I am a PASSIONATE commenter on fanfiction, but sometimes it slows down my reading because I don't want to read if I don't have the mental energy to leave the long comments I want to
Still, as an author, I know even a short note can mean the world.
So, I put together a little guide with different “levels” of comments, so it’s easier to leave something without overthinking!
I just had the most wild realization. No clue if it’s been said before but…
We know canonically that Lucien can see through spells and glamors with his gold, mechanical left eye, right?
And we also know that Rhys tends to hide his “High Lord” powers under a glamor. I’d assume other high lords have something along the same lines.
Every time Lucien met with Rhys. Or Feyre. Or Tamlin. Saw Beron after Amarantha (maybe even Amarantha herself) - Everyone at the High Lord meeting in ACOWAR… Especially when tensions ran high. Magic tends to be more volatile with spikes of emotion. If anybody there had a glamor on their power (or anything really)…
He saw through those glamors.
And this male isn’t terrified at all?? Lucien needs some more credit for how much bullshit he puts up with 🤦
Anyway, realization of the night. Hope I blasted at least one mind into the stratosphere 😎
VIOLET AND RHIANNON ARE ROOMMATES-
Violet: Let's get a cat.
Rhiannon: No.
Violet: Please...
Rhiannon: We already have a cat.
Violet: * confused * Where?
Rhiannon: * points at Ridoc * He eats our food, lazes around in our house, sleeps through most of the day and is destructive and needs constant supervision to make sure he doesn't break anything AND he needs to be constantly stopped from making dumb decisions... Ergo, he's a cat.
Violet:
Ridoc:
Ridoc:
Ridoc: Meow, I guess.
Xaden: "Have kids" they said, "it'll be fun" they said
Bodhi, from the kitchen: Put it out!! Put it out!!
Ridoc: It's too big to smother, get the anti flamethrower
Xaden: It's. called. a. fire. extinguisher.
Rhiannon: Don't you just hate men sometimes? They can be so useless!
Imogen: Right? They're terrible!
Jesinia: *signs* 100%
Violet: Definitely.
Xaden, Garrick, Bodhi, Ridoc, Sawyer, and Dain:
Liam:
Violet: Not you Liam, you're perfect!
The other girls: Honestly, he is!
The boys: Wh-
This started as a prompt from the lovely @satiresunflower, (though it is pretty much unrecognisable from the prompt she actually gave. She did give me permission to go wild though, so this is what you get lol)
This starts in Chapter 14 of ACOWAR, so some of the sentences are taken verbatim from the original text. I did change it into 3rd person, because me trying to write in 1st person never ends well. I also think there is a longer story in this particular idea, but quite frankly, I don’t have it in me to write it right now.
Summary:
A Mating Bond between her younger sister and the Night Court’s shadowsinger was the last thing Feyre had expected to spring up…but then, maybe it did make sense.
Warning:
Public Displays of affection, kinda Nesta bashing, but like...she has her reasons?, Cassian being annoying
(Lovely dividers thanks to @cafekitsune)
“Where are my sisters?” Feyre asked, the thought clanging through her head as jarring as a pealing bell.
Her sisters
Rhys paused for just a moment, his hand slipping from her hair as his smile faded. “Elain and Nesta are at the House of Wind.” He straightened, swallowing. “I can—take you to them.” Every word seemed to be an effort.
But he would, Feyre realized. He’d shove down his need for her and take her to them, if that was what she wanted. Her choice. It had always been her choice with him.
Feyre shook my head. She wouldn’t see them—not yet. Not until she was steady enough to face them.
“They’re well, though?”
His hesitation told her enough.
“They’re safe,” Rhys answered quietly.
"That’s good," Feyre murmured as she took a deep breath in an attempt to calm the swirling, churning emotions inside her chest.
Her sisters...her sisters were safe. That was something. That was enough. For now.
Only then she realised something else.
“You said Nesta and Elain are at the House of Wind,” Feyre pointed out, her hands clenching, her heart beating faster. “Where’s Alana?” she demanded, singling out her younger sister…singling out her half sister.
The result of their father’s dalliance with a maid during her mother’s pregnancy with Feyre. Alana was just 6 months younger than her. Alana’s mother had died during childbirth…so their father had been saddled with another squealing infant that his wife was ill-pleased with.
Nesta liked to say that that affair had eventually killed their mother. Feyre thought it to be ridiculous. It had been a fever and Alana had nothing to do with it, because she had been a literal child…and Alana had lost her voice to the very same fever. Feyre could still remember her singing like a pealing bell when she had been a child…and then…then she hadn’t been able to anymore. Even talking was near impossible for Alana, her throat unable to produce any sounds.
Even as Alsna had been thrown into the cauldron…Her mouth had been open in a silent scream, but no sound had come out of her mouth.
A shudder ran through her at that memory.
Alana. Her sweet, quiet younger sister. The sister that always smiled too sweetly and saw too much with those sharp eyes of hers.
"Where is Alana?" She repeated. The silence in the room hung thick in the air as Rhys continued to hesitate.
A prickle of unease started to make its way up her spine.
“Rhys, where is Alana?!” she demanded, her voice rising.
“She’s safe, I swear,” Rhys hurried to promise her. “She’s not staying with Nesta and Elain but she’s safe. She should be here soon. I think…everything else…you should ask her about that.”
His words did little to soothe her worries, the unease that now clawed up her spine stronger.
“You’re not telling me something,” she pointed out, her brow furrowing. “Rhys, what are you not telling me?”
She thought back to the last time she had seen her sister…thought back to her being poured out onto the wet stone floor from the cauldron…not a noise had come from her…nothing. She had…She had been poured out of the cauldron and had just kneeled on that stone floor as they had forced Nesta into the cauldron after her.
She hadn’t…she had been…absent. Like the cauldron had taken too much from her.
And then, in the moment as Mor had pushed Lucien away from Nesta and Elain, Feyre had seen Alana lunge.
Not for the King of Hybern. Not even for Mor, who would have been closer to her…But for Cassian and Azriel for some reason. She wasn’t sure what had been Alana’s reasoning. Wasn’t sure what…Rhys had grasped all three of them and winnowed them away.
Her heart was now hammering.
“What did you do with her?” Feyre demanded, her voice growing panicked. “What did you do with Alana? Why isn’t she staying with Nesta and Elain?” Feyre asked, her voice forcedly calm. “Rhys, what is going on?”
There was another moment of hesitation, another moment of silence, before Rhys finally replied. "She just…opted to stay elsewhere."
Those words did little to reassure her.
"Where?" Feyre pressed, her eyes narrowed.
Rhys sighed. “How about you get into that bath that should be ready by now?” he suggested. “I’ll…tell you some of what happened. But I do think that some of the things should come from Alana and not from me,” he pointed out drily.
The last thing she wanted to do right now was take a bath, the last thing she wanted to do was to be pacified with pretty words and nice things. That was the last thing she wanted.
But...he was right. She needed to be clean.
Feyre growled at her mate, but stomped into the bathing chamber, stripping out of her clothing. Her fingers were near-black with dirt and caked blood.
Rhys snapped his fingers, and her skin was nearly instantly pristine again. “Tell me what happened,” Feyre said flatly, as she sunk into the blood-hot water. “Why isn’t Alana staying at the House of Wind?”
