#The feathered familiar {Rhys} | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shadowdaddies · 6 months

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Omgomg-

Can you do an Az x Summer Court reader with soft, white, feathered wings where she's like cleaning her feathers(a very intimate act) and Az walks in, there's some flustered blushing and whatnot, and then he offers to help and they clean their wings together??

OMG this is so cute I'm cryin 😭 I had so much fun with this, you're the best and ily thank you for the request angel!!!💜

Wings of Desire

Azriel x Reader

Sent on mission by Tarquin to work with the Night Court on joining your armies with the Illyrians, Rhysand had allowed you to visit the camps with his spymaster. After a long day of observing training, the both of you flew to where you would be staying while in Illyria. You followed Azriel, landing in front of a small cabin on the far northern border of Prythian. You weren’t even sure if you were still on the continent anymore, shivering at the cold unlike that which you’d ever experienced.

Born in the Summer Court, the heavy snow during Night Court winters was unfamiliar to you, and made flying difficult. Unlike the Illyrians’ wings, which were bare and ideal for flight in freezing temperatures, the delicate feathers of your bone white wings abhorred the cold.

The stiffness in your wings spread throughout your body, teeth chattering as you forced your legs through the snow to the open door Azriel held for you, an amused smile playing on his lips. Cauldron, those beautiful lips. Your eyes trailed from those lips, down his body as the spymaster heaved in breaths. You were glad to see you weren’t the only one tired from the flight.

As soon as you made it through the doorway, heat seeped into you, a deep comfort settling over your bones. You turned to Azriel, that same smile tugging at his mouth as he seemingly read your thoughts. “Magic. Rhys keeps the place a comfortable temperature, so it’s warm even in the winter.” Enchanted by the unexpected comforts of the cozy cabin, you walked into the kitchen area, taking in the surroundings.

All of the walls of the cabin were painted, five sets of eyes lining the hallway at the top of the stairs. You scowled at the silvery eyes that seemed to follow you, wings twitching behind you at the uncomfortable feeling, until you reached a familiar set of hazel eyes at the end. A soft smile graced your features, suddenly feeling safe under the watchful eye of Azriel.

You turned to question the spymaster about the artwork when a cup of hot chocolate appeared on the counter in front of you. Gasping, you jumped back and collided with the shadowsinger. A rare, soft laugh escaped his lips, and you felt as though you might melt at the sound. Scarred hands gently grabbed your arms, helping stand you upright as he leaned over you and grabbed the cup to place in your hands. “The cabin is sentient, so it will supply you with whatever you ask, within reason. Or whatever it thinks you need... In this case, hot chocolate.”

You blushed, taking a sip of the warm drink and moaned at the rich taste. Azriel’s eyes were dark as he watched you lick the chocolate from your lips, the spymaster clearing his throat as he quickly looked away from you. Your wings shuddered at his attention, and a wince left you at the movement of the sore muscles beneath.

Shadows curled around Azriel’s own wings, smokey wisps circling his ear as he studied your feathers. “The house will run a bath for you, so you can clean and warm your wings if you wish. Second door on the left.” Almost too distracted by the alluring darkness swirling in front of you, it took a moment to register what Azriel was saying. “Oh, yes. Thank you, Az,” you murmured, setting down the cup as you turned to make your way upstairs for a much needed bath.

Entering the room, you found a spacious bed - something unusual in your court, as most there did not have wings. But you supposed it was a necessity with the large Illyrians who often stayed here - Azriel in particular had the largest set of wings you had seen on anyone.

Stripping down, you padded into the bathroom where dim faelights lit the area. A bath was already filled, lavender aromas drifting from the steamy waters of the tub. You giggled, feeling gleeful as you skipped over to the tub and sank beneath the surface. You let out a quiet moan at the feeling, your tired muscles finally rewarded after a long day.

You looked around the tub, searching for anything to use to clean your wings. Because they were feathers, you had to use a long handle to brush between them when you bathed. As Illyrians had bare wings, you should have assumed that they would not have such difficulty washing their own wings. You huffed out a frustrated breath, attempting to reach over your shoulder in awkward angles to find the remaining dirt and snow that had worked its way in your wings.

A knock sounded on the bathroom door, Azriel calling out to you. “Hey, I felt a tu- I felt like you might need something. Is everything okay in there?” Your eyes welled with frustrated tears, humiliated that the Night Court spymaster should find you like this. “Everything is fine, Az. I’ll be okay.” You choked on the last word, and Azriel swore under his breath as he kicked the door open.

“Something is wrong. Please tell me how I can help, or I won’t be able to sleep,” he said, looking everywhere around the room except at you. A small laugh escaped you at his attempt at chivalry. “You can look at me, Az. I’m not shy. I just can’t reach the dirt on my wings.” A sniffle sounded through the air as you looked at the shadowsinger, whose gaze was only fixed on your dirty, crumpled wings as you trembled in the tub. He swallowed, more nervous than you had ever seen him as Azriel whispered, “I can help you. If- if that is okay.”

You nodded without hesitation. The social taboos of how intimate touching wings was didn’t matter to you in that moment, as you were desperate for Azriel’s healing touch. The shadowsinger nodded, moving behind the tub as he awkwardly reached towards your wings. “Um, how should I-?”

You turned around, unable to stop your laughter at the Night Court’s spymaster hunched over the edge of a bathtub. “You can get in, Azriel. No offense, but you could use a bath too,” you teased, wrinkling your nose for dramatic effect. He scoffed, his weight shifting between his feet as he considered. “Okay,” Az murmured, looking at you to turn around before he undressed.

You rolled your eyes at the nearly six hundred year old male’s shyness, but turned around anyway, scooting towards the other end of the tub to make room for him. You silently marveled at how large the bathtub was as well, another luxury you were not used to. Your thoughts were interrupted by the water moving as Azriel silently entered the bath.

Clearing his throat, he asked, “so, how is the best way to wash them?” You smiled to yourself before handing him a rag. “Just anywhere that you see dirt, if you could use the washcloth or your hands - whatever is easiest - to wipe it away. It usually gets stuck higher up and between feathers.”

You heard his deep inhale from behind as he brought the washcloth over your wings, biting your lip to keep from moaning at the feeling. After awhile of Azriel using the washcloth, he whispered in a shaky voice, “I think I need to use my hands to get the rest.” You nodded your consent, peeking over your shoulder to see the focused male with his brow furrowed as he lathered soap on his scarred hands. This time when his hands made contact with your wings, you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped you.

He pulled back quickly, eyes and shadows wildly searching for any sign of harm. “Are you okay? I’m so sor-“ You cut him off with a breathy laugh. “No, Az, it’s fine. They’re just... sensitive. I’m not hurt.” You promised, looking into those hazel eyes as you swore to him. Azriel nodded, continuing his work with even softer care now, you biting your li until it bled to keep your moans from frightening him away.

“Okay, they’re looking beautiful and pristine as ever,” Azriel announced after awhile, one finger skirting the outside of your right wing as he spoke. You huffed a thank you, both relieved and heartbroken that it was over, when it dawned on you. “Do... you need help with your wings, Azriel?”

It was quiet for a moment, the question weighing heavy in the air before Azriel responded, “yes, I would greatly appreciate that.” The both of you turned around, his broad wings on display for you in the tub as he now faced the other edge. You gently washed his wings - admittedly much easier and faster than your own. He was silent the whole time - except for when you brushed a large vein on his left wing - one groan sounding from him that you kindly ignored. It was an unspoken understanding that neither of you would admit, that Azriel did not need help washing his wings. But something in your chest called you to him, to care for him in the most intimate of ways.

While you dragged it out for as long as you could, the bathwater eventually grew colder and Azriel’s wings could not be much cleaner. The two of you accepted that the moment was over, exiting the bath as you donned your towels. Azriel picked up his leathers, slowly making his way towards the door when you blurted out, “stop.”

He slowly turned, eyeing you cautiously while you scrambled to find a reason for him to stay. “I - um, I don’t know the area as well as you, obviously... Would you mind staying in here tonight? The bed has plenty of room.” With a deep breath, you admitted, “I would feel safer with you.” Azriel smiled at you, a glowing feeling tugging in your chest at the sight as he made his way towards your bed, settling under the covers.

Part 2 | Part 3

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utterlyazriel · 4 months

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whom the shadows sing for —(and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: eek not a request but an idea that wouldn't leave me alone! thus... we embark on a mulan-esque story that i hope u will enjoy <3 big thank you's to @strangerstilinski who listened and helped immensely as i whittled a hunky idea down to a plot

word count: 2.9k

synopsis: Someone in the Illryians Mountains has been making a name for themselves— a bastard like Azriel and his brothers, ruffling the feathers of a war camp's Lords. But they seem to have no loyalty to the fighting legion, or much to anyone for that matter. fem!reader

— CHAPTER ONE :: STRANGERS

Frost was everywhere.

Despite all the eerie memories that tainted them, the Illyrian Mountains were hauntingly beautiful, even Azriel could admit that.

Pine trees stretched up tall, their timber trunks hidden beneath the snow-leaden branches. It was a sea of swirling frost. Snowflakes eddied down from the frozen sky, a soft blanket of white draped across the landscape.

He was sure that some, maybe the likes of Feyre and her artist's eye, could see that beauty easier than he could.

Beautiful, Azriel thought bitterly, but fucking freezing.

Normally, dealing with the likes of the war camps that riddled these mountains was left to Cassian. He had that raucous, fiery way about him that was far better suited to it. Enough pride to challenge the warriors and more than enough eager attitude to back his taunts if need be.

But Cassian was currently very much occupied— and highly unsuited to crack the whip against some rowdy Illyrians in his current state.

Azriel couldn't help the smile at the thought of when he'd last seen his brother.

Freshly mated Cassian looked as though he had tiny hearts circling around his head at all times. He resembled a puppy following his nose, always that wicked grin on his face as he trailed after Nesta. His adoration was impossible to miss.

Cassian had more than earned the time off. He deserved to celebrate properly, to have a couple weeks with no badgering worries, with no bickering Illyrian warriors to deal with (beyond his usual two).

So, as a mating gift to his brother —and partially to escape a house filled with intolerably mated couples— Azriel had taken over his duty temporarily. To oversee the war camps he detested so much.

Today, he was to investigate the rumoured stirrings amongst the camps and assess the level of threat it posed. More often than not, these sorts of stirrings were simply whispers of rebellion but nothing more.

There was an easy fix; a visit from one of the most powerful Illyrian warriors in history, or even from Rhys himself. It always made the Illyrians a little nervous and those whispers of a coup would sweep away with the wind in a matter of time.

This time, however, the network of spies that operated under Azriel had not come back spinning such rumours.

Instead, there was talk of Lords with ruffled feathers. Lords with bruised egos due to a single bastard warrior, rising in the ranks and not playing by the rules.

The familiarity of the situation was almost too ironic, Azriel thought. He had half a mind to tell Rhys what he had learned and leave them to it. Cauldron knew these brutal camps needed a bastard to challenge their ways from time to time.

But still, there was always the potential for such a warrior to pose a threat in the future. Azriel could not leave a possible danger to brew. No stone left unturned.

The snow beneath his boots was beginning to melt.

He had been standing in the cold and peering up at the war camp ahead, barely seen through the heavy snow falling, for too long now. Snow was gathering on his wings, tendrils of ice shooting through their sensitive membrane. Find the bastard.

Shaking off the snow, he began to walk.

—

Gods forsaken males and their egos.

The bone in your forearm ached, having taken the brunt of your initial fall in the mud. It's covered in it too, the muck of the ground that always seemed to linger. Always a layer of dirt beneath your fingernails. Truly, one of the many incredible appeals of the Illyrian mountains was never actually being clean.

You'd probably hate it more— if it didn't do such a good job of masking unwanted scents.

But right now with a jagged cut that tears up your left arm, all the way to the elbow, you're cursing the mud. It's likely festering with uncountable grim diseases. You'll have to flush the wound to properly clean it before it begins to heal.

That means water. That means energy that you don't particularly feel like summoning to fetch it. You cast your glance to the window.

Outside, the Mother's Kiss howls loudly.

The southerly chilled wind current that Illyrians don such a precious name is quite fitting for their backward ways — to expect a kiss from your mother to have such a sting on the face.

Tonight, the current seems particularly fierce. The windows of your shelter rattle in warning. A storm had blown through camp rather unexpectedly and you'd caught the worst of it, tangled up in a snarling fest against Brudam.

Brudam, who is responsible for the current state of your arm. Your lip curls at the mere thought of the arrogant male. Your wings bunch up tightly and you huff quietly to nobody.

He'd caught wind of the broth you had made that had filled the stomach of three ravenous bastards in the camp. It had been just enough to keep them on their feet. Tonight, you know that one hot meal might very well be the difference that helps them survive the night.

But Illyrians are a tough breed— and they don't take kindly to people giving handouts, as Brudam had put it.

You preferred the term leveling the playing field.

As if Brudam and his Lord father had ever experienced to ache of starvation. Ever had to sleep in the snow with nothing but their own wings for warmth against a blizzard.

Another deep pain twinges in your arm and you hiss, drawn out of your thoughts. If you have to pick your wins, you can at least admit you're glad he had only found out about the broth— and had seemed none the wiser to the healing tonics you were slipping the freshly-clipped girls.

It ached to see them and their quivering wings. The way the muscles in their backs buckled when they tried to spread their wings, a cut too deep into the wrong nerve. It ached to see it, yes, but beneath that pain was an ocean of bitter and furious fire.

But your righteous anger would not help these girls.

You were not the most proficient healer and the tonics you were attempting... it was hard to say if they would make any difference in saving any females' wings.

You were gathering knowledge as best you could though, scraping together herbs that scarcely grew in the frozen climate. It was a poor imitation of something that might work.

Whether it would be enough... that was up to the Mother. But you had to try.

You assess the wound on your arm once more, wondering about the reserve of water you had in your small hut— whether you could both clean your wound and have enough to hydrate.

Another glance out at the wintry snowscape outside. You grimaced. If you didn't, you would have to bear the blistering chill of the Mother's Kiss to get more.

Weariness weighs on your bones. You hadn't been prepared for the fight, hence your almost embarrassing injury, and it drained you more than you expected.

You stand with a sigh and drag your feet toward the tiny cauldron filled with melted snow collected earlier in the day. It hangs over the fireplace, the embers within long since snuffed out. Your motion stirs them up.

For a moment, you stare into the fireplace. The water in the cauldron shimmers. The shelter creaks around you, bending in the wind.

It's covered in soot, marred by the flames that usually lick it from beneath it. The lip of it, however, is still clean enough to see your own reflection. You peer into it.

And in that reflection, you find a tall figure with massive wings looming above their shoulders standing behind you.

Your heart spasms in shock and you have to swallow your gasp of surprise. Your eyes dart up, frantically hunting for a weapon. You grab the closest object you can, your hand closing around a kitchen fork. And before they get the chance, you twist and lunge, arm raised.

The floorboards groan as your boots slam into them, darting forward to attack. But the male dodges you easily, your strike passing through empty air.

You don't stop, turning and striking for him once again. The male sways back again easily to avoid your swing and you scowl.

Quickly feigning one way, you watch as his hands, weaponless, move to defend his gut — and you change direction, fast. Neck exposed, you snarl as you sink the fork deep into his shoulder.

The male hisses in pain.

You falter for a moment at the noise but it's a mistake. His hands move so fast you barely see them, gripping your wrist that holds the fork and twisting it down to the ground, immobilising you from using it.

You snarl again and tug against him fruitlessly. A swell of panic begins to rise within you as you tug again, again, again. His hold doesn't falter.

"Stop," The male commands you quietly.

This time when you tug, he opens his fingers and you fly back onto your ass, wings flaring out a moment too late to catch yourself.

You expect him to trudge forward, to beat an attack down on you now that you're less defended, but he doesn't move from his spot.

In fact, you realise as you stare at him, cheat heaving, he hasn't attacked you at all.

His weapons, which there are many of them, stay strapped to his side, glittering against the snow's reflected light. You spot the siphon on his hand, a churning sapphire colour — and clock the matching one on his other hand.

This was not just any Illyrian warrior in your home.

Faintly, your panic subsides as you realise that if this male meant to hurt you —to kill you— he very well could have done so by now.

You let your eyes trail up, taking in the face so hidden in shadow, and recognize that the darkness swirling around him is not ordinary shadow.

The revelation has you sitting up a bit straighter, the bindings around your chest pulling tight. You swallow, your throat suddenly dry.

What do you say to one of the most powerful Illyrian warriors in history —one who served on Rhysand's inner circle, friend of the High Lord of the Night Court— when you've just stabbed him with a fork?

As if your thought had reminded him, the male —Azriel, you know his name to be— shifts and reaches for the utensil still sticking out of his shoulder. He yanks it out without a noise of complaint.

Then he says, "Considering your choice of weapon, it's no surprise Brudam cut up your arm."

