters down her spine, her instincts suddenly on high alert. Something is amiss.

Brave as she is, Feyre casts a glance over her shoulder, squinting through the watery veil that restricts her vision. Her breath catches in her throat - amidst the raindrops she makes out three shadowy figures. They are too close and don't look like they mean well.

Her heart beats faster, the rush of blood pounding in her ears louder than the drumming rain. But her vision doesn't fool her. She can see what is behind her: three men. And they are coming her way.

Panic surges within her, and she forces herself to move faster, the urgency to escape propelling her over the sidewalk, away from the danger. She quickens her pace, the echoes of her steps ricocheting off the walls of the looming buildings.

But the men stay behind her, close to her. They’re gaining on her. She doesn't even allow herself to think about what they could possibly want from her.

Everything about this situation is unnerving. These men following her. And running in the rain - she has to be careful, she can't be too fast, it could be dangerous. She doesn't see quite well with the sheet of rain covering her vision. She might collide with something which would not be beneficial for her escape either.

And then. "Fuck!" Feyre shudders. The alleyway ahead is a dead end.

She halts, her chest heaving, her eyes wide with terror as the footsteps behind her draw nearer. Her thoughts race, heart beating in her throat. She clutches her things tightly, fighting the urge to scream. It would be useless anyway. No one would hear her. And even if someone did, she doubts anyone would help. That's how people are, she has come to learn.

Three figures emerge from the mist, bodies and faces drenched in rain.

"Stay away from me!" Feyre snaps, her voice not half as steady and strong as she hoped it would be.

They ignore her. “If you have any money on you, hand it over,” one of them demands.

She trembles, her breath hitching. She would give them all her money only for them to leave her alone. With trembling hands, she moves her stuff under her arm, trying to open her bag and fish for her purse.

The rain continues to fall, getting stronger by the minute, drowning out all the other noises. She occasionally lifts her gaze, making sure they don't move closer.

"Faster!" one man shouts. "Or should we make you?" He looks almost nervous.

Feyre's heart is racing. She can't find her purse. She simply can't find. Did she forget it in the studio? It wouldn't be the first time. They ordered food and—

Panic gnaws on her, terror making the contents of her stomach sour. She has no idea what these men are capable of. How much they need the money. To what lengths they would go to get it. The damn purse must be somewhere, Feyre thinks, but it—

"There you are. I've been looking for you." The sudden, deep, sensual male voice startles her. She whips her head up, blinking her eyes rapidly against the rain wetting her face.

A tall man, drenched in rain, steps out of the shadows of the entry to the alley, having surprised not only Feyre but also the three men. "I hope these men are not causing you any trouble, my darling?"

He casually moves past the men, the downpour of rain drenching him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He slips a casual arm around her shoulders and even through the rain Feyre can see how the three men pale.

"I was waiting for you at the car." He turns his attention to the men then. "Thank you for finding her for me," her saviour says to them, smooth and polished. "I mean, that is what you have been doing right?" His voice is so terribly calm. "You may leave now, unless there's anything you want to say."

There is enough of a bite in his last words that the men stiffen.

Silent threats, Feyre thinks, the worst kind of threats. But the men are foolish, don't leave straight away and suddenly the anger is not so silent anymore.

"Get out of here! Now. And if one of you ever dares to follow and scare my wife ever again, I will personally send you to hell."

Without further comment, they scuttle back into the rain, outside the alley.

Feyre, her heart pounding against her ribcage, steps out of the shelter of her saviour's arm and turns to thank him, but she stops dead in her tracks.

Standing before her the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. "Are you alright?" he asks, voice much softer now. Gentler.

He brushes his broad hand over his head, smoothing his wet strands of hair out of his face.

Feyre is too stunned to speak. Too shocked about the situation. Too careful to yet fully trust the man. Her saviour.

"I—I." Feyre struggles to find her voice. Normally men don’t evoke this sort of reaction in her, but his presence, what he has done for her, and his scent of sea salt and citrus that even reaches her through the rain, render her speechless.

"I—"

She is about to open her mouth to thank him when he beats her to it. "You're welcome," he says. "For saving you."

Saviour or not, she bristles at his arrogance and retreats another step. Tendrils of breath are visible in front of her face when she clears her throat. "I was about to thank you."

The man inclines his head, a small smile on his in raindrops-covered face. "Allow me to give you a ride home."

"Thank you but no." Feyre grabs her things tighter and makes to move past him. She wants to go home now. She only wants to fall into her bed. This days has been too much. He saved her, and she is grateful, but their ways are parting here.

"Please, allow me to take you home. Just a ride, I don’t expect anything—"

"Oh, I will hope so. I should have known that you are just like every men. Pretty face, old money clothes, and—whatever." If she had a free hand she would wave him off. Her words don't even make sense, but probably he just like any other man. Now offering to take her home and when they arrive at her place he expects her to take him upstairs and thank him for saving her.

She shoves past him. "Thank you, really, but I am a big girl, I can take care of myself. Good night, stranger."

It’s not in her nature to be mean, but the day has drained her. She is not in the mood to talk to him any longer. Yes, he saved her and with his violet eyes and the dark hair, he is very easy on the eyes. But Feyre is not in the mood. To talk. To have him drive her home. To spend time with a man. She is tired of men. Especially after her last relationship.

She wants to sleep and that is it. And that is the only thing she wants to do this evening. No talking. No thinking. No being in a stranger's car. She only wants to be in her bed, warm and cosy.

She doesn’t even give the stranger a chance to ask her again, the last please muffled due to the heavy rain, the next one not audible any more because she is already out of ear-shot, heart still racing inside her chest.

tags: @girlinglass999 @autumndreaming7 @a-frog-with-a-laptop@honeysuckle-daydreams13 @thelovelymadone

#feysand #rhysand #feyre archeron #acotar #acosf #feysand au

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