Rhys was silent for a moment as he looked at her, his mouth in a grim line.
Then he let out a deep sigh, sitting down on the edge of the bathing tub. “A lot of things happened,” Rhys said drily. “But the biggest reason why Alana isn’t at the House of Wind is mostly that…I can’t guarantee Nesta’s safety, if she keeps spewing some of her venom in Alana’s direction.”
Feyre’s brow shot up at that, her heart skipping a beat. “What?” she demanded. “Rhys, what are you talking about?” That didn’t sound—didn’t sound like...
To say that Nesta and Alana didn’t get along was an understatement. Nesta gave Alana the fault for seemingly everything and Alana…well, she played deaf. And even more mute than she normally was. Even when Feyre‘s sister hadn’t been able to talk, she had been more than able to communicate if she wanted to, either with her expressive face, or her hands. And still, Alana had pretended like it wasn’t happening. Elain was no better to her…Elain liked to ignore Alana’s very existence.
But Alana wouldn’t have done anything…Alana wouldn’t have…
“Alana doesn’t lose her temper,” Feyre said carefully as she looked at Rhys. “She doesn’t.”
“She didn’t,” Rhys said drily. “My spymaster did.”
A puzzled frown crossed over her face at that. “Azriel?” Feyre asked, her eyebrows furrowing. “What did he do?”
Azriel had lost his temper with Nesta?
“If Cassian hadn’t been there, I think Azriel would have torn out Nesta’s throat with his bare hands,” Rhys said with a grimace. “It was…bad.”
Feyre’s jaw dropped.
Azriel, tearing out Nesta’s throat? With his hands? That…that didn’t sound like him. Not at all.
“I...” Feyre had no idea what to say. Why would Azriel have done that? Feyre couldn’t…Of course, she knew that Azriel was capable of great violence, but he had never…she had never seen him lose his temper with a member of his family. Had never even through that that was a possibility. Whatever Nesta had said, must have been…
If he had gotten this angry on Alana’s behalf…What exactly had been said?
"What did Nesta do? What did she say?" Feyre asked, her voice hard. "What did she say to warrant that reaction from Azriel?"
Rhys grimaced, shaking his head. “You don’t want to know,” he said, his voice low. “Trust me, you do not want to know what she said. It's...complicated."
"Complicated, how?" Feyre demanded as she towelled herself off, walking back into the bedroom and pulled on comfortable clothing, her worry mounting. "What could possibly be so bad that you don't want to tell me?"
If it was bad enough that Rhys didn't want to tell her what exactly happened...what exactly had been said.
Her mate gave in, holding out his hand and she joined him sitting on the edge of their bed.
Their bed.
She was home. Finally.
Rhys sighed.
“After Hybern…Mor dropped Nesta and Elain off at the House of Wind and then came back to the Townhouse. I had…I had Azriel and Cassian, and Alana too” Rhys said quietly and Feyre swallowed. Azriel and Cassian were healed. Rhys had told her that…but somehow she hadn’t been able to believe it…until she had seen it.
“Amren tried to stop the blood flow from the literal hole in Azriel’s chest. I didn’t notice at first…Alana was kneeling at Azriel’s side…covered in his blood…holding his head on her lap…” Rhys’s violet eyes seemed to be far, far away, as he nearly shuddered, just thinking about it. “Azriel was…in and out of consciousness…but he was just…he was just holding onto her.”
Feyre’s heart was lodged in her throat. Azriel, nearly dead, was just…holding Alana. Her head was spinning as her mind worked hard to comprehend this.
“The mating bond snapped for them,” Rhys finally said quietly.
Feyre’s eyes widened. Her mouth went suddenly dry.
The…the mating bond? Alana and Azriel? Mates?
“The mating bond,” she echoed faintly. “The…the mating bond.”
Feyre was quite sure that her jaw dropped. And that she stared at Rhys like he had just grown a second head.
“Azriel and Alana?” Feyre asked, unable to believe that. Azriel and Alana?! The brooding shadowsinger and spymaster of the Night Court and her youngest sister?
Azriel, who seemed to have a thing for Mor and had never looked at another female as far as Feyre was aware?
Rhys winced at her look.
"Yes, I know," he said quietly, wincing. "That was…my reaction too. I didn’t see it coming. I don’t think that anyone saw this coming...especially not Azriel."
Feyre’s mind was racing.
Azriel and Alana. Mates.
She couldn’t…she never would have imagined it. Never seen it coming. Not in a thousand years.
“Have they…” she wasn’t even sure what she was asking.
“Three days late,” Rhys said with a sigh. “They were not willing to wait.”
“Three day?!” Feyre demanded. As far as she knew, Alana had never even entertained the thought of a suitor. Not that there had been any men that had looked over the fact that she was a bastard…and mute. They had never bothered to look further and Alana had never fussed about it either.
"Three days," Rhys repeated. "The moment Azriel was well enough to be mobile again, they mated." Rhys shuddered, his face scrunching up in distaste. “They are insufferable. The both of them.”
"What do you mean, insufferable?" Feyre asked. A million thoughts were running through her head. Alana and Azriel…mates. They mated.
"They could not stay away from each other," Rhys said, shuddering again. "They were...touchy. All the time. And so very...cutesy and sweet with each other. Gods, they are nauseating."
Feyre’s eyebrows rose at that. Alana and Azriel. Touchy? Cutesy and sweet? She could barely even imagine it. Alana...and Azriel. Being affectionate.
"She’s sitting on his lap constantly," her mate groaned, rubbing his eyes hard. "And he is just…constantly touching her. I don’t even think that they have gone a whole five minutes without touching each other."
"And the looks," her mate continued drily. "Gods, they are exchanging these looks. You would have thought that they are the soppiest, lovesick couple in existence. I did not ever need to see Azriel making heart-eyes at Alana. That was…traumatising."
Feyre pressed her hand to her mouth to muffle a snort. Azriel, making heart-eyes? That was a sight that she could not quite imagine. She…she hadn’t even thought that Azriel was even…capable of making heart-eyes.
"Cassian and Mor kept poking fun at them. At every opportunity, which they definitely got often. Alana just…ignored them. But Azriel…" Rhys’ lips curled into a smirk. "He was not as amused as Alana by their teasing. He kept threatening violence every five minutes."
Feyre’s eyes widened at that, a laugh escaping her.
Azriel threatening violence for every five minutes that someone teased him about his new mate? She could not picture that either.
"Cassian started making kissy faces at Alana just to see if Azriel would lose his temper," her mate said, a broad smile on his face. "And let me tell you, he nearly clawed out Cas’ eyeballs for it."
"So she's staying here?" Feyre asked carefully.
Rhys shook his head, his expression growing more serious. "She's at Azriel's house," he explained with a sigh. "It's...the cauldron left her with some...abilities. She’s a daemati…of sorts, at least,” Rhys said with a grimace. “We are still trying to figure out…how exactly it works. You and me…we need to concentrate if we want to read somebody’s thoughts. Alana…she said it was like she was standing in the middle of a market square and everybody is shouting at her,” Rhys said quietly. “We haven’t yet found anybody with shields solid enough to keep her out.”