You scowl at him but at a closer look, you can see that his expression isn't condescending. No, with his raised brows, he almost looks... impressed.

"I wasn't expecting visitors." You bite back defensively.

Azriel's eyes dance with amusement. He throws the fork onto your table with a clatter. "That's how you greet visitors?"

"Uninvited ones, yes."

His amusement fades, the planes of his face shadowed and yet still handsome. Like most Illyrians, there's this incomprehensible sense of elegance to him, an alluring pull tied to his very demeanor.

But looking at him now, even in the dimness of your shelter, you could see Azriel went beyond to type of beauty that usual Illyrians had. An unparalleled grace, an unmatched Adonis.

He is the most beautiful male you had ever seen—and you had just stabbed him with a fork.

"Sorry," You mutter eventually when he doesn't say anything.

You shift onto your knees to stand, your hand coming to cup beneath your elbow— the ache of the injury had begun to bleed back in now that you weren't focused on fighting off an intruder.

"You're forgiven." He says. You can see lightly, through the dimming light, the faint blood on his neck you've caused.

"You fight well," He comments, with the air of a compliment. Something like amusement is in his eyes when he says, "Even with your unusual choice of weapon."

You glare at him as you climb to your feet and all but collapse into a chair. You don't even have another to offer to him. Buried beneath your leathers, your chest aches in pain — a reminder that it's been bound for far too long. You ignore it and tilt your chin towards him.

"Why are you here?"

You're actually sure that even if you offered Azriel a chair he wouldn't take it, given how stiffly he stands before you. He takes a moment to answer, his gaze flitting around the small room you both stand in. Calculating, categorizing.

"There were rumours of a warrior turning up trouble here."

He fixes his hazel-eyed gaze on you. You steel yourself beneath it. "A couple days in your camp and it became clear who the outlier was."

A couple days? For some reason, you can't believe that he's been surveying this place without detection from anyone. Another glance at his shadows, the dark masses that hang around his shoulders, and you can believe it a little more.

Besides, it's hardly as though the Lords would deign to tell a bastard like you anything important.

You clench your jaw but don't say anything.

"Brudam mentioned you feeding some warriors." Azriel continues, his tone unreadable. Though something, you couldn't tell what, glittered in his eyes. "Not very in the spirit of Illyrians."

You scowl at him again. Even if he had once faced these conditions before, you wondered if his time away, spent Cauldron knows where, had softened his memory.

"It's not against any law."

"No, it isn't," Azriel says. His eyes narrow. "But making healing tonics without a Healer's jurisdiction and selling them to young females is."

Your heart stops for just a moment. How could he know that? The last batch you had dropped off had been over a month ago.

Without thinking you snarl back, "I'm not selling them, you prick."

Something blooms on Azriel's face, surprise and a hint of smugness.

Your mouth snaps shut as you realise what you've done. You curse yourself. Slumping back in your chair, your wings sag with you and you let them droop onto the floor, uncaring. He could very well be here to kill you, given the knowledge of what you had just admitted.

For a long moment, there's just silence.

You stare at the floor and wonder which version of the High Lord is true; the Court of Nightmares whose power ripples through these camps and keeps them in line. Or the rumours of a softer side, a dreamer.

You wonder, more importantly, which of those this male before you is friends with.

Something in the floor creaks when Azriel finally moves. He crosses the room swiftly to the fireplace and gathers two logs from the stack of firewood beside it, tossing them onto the pile of ash.

You watch, perturbed, as he hunches over the fireplace for a quiet minute— and when he pulls back, a small flame is burning on the wood. It dances on the log, entrancing and amber-coloured.

Heat begins to fill the room. You pick your wings up and stretch them towards it, grateful for how they begin to warm. You hadn't quite realised the extent of your chill until right now.

It's such a kindness that hasn't been shown to you in many years. Surprise and silent gratitude bloom in your chest.

Azriel turns back to face you. You school your surprise away.

"What's your name?" He asks, his voice gruff.

It's been a while since anyone asked that either. Bastard. Mongrel. Imposter. There are a thousand other words that have become your name whilst growing up here.

You can't tell him your name. In the same way you can't tell anyone here your real name without revealing too much about yourself.

So you shorten it and tell him that instead.

Azriel nods. Doesn't repeat it, doesn't blink at your hesitance. Instead, he just says, "Like I said, you fight well. You could be better though."

You frown at the backhanded compliment, something in you sneering at the jab at your fighting skills. Worse, you know he's right.

If you had weapons suited to your size, exercises that focused on your agility more than your brute strength... There's a good reason you have to work twice as hard as every other warrior in camp.

Azriel looks at your arm, no longer bleeding and beginning to stitch itself up. Shit, you really need to clean that first.

"Clean that and get a good night's rest." He orders, not meanly. Then he crosses the space of your shelter in a few paces of his long legs, heading for the door.

"You—" The question dares to come out of you. "You're not going to turn me in?"

Azriel pauses, one hand, one scarred hand you can now see with the fire going, on the door. So, the rumours of that were true.

"No," He says lowly. He sees you staring, and as if on command, the shadows swirling around his shoulders dart down to cover his hands. They and the doorknob in his hand disappear from sight completely.

You evade your eyes back up to his hauntingly beautiful face. His expression is stony, unreadable. He stares at you for a long moment, the dancing fire reflected in his hazel eyes.

"I'm going to train you."

[NEXT PART: ALLIES]

#ahhhh!!! i'm very excited for this one!!#pray i can do it justice !!#azriel #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger x you #azriel fic

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prythianpages · 5 months

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Wanna Be Yours | Rhysand x Reader

Rhysand x Reader | When the Night Court and Dawn Court strike a deal, healers in exchange for Illyrian training, you rush at the opportunity to leave your home. You plan to keep a low profile but upon meeting the High Lord of night, your efforts are futile. He takes an instant liking to you and is set on being yours.

warnings: angst, mentions of blood and injury

a/n: This can be read as a stand alone imagine :) but there will be a part two. once again, we have another mini series inspired by a song: I wanna be yours by the Arctic Monkeys. I love when the guy falls in love with the girl first and I feel like it suits Rhys. This takes place before the events of ACOTAR.

The world awakens to a gentle warmth–a tender kiss from dawn. The stars are like a fading dream, bidding their silent farewell and the first tendrils of sunlight emerge, painting the sky in hues of soft pinks and purples. The world seems to hold its breath and so do you.

It’s so beautiful. The way night surrenders to day. The way that no matter how dark it gets, the sun will rise again. It makes you miss home but you don’t miss what waits for you there.

“You don’t belong here.”

You startle and the world tilts beneath your feet. The edge of the terrace offers a daunting view of the Court of Nightmares–a harsh landscape of rocky mountains that seems to promise a swift but unforgiving descent. A hand grasps your arm, pulling you back from the brink, the force spinning you around until you find sanctuary in a pair of strong arms.

As you lift your head, the world regains its focus, but your breath hitches at the sight before you.

A man, heartbreakingly handsome, captures your gaze. He has sun-kissed skin and short dark hair, reminiscent of a raven’s feather, that frames features that seem almost too perfect to be real. Yet, it’s his eyes that draw you in–a shade of blue so deep it borders on violet. Flecks of silver dance within those celestial irises, mirroring the stars that had bid their farewell earlier. His gaze is intense, sparkling with an allure that feels both familiar and bewitching.

“Breathe, darling.”

His voice, a velvet symphony, wraps around you like the answer to a question you hadn’t even fathomed to think of yet–a revelation that ignites a feeling you can’t quite discern but it stirs the deepest recesses of your heart.

Suddenly, you’re pushing away from the male with a deep exhale as a delicate pink that reflects the sky above you flushes your cheeks.

“y/n!”

Your eyes widen at the sound of your name being called.

“y/n.” The male in front of you repeats to himself and you never thought your name would sound so beautiful as it does in this very moment. His lips curl into a knowing smirk.

Alette, your guide, comes into your view. She bends over slightly as her chest heaves and she catches up with her breath. She turns to the male, bowing her head in acknowledgment. “My High Lord.”

All blood drains from your face and your heart skips a beat. High Lord. You just met the High Lord of the Night Court and embarrassingly so. You contemplate whether it’s too late to bow your head or not but the thought of Alette scolding you for not doing it sooner stops you.

“I see you’ve met one of our new healers.” Alette inclines her head toward your sorry state. “I do apologize for her entering your palace without prior clearance.”

Cauldron boil you. You caught a glimpse of him pressing his lips together, as if suppressing something. Perhaps a scowl, frown or smile–you don’t know– because you're swiftly averting your gaze. You’re too scared to move, not wanting to draw more attention to yourself than you already have.

“Forgive me,” you’re saying as you drop to your knees and bow your head. “I didn't mean to trespass. I felt a little suffocated down there and I had no idea this was your home.”

“Where are you from?”

Panic steals your voice and it’s Alette who answers for you.

“She’s one of the few healers that came from Dawn, my High Lord.”

You sense the weight of his gaze upon you, an intensity that envelops you with an almost overwhelming power. Your throat tightens.

“And what of her skill?”

“The best of this year’s cohort.” Alette replies with no hesitation. There’s a subtle fondness in her voice that makes your heart swell with pride. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed.

“You may rise.” It takes a while for you to register that the High Lord is addressing you until Alette is awkwardly clearing her throat. You blink and rise to your feet but keep your gaze low.

“You’re coming with me.”

You lift your gaze, gaping at his back. Does he—No, there’s no way he can know. The High Lord pauses.

He turns his head over his shoulder and looks at you in an expectant manner. You look at Alette, who nods her head at you, so hesitantly, you follow after him. Your heart races as you hear him tell Alette to pack your things because you won’t be staying in the Court of Nightmares anymore.

Velaris, the city of Starlight, is a breathtaking haven nestled within the Night Court. It’s often referred to as the Court of Dreams. It’s a place of ethereal beauty and enchantment. The stark contrast it presents in comparison to the haunting Court of Nightmares leaves you in awe.

But what strikes you the most is the High Lord of the Night Court–the master of duality. In Hewn City, where the air is always thick with tension, he wears a cold, stoic mask and every calculated step he takes echoes the weight of his stern authority and great power. This is the High Lord you’ve heard of. So when he told you, you’d be joining him in the city of his private residence, you were terrified.

It was a short lived fear because the High Lord you’ve heard of is not the High Lord you’ve come to know over the past couple of weeks. In Velaris, he sheds the shroud of shadows and reveals a different side to him. A softer side. A leader built from genuine warmth and kindness.

You’ve come to understand he has a complex role as High Lord of the Night Court. He is a blend that is both harsh and dangerous, yet undeniably beautiful and remarkable, constantly navigating through the delicate balance of power and compassion.

There is one unchanging thread that weaves through both cities. A thread of charismatic arrogance. He carries it effortlessly, employing it in a charming grace. One that he directs skillfully, particularly, when he turns the full force of his charm on you. You’d be lying if you said you were immune to it.

Upon your arrival, the High Lord–or Rhysand as he prefers you to call him– introduced you to the city’s healer. Madja. Though you’ve undergone extensive training in your home court, it felt little compared to the years of experience Madja carried with her, leading her to take you under her wing as her apprentice. You were a fast learner and given the nature of Azriel’s–Rhysand’s spymaster– and Cassian’s –Rhysand’s general commander– jobs, you had a lot of practice and challenges to hone your skills.

A tired yawn escapes from you as you navigate the halls of the infirmary to Madja’s study with the intention of wishing her a goodnight before retiring to your room. Your stops falter when your ears pick up on the distinct voices of Cassian and Azriel and suddenly you’re wide awake.

“–was ambushed by dark forces–”

“–never seen so much blood–”

“–I should make haste then–”

“–he only wants y/n–”

Shadows slink out from the corners, momentarily dimming the faelight in your hand in a silent greeting. The voices, once animated, hush and then cease altogether. Madja is the first to emerge from the study, with Azriel and Cassian trailing behind.

"The High Lord requests your presence.”

Not much can unsettle you, given your role as a healer. You’ve tended to a variety of injuries, seen tremendous amounts of spilled blood and have had to navigate through the sorrow of heartbreaking losses. But this. This feels different. This isn’t just anyone. It’s Rhysand. The male, who despite his shameless flirting, has consistently shown nothing but kindness to you. Though the nature of your relationship is uncertain, the mere thought of him being harmed sends a sharp pang through your chest, an ache that transcends the usual clinical detachment you maintain in your profession.

There’s an urgency in your steps as you approach Rhysand’s weak form on the infirmary bed. His body is extremely pale and shivering. A thick layer of sweat clings to his skin. There’s blood everywhere. On the floor, on the bed. It continues to seep out of the wound at his abdomen.

His lids are heavy, laden with exhaustion but he still manages a weary smile when he spots you. “You’re here,” he breathes in surprise, his words carrying a blend of relief and vulnerability.

“I’m here,” you confirm with a reassuring smile as you brush back the dark tendrils of his hair from his face. Though your touch is gentle, the lines on his face seem to deepen.

The air around you begins to shimmer with a soft, golden light. You cast a keen eye over his abdomen, the golden light dancing around you as you assess the full extent of his injury. The wound is deep and not healing as it should and your nose crinkles as the pungent smell of poison drifts up at you.

Rhysand winces as your healing touch meets his wound. Despite his blood staining your hands, you move with practiced grace, drawing upon the healing energies within you. Each movement is deliberate, an intricate crossing between magic and skill as you strive to counteract the effects of the poison.

Rhysand sucks in a sharp breath. He feels like he is dying but he won’t admit that to you. He doesn’t want to scare you. “It hurts.”

“I know,” you respond, your brows furrowing in concentration. The quicker you work, the less pain he’ll have to endure altogether. “It’s the poison.”

His eyes squeeze shut and his face contorts with agony as you press further into the wound. A strangled whimper escapes from his lips.

“I’m sorry,” you frown, halting your movements. You turn your head toward the double doors, where you know Madja waited in her study despite the late hour, in case you required assistance. “Should I go get Madja instead?”

“No,” his hands weakly grasps yours to keep them from leaving him. “I–I’m okay. I only need you.”

You nod and take a deep breath, urging your powers to continue surging through your bones and veins. Charged with vitality, they embody a tender current, eager to breathe life into every fiber of the recipient’s being. You sense the poison recoiling at your touch, prompting another cry from Rhysand. Though you know the poison will put up a painful fight, there’s a sense of relief as you realize it is one you can win.

“It’s going to feel worse before it gets better,” you say, your eyes darting to your makeshift table. “I don’t have anything for you to bite down onto. I’m sorry.”

“Tell me a story,” he pleads, his voice desperate and raspy. “Anything. Please.”

“Anything?” You say in contemplation, falling into a thoughtful pause as you search your mind for a story to tell.

“When I was a little girl and my parents were separating, my uncle would take me to the countryside,” you begin to share, your voice softening with the weight of the fond memory and in the intimate space between you and Rhysand, a subtle shift occurs.

“It was my favorite place in all of Dawn. The flowers were always in bloom and the grass was tall and green. We would wake up early to watch the sunrise together. Those were the moments where the world felt so still yet so gentle.”

“One night, as the moon gracefully surrendered its space to the emerging sun, I cried. The realization of the sun and moon being eternal strangers gripped my little heart. The sun, in its golden glory, would never know the tender glow of the moon, and the moon, adorned in silver brilliance, would remain untouched by the sun's warm embrace. It made me sad.”

“My uncle, at first, laughed. He teased me, which made me cry harder. He realized the genuine depth of my sorrow and that’s when he shared something with me,” you continue, a nostalgic smile plays on your lips as you recall the moment.

Unbeknownst to you, Rhysand’s gaze warms in the gentle embrace of the shared memory. He’s momentarily distracted from the stabbing pain.

"He told me that the moon's glow is but a reflection of the sun's radiance," you explain, the magic of your tale intertwining with the magic of your healing touch. "How beautiful, he said. That the love of the sun for the moon is so pure that he sets down so that people can admire the beauty of her.”

"I was still sad, holding onto that stubborn desire to witness the sun and moon together. That's when my uncle introduced me to the magic of an eclipse—a rare celestial dance where the sun and moon finally come face to face. When the next one arrived, my uncle whisked me back to the countryside to witness it, and for the first time, I felt such overwhelming joy. Tears welled in my eyes but they were tears of happiness. I didn’t know one could cry tears of joy until that moment.”

Still aglow, your hands continue their delicate work. You observe a subtle relaxation manifesting in the features of Rhysand but there’s a weariness that settles over you. You know all traces of the poison are gone because its toxic essence was absorbed by you in your haste to protect him. It takes its toll on you, wearing you down and leaving you feeling slightly unsteady, but all you care about is him.

The gaping wound on his abdomen gradually yields to your skillful touch, and a peaceful serenity settles over his face. His eyes flutter shut, and in the hushed atmosphere, Rhysand's words pierce through, lingering like a delicate whisper in the air.

"I think I might be in love with you."

The confession tugs at the strings of your heart, urging it to soar, but you swiftly quell the rising emotions. You attribute Rhysand's words to the delirium induced by his pain, knowing he’d forget all about it. You wouldn’t be surprised if he forgot your story as well. You swiftly clean him up and use your magic to replace the bloody sheets with clean ones before taking your leave. Exhaustion tears at your bones and you can only muster a meek smile to Azriel and Cassian, who waited anxiously outside the infirmary doors for an update. You head straight to your room after and collapse onto your bed.

The following night, as you retire to your room from another day of endless work and studying, you find a carefully wrapped gift at your door. There’s no name on it but as you read the note attached, you have an intuitive inkling as to who the thoughtful gifter was.

To the Sun, in your golden glory, may you always feel such overwhelming joy.

A beautiful embellished trinket box lays beneath the wrapping engraved with two cosmic entities–the sun and the moon. As you open the small keepsake, you're greeted by a soft, ethereal glow that radiates from within. It casts a warm and gentle light and you watch as a projection of the moon and sun dance around you before finally converging into a mesmerizing eclipse.

Rhysand's POV

Like clockwork, Rhysand wakes at the break of dawn with the tendrils of a persistent dream lingering in his mind. A dream that has possessed his nights for weeks. As sleep releases its grasp on his eyes, he reluctantly rises from the bed and decides to get ready for the day, knowing that if he tried, he would not be able to fall back asleep.

He navigates through the familiar halls of the Moonstone palace, mindlessly making his way toward one of the terraces. His steps falter.

There, amidst the soft hues of the awakening city below, stands a feminine silhouette–a vision bathed in the tender light of dawn. You. A sense of cautious curiosity courses through him, eclipsing the remnants of his restless dreams. His gaze lingers on you. There's a nuance in your presence, a fine radiance that hints that you are not from here and though he should be concerned over an unannounced visitor in his home, he can’t bring himself to do so.

A subtle flutter dances in his chest. He’s speaking before he could even properly think.

“You don’t belong here.”

You startle and lose your footing. You’re about to fall but before gravity claims its toll, he moves with swift determination. He reaches forward and grasps your arm, pulling you from the dangers of the edge of the terrace and into the safety of his arms instead. You lift your head and a gasp escapes your lips. Your eyes widen as they look up into his.

“Breathe, darling.”

His mind is searching yours with a quiet desperation but all you are thinking about is how devastatingly handsome he is. He doesn’t perceive you as a threat. Yet, there’s something hauntingly familiar about you.

He hears a name being called. Yours. And then it hits him like a sudden gust of wind. You’re the girl from his dreams. The one he’s dreamt of nearly every day this week and as he repeats the name, his lips curve up into a smirk.

He found you and realization dawns upon him like the morning sun. You don’t belong here but not because you’re from a different court. It’s because you belong with him.

a/n: this part came out a lot softer than I thought it would. The quote I used about the sun loving the moon so much came from something I saw on pinterest. I am a sucker for the sun and moon and stars lol

#rhysand x reader #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x you #acotar rhysand #rhysand imagine #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x y/n #acotar fanfiction #rhysand angst #rhysand fluff

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readychilledwine · 7 months

Text

Lose You to Love Me

Summary - You had wanted him for years, loved him for centuries, and waited for him to notice you and see you. But all books have to close, even if we don't like the ending.

Warnings - NSFW, oral, pentration, unrequited love/blind lovers, sex as a tool, the infamous solstice night, implied big brother knows/forbidden romance situation,

A/N - our last @azrielappreciationweek post. Some angst, smut, and feels for us to end the week. I will back from vacation tomorrow and cannot wait to see how this piece went over. 💙 ps. My hormones are all over the place, so I may have cried rereading this because it is such a familiar feeling that we all know. Hopefully, I caught all my errors.

You threw the last book into your bag, sighing heavily as it entered the pocket world and disappeared to your new waiting chambers in Winter.

You had tried to tell Rhysand you were leaving. Tried to talk to him about the position Kal had offered you, when you'd be going, how this was a set in stone for good move. Did your sweet distracted older brother listen, though? No.

He had not bothered listening since Feyre came. Cassian had not bothered since Nesta was made. And Azriel? Well, that was a complicated story of its own. One you tended not to linger long on, even in your own mind.

Simply put, you were no longer needed here. Meanwhile, Kal, his court needed you. It was still recovering from Amarantha's attacks, and your ability to speak to the land and find where darkness was plaguing it would be a boon to him and his efforts. You had agreed with little hesitation, mind completely open to the new beginning he was offering.

Your only guilt was choosing to run in the middle of the night on Solstice.

You left your room to leave a note on the table for Rhys, pausing as you almost ran into Azriel. "Sorry-"

He interrupted your thoughts immediately, cool shadows looking you over. "What's wrong?" Hazel eyes studied you, reopening the doorway to your room and forcing you back inside. "Y/n, what's wrong?"

You shook your head, moving to embrace him one last time before you left.

Azriel was still in your arms, one hand on the small of your back as even his breath came to a pause. "Y/n, where are your things? Why is your room empty?"

"I'm leaving," your voice was muffled into the soft material of his shirt. "I've been telling you for months, Az."

Azriel pulled you back looking down at you in shock. "We thought you were kidding. You can't leave. Theres-" his jaw had a feather twitch as it clenched. "What can I do to make you stay?"

You shook your head again, watching as his face fell and tears lined both of your eyes.

Something in Azriel changed in that moment, and the next thing you knew, his lips had slammed on yours, a hand tangled into your hair while the other snaked around your waist. He backed you to the bed, lips moving against yours as if he had been hoarding a lifetime of passion. He lowered you gently, immediately studying you and waiting for permission to continue.

With a shaking breath, you nodded. A soft "please," falling from your lips. He began his assault again, gently this time though, lips moving at a slow pace as he crawled on top of you. You began unbuttoning his shirt, hands sprawling his bare chest once it was exposed, before moving to the back to undo the closures around his wings and take the material off completely.

His lips moved to your jawline nipping softly at the flesh there and then to your neck. He growled at the soft gasp that left your mouth as he found the spot between your neck and shoulder that made your body tingle and skin ignite in goosebumps.

He took you removing his shirt as permission to remove yours. Then the soft lace bra he paused to admire. "Is this okay," he whispered in your neck. "You would tell me to stop, right?"

"Yes," it was a breathless answer again, fueling him to grab more of that from you.

You had wanted this, wanted him, since you were old enough to understand what these feelings were. This was bittersweet. You knew it was him giving one last ditch effort to keep you here. You knew it wasn't more than him caving to what he knew you had always wanted.

At least in your mind, that's what you believed. For Azriel, this was the crescendo to a long slow dance the two of you had played for centuries now. You were beautiful, kind, loving, and he only had one chance at this, one moment to hold you, he'd take it regardless of those consequences. Regardless of the fist fight he'd have to survive tomorrow, he'd worship you this one night if this was his last chance to do it.

A soft moan left you and your back arched as he began to suck, lick, and gently roll your nipple between his teeth. His hand played with the other breast as he took his time ensuring that your sensitive peak was hardened before switching his mouth to the otherside pulling those same panting moans from you as your own hand tangled back into his silken hair.

Scarred hands hooked into the waistband of your soft leggings as Azriel released your breast with a soft pop. He looked up at you again, waiting for permission before sliding them down, groaning softly as the soaked lace panties you were wearing.

"I'd like to believe you wore these just for me," he muttered.

You whispered back, "How do you know I wasn't?" And something ignited in his eyes. Ripping them off of you while maintaining eye contact and growling in response. He wasted no time, settling between your legs and kissing from inner knee to thigh as he placed your legs over his shoulders.

That first lick had your head thrown back into the pillows, back arching, and lips parting in shock. Azriel looked up at you through hooded eyes, hazel lost in lust as he savored you, licking through your folds again before nudging that swelling bundle of nerves. Shadows came to your wrists, pulling them above your head and locking your arms there. It left you completely to his mercy. And that was exactly how he needed you.

He began to alternate between pushing his tongue as deep into you as he could, licking and drinking the nectar flowing from your core to moaning and humming, his lips sucking your clit.

You were panting, writhing in place, and moaning for him, begging him for more, for everything. "Azriel, please," you cried as his tongue found your entrance again. He took mercy on you then, latching his lips around your clit rolling it below his tongue gently all while a finger began to run through your soaking heat and then pushed in.

The Silent scream that left your mouth had him doubling his efforts, wanting to hear the real thing fall from your lips as he began searching. A whiny loud moan left your lips when he found his target, that soft silk spot inside of you. He began pulling that single finger in and out, curling it with each thrust as he continued licking at you clit and moaning as your hips began to roll and grind. That second finger had you panting, his name falling again and again as your eyes fluttered shut and back fully arched. You were close, so fucking close and he could tell. "Cum for me. Look at me and cum for me, y/n. Let me see you fall apart." You obeyed without question as he moved to be above you, watching your face as his fingers pulled you apart string by string. His thumb came to your clit, gently circling the nerves, and when you came, you swore you saw the night sky in her entirety. You screamed his name before falling into whine like moans as he kissed you to silence the noises you were making.

They were for him and him alone tonight.

He removed his fingers from you, bringing them to your lips and watched under clouded eyes as you licked and sucked them clean.

It was desperation that had your hands flying to the ties of his pants, eyes locked on his as you got them loose and pulled them down, releasing his heavy hard cock. You began stroking him, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you finally felt the weight of him, the softness of him in your hands. Azriel groaned, leaning to grab the headboard above you, lost in the feeling of your smooth hand working him, enjoying the way lust had set in so heavily you dropped all inhibitions for him. His hips began to move in time with your hand. Moaning as he felt his stomach tighten in anticipation. He grabbed your wrist, squeezing it gently to stop you. "Next time," he stated firmly. And guilt set in as you watched him undress fully, there would not be a next time. Your heart could hardly handle this.

You couldn't handle being his flavor of the week, distracting him from his clear wants to be with another. You would take one night, close this chapter, and let go of him, freeing yourself of these unrequited feelings burning inside of you.

He wrapped your legs around his waist lining himself up with your entrance. He pushed in gently, watching your face the entire time as your eyes squeezed shut, breath leaving your lungs.

You had never felt so full and complete in your life, and you knew deep down you would never feel this again.

How could you? You were allowing himself to ruin you for any other male, knowing damn well about that string in your chest that never snapped for him.

Azriel rolled his hips, eyes squeezing shut as your heat swallowed him whole, consuming every inch of him and his soul. You were incomparable and irreplaceable, and his mission set in now.

Showing you exactly what you meant to him the only way he truly knew how. Gentle kisses came with gentle thrusts, praises whispered in your ear of how much he cared for you, how beautiful you were. Your legs wrapped his waist tighter, hands scratching down his back as those hard deep thrusts hit and filled every inch of you, setting your nerves and body on fire. "Gods I love you," he whispered once he lost himself in bliss. "I love you so fucking much."

And you whispered it back, knowing it was your one chance to tell him. Knowing this was goodbye and tomorrow he'd go back to pursuing Elain. You whispered it over and over, his forehead finding yours as those thrusts picked up pace, hitting that perfect spot every time. "I've always loved you," he whispered. "It's always been you."

Meaningless words. Words meant to comfort you as if he knew what he was doing. As if he knew the years of tearing yourself apart you had gone through. "I'm right there, baby," he moved to kiss you again, a shadow coming between you to lick at your clit. "Need you to come with me. Need to feel you. Please, y/n," he moaned into your neck. "Please, give me one more baby."

"Harder," you commanded gently. Needing him to hurt you. "If you want me to come, fuck me harder."

Legs went from his waist to over his shoulders, allowing him deeper into you, and he began a brutal pace, smirking as you began to shake around him immediately. He had you seeing stars already, that coill tightening over and over like a string waiting to bust. Fingers gently went to a splayed wing, touching the ridge and making Azriel roar as he spilled into you without warning, and triggering your own completion.

He held you in place, a few sloppy ruts into your seed filled cunt before he pulled out and laid next to you. He pulled your bare body to his, your back meeting his chest.

Neither of you spoke, words having already been said that you both meant to take to your grave.

You waited until he fell asleep, kissing him one last time and dressing yourself. You stepped onto the balcony, summoning your wings and wiping the tears that were falling.

You took off, closing the book of your time in the Night Court as you did along with ending the tragic love story between you and Azriel.

The next morning, Azriel woke up to an agonizing cry and scream. One he knew belonged to Rhysand. You were gone, your side of the bed empty. He immediately sent shadows to search for you before shielding the scent of sex that lingered on his skin and grabbing his clothing to shift himself to his room.

He had barely pulled pants on before Rhys was at his door, tears streaming as he handed Azriel a note. "Find her. Please find her. Please bring her home. I." Rhys didn't need to explain as Azriel pulled him to his chest. "I can't lose her. Please find her."

And as Azriel held Rhys, he swore on that golden glittering bond he would not stop until he did find you. And he would not stop until you realized those words he whispered to you last night weren't just words. They were his truth.

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azrielweek2023 #azriel x Rhysands sister! reader #azriel x yn #azriel x you #Spotify

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thelov3lybookworm · 9 months

Text

I Didn't Ask For This (part ten)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Summary: Marriage had always been something sacred to little Y/n, something dream like, where her husband would come and whisk her away to a fairyland. At least, that's what she had always thought.

All her dreams would be shattered.

But maybe she can salvage them?

•○●⛦●○•

Tw: forced marriage, none more that I can think of, so let me know if I need to add anything.

A/n: I really love this chapter. Let's see if you can find the reference I made in here. I honestly make so many references in the fics I write, but no one has noticed them.

Anyways, enjoy!

•○🌑○•

The tension in the air could have been cut by a blunt knife.

The most powerful High Lord in the history of Prythian was staring down one of the most feared man in Prythian, the Spymaster of the Night Court.

They were nearly chest to chest, and Y/n feared that if someone didn't step in, this place would be bathed in blood. So she cleared her throat.

Azriel looked at her, brows furrowed.

"I– can we go back? Can you take me back?"

"Sure–" As he began to turn to her, the High Lord's hand shot out, clamping down on his shoulders. Azriel glared at the hand and then it's owner.

"Cassian can take her back. Or if its him you want to go with, please wait for sometime." Rhys glanced at her while saying the second part. "My office. Now." He threw at Azriel before stalking out of the room.

Everyone watched him go, a muscle feathering in Azriel's jaw as he turned to her. "Don't worry about me. I'll be there soon." With that, he turned and followed Rhys.

Y/n's stomach turned as she thought about what could happen to Azriel. The high lord was said to be ruthless and cunning, and even though he hadn't seemed like it when they first met, she didn't know if she could sit still until she was sure that her husband was safe. The urge to follow him and make sure he wouldn't be harmed was overpowering any sense she had, but before she could take a step, Cassian placed a hand on her shoulder.

He tilted his head towards the door, and she nodded. Glancing back one last time to where Azriel had disappeared, she followed Cassian outside.

She stayed quiet the whole time, muttering a thanks to Cassian when they landed before locking herself in her room.

She couldn't stop thinking about Azriel and what he'd done today. Allegedly done today.

She changed into her nightgown, climbing into bed hoping to sleep. Maybe then her mind would stop trying to find some meaning in his actions. Maybe then her heart would stop trying to make her feel things she didn't want to feel.

•○🌑○•

It had been almost more than an hour now, and Y/n couldn't sleep no matter what she did. With a huff of annoyance, she threw the covers aside and stood, stomping to the balcony and leaning against the railing. Her minds inability to just shut the hell up was frustrating.

As her mind drifted through the plethora of thoughts in her head again, she couldn't help but think back to where Azriel might be right now. Was he back yet? He would come to meet her if he was, right?

As soon as she had those thoughts, she heard the familiar scuff of boots coming near, and her chest started loosening. From the sound of it, the door opened and closed behind her, but she didn't turn. She couldn't, because she knew if she did, she wouldn't be able to stop herself from throwing her arms around him and slapping him at the same time. She wondered which she would prefer.

She could feel him coming closer, and she gripped the railing tightly.

"Are you mad at me?" He asked quietly, having stopped a little distance away.

She shook her head. "Did you really do it?"

A pause. "Yes."

She nodded, not knowing what to say to that. He took that as a cue to step forward. She knew he did because one moment her back was cold, and the next, she could feel his body heat through the thin silk of her gown. Suddenly she felt extremely exposed, considering the thing she was wearing barely reached her knee, and it was only held up by thin strings.

She inwardly cursed Nesta for this. Y/n had never worn something like this, and when she and Nesta had started to become friends, Nesta was appaled when she realised Y/n did not sleep half naked.

"Do you have nothing to say to that?" Azriel asked, his body like a furnace behind her.

"What do you want me to say?"

"How– how do you feel about all of this?"

"I don't know..."

"Does it bother you?"

She shook her head. "No, it does not. But what about the women and children?"