Feyre swallowed at that. Alana, a daemati…of sorts. Having no control over whose thoughts she heard. No control over how loud everything was.
“It’s like every mental wall, doesn’t even exist for her," Rhys said with a sigh. "Being around Amren gives her a headache too apparently. Azriel and Cassian are the most relaxing to be around according to her. There minds seem to be...even, analytical."
It sounded like a living hell. No control, no shields. Nothing.
“Is she…” Feyre’s voice was quiet. “Is she doing alright? Considering everything that happened.”
“She’s fine,” Rhys promised her. “Alana is probably doing the best of them all,” Rhys said, something like amusement bleeding into his voice. “She can tell you all about it."
There was a knock at the door at that moment.
Feyre tensed as her eyes flew to the door.
“That’s her,” Rhys said quietly, placing a soothing hand on her leg. “Are you ready?”
Feyre took a deep, steadying breath, pushing down her worry and her nerves.
“I’m ready,” she said.
“Feyre!”
Her sister's voice. Her sister's voice.
Feyre’s heart skipped a beat as her body went rigid.
She couldn’t…she couldn’t believe it. After so long…after believing…believing for so long that she would never hear Alana’s voice…
Feyre remembered with a shudder the sight of small, slight Alana in her translucent nightgown…being poured out of the cauldron onto the stone...She looked nothing like she did now.
She looked well.
That was the first thing Feyre realised. Colour on her cheeks, dark, pin straight hair pinned away from her face and these devasting doe eyes…
Feyre’s eyes roamed over her sister, drinking in the sight of her. Alive. Well. Whole.
She could barely believe it, her mind struggling to catch up.
"You can talk," Feyre whispered as Alana hugged her.
She grimaced.
Kinda. This is easier though, she answered, her mental voice slipping into Feyre's mind without her even noticing. My throat hurts if I talk too much.
It was strange, having a voice in her mind that was not her own. Different from when her mate spoke to her down the bond. It was more…pronounced. Clearer, somehow.
"Are…” Feyre’s voice broke again, her eyes roaming over Alana again. “Are you really alright, Al?”
She drunk in her sister's face, the pale skin, the freckles that covered her face...she had been pretty as a human but as a fae...as a High fae she was gorgeous.
Alana’s eyes, her sister’s eyes, were still the same. Still that same dark, endless brown that had always seemed to hold so many secrets. She had never met anyone who could hold as many secrets as Alana had.
She looked so healthy, so well and Feyre felt a lump form in her throat.
She had to fight the sudden urge to cry, as she pulled her sister into another hug. Her sister’s slender arms wrapped around her, pulling her in tight. Like she was never going to let her go again.
I am alright, Alana promised fiercely. I am better than alright. I am...I am so happy, Fey.
The thought in her mind brought another wave of tears to Feyre’s eyes. She held on to her sister tighter, burying her face against her neck as a sob escaped her and she inhaled her sister’s familiar, comforting scent. Pomegranate and Vanilla, with an underlay of Azriel.
He treats you well? she asked, cradling her sisters face in her hands. She didn't think that Azriel would...mistreat her but...
Alana’s eyes darkened as she thought of Azriel and her expression softened as a faint smile crossed her face.
Feyre swallowed again. This was different. This was…her sister had never smiled like that. So open. So happy. So filled with…love.
And then, very carefully, Feyre felt how Alana pulled at her mind in some sense and then dropped a memory.
For just a moment, it felt like she was in her little sister's body. And she stared at Azriel who looked at her, at Alana with utter and complete adoration, scarred hands cupping her cheeks so gently.
Feyre’s breath caught in her throat at that.
She could feel, could understand the feeling of Azriel’s warm, scarred hand against her skin. The way how the pads of his fingers ran over her jawline, the way how his thumb traced over her lower lip. The way how those hazel eyes of his were filled with nothing but love.
A shudder ran down Feyre’s spine. That look, the way how Azriel had looked at her sister…it was like the expression in Rhys’ eyes when he looked at her.
Her eyes flickered to Rhys, where he was patiently waiting in a corner.
He was looking at her with that same look in his eyes. The same look that Feyre knew was mirrored in her own eyes. It was the same, that look. Pure, utter devotion.
It was the look of a man completely and utterly in love.
Feyre swallowed as she turned back to Alana, her mind whirling. This was…Alana, her sister…her quiet, shy, closed-off little sister. And Azriel, the Shadowsinger and Spymaster of the Night Court. The one that no one saw as anything but sharp and deadly and a ruthless killer.
He didn’t hurt you, did he? Feyre asked weakly. She didn’t think he would but…
Alana’s expression softened. Her hand gently came to rest on Feyre’s arm and she shook her head, a small smile on her face.
He was gentle as possible, Fey, Alana promised quietly. Gentler than I would have expected. He made sure to go slow, to be careful. He was…he was everything I could have wished for. He has never hurt me more than I wanted.
Feyre let out a long, shaky breath she didn’t know that she was holding.
She…she had been worried. Worried for her sweet little sister, being together with a man like Azriel. Who was dangerous and deadly and…and lethal.
What do you mean with no more than you wanted? she demanded suddenly. Alana just grinned at her, her laugh like a pealing bell.
A shudder ran down Feyre’s spine again. Alana’s…her sister’s voice, the sound of her laugh. It was the most wonderful sound that she had ever heard. She could’ve started bawling like a child, but the thought that Alana dropped into her mind just completely derailed her.
He knows what I like, and he’s happy to oblige.
Feyre’s eyes widened and she choked on nothing.
She…oh Gods. Her face heat in a blush as Alana just continued smiling at her innocently.
This was her sister. Her quiet, shy, closed-off sister. That was how she remembered her. And now…and now…she was standing in front of Feyre, smiling at her like a cat who had just devoured an entire bowl of cream, telling her that her stoic, broody, deadly Spymaster of a mate was apparently…into things…
Her sister smirked at her. Alana! Her shy, little sister, who had never even so much as looked at a male with interest, stood in front of Feyre, a smirk on her face as she told Feyre that her mate knew what she liked.
I was surprised too, you know, Alana’s voice echoed in Feyre’s mind. But well…I like it, and he’s happy to oblige. He’s very good at it…
But the look on Alana’s face, the utter contentment in her eyes, and the feeling of…of lust from her sister, made it even more mortifying.
Alana was happy. Her sister was happy and well, and she just radiated happiness. Feyre’s heart soared, seeing her sister like that after so long. And even the horrifying bits, Feyre could push past.
Seeing her sister happy like this…that was worth a bit of mortification and discomfort.
So she swallowed her mortification, and just pulled a face at her smirking sister.
Enough with the gory details, for the love of the Mother. she chided her in her head. Alana just let out another pearly bell kind of laugh.
You should come downstairs. Nuala and Cerridwen have given Lucien some clothing and showed him to a bathing chamber. Lunch should be served soon, if you are hungry, Alana said into her mind.
I am famished, Feyre confessed in her mind. “Lead the way,” she said aloud and Alana just rolled her eyes, taking her by the arm and pulling her downstairs.
And then something else came to her mind. What did Nesta say to you?
Alana sighed. Nothing that matters, her sister said easily as they reached the dining room. Azriel and Cassian were waiting for them.
And then Feyre saw how her sister turned from happy to radiant as soon as she saw Azriel.
Feyre watched with ill disguised horror, as the spymaster’s shadows came over to Alana, seemingly swarming around her. Whatever bits of naked skin they could find…in this case her hands and face, because she wore a long sleeves high necked gown, they caressed. Nearly sweetly.
Alana absentmindedly drew her fingers through one tendril as she floated over to Azriel, sitting down onto his lap like that was an utterly normal thing to do. Feyre could just stare as Azriel pressed a kiss against her sister‘s cheek, one scarred hand possessively spanning her waist.
Like this was normal. Like this was something they had done dozens of times…like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like this was their usual routine…and Alana smiled at him, broadly, pressing a kiss against his cheek in greeting.
It was...it was surreal, watching Alana like this. So much more open, less reserved than Feyre had ever seen her. And the way how Azriel looked at her...Feyre had never seen him express such open and utter adoration before.
Cassian made a retching sound, catching Feyre’s attention. Azriel’s eyes darkened as he threw an icy look in Cassian’s direction. Alana just snuggled deeper into Azriel’s chest.
Azriel let out the smallest of chuckles at Alana’s behaviour in his lap, one of his hands coming up to gently play with a strand of her dark hair as he pressed another kiss to her forehead.
The quiet, brooding Spymaster of the Night Court, who could be downright terrifying when he wanted, completely and utterly smitten by her little sister.
Feyre could just stare.
She had not for one moment thought that they would…would be a good match. But here they were.
Alana...Feyre had never seen her sister like this before. So open, so happy. So...unreserved. She was like a cat, settled in the lap of her male, letting him pet her like she was...like he owned her. And it seemed like Azriel would gladly claim ownership too. The possessive, proprietary look on his face told Feyre all she needed to know.
“Get a room, for the love of the Mother,” Cassian drawled with a disgusted look on his face as Azriel buried his nose in her sister’s hair and Feyre shot him another dirty look. Alana just stuck her tongue out at him.
Azriel just bared his teeth at Cassian, a silent warning to watch his tongue in the direction of the woman in his lap, who was busy playing with the buttons on his fighting leathers.
“What did Nesta say?“ Feyre repeated as she sat down herself.
The reactions were immediate.
Azriel growled.
Feyre couldn’t help but flinch slightly. That growl...she hadn’t heard him make that sound before. It sounded utterly terrifying. Alana didn’t even flinch. She just touched Azriel’s chest in a soothing gesture and Azriel immediately quieted down, holding her even tighter.
It doesn’t matter what Nesta had to say, Alana’s voice echoed in her mind.
“It absolutely does,” Feyre muttered, feeling some anger rising in her. Her sister deserved better than what Nesta had to say.
I don’t care what she says, Alana replied in her mind. She can believe whatever she likes. She is entitled to her opinion.
“She can be quiet about her opinion,” Azriel hissed. Only then Feyre realised that her sister must have been projecting her mental voice so that everybody could hear it.
"Azriel." Alana's voice was soft. "It's alright. We both know the truth. It doesn’t matter what she believes"
Azriel looked down at her and a slight frown appeared on his face. He gently cupped her sister's chin, his hazel eyes staring into her dark ones. Feyre could practically hear the silent conversation between them.
Cassian sighed. "Nesta found out about the mating bond between Azriel and Alana and she didn't take it well," he told Feyre drily.
Of course, she didn’t. Of course, she didn’t. Feyre ground her teeth together.
"So what exactly was said?" she asked sharply.
Cassian and Rhys shared a look as Azriel let out another warning growl. Feyre ignored him.
I want to know, Feyre snapped towards Alana. Her sister stiffened.
Feyre, Alana’s voice echoed in her mind, a hint of warning in her tone. Feyre pushed down a wave of irritation.
Tell me, Feyre demanded. She was done with secrets. Done with not knowing things.
It’s nothing, Alana tried to brush her off and Feyre’s irritation flared up in her stomach.
It is not ‘nothing’. Feyre snapped at her. Her sister’s face was a stoic mask as Azriel let his hand span across her stomach.
Nesta made a comment about how she was surprised that Azriel hadn't ripped me apart during our...mating. But maybe she shouldn't be surprised because I was a whore anyway, Alana finally answered. How a brute like him was all I amounted to, given that I was a bastard...and then there was some more stuff in that rant about how unfair it was that I had landed on my feet but Elain is...well...Elain isn't doing so good, Alana answered flatly.
Feyre felt her blood boil in her veins. Of course, Nesta would say something like that, the bitter, twisted...- Feyre bit down on the string of curses burning on her tongue.
Nesta isn't doing well, Feyre. You can't take what she is saying right now to heart, Alana warned her softly. You haven't been in her mind...it's...it's bad.
Feyre felt some of her anger cool down ever so slightly. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t pissed off at Nesta for what she had said. Even if...even if Nesta wasn’t doing well.
That doesn’t change anything about what she said, Feyre said through gritted teeth.
I am not defending her, Alana said firmly. I love Nesta. Doesn’t mean that I like hearing her talk about Azriel like that. But Feyre... her voice grew softer. I have seen her mind. Her thoughts. She isn’t in a good place right now.
Feyre grimaced, feeling her anger slowly disappear. She didn’t like it. She didn’t want to. But...maybe Alana was right. Nesta was her sister, and Feyre loved her. Even after everything that had happened between them.
Still...what she said... Feyre said weakly and Alana’s lips quirked.
I know, she said gently. I was angry too. I nearly tore her head off. But Azriel...he was furious. I’ve never seen him like that before.
Feyre didn’t need to be told how furious Azriel had been. The look in his eyes, the clenched jaw and the growl that Feyre had heard...she didn’t need anyone to tell her how the usually stoic male had been absolutely furious about what Nesta had said.
"I'll talk to her," Feyre said aloud.
She ignored the dubious look that Cassian and Rhys were giving her. Her sister just smiled at her softly and nodded.
Talk to her gently, she urged in Feyre’s mind. Please. And don’t...don’t try to defend me. It will only start a fight.
Feyre winced. Even though, she didn’t like the thought of it and not defending her sister went completely against her nature, she knew that Alana was right. And her sister could read her thoughts with ease anyways.
I’ll bite my tongue, Feyre promised her. Alana smiled at her again, that smile that lit up her entire face. Feyre felt her heart clench at the beautiful sight.
“Thank you,” Alana said happily, her voice like the most wonderful sound. Feyre had a feeling that that was the thanks not only for agreeing not to defend her but for just...not making a scene. Feyre felt a small, answering smile tug at the corners of her own lips.
Instead, she watched her sister pick up a piece of bread from the plate in front of Azriel and hold it up for him to eat without another word. A silent gesture of acceptance.
Azriel’s lips twitched as he looked at his mate, sitting on his lap like she belonged there. But he obediently opened his mouth, a subtle sign of complete surrender to Alana.
Cassian made another retching sound. Alana ignored him.
Azriel was the one who kissed Alana.
Feyre could have gone quite a long time without that sight. Especially because it wasn't a simple peck on the cheek or a quick kiss to her lips.