"They were evacuated to safety. And your brother, he's here."

At that, she finally turned slightly to look at him. She hadn't even thought of her brother who lived in the camp. She didn't have to worry about Velda as she lived in a different camp.

Azriel towered over her, studying her.

"What?"

"He is living in an inn across the Sidra."

"Really?" When he nodded, relief spread through her. She mumbled a thank you before turning back to the view in front of her.

"Your....your father is alive."

She stiffened. "What?" She whispered.

"He burned in the fire, but I just felt like he didn't suffer enough for his crimes." He stated casually, as if he was telling her about the weather.

She blinked at the night sky before asking the same question again.

"I bought him here. He is where we keep all the prisoners and I... interrogate them. He is badly injured and won't be able to escape. I wanted to ask you before I did anything to him."

She knew exactly what he meant with that.

"What did you want to ask."

"You were the one who suffered from his ministrations. You deserve the right to punish him however you want. You can either let him live, give him a quick death or let me handle him."

"What would letting you handle him entail?"

"I'll go all Spymaster on him. I'll do all the things I do to the prisoners to get information out of them."

She nodded. Thinking for some time, she finally decided. "Then I'll let you handle him."

He was silent for a moment. "Are you sure?"

"I am."

His hands landed on either side of her on the railing as he leaned closer. "Thank you." Butterflies erupted in her stomach as he kissed her shoulder before straightening. "Come, you should sleep."

She turned to him, and ignoring her mind, she followed her heart's urge to wrap her arms around her husband. He froze for a moment before wrapping an arm around her shoulder and using the other to cradle the back of her head.

"Thank you. You didn't need to do this." She mumbled against his chest.

"I absolutely did." She pulled back from him. He smiled and kissed her forehead before tugging her back into the room.

As she lay down and he arranged the covers around her, a thought suddenly occurred to her.

"Azriel? Your father and brothers lived in the camp too. What happened to them?"

He gave her a smile, and honestly she should have been scared of it. But she wasn't, and that scared her more than anything else did.

"They're dead."

"Did you see them?"

"Yes. And it gave me immense satisfaction."

"Wish I could have witnessed it."

He blinked at her, a slow smile spreading on his face. He pushed her hair back from her face as he straightened. "Hmm. Next time I do something like this, I'll make sure to take you with me."

She grinned, just a little bit, shaking her head. He stared at her for a few moments before nodding his head and turning away. "Good night."

She didn't want him to go. Atleast, not yet.

She had only a moment to make her choice, and she did.

Her heart danced with joy while her mind screamed at her that this was a bad idea.

"Azriel." She burst out before she lost her nerve.

He paused, turning back slightly. "Yes?"

"Can you– can you stay?"

He stared at her. "What? You– you want me to stay?"

Instantly, a blush was climbing up her neck. What if he didn't want to stay? She kicked herself mentally. "Only if you wish to–"

"I do." His eyes shone. "Um– do you want me to sleep on the ground? I have no problem with it."

She shook her head. "Stay next to me. Please."

The room was dark, the only light provided by the moonlight filtering in from the doors of the balcony. She almost couldn't see the flush on his neck and face as he rounded the bed, where a few clothes had appeared. He took them and walked into the bathing chamber to change.

When he walked back out he was dressed in loose pants and shirt. He slowly climbed into the bed. He was as stiff as a plank with tension as he lay as far as he could from her.

She smiled and turned on her back. "You can relax you know. You'll never get any sleep if you're that tensed up."

He sighed. "I know."

She bit her lip. "I don't bite...much."

His head whipped to her. And honestly, she agreed. She wasn't bold in any way. She didn't even know where that came from.

"Tell me about something interesting."

"Velaris was built by Rhys's father." He supplied.

"Really? Wasn't he..."

"Cruel? A monster? That he was. But he did build and protect Velaris. The only good thing he did, honestly."

"What was he like?"

Azriel began telling her about the previous High Lord of Night Court, and she listened, her attention rapt. As moments passed, his voice filling the room, he relaxed gradually. He also told her about Cassian's past and his mother.

When he was done, they stayed silent. She processed all the information that had just been dumped on her. She shivered.

"Are you cold?"

"A little."

"Would you accept an olive branch?" She nodded and he pulled her closer. Now she was as stiff as a board.

"Relax. I don't bite...much." He murmured against her hair.

She sat up abruptly. "Was that a joke Spymaster?"

He grinned, pulling her back to his chest. "Maybe." After a pause, he went on. "Sleep. I won't try anything. No funny business unless you ask for it."

"Shame." She mumbled under her breath.

"Did you say something Y/n?"

Of course the bastard heard her. "No."

"I feel like Nesta is a really bad influence on you."

"Shut up." She shoved his chest lightly. He just kissed her head and wished her a good night.

As she drifted off, she felt safer than she had felt in her whole existence. She knew he would protect her always, no matter what.

And maybe that should have scared her, but it just made her feel warm and happy, making something in her chest sing.

•○🌑○•

Part 11

Taglist: @bubybubsters @maxxieluvs @bubbbllee @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @waytoomanyteenagefeels @tell-me-a-poem @the-lake-is-calling @spaxxxi @japanese-wonderland-blog @valeridarkness @moonlwghts @deadratio @esposadomd @harrystylesfan2686 @missusbarnes-rogers @whatthefuckshappeningrn @hyacinthoideshispanica @historygeekqueen @lizziesfirstwife @nastynesta @aroseinvelaris @nightless @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kodokunarisu-blog @selillusion @eos-princess @moonfawnx @a-court-of-milkandhoney @emilyo-218 @wannabewolf @ailyr92 @chronically-online-cheese @myheartfollower @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @marina468 @menaosama @starryhiraeth @hereticdance @mali22 @valencia-rou @azrielsstarlight @marvelouslovely-barnes @luvmoo @starlight-hope @a-frog-with-a-laptop @fall-myriad @alt-ghost @elleofdragons @ruleroftides @5moremin @stargirl1714 @bunnymallowo @ivy-34 @aria-chikage

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lanitalay · 4 months

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Among Flames and Starlight Chapter 1

a/n: I was going to wait until tomorrow but I just cant so enjoy the first chapter!!

Warnings: none

2.3k words

Other Chapters

Irene opened her eyes to reveal the midnight moon pouring through the frost covered window in the town house. The silver light casted a dim glow across the familiar room. She relished the feel of the sheets and snuggled up even more on the impossibly soft pillow. Keeping her eyes opened, she counted the seconds as they passed by. It was a habit she had picked up as a girl when the war was raging and her parents were at battle. She counted and counted, reminding herself that time was indeed passing, if ever so slowly. Now that the war was long over and her parents long gone she counted to remember them, to ground herself.

Sunrise was a few minutes away so she turned from the window and slowly sat up in bed. She stretched her limbs and cracked her joints before stepping onto the icy morning floor. Winter was at its peak and even with magical temperature control the cold still found a way to creep into the house. Irene looked for her pants, they had been removed from her body first when she entered the room and she could recall them being thrown in the general direction of the door.

They were hanging on a lounge chair, next to her shirt. She frowns as she sees the slash straight down the middle of the garment. Entitled prick, she thinks but a smirk ghosts her features all the same. The sleeping body still on the bed stirs and grumbles, feeling her absence.

“You don’t have to leave so early, you know?” Rhys says in a voice muffled by the pillow his face is buried in.

“Hush, yes I do, Cassian will be here in a few minutes to go train. Plus Victoria and I have a dance lesson right after breakfast, I need to get ready” she slides her arms through the sleeves of her torn shirt and ties a knot to keep her chest from spilling out.

“I hope you learn some new moves, it will make next time more… interesting” he’s resting on his elbows and he watches her from across the room.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re incredibly attractive” she rolls her eyes but he flashes her a smile that completely disarms her.

“You ruined my shirt.”

“I quite like the new look” he motions for her to return to bed and she can never say no when he looks at her with still sleepy eyes and messy hair. This is her favorite Rhysand, the soft, endearing male he is first thing in the morning. Before his father sees him, before he has to train for an ever impending battle, before he has to mask all of his goodness. So she always says yes to this Rhysand. Irene settles herself on his lap, thighs straddling him. He traces along her collarbones and she shivers at the feather light touch. He’s kissing and nibbling at her neck when she notices the moon is no longer visible through the window.

“I have to go.”

“Five more minutes” she chuckles and lifts up from the bed one last time. She pecks his lips and leaves his room. Scurrying down the hall, she arrives as fast as possible to her room, throws her broken shirt into the hearth and lights it. The room is untouched. Last night and pretty much every night this week she had slept in his bed. A necessity, because they had wanted to keep what they did in the cover of night private and Victoria, Rhysand’s sister, spent too much time in this room.

She would scent him and what they did in an instant.

The shirt turns to ash as the sun begins to rise.

Irene stays near the fire a while longer before going to the bathing room and getting ready for the day.

“And one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Again!” the dance teacher ordered. Irene and Victoria twirled around the room with the rest of the class. Weaving through the other dancers and switching partners when the timing was right. They had been taking ballroom dancing classes since they were kids. It was something they both enjoyed equally. Which was rare. Sweat gathered on Irene’s brow but she did not wipe it away for fear of messing up the timing in the most complicated part of the dance. They would separate from their current partners and retrace their steps in a flurry of jumps and twirls until they returned to their original partner.

Madame Silvie had been drilling them for hours. Irene’s feet hurt from the not yet broken-in shoes she wore. She sighed happily when Victoria handed her a glass of water and chugged it down in one go then said “that was intense.”

Victoria laughed and nodded “but wasn’t it fun?”

“It was the best dance we’ve learned, and I think lover boy over there is counting the days until he can ask you to dance in a real ball” she nods her head towards Neil, a male they had known since childhood. He stood leaning against the other wall, offering Victoria a shy grin. She covered her own smile and turned away from him, “stop that! He probably heard you.”

“It’s fine Vic, we all know Neil is in love with you” her eyes bug and Irene stifles a laugh.

“Stop!”

“Alright, alright, I won’t say anything else.”

“We should go, my mother wanted us home for lunch” the girls picked up the few belongings they had brought to the class and walked back to the town house, flanked by two bodyguards each.

Celene greets them at the door, her face stern. “Go wash up for lunch” she turns to her daughter and in a low voice warns “your father will be joining us”.

Irene and Victoria go up the stairs without making a noise and once inside Vic’s room let out the breath they had been holding.

“If he’s here for lunch and unannounced it can’t be good” the Princess of Night groans. Irene remains silent.

In her opinion, the High Lord of the Night Court was the most terrifying male in Prythian.

Cassian sat across from her. Azriel was next to him and Rhysand sat at the other end. Victoria sat next to Irene and on her other side was her mother. The High Lord was at the head of the table. Nearest to him were his mate and heir. Irene did not look up from her plate as she tried to eat. The dryness in her mouth made it impossible to swallow without gulping down water. Through her peripheral vision she saw him cut some meat clean in half.

A gifted butcher.

“Vallier” Irene stiffened as he addressed her. The same way he would address her father.

“My lord” she tried to keep her words steady. But this male had been the reason she had lost everything.

“The anniversary of your father’s death is coming up, are you planning on doing anything to commemorate?” Tears stung at her eyes. He reminded her every year.

“I always light a candle for him and those who fell with him, since there is no grave for me to visit.” Her father had died during the war. While he was alive he had been an advisor to the High Lord. When the war between humans and faeries broke out he was ordered to fight, never having wielded a weapon in his life. Her father, Irden Vallier, was a scholar. His mother was a priestess and he had grown up in temples and libraries all over Prythian. He only moved to the Night Court because he fell madly in love with a White Haired Witch from Kovelain, a smokey isle east to the Court of Nightmares.

He arrived at the mountain court as a scribe, and worked for centuries until he became advisor. By then the witch, Avalon, had given birth to Irene. Avalon was casted out when her coven found out about her pregnancy. It was a disgrace to her bloodline to dilute it with fae blood. Their white hair and silver blood essential in carrying out spells and enchantments.

Irden died as a footsoldier. He was incinerated alongside everyone else on that battlefield. That was merciful compared to what happened to Avalon. She had lived in Velaris since giving birth to Irene. When the war began, the High Lord used her knowledge, forcing her to create weapons to defeat Hybern. She was good, possibly too good. When the war ended and the human side won, the High Lord accused her of treason. Executing a witch is impossible, for they are truly immortal, no wound nor poison could kill them. Only the gods decide when a witch’s life is over. So he sentenced her to eternity in the Prison.

Celene had taken Irene in after both her parents were gone. She was not a true witch and she wasn’t fully fae. If she possessed any magic it had never manifested and she never learned the spells that made her mother so dangerous.

How easily she could be killed was yet to be determined.

The High Lord’s voice rattles the table “it’s a fitting tribute” he says coldly and adds “this court has been invited to Adriata. The young High Lord Tarquin will be hosting a grand ball to inaugurate the new docks he built and the trade agreements.” Victoria lights up and turns to Irene “an actual ball!”

“You know she won't be able to attend, dear” Celene gently reminds her. But her daughter responds with a roll of her eyes and a loud huff “there’s no reason she can’t go.”

“As the offspring of a traitor she’s not allowed to leave the Night Court” the High Lord interjects.

“It’s ok Vic, have fun. I have to catch up on some readings anyways” Irene attempts to soothe her friend.

“She should go, I’ll escort her myself” her heart does a somersault in her chest at what Rhysand says. His father turns to him and raises a sharp brow.

“She’s grown up with us, father. She hasn’t spoken or heard from her mother since the war ended when she was twelve.”

“Father please” Victoria adds her violet eyes wide as she attempts to persuade him.

“I won’t listen to anymore whining,” he scolds.

The rest of the meal goes by in silence.

After lunch the High Lord and Celene go to the House of Wind, leaving the heirs and orphans alone in the town house.

Cassian approaches Irene while everyone else disperses. “He’s a dick, Ire, don’t think of what he said. That’s exactly what he wants.” She runs her hands through her white hair and trying not to cry says “he remembers every year, Cas.” He envelopes her in a giant’s hug. Squeezing tightly. “I can burn the candle with you if you want company this year” Irene shakes her head, “thanks but I don’t think you can sit still for longer than five minutes let alone until an entire candle burns out.”

“I can try” he nudges her shoulder, trying his best to cheer her up.

The galloping filled Irene’s ears as she rode her mare across a valley in the outskirts of Velaris. This was the closest thing she could get to flying. Her mother never got the chance to teach her. So she rode across the plains as fast as her horse could take her. A horse that wasn’t really hers. Nothing was. She was a pampered prisoner. Daughter of a traitor and a casualty. Whatever she stood to inherit was taken by the High Lord as reparations for her mother’s crimes.

She arrived at the abandoned temple she visited each year on this day, walked inside and placed a thick white candle on the altar. With some flint she quickly lit the wick then knelt before it.

It was a simple ritual. The candle represents the life of the fallen. While it burns the mourner reminisces about the good times and the bad times. The light of the candle along with the memories are supposed to be a guiding light to the souls in the afterworld. It is done with the hope of connecting to a loved one for a moment before they return to the abyss.

So Irene thought of her father and his scrolls and tomes and quills. She thought of his brown hair and how it had begun to gray at the roots as he got older. How he would wear glasses to read at first but then began to need them at all times. She remembered his voice and the stories he would tell her of the libraries across Pyrthian. He had traveled the realm and she had never been outside of the city limits.

Night had fallen. The candle nearly burnt out. She recalls the last time she saw him. How his glasses fogged with tears welling up in his eyes. How he knew it would be his doom, his sword too heavy and his reflexes too slow.

He hugged Irene that day. He kissed Avalon and without another word he went to war.

The door to her bedroom was cracked when she returned to the townhouse. Rhysand stood by the window that overlooked the garden, waiting.

“You shouldn’t be here, Rhys” was the only thing she could say, exhausted from the ride and the ritual.

“I wanted to make sure you were good after today. I forgot it was his anniversary.”

“I’m fine, just tired.”

“Do you want to sleep in my room?” Yes. She did. She would love nothing more than to crawl into his silky sheets and fall asleep with his arms around her.

“No, I think I better sleep here tonight” she can’t tell him. Maybe he already knows. What she knew was just a physical release for him was everything for her.

She had loved him long enough to know he did not feel the same.

He walks toward her and places a hand on her cheek. Irene doesn’t falter so he concedes. “Alright, see you tomorrow.”

Taglist: @sidthedollface2 @acourtofbatboydreams

#acomaf #acowar #acotar #acosf #acofas #acotar fanfiction #rhysand #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #azriel shadowsinger #a court of mist and fury #a court of fey and flowers #a court of wings and ruin #rhysand x oc

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popjunkie42 · 8 months

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In a glorious creative burst of hyperfocus, I made up for not being able to write all week (stupid work) to writing ALL DAY so now you will be subjected to my new fic.

6200 words of Feyre being a sad, sassy drunk menace Under the Mountain.