Feyre could have gone forever without seeing her sister like this, settled in the lap of her mate, their bodies pressed together tightly as Azriel kissed her, devoured her, his hands possessively splayed out on her slender waist.
"Now you are just fucking with me," Cassian said with a sigh.
Alana just broke out in a fit of giggles as Azriel threw a glare in Cassian’s direction.
“Maybe I am,” Azriel mused, as Alana settled back into his lap. Azriel’s one scarred hand was back to playing with a strand of Alana’s hair. “Jealous?” he asked lightly and Cassian actually growled at him. Azriel snorted, his hand possessively covering Alana’s stomach, who was smiling like the happiest person in the world.
“Shut up,” Cassian huffed. “I am not jealous. I just don’t want to know what you two get up to at night.”
"Only at night?" Azriel asked drily. "Brother, you have much to learn."
Feyre groaned internally at the hint in Azriel’s voice as Cassian looked a little ashen, while Rhys burst out laughing and Alana let out another one of her pearly-bell like laughs.
“Stop tormenting him,” Rhys said with a chuckle as Cassian tried to recover. “He’ll have nightmares for weeks if you continue like this.”
“That sounds like a you problem,” Azriel replied, completely unrepentant, “not ours.” Alana was still giggling, a sound like tinkling bells in Feyre’s ears.
“Of course you say that, you bastard,” Cassian said with a sigh as Azriel’s hand on Alana’s stomach started to slowly wander upwards.
Feyre could see how Alana’s cheeks flushed slightly in response to the possessive touch. How her breathing quickened ever so slightly. Azriel’s lips twitched as he noticed it too.
"We'll let you deal with Lucien," Alana said suddenly, gaining her feet quickly. "We'll see you at dinner. Az?"
“Coming, sweetheart,” Azriel said and Cassian made another retching sound as Feyre could feel the waves of possessiveness coming off Azriel in waves. Her sister was his.
In a matter of heartbeats, they were gone. Feyre was left with Cassian and Rhys who were both looking at her intently.
"Yes, they are always like that, if you wondered,” Cassian said with a roll of his eyes. "I think they are still in the Mating Frenzy."
“Most likely,” Rhys agreed with a chuckle. “But they also don’t seem to care who sees it. Mor is still horrified from walking in on them a few weeks ago.”
“So would I be in her shoes,” Feyre said honestly and Cassian snickered.
“They are insufferable, aren’t they?” He said with a grin. Rhys just chuckled. “So utterly happy.”
“Yes,” Feyre agreed, the image of the two of them, completely oblivious to the world around them still in her mind. “Unbelievably so.”
“They’re also completely and utterly devoted to each other,” Rhys mused. “It is…kind of sweet.” Feyre nodded thoughtfully.
It was sweet. The way Azriel looked at her sister, how he was so utterly possessive about her. And Alana…there wasn’t a hint of hesitation about her when it came to Azriel.
"As long as she's happy," Feyre said quietly. As long as Alana was happy.
Summary: Defying your father’s sacred command, you wander to the grove where Spring and Autumn blend, only to encounter a sinfully divine figure with glowing amber eyes.
Warnings: sexual content/smut, nsfw! religious & biblical undertones & allusions, reader is overly innocent/naive, implied loss of virginity, sinner eris
Word Count: 3.5k
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
You shouldn't be here.
You can feel it in your bones.
You've never traveled this far, never managed to make it to the border. Your father warned you about this area, where the bloom of spring meets the decay of autumn.
He says that there is evil that lurks under the canopy of fire trees, that the blood of Autumn is so cruel it's cursed their very ground. Father has warned you that if you were to come across a fall beast, you would never return. At least, not the way you once were.
You understand his concerns—to a certain extent. He's protective. He has a certain plan for your life. Safety, purity, security above all. And father has been stressed recently, twitching hands and sharp reprimands.
Your High Lord has descended into madness, moving on all fours, his paws sinking into the mud, more beast than man. He prowls in the darkness now, no better than the creatures he once cared for, and your father believes there’s safety in the small village you call home.
It’s far enough from the heart of Spring to grant a quiet, predictable life. The faces around you never change, familiar and worn like the stones that line the village paths. It's peaceful, quaint—a life promised to you forever once you marry Adramis, the neighbor’s son.
Until then, your father urges you to stay safe, to temper the curiosity he knows stirs within you, the kind that might lead you too far, too soon.
Yet, despite his warnings, you find yourself here, day after day, drawn to the very place you’ve been commanded to avoid.
It's prettier, somehow, at this time of day— in the dim dusk, when the birds are beginning to tire. The air is tinged with an unfamiliar chill, a whisper of the season’s change that beckons you closer. You can see the colors of the autumn leaves clearly, watch as they sway in an intricate dance of red, orange and gold.
The movements stir something within you—a call like the ancient siren songs your father once spoke of, drawing you into the twilight's fire embrace. You take another step further into the shifting hues of the forest.
The rustling of leaves comes to your ears—soft, hesitant, as though a beast moves swiftly through the underbrush. The sounds intensify, multiplying by the second.
Beasts, you think, multiple.
You catch a fleeting glimpse of red hair through the tangled foliage, a figure half-hidden by the encroaching shadows.
You stop, and a sickening thrill rolls through you. You should turn back. But a phantom hand seems to beckon to you, an invisible thread leading you deeper.
Then you see him.
His clothes, finer than any you’ve seen even at your High Lord’s court, cling to his tall, lean frame, the dark green fabric glinting with gold thread that catches the last remnants of the fading sun. Each detail—his long, tailored coat, the sharp lines of his collar—speaks of wealth, power, and a meticulous cruelty you’ve only heard whispers about.
Your breath hitches. You know, deep down, who he is.
He’s surrounded by beasts, ferocious creatures with eyes gleaming in the half-light, their snarls low and guttural. Their presence should terrify you, yet you can barely hear them over the thundering in your chest. You count more of them than you have fingers, but with a subtle motion of the prince's hand, they fall still. Regal, patient, they sit at his side, watching you with the same unnerving calm as their master.
He studies you.
You want to take a step forward, to speak to him, but a rustling sound breaks through the stillness behind you. You turn sharply, scanning the underbrush.
From your side, a firm hand clasps around your arm, jerking you back with startling urgency. Almost immediately, once your body has been moved, the touch leaves you.
You meet the frantic gaze of your fiancé. His eyes are wide and his chest is rising and falling with uneven breaths. He ran here, you conclude. Past the border of Spring.
He's scared. Not just for you—but of something else entirely. Adramis is afraid of your father more than he is of what lurks in these forests.
"What are you doing here?"
“I saw—” You turn quickly, pointing toward where the figure stood moments before, but the woods are empty. The fire hue of his hair, the regal presence, the hounds—all gone, swallowed by the shifting shadows of the trees.
You glance back at Adramis. He's staring at you with furrowed brows, lips pressing together as if he's unsure whether to scold or comfort, wary as if you were troubled in the mind. His eyes scan your face, searching for something. You're not sure what.
“It’s almost dark,” he says, his voice calm but insistent. “We should get back.”
There’s no question in his tone. It’s not a suggestion, not really. He’s telling you—gently, but still telling you. He'd never force you, no, Adramis is sweet. Simple. But he’s a male and you are his promised bride. What good would you be if you were to get lost in the autumn woods?