It’s snippet Sunday (this is a thing right) so here’s a little bit under the cut. Editing on this one in progress.

@ablogofsapphicpanic @wilde-knight @rosanna-writer @howlingcaptaincommando @gaeleria @thesistersarcheron for you loves

“That’s enough for now,” his voice is calm but commanding.

“I’m hungry,” she protests, matching his tone with her chin held high.

“If you’re sick again, you’ll regret this little feast.”

“And who’s fault is that?” she asks, slipping another chocolate tart past her lips.

This one, another face she’s unsure of. Cold for sure, with something simmering underneath.

“I think the night is at an end,” he croons. “Let’s get you back to your cell.”

Her stomach drops at that, indeed too heavy with the rich fare she’s scarfed in a matter of minutes. She turns to face him fully, his eyes full of judgment.

“No.” she says. But just in case, she tucks the pastry in her hand away, up against her stomach under the low belt of her dress.

Rhys’s eyes are dark and unyielding. But Feyre releases them for a moment, glancing to the throne to see Amarantha, laughing and distracted by the retinue around her. His eyes follow.

And when he looks back, Feyre is gone again, slipping on bare feet through the crowd and towards the hall doors.

A muscle in his jaw feathers. Buried in his brain, the thought slips out, I am High Lord of the Night Court. But he turns his fine shoes towards the door and strides as fast as he dares behind Feyre’s flowing skirt.

He catches up to her in a dark hallway of the mountain, only torches sputtering on the walls giving off any light. She’s come to a crossroads of two diverting paths and paused too long.

“Feyre,” his voice a warning. She whirls to meet him, stumbling only slightly. The wine is wearing off and anger and panic are taking their place as she thinks of stone walls and the endless screams of the tortured and doomed.

He’s on her in a flash, towering over her and so close she gasps. There will be no more games, no temporary moments of escape. Away from the fire, her bare feet are going numb.

Feyre knows she’s swaying, knows her eyes must look wild as her focus goes in and out. Still, she wills herself to stare down the High Lord, refusing to back down until her unsteady body makes her.

“I don’t want to go back there,” she says. Hoping her voice is as steady as her desires.

There’s no smirk left on his face tonight. He cocks his head and lifts a brow, his body as hard and unyielding as the stone at her back. “And where would you like to go then, hm? Back under Amarantha’s eye? Back to the Wyrm pit, perhaps? Or maybe you’d prefer to visit my chambers?” Her face splits into a sneer. “My fireplace is looking rather filthy at the moment.”

She hates him and the cold taunt in his words. Yet still she feels the desperate truth in them. There is nowhere to go. She’s trapped. A prisoner with the barest illusion of movement. Tears prick at her eyes, tears that come so much more freely these nights under the wine, frustrating her to no end. Blinking, she wills them back. Plenty of time later, alone in her cell, to cry without giving Rhysand more ammunition for his arsenal of mocking disdain.

Even in the cold winter woods, starving and shaking, she had been able to move. To wander as she pleased, the paths and hollows as familiar as her family’s faces. And she could stay there, perched in a tree, for as long as it took for her courage to build to face her family again. Hungry, but wild and free.

Feyre swallows the burning lump in her throat and meets his cold eyes again.

“Fine.” Like an extinguished candle, all the fight leaves her at once. She’s tired. It’s cold. All she wants is to lay down, alone, and cry.

Rhysand makes no attempt to move. They stare each other down, the cold pulling the heat from their bodies into the mountain stone.

It’s one of those looks again. The one she’s not sure about. And she’s just drunk enough to ask, “What is that?”

His brow furrows. “What?”

“Your face. It’s not angry. Or mocking. I…” she falters as more stars emerge in his eyes.

He doesn’t answer. Slowly, hesitantly, he lifts his hand to her face. The breath catching in her throat as he pauses for just a moment, and then slides his thumb gently across her bottom lip.

His thumb comes away covered in chocolate mousse. He looks at it for a moment and then brings it to his mouth, licking it clean.

All the breath has left her and she’s frozen, feeling the heat that grows between them even in the cold hall.

He finally looks back at her. “You’ve made a mess of yourself, darling. Let’s get you back.”

#acotar #feysand #rhysand #feyre #acotar fanfiction #WIP #Sunday snippet

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rhaenella · 1 year

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You & Me - Rhys Montrose x Reader - Part 1

Masterlist | Part 2

Summary: What happens when reader assassin is tasked with killing the possible future mayor of London; Rhys Montrose. Politician by day, Eat the Rich Killer by night. But he isn’t the only person wearing different masks.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Violence, murder, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse and neglect, (eventual) smut

Word count: 1.4k

A/N at the end.

Song: Royals – Lorde

Montrose, R.

The name of your next victim was written in elegant cursive handwriting on a small business card. Your employer had given it to you along with an envelope filled with your payment for the previous job you had just completed.

The name seemed familiar to you. You briefly glanced up at your employer as you slipped out your phone to quickly look up the name he had provided you with.

You typed in the name Montrose and within nanoseconds after you hit search, the app showed you thousands of hits on the name. Newspaper articles, clips of talk show appearances, book reviews, both positive and hate tweets (although the former outweighed the latter), and of course many, many pictures of the man. You recognised him instantly.

You raised a single eyebrow inquisitively, once more glancing at your employer.

“I’m aware that it’s high-profile.”

You scoffed as you scrolled through the many articles. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Your employer cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “Can you do it or not?”

“Of course,” you replied nonchalantly.

“Good.”

“But it’s gonna cost you.”

“I wouldn’t have expected anything else.”

You hummed, locking your phone and placing it in your back pocket. Your employer diverted his eyes, looking nervous? No — stressed — your mind supplied. You smirked inwardly. The man was desperate for this job.

You’ve done work for him before. Six times, in fact. Two of which had been abroad, including the one you just completed. Your flight back from Toronto had landed just a couple of hours ago. And now here you were once more.

The man had resources and was rich beyond words. He had power. Lots of it. Which incontrovertibly led to him having many enemies. Enemies that he needed to get rid of. Quietly. That’s where you came in.

But something was different this time. Your employer seemed off, more desperate than you’d ever seen him. Before he was always perfectly in control, never blinking an eye as he provided you with your next assignment or payment. The man was perhaps even more cold blooded than you. And that’s saying something. Nevertheless, he would never get his own hands dirty.

Your nostrils flared, having had enough of his stalling.

“Out with it, what is it?” You demanded.

Your employer glanced around before his gaze fixed on an old desk next to a broken window that had been boarded up. He kicked back a broken chair laying askew on the wood-rotten floor. He always preferred to meet in inconspicuous places. And if you might add, downright shitholes.

He sighed as he cautiously leaned back against the desk, looking back over his shoulder to make sure it would support his weight. He definitely wasn’t overweight. But you were certain that even the weight of a feather could make the desk collapse in on itself. Surprisingly, the desk remained standing after it gave a slight squeaky noise.

“I need it done within 48 hours.”

You couldn’t stop the bark of a laugh from escaping. The man had gone officially bloody nuts. Who the hell did he think he was? The king of England? In all honesty, he might actually wield more power than the king himself. But all of that was beside the point.

“48 hours,” you snickered, shaking your head at his ridicule.

“I know, I know,” he amended. “But I wouldn’t ask this of you if the situation hadn’t been this dire.”

“Dire or not, the man is currently number one trending on social media. He’s a beloved politician, likely preparing his campaign to become mayor of one of the biggest cities in the world. And you think I can make him disappear without a trace within 48 hours?”

“Yes,” your employer replied.

If the man and his ideas weren’t as delusional as the present situation would suggest, you would actually take quite a bit of pride in that simple statement.

“It’s not simply a matter of the public eye. He must have well established security. I need time to figure those details out as well as his schedule.”

You took a few steps closer, stopping a couple of feet away from your employer.

“I can get it done, but I need time.”

“I don’t have time,” he all but shouted at you as he got up angrily, his attitude changing rapidly. The man was known for his temper, but you hadn’t witnessed it yourself yet. His control was really severely lacking today.

“Which means you don’t have time,” he growled.

The space between you reduced to mere inches but you held your ground. You weren’t afraid of some rich businessman who wasn’t used to being told no.

You chuckled softly, making his eyes narrow to mere slits.

“See, the funny thing is. I don’t need to do a thing. I don’t have to accept your ridiculous job offer.”

A smirk grew on his face and he retreated a few steps. “Oh? But you haven’t heard the full offer yet.”

Now it was your turn to narrow your eyes. Truly, who the hell did he think he was, playing with you like this? You briefly contemplated killing him on the spot, but really you couldn’t be bothered.

“I am offering you three times your regular fee.”

Now this — this — made you stop right in your tracks. Yep, it was confirmed. The man was definitely delusional.

It may have been a cheap trick. Typically the rich social elite — buying their way through life. But damned be all if it wasn’t effective.

Your employer knew nothing about you, except how to contact you. To give you the time and place for your clandestine meetings. Which means he also didn’t know anything about your personal life and your financial situation. In your line of work, you liked to keep it that way.

Truth is, you weren’t poor and you weren’t rich. But you needed the money your unorthodox job provided you with. It wasn’t about becoming rich yourself. It wasn’t about gaining status or anything like that. No, the money went straight to your sisters.

You had two younger sisters who still lived with your mother, a raging and highly unstable alcoholic. You often debated whether to take full custody of your sisters and have them live with you, but you also knew your job came with certain risks and you didn’t want to jeopardise their safety.

You tried to take as much care of them as you could from the sidelines. Especially since no one else fought for them. Definitely not your father because he had left years ago, claiming he could no longer cope with your mother’s issues. Hell, like you all could?

Your youngest sister, Sadie, had fallen ill two years ago. Mainstream medicine had failed her, so you were now paying for her exclusive medical trials. The good thing was, they were working. Your sister’s health was improving, but she was still nowhere near healthy and being fully cleared by the doctors. She probably never would be as she suffered a rare chronic disease.

But she was going to school again now. A private school to be exact, same as your other sister, Zoe, who was currently acing her first year at the prestigious Darcy College. You were so proud of both of them, but with the medical bills and their education, you needed the money.

Which is why your employer’s offer made both your skin crawl but also your heart clench. You needed it. Maybe just as much as he needed this Montrose guy killed.

You glanced down at your left hand, your sisters’ initials that you had tattooed on your wrist serving as a powerful reminder of what you inevitably had to agree to. A possible suicide mission. Because how were you going to pull this high-profile kill off without being able to actually device a plan in advance? Without getting caught.

And yet you found yourself accepting his offer.

“Okay.”

Your employer didn’t look surprised, seemingly confident that money could indeed buy anything. Or anyone. He had been completely oblivious to your inner turmoil. Probably because of your very well practiced poker face that you never let slip.

“I will do it,” you said. “On one condition.”

“What?”

“Like I said earlier, this is gonna cost you. Not just three, I want five times my regular fee. Take it or leave it.”

He seemed exceptionally pleased with himself as an unsettling smile creeped onto his face.

“You have a deal.”

Fuck the rich, you thought as you bitterly shook his hand.

––––

A/N: sooo this is the first (kinda short, introductory) part of this Rhys x reader fic. The next parts will be longer, don’t worry! Although I’m very busy with work, I will try to stick to my regular posting schedule (Tuesdays, Fridays, and Sundays) as much as I can. Know that the next few parts have already been drafted and are almost ready to be published :) And boy, it’s going to be a ride. Thank you for reading!!!!

#rhys montrose x reader #rhys montrose x female reader #rhys montrose fanfic #rhys montrose fic #rhys montrose #you netflix #you season 4 #you season 4 canon divergence #jonathan moore #joe goldberg #goldrose #ed speleers #rhys montrose x original female character #on ao3 #you and me #i can really say only one thing #buckle the hell up

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adelainejdevyn · 1 year

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What are you reading, Nes?

Beware of the spice in this one🌶

The wooden door of the shack burst open and fell off its hinges. The footsteps echoed across the walls of the old house as a figure stepped inside. The golden light from the lanterns on the street illuminated his body, but left his face in utter darkness. His broad shoulders filled the space, and beyond them Persephone caught a glimpse of his white feathered wings.

Nesta bit her lip as she read the lines in her newest book titled; Union of Souls. A striking story about a Death God falling in love with a mortal girl and making her his wife and Queen.

She let the book fall on her chest, barely covered by her thin nightgown as she turned her head to look at her own husband; her mate; her Lord of Bloodshed.

Cassian’s dark hair was gathered in a messy bun, his hazel eyes narrowed behind his wired silver glasses she hadn’t known he needed, while he read a stack of reports in their bed. Nesta’s eyes trailed his nude body, tanned and covered in scars, his giant wings gleaming ebony in the soft firelight of their bedroom.

She watched as a smile slowly appeared on his face, “What are you reading, Nes?”

Nesta felt herself blush, as she gently set her volume on the nightstand and turned fully to face Cassian. She rested a gentle hand on his stomach.

“Just a romance book,” she said, “for our Valkyrie book club. Gwyn recommended it, actually. She and Azriel have been acting out naughty scenes from the book apparently, it’s the reason they randomly disappear from training.”

Cassian let out a soft laugh as Nesta’s hand trailed lower on his body, he was utterly naked beneath the sheets covering them. Nesta sighed softly as she wrapped her hand around his length; hard and massive, his desire driving her own.

He looked over at her, his eyes traveling from her heated cheeks to the rise and fall of her breasts, his gaze darkening with desire as she pumped him.

“Gods.” he whispered, the reports falling from his fingers as he shot out a hand that encircled hers, not pulling her away but rather guiding their hands together over his hardness, “Gods bless the author of those naughty books you read. They make my life so much more interesting.”

Nesta let out a seductive laugh and licked her lip as she watched his warrior body writhe on their bed, the sheets sliding down his powerful thighs, his cock glistening where their entwined hands touched it.

“Nes.” he rasped as his hands reached for her. Cassian pushed her onto her back, his hands warm and familiar on her body as they trailed from her shoulders down her collarbones and the curves of her breasts. She moaned, her back arching.

“Please,” she begged him, “please, Cassian. It has been so long.”

And it had been. He had left for the Illyrian Mountains after a disruptive meeting in Rhys’ house, and she had been too busy with her Valkyrie training to join him. She had missed him so much.

“Oh,” she gasped as he guided himself inside of her, she was wet and warm, ready for him. “Cassian, please.”

Nesta always had been wild, where Cassian was concerned, but the combination of the bond between them and his absence drove her even wilder with desire.

Cassian gathered her wrists in his hand above her head and he drove into her. The headboard crashed against the wall with every thrust, but Nesta could not find it in herself to care.

“That’s it, Nes.” Cassian gasped, “Be a good girl and open those legs for me.”

She blushed at his words, but she was a good girl and did as he commanded. Cassian leaned down and took her mouth in his. Their kiss was so searing and so loving that it made Nesta clench around him as she came. Her back arched off the bed even with her hands restrained in his grip.

Cassian lost no time in guiding her onto her stomach. Before she was able to catch her breath, she felt his enormous body and his powerful wings on top of her. He gently moved her long hair to one side, and leaned down to kiss her spine as he entered her again.

Nesta let out a cry, more sensitive after her first orgasm. But Cassian's panting in her ear was a familiar melody that she cherished, so she found herself grinding against him, moving against him, even if she was restrained beneath his huge body.

Cassian’s grip on her hair tightened momentarily, and she heard him groan as he spilled inside of her. Nesta let out a satisfied sigh at the familiar feeling of his coming inside her body.

Cassian fell onto the bed next to her, and Nesta was able to turn her head to look at him. His glasses had been knocked askew on his face. His cheeks were heated and his lips swollen from their kissing.

“I love you.” She said.

Cassian pulled her against him, she laid her head on his chest while he placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

“I love you, sweetheart.” Cassian murmured.

Author’s note:

Curious to see what Nesta had been reading? Check out my Wattpad page!

#nessian #nesta archeron #Acosf #a court of silver flames #cassian acotar #Smut #Valkyrie bookclub #acotar

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misfitsandmischief · 2 years

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The sun rose on the early morning fog, it's bright rays waking the wildlife of the woods. The day promised to be warm though it was far from it. A lone crow flew over the trees, his eyes searching for the little dirt path that cut so cleanly through the forest, and there just a few yards away from it hidden by the trees, an oak with a hollowed out trunk. As the crow descended he let out a loud croak, warning any creatures nearby of his intentions to land. The bird grumbled and complained, already irritated at his chore of the day. He was to go to the little village down the road, his witch had instructed, and look about for an herbalist.

Lot of good it will do me with such clear instructions. She is an herbalist what does she need one for..

With a shudder of his feathers the bird slowly grew, shedding his feathers for skin and trading wing and claw for human limbs. He stood, shaking a few stubborn feathers loose from his hair, and pulled a sack from inside the hollow of the tree, adorning himself with a plain black t-shirt and simple pants. With a final stretch he started his walk, bare feet padding silently along the dirt path that would take him to civilization.

#The feathered familiar {Rhys}#open rp #oc rp #oc roleplay #have a crow

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the-lonelybarricade · 1 year

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What are 1, 2, 4, 5, and 8 from on your top 10 MB moments?

LOL, my top @separatist-apologist moments revisted WITH SOURCES

Ferye stabbing Rhys in the hand, Chapter 1 of The Great War

“I’ll trade you, darling. I’ll answer any question you have if you give me the knife in your hand.”

Feyre hesitated. “Do you swear?”

Rhysand nodded, that lock of dark hair falling against his forehead again. Pressing a golden hand to his heart, he said, “I swear it.”

Quick as a viper, Feyre lunged. Rhysand shouted, unprepared to have the blade of her knife buried in the back of his hand. She’d stabbed with all her pent up fury, all but pinning him to the table by the point of the serrated blade.

His face was altogether too close when she turned to look at him, those violet eyes blazing with some unreadable emotion. “You never said how I had to return it.”

2. Mr. Fox revealing himself at the altar, Chapter 2 of They Say I Did Something Bad

“Relax,” an all too familiar voice murmured, lips touching hers. She knew that mouth. Elain’s eyes flew open, horror curling through her stomach at the sight of amused russet eyes looking back. He pressed an utterly chaste kiss against her mouth, the sort that would be expected to cement a wedding.

Elain could barely think as she looked upon his unmasked face. Had he known, she wondered. Panic thundered through her as she drank in his features. His red hair was tied off his face though all she could see in her mind was how it had tumbled over his broad shoulders, obscuring his face from view when he’d settled between her legs. A long scar cut over one of his eyes, hidden the night before in his orange, fox shaped mask. She’d been right to think him handsome—in the daylight and unobscured, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

Applause drew Elain back to reality. Lord Vanserra was smiling at her, his amusement practically feline. Brushing his knuckles over her cheek, he murmured, “I’ve been thinking about you, little rose.” She was going to be sick. “You–”

“Smile,” he interrupted, sliding a gloved hand into hers. “Everyone is watching.”

3. Henrietta. Take your pick, but her most recent appearance was in Chapter 1 of Wishing On Dandelions

Lucien could now join her outdoors if he wanted—and he often did, if only to annoy her. Henrietta didn’t like him. Perhaps she remembered how he’d dumped her out here to fend for herself. Maybe he just radiated something the chicken didn’t like. Whatever it was, Henrietta’s feathers would ruffle, flapping as she chased after him and nipping at his ankles until he was far from Elain. Only then would Henrietta waddle back, preening and waiting for Elain to stroke her feathers.

“She’s a menace!” Lucien snarled one day, watching Elain from the patio, arms crossed over his chest.

“She’s a gift,” Elain replied, throwing his own words right back into his face.

4. Helion telling the priest Lucien is celibate, Chapter 2 of Slow Daning In A Burning Room

“Nervous?” the bishop, in his arched white hat and flowing robes, cut the most absurd figure in the bright, unseasonably warm day. “It’s not unusual for grooms to be nervous on their wedding day.” “Anxious,” Helion replied in a dead pan while the bishop unlocked the church doors to allow them inside. “He has been waiting for marriage and his wedding night has left him with jitters.”

Lucien choked on the air he breathed. The bishop, too, glanced over at Lucien with a strange frown.

“Well…that is less common but the Lord commands it.”

“He is quite pious and we are very proud of him,” Helion continued, putting a hand on his sons shoulders.

5. Nudist Rhys begging on his knees, I'll Bet You Think About Me

“Touch yourself,” he rasped. “Show me how you like to be touched.”

“Thinking about touching me?” she tried to tease, though her fingers brushed her swollen clit all the same.

Rhy’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “Open the door, Ferye. Let me show you.”

She was tempted. So tempted her arm jerked without her consent, her body desperate to know what it would feel like to have his big, broad hands on her.

Feyre dipped two fingers into her body, her stomach flipping when Rhys practically whined at the sight. Coating herself in her slick arousal, she trailed upwards, leaving a glistening path over her stomach as she toyed with her breasts.

Rhys looked like he was seconds from falling to his knees, to begging and pleading to be let in.

6. No pants can contain Lucien, Chapter 1 of Wonderland

“Would you put on pants?”

He scoffed. “Pants?”

“Yes,” she murmured, as if he hadn’t seen her staring at his cock. Did she not like it? Lucien frowned.

“Why pants?”

“Um…it’s just…” more red on her pretty, tanned face. “You’re naked.”

“Yes,” he agreed again.

“The men where I come from wear pants. And a shirt,” she amended hastily.

“When I shift, my clothes will shred,” he explained with amusement. “There are not enough pants in the world to keep me clothed.”

7. Rhys wanting to get tacos after helping Feyre murder someone, from the very sexy Is There A Word For Bad Miracle?

Rhys.

Her accomplice.

“My name is Feyre.”

He nodded. “C’mon. Let’s get some soft tacos. We’ll need an alibi, right? On me.”

Feyre could only nod. “Right.”

Rhys opened her passenger door with a flourish, hand outstretched for her keys. Feyre handed them wordlessly while Rhys jogged around the back of her little coup, slamming the trunk shut. This was where he’d threaten her, she thought with dread. Blackmail—she’d be trapped with another psycho instead of being free.

“So,” he said, circling away from the docks easily. He had one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the center console. “Are you thinking soft tacos, or—”

8. Bodyguard Lucien calling Elain "Baby" from Chapter 1 of Treacherous

“You need to run,” Lucien told her, looking at the same thing. His hair had come loose from his pony tail, falling in a tangled mass around his face and shoulders.

“You’ll die if I leave you,” she replied, her panic threatening to overwhelm her. “Just stand up—”

“Baby,” he murmured, grabbing her face. “Look at me. You need to run.”

9. Dark Gods Lucien saying "this is hell" from Chapter 2 of I Am Not A Woman I'm A God

“I’m going to fuck every inch of you,” Lucien gasped, his hair creating a curtain between them. “Every inch of skin, every hole.”

She keened, hooking her leg against his ass, dragging him closer the heel of her foot.

“This is hell,” he swore, his clever fingers drawing her higher. She ignored what he said, ignored what he might mean until he reached for her hand. Elain clasped, gasping at the cool metal now pressed against her skin.

10. Feyre and Rhys late to their own wedding from Chapter 2 of Red Earth and Pouring Rain

“Now who is needy?” she whispered when a soft whimper escaped him. Rhys buried his face against the crook of her neck, stroking long and slow. Feyre couldn’t breathe. Pulling his shirt up just enough to dig her nails down his muscled back, Feyre breathed him in, trying to slow the building orgasm pooling in her gut. Feyre had forgotten they were supposed to be getting married right until Rhys, wild and undone in a way she’d never witnessed before, grunted, “We’re going tae be late.”

BOTH bonuses are from They Say I Did Something Bad

Rhys killing Tamlin as a form of proposal - (This was added because I won a bet):

Lightning cracked over the sky, illuminating the pair as Rhysand’s voice floated towards Lucien, darker than night itself.

“Feyre, darling,” his voice broke, splintering like the lightning around them. Tamlin knelt between the pair, Rhys fistling his hair. “Tell me to kill him.”

Elain admiring her husband's flaccid penis becuase she so rarely sees it that way:

He was half hard, which seemed to be his constant state of being unless he was in deep, troubled sleep. Elain had pulled the blanket back once to look at him, pleased by how soft he’d been. He was so normal that way, as if he had thought that did not revolve around her or being inside her.

Not now. Lucien was watching her study him, halting so he had all his weight on one leg, his cock swinging absurdly between his thighs.

“Stop that,” she complained. “Or I shall get nothing done.”

#WELCOME TO A GLIMPSE INSIDE MY MIND #IT IS JUST FULL OF UNHOLY THOUGHTS THAT MB HAS PUT THERE #Can you tell I like They Say I Did Something Bad?#It's my favorite #fic recs #MB FICS #Elucien fic #Feysand fic

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jillianglenn · 10 months

Text

Sundergarments and Shapewear Solutions.

Summer unders. I cannot overstate the value of a well-placed nipple cover or being able to sit (or stand) comfortably at a hot and humid wedding ceremony without sweat dripping in awkward crevices like your inner thigh. There are indeed quite simple and available solutions to ensure you feel perfect in your killer new dress.

This topic has been covered, to say the least, but I'm looking at it from our post-covid lens (you know the one where we actually just want to be comfortable.) The idea is less about squeezing in to an uncomfortable gown that is too small to begin with, that you didn't get altered (more on that next week), and not eating a single morsel for the entire evening just for the sake of pulling off a 12th century badge of suffocating your organs...

but rather...

pulling on a soft cooling pair of boy shorts under your skirt so you can sit comfortably without your legs sweating and having to peel yourself away from the chair. Even better - get this: the evolution of undergarments and shapewear is such that some of these particulars you can just wear around the house and fall asleep in. Yep. They are, like, comfortable and soft.

After we finished all the design adjustments for our Emerson Jumpsuit - and there were many - we were suddenly intrigued by the versatility of the garment. You could dress this puppy way up or just normal spectactular, and you could wear it all day and into the night. There was something familiar about the one-piece jumpsuit fit and then I realized when I was packing my daughter's swim bag, the familiarity was from childhood when we just threw on our overalls or one piece terry jumpers. Aha moment!

So that all being said, when we design our collections, we take into account whether we would wear the pieces ourselves - two active, professional women with careers and mothers to a collective four kids. Some items are more forgiving than others, but strap and zipper placement, ease through the legs and loose jackets are all part of the mix.

Back to the aha moment, there is huge potential to increase the wearability of your closet just by wearing the right items underneath. Some benefits are obvious: compression and smoothing of your body under your clothes, slimming your figure and reducing wrinkles and folds in your ensemble. Less obvious might be how under-attire protects your prize wardrobe piece from the oils, lotions and perspiration of your skin. As it's the death valley of summer heat while I write this, i'm thinking primarily of dripping sweat and sticky skin mitigation, but I wore a super soft bodysuit in various styles from Everlane during a busy winter travel schedule to the Northeast and it was game-changing.

Bottom line: there are many winner brands and undergarments in our research. The best, however, are the garments that fit YOUR body best. Try them all. Don't force yourself into something that is too small. Buy several styles in both light and dark colors.

Specifics that we love & what to wear them with:

Honeylove "Super Powershort." $89

True shapewear but just the right amount of compression and ease with movement. Our more petite models raved about this fit. Pairs well with all dresses and skirts.

Commando "Classic Control High-Waisted Short." $72

Light compression, and we love the range of neutral colors. The raw edge hems are right up our style alley and these shorts stay put. Pairs well with all dresses and skirts.

Commando "Ballet One-Shoulder Bodysuit." $108

Light like a feather, slim and stretchy, not controlling. Great with the Burke Dress, Rhys Tank and Knox Tunic.

Thigh Society "The Staple." $39

One product wonder here, but we wore these all day in our office with a tee. Less compression here, this is for comfort and coverage under really any piece, pants to skirts and dresses. Several lengths available. We tried the staple in several lengths, but more options abound. Side note: I even wore the black pair on a run! Pairs well with all dresses and skirts.

Skims "Fits Everybody One Shoulder Cut-Out Bodysuit." $62

Found this as we were looking for just the right item for our asymmetric Burke Dress and Rhys Tank. Real good. As is the Seamless Sculpt Bandeau. And the Cotton Rib Onesie. No secret Skims is having a moment - yay - but drawback is many items sold out and colors are limited. Pairs well with the asym garments like the Burke Dress, Rhys Tank and Knox Tunic.

Everlane "Cutaway Tank Bodysuit." $40

Supima Cotton, sustainably sourced, soft. So versatile - under a blazer, under anything, visible or not, highly recommend, just wish they had more colors. Available in both bikini and thong. This is a favorite for sure and the item I wore all winter under ever darn thing. Pairs well with suiting sets under the Hollis Blazer with Sloane Pant, Livvy Pant.

Lululemon Ribbed Nulu Asymmetrical Yoga Bra. $58

Smaller chested winner! Sizing is confusing with this item, helps to start with measuring your band size just below your breasts. Pairs well with the asym garments like the Burke Dress, Rhys Tank and Knox Tunic.

Emily Marie Apparel Power Bra. $28

One-shoulder with removeable pads. We love the inclusive intention behind this brand and this bra works perfect with our asymmetric pieces. Comfy AF! Pairs well with the asym garments like the Burke Dress, Rhys Tank and Knox Tunic.

#womensfashion #womensapparel #summerstyle #howto #whatshewore #undergarments #shapewear #wardrobesolutions #curated #whattowearunderneath #fieldtest #recommended #glennglennapparel

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celestialpearls · 3 years

Text

➱ second-in-command

➱ Lee Jihoon x reader

➱ so much fluff i can’t take it actually

➱ 772 words

➱ Jihoon’s fondness for you doesn’t waver. And it seems like his team feels the same as they seem to have started to call you the ‘second-in-command.’

➱ A/N: @heartgyus special appearance!!

Jihoon sighs, adjusting his snapback after running his hands through his hair. His all black training clothes heighten the heat he's feeling and he can't wait until he gets to shower. But his captain duties such as addressing the flow of today's soccer practice needs to be done. He waits for his teammates near the gate and once they're all there, he clears his throat.

"Good job today. I know it's been hard to have the will to come to practice with assessment and exam period on its way. So thank you for still..."

He halts his sentences as he notices something. His teammates, particularly Jeonghan and Seokmin have this ridiculous smile on their lips. They seem to be looking far behind him so he pays it no mind. He does, however, call them out, "Jeonghan, Seokmin. Anything you'd like to say?"

Seungkwan's eyes are tinged with mirth, "the second-in-command is coming."

Jihoon furrows his eyebrows as he doesn't recall the coach saying anything about a vice captain. Then he feels a hand on his waist followed by the comforting scent of honey and coconut when you put your chin on his shoulder. A pretty grin is aimed his way and he can't help his joy when he sees you.

"Hey Capt," you kiss his cheek before standing beside him.

All Jihoon does is squeeze his eyes shut as his teammates obnoxiously cheer and yell at the display of affection. You smile at them and mutter a small 'hi,' his heart beating with affection.

Mingyu clicks his tongue, "alright, you two. No need to rub it in that we're single."

"Maybe if your balls were as big as you brag about, you'd talk to Rhys instead of wallowing in your feelings for her."

His teammates start a ruckus again with Seokmin repeatedly slapping a pouting Mingyu's shoulder. It was a combination of shouting and variations of them saying that the taller shouldn’t have opened his mouth. Jihoon wraps his arm around your waist as he whistles, "well, you've stirred quite a bit of chaos."

You chuckle, "sorry, baby. I couldn't resist. I can reign them in for you if you want?"

He caresses your cheek briefly and steps back as he shrugs, "be my guest."

It's funny how his team immediately pays attention to you as soon as you step forward. He crosses his arms and watches on, mulling over the fact that maybe you fit the second-in-command title. Jihoon's aware that he's looking at like you hung the sun and clouds because the only thing he registers from you’ve just said is something about Oreo churros.

"If you win, I'll double the amount of what I usually do for Oreo churros. And, I'll help Gyu out with Rhys so listen to what Jihoon has to say. Got it?"

And it's also funny how you know the way to get them to really listen - through appealing to their bottomless stomach. Plus appealing to the lack of romance in their lives. Because after that, he manages to say what he needs smoothly, good luck wishes exchanged for the upcoming busy period.

You intertwine your fingers with his as he hikes his training bag on his shoulder. The afternoon sun makes it seem like there is a halo is around your head. You look gorgeous which is nothing new but it doesn’t stop Jihoon from being mesmerised.

"I didn't know you were coming. What brought this on?" he questions.

Your grin is very familiar towards his question. It's a smile that reminds him of what happened earlier with Mingyu. He braces himself for your next words.

You shrug, "well, you looked sexy in the photos Seungkwan sent me. So I wanted to see it for myself."

He huffs out a laugh, his face matching the heat of the day star as he brushes his hair back. You seem so Jihoon halts his footsteps and decides to bite the bait. An arm find its place around your waist once again, your hands resting on his chest. The glee and affection in your eyes is crystal clear. This way, your allure is overpowering. Jihoon tilts his head slightly.

"Well, were you satisfied?"

You respond by pressing your lips to his but it’s so light that it feels like he’s been kissed by a feather. Pulling away, you start to walk ahead as you say over your shoulder, “hmm, yes. But I’ll be even more satisfied if you shower because you stink. I’m not kissing you until you do.”

Jihoon is affronted, mouth open in shock as you sashay away from him. “That’s mean!”

“Love you, Ji!”

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onceupona-chaos · 3 years

Text

Feathers and dawn

Day 15 of Elriel month/ Explosion of power

The half-wraith gave her friend a feral grin, white teeth flashing against her dark skin, and said quietly in her midnight voice, “Stealthy as a doe.”