Nothing at all, you suppose.
You don’t answer him. Your mind wanders to the fire-haired prince, to his amber eyes and the strange pull that brought you here.
Your silence seems to worry Adramis more. He steps closer, his hand hovering near your skin but never making contact, as if he’s afraid to touch you.
“Are you feeling alright?”
His voice is soft. Too soft, almost, to where it makes you shiver uncomfortably, like the touch of something too light, too ghostly.
You momentarily expect him to reach out, to place his delicate hand on your forehead or gently touch the flushed skin of your neck. But Adramis only hesitates, his hand hovering in the air for a moment longer before pulling back.
Too good for his nature, too holy to even touch you with a bare hand.
With a slight shake of your head, you dispel the strange sensation that lingers.
“No, I’m alright." You blink and muster a smile. "Thank you.”
He nods, though his eyes remain troubled. You follow him back toward the familiar warmth of home, casting one final, reluctant glance at the encroaching shadows of where autumn's decay kisses the air.
The leaves are aflame with fading light, but beyond them, the darkness waits—quiet, watchful, tempting.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
You're grateful for the familiar routine of your father’s sleeping hours, for the certainty that he wouldn't wake for another few hours.
The sun is still waking now, too, its low, gentle light spilling into the navy sky. It is as slow and tentative as you, quiet in its bearings.
The air is cool and biting, the kind of chill that lingers in the space between night and day.
You wrap your cloak tighter against yourself. It's a thin fabric, white with green thread. It does little to ward off the morning’s bite, but you don’t mind. You welcome the cool breaths that manage to slither past the soft cloth.
The scent of the autumn forest is sharper, more vivid than the soft blooms of home, where everything is neat and ordered. It smells richer, more alive. As traitorous as it feels, you almost prefer it.
It’s only a short walk before you find yourself in the familiar patch of trees. The autumn leaves sing their song, that same siren call that led you here again.
And he’s there—alone this time. Waiting.
His amber eyes gleam and shine with a glow that you’re certain is sinful. You know, deep down, that you should leave, that holding even his gaze, with that burning stare, is treacherous. But you do not.
You're unsure of what to say, unsure if you should wait for him to speak. He pushes himself off the tree he'd rested against.
"Hello again, little lamb."
His voice drips with a smooth, hypnotic cadence. It wraps around you like an incantation, compelling and unholy.
It's strange to see him before you, to have him acknowledge you, to hear his voice directly. You glance around him almost instinctively, as if expecting his hounds to materialize from the shadows, to form a regal, beastly, floor-lain crown once more.
As if he senses your question by look alone, he lets out a small laugh.
"It's early," he says. "Even beasts must sleep at times, too."
Against your better judgment, the corners of your lips twitch upwards. He scans your face, taking another step towards you. You stand still, remain in the spot you had froze in. He begins to study you, walks around you like a shrine.
"A bit far from your home. Curiosity must be a powerful force."
He stops before you. You can smell him now. It envelops you—rich and intoxicating, a blend of autumn leaves and something darker, more primal. You clench at the sensation, a sweet tingle spreading through your body. It courses from your head to your fingertips, settling deep in your now aching core.
"My father says it's my nature."
Eris hums. The answer seems to please him. "And what else does your father say?"
You admire him for a fleeting moment. When the gentle breeze rakes its fingers through his hair, it glows like a live fire. Freckles dot his skin, spread across the pale coloring like the stars you adore in the sky. His eyes are a molten gold that match the detailing on his fine coat.
"That I shouldn't be here," you finally respond.
A serpent-like smile curls at his lips. It spreads slowly.
"And yet here you are."
You nod. The faintest shiver of fear lingers in your veins, but you're unable to tear your eyes from him. You feel an inexplicable pull, wishing for him to come closer, to feel the brush of his presence against you.
Eris takes a step forward, his hand extending to graze the edge of your cloak. The touch is feather-light, a barely-there whisper of contact that sends a jolt through you. But it's firmer than Adramis's touch. It leaves you wanting more.
"Do you know who I am?"
You nod again. "Prince," you say, almost timidly. Quiet like a prey. "Son of the High Lord."
"Eris," he corrects. "My name is Eris."
"Eris," you repeat, his name falling from your lips like a comfortable prayer. You want to say it again, to taste the sweetness it offers your senses.
"And you are?"
You pause, brows furrowing slightly as you hold his gaze. His eyes still gleam, still glow with something so deliciously sinful, but something in them coaxes an answer from you.
"Y/n."
A moment passes. Eris takes a breath.
"Why did you return, Y/n?"
The way he says your name—a silky caress, a whispered secret—makes you yearn for him to repeat it, to let it roll off his tongue again and again. You have never heard anything so beautiful, so mouth-watering. You've never felt a desire this strong.
You struggle to find words, your head shaking slightly. “I-I don’t know.”
Eris’s gaze drifts to your lips, eyes darkening with a predatory curiosity. You're acutely aware of your lip trapped between your teeth and self-consciously release it, swallowing hard.
His eyes are intense as he meets yours again, almost devouring. But not scary. Not terrifying like you'd once believed.
"Does your village bore you?"
He knows where you live. That buried sense of fear begins to flare and you blink, swallowing hard as you take his presence in once more. He doesn't move, doesn't say anything else. Slowly, the fear dissipates.
"Yes," you admit. There is a stillness in your home that bores you. It makes your bones ache with craving. "But it is all I know."
He studies you for what feels like an eternity, his gaze intense and all-consuming. His hand, almost imperceptibly, brushes against the fabric of your cloak once more.
"You should return home, little lamb. Your father is going to worry."
Eris turns and leaves before you have a chance to respond.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
The secret should make you feel dirty, feel guilty like a reckless child, but it does not.
You wake before dawn and, like clockwork, you're traveling before the first ray of morning.
It's become routine now.
You approach the familiar area, where the border of Autumn seems to hold its breath, waiting for you. And there, amid the crimson and gold of fallen leaves, lies Eris.
He’s sprawled on a blanket laid out on the ground, a feast spread before him. The array of foods is a vision plucked from your most indulgent dreams, an array of rich, and tempting dishes. Your mouth waters at the sight—at the lavish feast and the male who has provided it.
"Come," he beckons and pats the blanket beside him. "Sit."
You lower yourself, the fabric soft beneath you. The scents of the feast rise to meet you, mingling in the crisp autumn air. You turn to him, your large eyes drinking in the sight before you, the face of celestial allure: hair like a smoldering fire, eyes glowing with the golden light of autumnal sunsets. Eris’s features are etched with an ethereal grace that seems both ancient and timeless. With each passing day, you find yourself yearning to worship at his feet, to forge a devotion just for him.
“Eris?”
A melodic hum leaves his throat. “Yes, little lamb?”
“Why do you call me that? ‘Little lamb.’”
Eris's fingers graze your cheek, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch is gentle, almost reverent. "I believe you know," he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing caress.
"Why did you seek me out again?” You ask him, “Why do you wait here?"
A smile curls at the corners of his mouth. He lets his fingers trace the line of your lips, his touch light as a sigh. “I believe you know that, too.”