Elain matched Nuala’s smile, sending a thrill down Azriel’s spine. “Fierce as a wolf.”

Word count: 3838

Warnings: Language

Disclaimer: This was a huge challenge for me, because English isn't my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes. Part II is coming out on day 18 (I think). Be kind!

“ELAIN!”

Azriel was kneeling on the ground, panting through gritted teeth as he tried not to succumb to that invisible force covering him like a heavy blanket. Whatever spells and wards casted upon that place were draining his magic little by little as if he had been hit by several ash arrows - only ten times worse.

Even with the cold rain soaking him, the raindrops like ice needles against his skin and wings, he managed to fix his eyes on the cave, scanning and scanning through the dark dots that were beginning to form, trying to see something, anything.

But the cave was as dark as the sky above him. A never ending darkness that seemed to swallow any blue light from his almost drained Siphons.

His shadows detected nothing. Not a whisper, not a move, no sign of her.

After Elain had disappeared inside the Cave and his shadows couldn't get a reading, he had immediately sent Nuala to get Rhysand whilst he tried to find a way in. But he couldn't pass the wards just like his shadows couldn't sense her.

When a female scream echoed from inside the cave, Azriel couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Pure, clear panic was all he knew.

When he had been summoned to the river house in the morning, not in his five hundred years he’d expected it to turn out like this.

Shit. Shit.

________________

Azriel hadn't been able to sleep for more than a few hours, and even so dreams and nightmares made him roll in his bed the entire time. He’d been awake for hours, staring at the two Solstice gifts he’d got from her when dawn came. And with it, Rhys’ orders.

He made a point not to arrive earlier than he needed, so he wouldn’t be - couldn't be - in the same place as her longer than necessary. Keeping his distance when he wasn't at the river house was torture enough, but being in the same house and still feel as if they were at opposite edges of the same abyss…

And yet when Azriel landed outside the river house, his shadows quickly whispered in his ear that Rhysand wasn't alone in his studio.

The warning did nothing to stop his body from stiffen when he stepped through the door, the illusion of a meeting only between him and his brother quickly dissipating, and his eyes shot straight to the window - and there she was.

He didn't know if it was the lilac dress or the sunlight casting through the window, but her eyes were almost the color of pure honey. But something was off, her usually open expression was stark and hard, and then he noticed the pallidness on that beautiful face and the faint black bruises under her eyes. Even though he knew his face was the portrait of boredom, his shadows swarmed him, sensing his unease.

Azriel made his eyes move to where Amren was sitting crossed-legged, her petite body almost hidden beneath a white fur coat. Feyre cradling Nyx in her arms was sitting next to Rhysand, the baby soundly asleep, warm against his mother's chest.

Azriel looked back to where Elain was, her shoulders tensing a bit as if she could sense his gaze on her even when she was peering through the window, and he knew she was deliberately avoiding looking at him. It was only a stolen glimpse from his part - Azriel was well aware of Rhysand's violet eyes on him, almost daring him to disobey his orders.

Azriel made the boiling rage cool down, kept his face carefully blank, his mask of cool boredom still in place whilst he faced his brother, lifting an eyebrow in question.

Amren, on the other hand, didn’t bother to mask her impatience. “We’re waiting, Rhysand.”

The High Lord of The Night Court nodded to Elain, and Azriel felt his body stiffened once again. Rhysand announced, "It looks like we have another Made object to worry about.”

Silence.

Azriel’s blood went cold in his veins. He asked quietly, "How would you know?"

Elain didn't give many details. But she emphasized it was more of a sense than a normal vision, as if she could smell a storm coming but the skies remained clear. As if she could hear an ancient whisper in the wind. She wasn't sure what it was until last night - when something long forgotten had presented itself in a dream. Azriel was well aware of what kind of objects could call for someone like that.

“What is this object?” Feyre asked.

Elain replied, “I… I can’t See what it is.” Azriel tracked the way she swallowed. “It’s veiled in shadows. Hidden among the silence itself."

Nodding more to herself, Amren said, "Whatever this is, it wants to be found at last.” She narrowed her eyes at Elain’s direction. "It's calling for you, girl."

Azriel's shadows gathered even closer, sensing his concern. He remembered of Oorid, how Nesta’s body shook after she retrieved The Mask. For Elain to be exposed to the same danger…

And yet, he couldn’t - wouldn’t interfere. He knew how much each choice Elain got to make was precious to her. She’d told him that herself on one of those nights in front of the fireplace. Her eyes had been filled with a mix of sadness and hope as if she still could feel her own choices slipping through her fingers as if they were grains of sand.

He had only stared at her back then, imagining how it had been like for her going into the Cauldron - and then spending months trapped in her own visions to the point she couldn't tell dreams and reality apart. So he'd kept silent, let his understanding rise to the surface so she could see it and watched as her body relaxed under his gaze.

So different from now when she looked in every direction except his as she watched the harsh argument, Amren insisting vigorously that Elain should go look for the object.

That explained why Nesta wasn't there, why Rhysand hadn't asked him to fly her down.

Whilst Cassian was in Illyria for an inspection of the aerial legions, the priestesses had recently received another female. Nesta didn't so much hesitate in wanting to help her the way she could and have been spending more time than usual at the library. But not to tell her, to keep this away from her…

"Does Nesta know about this?", Azriel cut in.

"She would take this task for herself." Rhysand didn't even bother to look guilty. "And if it's calling for Elain, we can't risk sending anyone else, even if she chooses not to go. It could end very badly."

"Maybe Nesta would be right to hesitate to send Elain," Azriel argued back, violet eyes narrowing. "Either way, that doesn't justify not telling her."

Feyre was glaring at her mate, undoubtedly saying something in his head, as if they had that discussion before. Many times.

But before she could say anything out loud, Amren cut in, "It's not calling for Nesta, boy."

Azriel's voice was cold as ice. "Do not forget that we already kept information from her before."

Amren didn’t even have time to open her mouth - to disagree or snarl, Azriel didn't know - before Elain stood up from her seat at the window, "That’s enough."

They all twisted toward her, brows raised. The only sound in the room now was the soft rustle of Nyx delicate wings.

Elain looked at Rhys, eyes sharp but voice even. "You of all people should know what it is like to want to protect those who you love and that is no excuse for keeping things from Nesta." Sadness coated her expression. “Not again, Rhys.”

This time, Rhys had the decency to look at least guilty. Ferey intervened, "I'll tell her this afternoon. I want Cassian there, too."

Elain nodded. "I'm not a child for anyone to decide for me. If it's calling for me, I won’t run away.” She said squaring her shoulders, never looking away from her older sister, who was just about to say something. "And I am not asking for permission."

And her posture, her words, her tone were so fierce, those large caramel-brown eyes flickering while she studied them all and Azriel knew that she’d do whatever was necessary to help this court.

A reminder that the Archeron sisters were forged by the same fire.

Azriel's chest ached with pride - and terror. Terror for her. But he pushed aside those instincts that were screaming to keep her safe, to not let her near any danger, and asked at last, "Then how do we find it?"

_________________

In a matter of minutes, Elain was sitting before a map, her eyes shifting beneath her lids as if she could See the entire world. Everyone was watching her as she searched for the right place, the one that appeared in her dreams - so Azriel used the moment to admire her.

Beautiful. She was so beautiful, he could admire her for the rest of his days in the same way he looked at the rising sun.

Elain’s hand hovered over that map, the creamy, soft skin marked by small scars, her delicate fingers were calloused, no doubt from her gardening. She cocked her head, as if listening to those whispering to find the right path. Azriel could’ve sworn the room was getting warmer.

She let a finger down and opened her eyes. For a second it looked like a faint golden glow shone behind the familiar brown, just like one could see the faelights behind a piece of glass, but then Elain blinked a few times - and it faded away.

"Here," she said.

Feyre sighted deeply as she cupped Nyx’s head as if she could protect him from her very words. "Of course it's in the Middle."

______________________

Nuala didn't ask any questions. She'd only showed up in the afternoon as they had agreed, passing right through the wall. Elain appeared a second later, opening the door and almost scrambling Azriel's brain cells to the point of uselessness.

Her hair was braided behind her head, a blue surcoat, similar to the one she wore in the war, reached the middle of her thighs. It wasn’t Illyrian leathers, but the slits in the lower part of the surcoat combined with her leather pants did absolutely nothing to hide her curves and the color made her skin look almost golden.

His shadows brightened as if to let him see all of her more clearly. He knew he was staring, that he should say something about them going somewhere, but he couldn't even remember his words. When Feyre had suggested he accompany Elain, he’d made his best to not look at Rhys, to just naturally nod in agreement.

Rhysand wouldn't say a word about Solstice. Not in front of Feyre, that is.

But that didn't stop his High Lord to make Nuala play chaperone with a bullshit excuse that her gifts might end up being useful in the place they were heading to and her friendship with Elain could help.

The message was crystal clear.

Azriel's eyes dropped without his acknowledgement to her lips, those sweet lips he had been so close to taste. He heard someone coughing, but his mind didn’t register the sound.

When he finally realized he was staring, he quickly snapped his eyes to hold her gaze. Despite the faint pink coloring her cheeks, a flicker of amusement sparkled in Elain’s expression.

Behind him, someone cleared their throat.

Azriel ignored the smirk curving Feyre’s lips just like he ignored Nuala’s amusement, trying his best to contain the heat spreading across his cheeks at the thought of them watching the staring contest between the two of them.

Finally Nuala decided to put him out of his misery and asked, "Shall we?".

________________

By the time the swirl of shadows disappeared, Azriel was half distracted by the feeling of Elain's small hand in his. But the moment Azriel was able to have a good look at the place before them, he felt the hair on his arms rose.

A deep forest was revealed, huge, gigantic trees side by side, making him feel the same size as Amren. Nuala let go of his other hand and almost unconsciously he tightened his grip on Elain's as she looked wild-eyed at the view before them.

As if one could call it that.

Where the forest should be rejoicing with life, there was none. Not a single leaf remained in those trees, the naked branches curling above the small, meandering trail like black claws. There wasn't a single animal or insect anywhere beneath the dark gray sky, making the atmosphere grievously melancholic.

No light, no life. A place of utter sadness, as silent as Death.

"I've seen worse." Nuala's midnight voice was almost a whisper, but still reverberated like a thunder in that deadly silence, her attempt of being playful covered by the tenseness in her tone.

Azriel studied Elain, who swallowed before saying, "Me too." Her face was cautious, tight. She cocked her head as if heading some inner voice.

He asked, "Can you See where it is?"

She gently let go of his hand, blushing a little as if she had just realized they were still touching. "No, not See it" She said, scanning the forest. "But I can hear it."

"The shadows don't hear anything," Nuala said, moving to be at Elain’s side. “Do you remember what we discussed?”

Elain nodded.

“Once we enter the forest, watch your steps and try to walk toe to heels most of the time. Listen carefully to our breathing,” Nuala said, gesturing to her and then Azriel, who was watching the scene with raised brows. “And match yours with it always. Be as quiet as you can.”

To his surprise, Elain just lifted a brow at the command in Nuala’s tone, who gave her a Look. “I’m serious, if you can help it, do not make a sound in this place.” The half-wraith gave her friend a feral grin, white teeths flashing against her dark skin and said quietly in her midnight voice, “Stealthy as a doe.”

Elain matched Nuala’s smile, sending a thrill down Azriel’s spine. “Fierce as a wolf.”

And then they walk right into The Silent Forest, living an almost dumbfounded Azriel behind.

_________________

They had been walking for what it felt like hours now.

Even with his five hundred years worth of daily training, Azriel could feel his strength being drained slowly as if a heavy hand was pushing them back. With every step he took, it was like the forest itself, every single inch of that damn forest, didn’t want them there.

He kept his wings tucked in tight while eyeing their surroundings, once or twice he saw what seemed a glimpse of eyes watching them. The children of The Silent Forest. He could only pray for them to get the hell out of that place before sunset.

Nuala seemed just as uncomfortable. Shadows gathered around her like a veil of darkness as if they could shield her from that invisible force, even though she was holding Elain’s hand now.

Elain, who did not balk. She just kept walking, stopping sometimes along the way, her head cocked as if she could hear an inner voice luring her into the right direction until, at some point, Elain left the small forest trail to venture in an invisible path between the trees.

More than once Nuala looked at Elain and smirked, causing a blush to spread across Elain’s pale cheeks.

Despite the circumstances why Nuala was there, Azriel was grateful for the female attempts to distract Elain from her visible, growing tension. So he kept a few steps behind, offering the two females some privacy. And when the temptation of using his shadows to know the cause of that blush crossed his mind, which was every five minutes, he pushed it aside and tried to focus on the surroundings or on the infinity, dark sky above them. With the sun almost down, the charged clouds waltzing through it in a promise of desolation.

They kept walking against that invisible force, almost unbearable now until… there. Azriel stiffened.

Deep in the forest, where the darkness seemed to unfold out of it, the entrance into a cave opened as if it was a path to another world, one made of Darkness and nothing more.

Azriel’s shadows whispered to not go further.

Nuala seemed to sense the same thing. "It feels… so wrong.” Her voice was quiet, but it seemed to be swallowed by the cave as if it was greedy to devour any sound, any light.

“Strange,” Elain whispered back, brows furrowing. “It doesn’t feel like that to me.”

Azriel looked once again at the sky. They didn’t have much more time before night - and the beasts - came. He was almost suggesting to turn around, maybe they could convince Rhysand to come along.

"I’ll be right back."

It took a moment to her words sink in, to Azriel make sense of what had just come out of Elain’s mouth. Elain, who was already moving. Elain, who was already walking towards the cave, getting closer with each step.

Azriel moved out of sheer instinct, rushing forward to grab her hand, but again that damn force was pushing him back now. He flared his wings, trying to find some balance to keep going. "Elain," he snarled.

She paused right before the entrance and looked back at him, "I can hear its calling, it won't hurt me.”

Azriel was breathing hard, so lost on his mind that he didn’t realize the rain soaking him. He didn't like that one bit. He wanted to reach her, put his arms around her and shot to the skies. But he only unsheathed Truth-Teller and offered it to her. Elain bit her lip and walked back.

He pressed his dagger to her hands, their eyes meeting - just like he had done once. Elain didn't hesitate this time. “Just…” He took his hand, trying to find the words. And there were so many words. “Come back," he said at last. A request and a prayer.

Elain squeezed his fingers and looked at Nuala before turning around. Azriel tracked every breath, every movement she made. His shadows speared toward the cave, watching over Elain, until darkness swallowed her.

He was still monitoring her through his shadows, Nuala by his side. None of them dared to speak - not that he wanted to. Nuala worked as his spy long enough to know he kept to himself. His shadows were still curling around his neck to whisper in his ear.

Then, they became silent. As silent as they could be as they lost Elain’s track.

The screams came not long after she disappeared.

______________________

"ELAIN!"

The female scream was still echoing in Azriel’s ears, his own panic was a fog he couldn't see through. He tried to use his Shiphons, but whatever twisted magic ruling that place, it could not be affected.

And Elain was there somewhere.

So Azriel lunged forward - to be pushed back by that invisible form. He felt a tentacle of darkness grab him, sinking its talons deep in his very bones, sucking on his killing power.

He turned to Nuala, who was trying to summon her own shadows, to see beyond the darkness. “Go back, right now and bring Rhysand.” Her face drained of color. “Now, Nuala.”

“I won’t leave her.”

“That’s an order," he snarled.

She looked back at the cave, before assuming her shadowy form and ran back, passing directly through the trees in her way.

Fuck. Seven Shiphons never felt so powerless. He could only imagine what the hell was happening, ancient spells and wards, casted by god knows what kind of creatures and now Elain - Elain - was there and -

Think. He needed to try to calm the hell down and think. He was always planning, always calculating, that was his fucking job.

But he couldn’t think. Those talons thigned, more and more. He felt his magic leaving him slowly.

And then everything stopped.

When he looked through the raindrops once more to the cave, -

Elain’s head broke the darkness first. A solemn expression printed on her beautiful face and her eyes... they glowed. Nothing like Nesta’s silver fire, nothing like Amren’s once were, but gone was the familiar chocolate brown that Azriel had lost himself in it more times he could count, replaced by a light of white and golden. As if the sun itself was behind her skull and, just like that, the air in the forest grew hotter, wave after wave of heat crashing through him, his own strength being restored. He was only half-conscious about the dark forms of beasts older than Darkness who lived there in absolute silence, that now ran from that promise of light.

And in her hands… a small golden orb.

Any trace of that unholy darkness was gone as Elain stepped closer and on her back... the hair on Azriel arms rose, pure awe ran though his body. A pair of beautiful, strong, powerful wings, covered in feathers, each one white as snow, gleaming and glowing as if they have been sewed with golden thread, perfectly matching her otherworldly eyes. They seemed impermeable despite the water running down, like they were covered by a protection layer where drops glittered under starlight, similar to pearls.