Eris's eyes glint with something that seems almost divine. It is unlike anything that you’ve ever known, nothing like the stories your father has told you. Your gaze drifts to the feast laid out before you. You reach for a small, perfectly ripe apple, its glossy skin catching the muted light. The fruit feels cool and smooth against your fingers.
Somehow, autumn's bounty surpasses even the lush abundance of spring.
A sense of longing stirs within you.
How naïve you had been to think that your village, your court, held all the wonders the world had to offer. You had planned to stay, to settle into a life of security and predictability, never daring to venture beyond what was known.
You turn to Eris once more. His eyes flicker, amber catching the light as he reaches out, fingers brushing against your arm. His touch is featherlight, yet it sends a ripple of warmth through you.
Your voice is barely a whisper as you confess, "I want to know a life bigger than my village."
“You wish to be free, little lamb?” He trails his hand down to where the apple rests in your grip, and with a slow motion, he gently takes it from you. "I can show you," he murmurs, turning the fruit over in his palm. His voice is like honey, rich and smooth. "You’ll know life—pleasure, want. All of it."
A tingle spreads through your body at his words, your breath shallow as you nod, leaning unconsciously into the heat of his presence.
“Yes," you breathe, the word barely a whisper. "I want to be free.”
Eris’s lips curl into a grin, a quiet satisfaction settling in his gaze. He looks pleased, eager, as if he’s waited for this moment since time itself began. He draws closer and you can feel his presence everywhere, consuming, enveloping.
His lips brush against your ear. “Then let me show you.”
The apple falls from his hand, forgotten. He inches closer, the space between you dissolving as his warmth spills over you. A hand finds the delicate line of your throat, fingers grazing against your pulse. With the lightest pressure, he lifts your chin, tilting your face toward his. His touch feels like a benediction.
He’s so close now that his breath melds with yours, the air around you thick with the scent of earth and fire. The world shrinks and the only thing that exists is him—his heat, his gaze, the slow, measured closeness that steals away your reason. His lips hover just above yours, and the ache of not touching nearly brings you to begging.
The first brush of his mouth against yours is light, a whisper, a tease, and you tremble beneath it. And then he claims you, his lips pressing against yours with a slow, haunting fervor. Your body goes slack as his movements seem to weave a spell, binding you to him with every caress of his tongue, every sigh he draws from your lips.
You feel him guiding you, lowering you gently onto the blanket beneath, the world beneath you falling away. Eris hovers above you and dips his head, pressing his lips to the soft skin of your neck. His mouth sears your senses as he works his way down, the press of his touch growing heavier, more possessive with every inch.
“Such beauty,” he murmurs, “Unfolding before me like the dawn. You were meant to be here.”
His words fall like a decree, a promise, and his lips continue their journey down, parting from your skin only to explore further. His fingers find the fabric of your dress.
The air shifts around you, something soft brushing against your skin, falling away with the gentleness of leaves in autumn, leaving you bare to the elements—and to Eris. The cool air grazes your skin in places untouched by even the sun.
His calloused hands explore your bare form, one cupping your breast, fingers pressing and kneading with a practiced touch. His lips follow, settling on the other, and your hands grip the blanket beneath you— knuckles white as he demands your gaze to remain on him. His tongue circles your nipple, amber eyes locked with yours, burning, all consuming.
Eris continues his careful exploration, moving downward as his lips follow the path of his hands.
Fingers spread you apart with a confident touch.
The sensation is profound and awakening, a mingling of sacred heat and cool anticipation. The essence of your very being is laid bare before him. You feel the brush of his fingertips against the tender places, feel as his lips follow with a similar reverence, their touch becoming a worship of its own.
And then he devours you with his mouth and hands.
His tongue traces every inch of your throbbing core, flicking and teasing your sensitive nub. Your entire body quivers beneath him. You’re overwhelmed by a tidal wave of sensations you’ve never known before—an innocent purity being slowly unraveled and transformed by his touch alone. You tangle a hand in his auburn hair as his fingers plunge deep inside you, scissoring and pumping, working you over until you’re a quivering mess of desire.
Your body responds instinctively. You’re writhing and squirming, small sounds of pleasure falling from your lips. He bathes in the moans, groans in response as you repeat his name like a prayer.
Eris sits up and soon you’re staring at his sculpted form, bare before you, ready to be worshiped, touched as he had explored you. His hardened length rests against you, blunt tip against your aching core, and you tighten your legs around him, pulling him closer. The crown of him splits you open with a steady pressure and he fills you completely, a divine intrusion that makes you gasp with the pleasure of being so thoroughly claimed.
Eris stills, his body pressed flush against yours, your walls clenching around him as you adjust to the new, overwhelming sensation. His face nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his hand cupping your breast, thumb teasing your nipple in slow, deliberate strokes.
“Let me show you how pleasurable life can be.” Eris leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a tender caress. “Just tell me you’re mine.”
You arch into him. “I’m yours,” you whisper, voice trembling with surrender. “Free me.”
And as he begins to move, begins to roll his hips against yours, you turn your head, gaze falling to the apple lying beside you, untouched yet no longer gleaming—its perfect surface now bruised, smeared with the dirt of the earth.
Father was right about one thing.
You'd come across a beast, indeed, and you could never return.
Not fully.
Not the way you once were.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
author's note: happy retelling day from ur local exmormon!! im an eve defender till i die. biblical lore goes crazyyyy
Summary: A quiet night in, causes the General of the Night Court to Reveal his true feelings to you.
Content Warning: None
Word count: 592
A/N: I'm sorry I keep promising things and not delivering. I'm juggling a lot and writing has been put to the back burner so much so I cried about it today. So here is a cute fluffy drabble for you. If you see any mistakes...no you didn't.
Dividers by the beautiful @tsunami-of-tears
ACOTAR MASTERLIST Taglist Request
The warmth from the flames in the library fought against the winter chill that had blanketed Velaris. Tucked into a blanket, your head finding purchase in the lap of your best friend, The General of the Night Court’s Armies. His fingers were idly gliding through your hair as he read his novel. Looking up at him for a moment; you were entranced by Cassian’s rugged beauty.
Illuminated by the fire crackling in the hearth, his face had a golden glow, his hair up in a bun, a few stray pieces framing his face that now held stubble after going days without shaving. His wings were relaxed against the couch. You fought the urge to press your thumb against the crease between his eyebrows as his Hazel irises focused on his book. Unable to resist the urge much longer you reached up to do just that when his free hand gripped your wrist. “Knock it off.” His tone was light, and a smile appeared causing your heart to flutter. He resembled one of the old gods that Rhys’ mom would tell you about, handsome, kind and exudes raw power off his body. All those attributes describe your best friend of centuries. You were the moment he smiled at you and remained his when he had rescued you from the cruel fate of servitude. If only he realized he had your heart in the palm of his hands.
He remained unaware and you were left with a void in your heart the size of an Illyrian warrior.
The Mother was a cruel vixen.
“Sweetheart?” You blinked and noticed his smile had disappeared, replaced with a look of concern. “Where did you go?”
You smiled, “No where, I just missed you,” You turned back to your own book.