Azriel only stood there, drinking her image and memorizing it as she walked toward him. For she was something from dreams, from tales as old as the forest around them.

Sweat began to run down his back, between his wings, in great rivers and in that moment she was the sun itself. Her face was sheer power, so luminous that radiated from her, warming the world, and he knew that despite the heavenly glow, she could release hell upon them all with nothing but a blink - no kindness, no mercy whatsoever.

Despite the heat, he did not flinch, did not so much as move. This was different from the fire that gave him his scars, a constant reminder of hate and fear. Whatever that fire was made of, this was something else entirely.

It was the warmth of firelights on Solstice nights with his family, of spring days when he would sunny his wings. The warmth of Nyx’s laughter, of Elain’s smile. He wanted her closer, wanted to slide his arms around her and let her light cast through him until the darkness of his very soul faded away. For she was light, always have been. And for someone who is lost in the dark, light is salvation.

Slowly Elain stepped out of the cave. The moment she crossed the dorway, after a few steps, that light dimmed, her wings dropped as if she couldn't sustain its weight any longer. Azriel saw when her hands tightened around the orb, bringing it to her chest. She blinked and every trace of light disappeared, her beautiful face was now mortal - and pale.

Caramel-brown eyes met hazel ones before rolling back into her head. Azriel only had time to catch Elain in his arms before she could collapse on hard rock.

#pro elriel #elriel #elriel fic #elriel fanfic #my writing #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #the shadowsinger and the fawn #elrielmonth #elriel month

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thespianbooks · 3 years

Text

A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter 26//

Masterlist

(tags: @thron3ofbooks, @df3ndyr, @courtofjurdan, @art-e-mis, @herondamnn, @the-third-me, @im-still-trying-here, @emikadreams, @paytin77, @mis-lil-red, @sleeping-and-books, @lucieisabooknerd, @amandaraey-sunshine, @easy-p-lemon, @azymondias05, @dagypsygirl, @makeshift-utopia, @fantasyshadowhunters) *bold tags don’t work ;-;

I hope this chapter finds you all well, please enjoy some fluffy Feysand and baby vibes! ❤️

"He's breathtaking," Rhys said quietly from his place beside me.

After the maelstrom of labor had passed, Sebastian entered the world with a resounding wail—the most heartwarming sound I had ever heard in my life. The minutes after passed in a blur; the midwife placing him on my chest as she and Madja worked on cleaning him off with damp washcloths while Rhys and I stared at our newborn babe. We were both too completely and utterly stunned to speak in those first few minutes but sobbed the second he opened his eyes and were met with remarkable violet-blue.

Every part of him was truly incredible; resembling his father in nearly every feature except for the blue in his eyes and the tiny, perfect, shape of his mouth—even better than my own. I touched the soft, dark tendrils of his black hair as I nodded in agreement with Rhys's sentiment.

"He's amazing," I said, my voice still hoarse from my cries of agony.

But, as our gazes lingered on our son, the overwhelming relief I felt outshined my earlier anguish—any I felt before this moment. All the worry that had grown over the last several months, all the pain I had just endured, now vanished the longer I held my son. As I touched his cheek with a tentative finger, my tattoos a stark contrast against his perfectly unblemished skin, I felt a new bond snap into place.

Rhys must've felt it too, because the kiss he pressed to my temple was tender before he whispered to Sebastian, "Cauldron save you, Mother hold you. I, High Lord of the Night Court, vow to shield you with my body, protect you with my sword," I saw his throat bob as he swallowed before carrying on. "And keep you in my heart. My son."

The tears I had been battling to hold back finally fell as he finished those sacred vows, identical to the words we exchanged when he swore me in as his High Lady. My mate pressed another kiss to my brow but didn't pull back as I met his silver-lined eyes.

"Thank you, Feyre darling," he murmured softly, brushing away my tears with his thumb.

I beamed in return, my throat still thick as I touched his face with my free hand and swept away his own tears. "I couldn't have done it without you, Rhysand," I whispered.

Sebastian mewled quietly from his place on my chest, his wailing having ceased shortly after being placed on my skin, my mate and I returned our attention to him; that all-too familiar gentle and soft glimmer pulsing through the bond that now connected the three of us in the flesh.

XXX

"We call it the Dawn of the North." Rhys began, both of us settled in bed, Sebastian covered in a light blanket and still curled up on my chest for the precious skin-to-skin contact the midwife deemed crucial for the first hour of his life.

In this first hour following the birth, my scent and touch was pivotal in aiding Sebastian's development and especially in triggering his first few instincts—nursing being the most important. It was also a vital part of the new and delicate mother-baby bond between us. So, after the midwife and Madja had cleared away the mess from the delivery and provided me with my own postpartum care; instructing me to rest and recuperate after the undertaking my body had just been through, Rhys joined my side in bed; making sure the warm blankets I had been draped and covered with remained intact. With an arm wrapped securely around my shoulders, he waved a hand, his magic turning the bed in the direction of the window opposite of us. When I met him with a questioning stare, he simply smiled and motioned to the window again; urging me to look for myself.

The sky was painted in delicate, rippling curtains of green and blue light. The stars shimmering as the veils of light transitioned from one color to the next; multiple hues ranging from pale green, to red, to pink, and varying shades of blue shining through as they moved in soft waves across the sky. Set against the mountain, Ramiel, those three stars that only appeared on rare occasions in our court now shone bright while the rest continued glimmering in the patterned light. The look of astonishment on my face caused Rhys to grin as he went on to explain its origin.

"In the ancient texts, it's said that one of the first elements that came into being was night. Nyx, the primordial, and often forgotten, goddess of night was the prelude to the creation of our world-to Prythian itself," Rhys continued, his fingers brushing along my shoulder gently as we stared out at the sky.

"She was rumored to have wings and was powerful enough to be both feared and idolized by the ancient beings of Prythian and the continent. One of the many stories I heard growing up was her love of flying. My mother used to tell me that whenever Nyx would take to the skies, she would rattle the stars just from the mighty flap of her wings as she soared through them. In the early hours of dawn that would follow, the sky would look like this," he went on, his hold around me tightening slightly.

"It could only be seen in the Northern territory of Prythian. When the lords and the courts came to be, the sky would shimmer like this almost every night, but like Starfall, it soon faded over time and became a rare occasion—only appearing the night a new heir to the Night Court was born...as a sign of Nyx's blessing and approval." Rhys finished with a smile, bringing a hand up to wipe at a tear I hadn't realized I shed.

"It's beautiful," I breathed as I turned my head to look at him. "So, it can't be seen in the other courts?" I asked, thinking of the snowfall that had appeared in all of the territories following Eira's birth and how it must have compared to the storm that ravaged the Winter court instead.

Rhys's grin was crooked as he shook his head. "It's exclusive to our court alone, but our allies are being treated to a shower of stars similar to Starfall, minus the spirits" he explained, his eyes returning to Sebastian as the newborn let out a small sigh.

I brushed my fingers along Sebastian's back lightly, afraid that anything more might cause him to disappear, or worse. Through the bond, I could feel Rhys's equal level of apprehensiveness.

"He almost doesn't seem real, does he?" I asked as I continued my feather-light touch along my son's spine.

Rhys shook his head. "I have to keep reminding myself that I'm not dreaming," he said. "That I have a son, here in the flesh, and it's not some cruel trick of illusion crafted by the Cauldron as punishment for my sins…"

My fingers halted before reaching over to grasp my mate's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "He's real, Rhysand," I said softly. "Do you remember what I told you all those months ago? How our son, our little Bash, is the culmination of all the best parts of you; of all the good you've done and are?"

The silver lining his eyes returned as he brought his lips down to meet mine with gentle ease in a chaste kiss. "All because of you, Feyre darling," he responded, his voice barely above a whisper before he kissed me again.

I smiled as we pulled apart and turned startled eyes to our son as he let out a tiny grunt. "Do you disapprove of my affection towards your mother, Bash?" Rhys asked softly.

I saw his hand twitch as if he might reach out and touch him, but changed his mind at the last second. You can touch your son, Rhysand, I promise I won't bite.

My mate's chuckle was quiet, but I felt his lingering trepidation. "It's okay," I encouraged.

His throat bobbed as he reached a shaky hand out and placed it gently on the back of Sebastian's head—so tiny and frail in my mate's large hand. Sebastian remained unfazed, eyes still closed and breathing even, as Rhys brushed a thumb along the light wisps of his blue-black hair.

"He is so small," Rhys murmured, voice still thick with unshed tears as he admired our son up close. "His nose, his lips, his eyes...they are the tiniest I have ever seen in my entire existence."

"He's perfect," I echoed before leaning in to press a breath of a kiss to my son's brow.

Sebastian let out another soft sigh at the contact and twisted his head back slightly, prying his eyes open to meet mine and my heart nearly stopped as I stared back at him. Tears immediately sprang back into my eyes as I smiled.

"Hello Sebastian. It's me...it's mommy," I said, near sobbing. "I love you so much…"

Sebastian's eyes slipped back closed, head cradled in Rhys's hand, already spent from our short interaction. Rhys let out a shuddering breath as I turned to look at him, tears of joy still falling.

"I don't know how I'll ever thank you for this, Feyre," he said, shedding a few tears of his own. "For this gift, this life."

You don't ever have to, Rhysand. He is our son, our gift. I said through the bond.

He pulled me closer as he kissed me again, his brow lingering against mine as we relished in this new familial tie between us.

XXX

Once our uninterrupted hour had passed, Madja and the midwife knocked on the bedroom door, causing both of us to tense as I held onto Sebastian more securely and as Rhys sat up in the bed; wings appearing a second later and curling protectively around Sebastian and me. I laughed when I realized just how soon those feral instincts had kicked in for us and touched Rhys's arm gently.

"They aren't a threat, they're just our caregivers," I reminded him.

He nodded, tucking his wings back in as he called the healer and midwife in, but kept a hand on my back as they entered. The two females came to my side, Madja pulling back the blankets I had been covered with in order to survey my recovery—mostly making sure no post-delivery complications were arising as the midwife began instructing me on how to nurse Sebastian. Both Rhysand and I paid close attention to the midwife's direction, taking extra care to the details on how I should position him on my breast and where Rhys could help should the need arise.

It took a bit of maneuvering, including Sebastian's adorably furrowed brow that resembled my mate's own look of frustration and confusion, but he latched on and was suckling in a matter of minutes. The sensation was strange and foreign, but something deep inside of me warmed as I cradled him to my breast, running a finger along his cheek lightly as he nursed. That warmth turned to a deeper understanding of the love I had for my son, and pride in the fact that I was able to nourish him. I was enough—had been enough in order to grow him safely inside of me, and now had the ability to provide him the sustenance he needed to survive outside of my womb.

I was enough.

You have always been more than enough, Feyre darling

I gave my mate an amorous smile, realizing he had been watching me with a level of devotion I hadn't seen before sparkling in his violet eyes. His hand rubbed loving circles into my back as we turned our concentration back to the midwife, who gave us further instruction on the nursing protocol. I briefly recalled seeing Viviane nurse and thought of how easy she made the process look, but as the midwife explained that I needed to switch Sebastian between breasts every so often and make sure he burped in between the feedings that would take place every few hours; all the while taking care of myself during my own convalescence, I couldn't help but feel a bit overwhelmed.

As if she could read my thoughts, Madja placed a comforting hand over mine. "It may seem like an impossible task now, my lady, but we will help you get accustomed and make sure all of your health needs are met," she said.

The midwife nodded in agreement, and so did Rhysand as he stroked the length of my shoulder. "You know you have plenty of support, my love," he said, and I knew he didn't just mean himself or the midwives.

We had our friends, a whole family, waiting for us back in Velaris once Sebastian and I were strong enough to go back. I stared at my newborn babe, wondering how they might react when they first laid eyes on him—only to be surprised when just the thought alone made me recoil, a sense of panic rising in me. Rhys chuckled at my plight, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Welcome to my world, Feyre darling," he teased. "Having that irrational, primal urge to keep him away, protected from everyone else, is akin to what I felt when our bond snapped into place."

I blinked; my instincts much further along than I earlier realized. "It's so odd," I mused. "I couldn't wait to introduce him to our family before, but now?"

I looked at Sebastian again as he suckled sleepily and rubbed his cheek gently in order to coax him awake. "I don't think I can let them anywhere near him yet," I admitted.

The midwife offered an empathetic smile while Madja laughed. "That is normal, my Lady, and will go away, to a degree, with time," she reassured.

"We should tell them though," I said to Rhys. "Let them know that he's here, and that we're both safe and healthy."

Rhys gestured to the window, the sky still painted with sparkling veils of pale blues and greens. "They know," he said. "I sent them a message via Az shortly after this appeared in the sky."

I sighed contentedly as I stared at the beauty of it, imagining what color paints I would need to mix in order to achieve those specific hues and what size canvas I would need. Nyx's flight I would call it, in honor of the ancient night goddess and my son's birth.

The midwife and Madja left after Sebastian completed his first successful session of nursing, wherein I reluctantly handed him over to their care for his first wellness examination. The midwife weighed and measured him, tested his reflexes and checked his overall wellbeing, all without much complaint from him as Rhys remained close to his side and talked him through the duration of the exam in soft murmurs. I watched from my place on the bed, propped up against a mountain of pillows after Madja performed her own examination of me and wiped my sweaty body clean with a warm damp towel. The magic of the Cabin presented a new shift at the foot of the bed, and the healer helped me change into that as well before helping me settle back into my semi-sitting position.

My eyes stung as I watched the midwife instruct Rhysand on how to properly place and secure a nappy on our son, before offering to show him how to properly swaddle a newborn babe. I saw my mate's enthusiastic nod, realizing he'd get to hold our son for the first time during the demonstration, and glanced in my direction for approval.

I can't do all the work, now can I? I teased through the bond.

His answering smile was just as warm as mine before he set about his task, the midwife only correcting his technique once before Rhys lifted and cradled the babe in his arms. The bundle that was now Sebastian looked impossibly tiny in my mates muscled arms; the Illyrian warrior, the High Lord of the Night Court, now enveloping his newborn son—the son he never thought he'd have, or deserved. I wiped the tears that spilled over as the older females dismissed themselves, and Rhys crossed back over to my bedside, eyes never leaving Sebastian's face as he stood. My heart squeezed as Rhys brought a hand to touch Sebastian's cheek hesitantly, his eyes growing silver lined as he marveled at our son.

"I don't think I'll ever grow tired of this feeling," Rhys murmured, gaze returning to mine.

"No, I don't think we will," I agreed, resting my head back against a pillow as I watched him.

Rhys paused, realizing. "Do you want him back?" he asked, knowing full-well that my maternal instincts were in full effect.

I shook my head. "I love seeing him in your arms Rhysand," I said. "I don't want you to leave my sight while you have him, but after months of imagining what it might look like to see you hold him...I can't picture anything better."

My mate softened at the sentiment before returning his gaze to Sebastian. "We better enjoy this time together while we still have it Bash, before your mother keeps you all to herself," he joked with a wink at me.

"I hope you warned the others," I quipped, a sleepy smile on my face as I watched Rhys make a small lap around the room, staying in close proximity to the bed.

"Mor and Cassian are already begging to come up here first thing in the morning, but Azriel, Amren and Nesta are keeping them leashed."

My laugh was quiet as I thought of their eagerness, but in reality, they all knew that it would be a while before they could be properly introduced to the newest addition of the inner circle. The midwife explained that the newborn bond was the most intense during the first week, and though I wouldn't be completely healed for another five following, we would at least be able to invite our family to meet Sebastian without the overwhelming need to safeguard him threatening to consume us and bare our teeth at our loved ones.

"They are going to love him," I said as I continued watching him move around the room, eyes growing heavier and heavier with the need to sleep.

Rhys heard the exhaustion in my voice and offered a sympathetic smirk as those adoring violet eyes turned to me. "You should sleep, my love, you've more than earned it after your efforts," he said.

I turned weary eyes to the bundle in his arms and he chuckled. "You can trust I won't leave your side, or even this room."

"I know," I said with a long yawn as he crossed back over to my side, taking a seat on the small space provided on the edge of the bed.

"I'll stay right here while you sleep," Rhys promised. "I think I can placate him until his next feeding."

I grinned languidly. "It can't be too hard if he continues to sleep like this," I said, glancing at Sebastian, who had fallen asleep almost immediately after being secured in his swaddle.

"My thoughts exactly, Feyre darling," he purred.

I was too exhausted to laugh, and instead brushed my fingers along Sebastian's cheek as he remained at peace in his father's arms. My heart squeezing as the full weight of realization hit, that our son was being held by Rhysand—his father.

To the stars who listen,

I brought my hand to his and squeezed it as his words echoed through our bond, both of us sharing a tender smile before admiring the sleeping bundle in his arms once again.

And the dreams that are answered.

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