His hand grazed your arm, the soft scrap of his callouses against your skin, causing a shiver to race down your spine. “I promise to not be away for so long. I missed our reading nights. Being near you brings me such…”
“Serenity?” You glanced back to see him give a curt nod. Heat crept to your face at his admission, “Me too.”
Cassian’ lightly pulled your arm so you were facing him once more, “I have a confession to make.”
“Okay?” I rose from my spot to give him my full attention.
“Can I show you?” My head tilted, “Its better if I show you.”
You weren’t sure if your heart was beating, “Of course, Cassian. I trust you.”
Cassian’s Hazel’s eyes held your gaze with an intensity that wasn’t there a moment previously. “Good.” He cupped your face, and, in a moment, his lips were on yours. Quickly grip his waist in your hands he pulled you close. Pulling away before you could deepen the kiss, Cassian wraps a muscled arm around your waist and places his forehead to yours. “I couldn’t keep it in any longer.”
“Cassian.” You whispered your chest warming as the gold thread tethered your soul to his. You pushed him slightly as if you could see the thing tethering you two together. “You’re my-
You looked up to find the General’s face morph from shock to pure happiness, “Mate. You’re mine.”
No longer fighting your urge you slid into his lap and peppered his stubbled face with kisses. “Yours. I’ve always been yours.”
And as the night went on you two sat in the library, in each other’s arms fast asleep. As two lonely souls morphed into one. Calmness falling between them as sleep consumed them.
Finding Serenity at last.
General Tag: @milswrites @lady-of-tearshed @tsunami-of-tears @readychilledwine @ceoofyearning
summary the Inner Circle notices that there are more than friendly glances between Cass and YN. They dance around each other for months, enough time for the rest of them to place some bets.
words 1k
warnings fluff, kissing
an wanna read more? Here's my MASTERLIST
The Inner Circle was done waiting. YN and Cassian have been sharing more than friendly glances and touches for months.
Azriel was the first to notice. He didn't spy…he just couldn't help it.
His shadows followed them as Cassian took her on a nightly walk through Velaris. It was winter and the streets were covered in black ice. The perfect excuse for YN to ask the general to hold onto his hand. They chucked the whole time, as they slipped on the glass lice surfaces on top of the cobblestone. He could hold her up easily but when Cass lost his balance he pulled her towards the ground in an accident. To impede greater injuries he managed to turn quick enough - he landed on his back with his arms slung around YN pressing her securely to his chest. She painted in laughter and her eyes danced between his eyes and his lips. He groaned sargasically, his leathers took most of the impact and his hands grazed lazily along her spine as if he’d seared for any injuries.
Mor and Feyre grew suspicious during their shared dinners. When they met first, they sat at different ends of the filled table. By now they always sat next to each other. One time, when Mor claimed the seat next to YN, Cass just moved her chair including Mor on it to the side, just to be able to sit next to his lovely YN. She refilled his wine glass every time the opportunity came up. He passed her plates as if he was under a spell, dedicated to get her everything that she could possibly want. Mor and Feyre watched them brushing their fingers and their knees meeting. It became a ritual for YN to lean against Cass’ shoulder every evening, when she finished her plate, huffing at her full tummy. His arm slung around her shoulder, his thumb brushing calming circles on her upper arm. Too close to be just friendship for their assessment.
The following evening, Azriel, Mor, Feyre and Rhys began to make bets on when and how they’ll tell each other how they feel. Innocent incidents grew in specific scenes that they predicted. They had accumulated more than a month's generous pay on their bets by now.
Rhys found out because he was a bad loser. It was poker night at his town house. The Inner Circle sat around the green table - Rhys’ chips were nearly gone and Cass played with his: Building towers, sorting them neatly by colors or offering Rhys a stack for ridiculous demands. Cass asked him to shake and fluff up his bed or to address him as High Lord of the Cards. He was annoyed by Cass’ logic and strategic play. So, he risked to take a look into his head. But he found nothing concerning his cards. There were only thoughts about YN. How her blinking eyes flashed to his, how her smell seduced him, how gladly he would smear her lipstick in the best way, how he’d like to lay her down on this very table and get to his knees between her legs. Rhys’ eyes grew wide as he slipped out unnoticed. Then he dared a look behind YN’s shield. Her thoughts mirrored his but they were more…feral. A feline smirk stretched around Rhys’ lips as he was happy with what he found “Cass, I’m all in!” he said as he pushed his remaining two chips to the middle.
It was a sunny summer morning on the highest terrace on the house of wind. YN and Cass had a training session while the others had a late breakfast, watching the general practicing a new close combat skill.
The sparring match grew more intense, she attacked him with more force by every hit, but always with a playful undercurrent to her moves.
They laughed and taunted each other and the sly smile on YN’s face grew. She was fast and he became exhausted. His deflections became more sloppy as he warned her “Okay, that's enough, sweetheart.”
She grinned at him and aimed again as he grabbed her wrist stopping her hit. She frowned playfully at him but froze as his other hand grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him “I said, that's enough.” he said firmly.
Their gazes at each other changed immediately, she gasped looking at him with wide eyes.
For a moment, they stood still, the world around them fading away. He leaned in and captured her lips in a passionate kiss. Her arms slung around his shoulders, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. She melted against him, her fingers entangled in his hair as he reached around her middle as if she could vanish the next moment.
"Finally!" Mor exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. Feyre cheered with a laugh "Took you long enough!"
“I knew it, that's my brother," Azriel murmured to himself. Rhys booed playfully, his hand brushing calming la through his hair "Alright, everyone. Time to settle the bets."
Cassian and YN broke their kiss, gasping for air and gazing into each other's eyes before turning to face their friends with flushed cheeks and wide smiles. "You were betting on us?" YN asked, incredulous and amused.
Rhys shrugged “It took you months! What were we supposed to do? Thank you by the way, Cassian.” He said with an eye roll as he reached into the pocket of his shirt. He pulled out checks and filled them out, ripping each paper off and handing it to Azriel, Mor and Feyre.
“Thank you,” Mir laughed and stowed it in her cleavage before she turned to Cass “I always believed in you.”
Cassian shook his head, laughing. "You guys are unbelievable." Azriel joined in the laughter, his stoic expression washed away "We just wanted to see you both happy."
"Well, I guess we can't disappoint our audience." YN murmured to Cassian, pulling him to her, sharing another kiss. "Never." Cassian said between pecking at her lips again.
@cassianappreciationweek for day 7 of our Cassian appreciation week ✨
It's Lesbian Visibility Week, an excellent time to be celebrating women who love women. Give it up for the sapphics, their muses, and the gorgeous art that honors them.
hello! could you please do an izuku fluff one shot where he loves to sleep with reader in her dorm? i use she/her pronouns but gender neutral would be fine aswell if you’d prefer💓
“I LOOK BETTER IN THE DARK.”
IZUKU MIDORIYA x fem!reader.
summary: what the request said!
warnings: reader and izuku have known each other since middle school, izuku being traumatized 😔, set before the second war!fluff otherwise i believe! kinda angsty for a minute.
a/n: guys… i miss him. he’s so sweet pls don’t hurt him anymore horikoshi. also ily anon ty for requesting this omg. pls send more 🤍
—
it wasn’t uncommon for your boyfriend to randomly show up at your dorm. normally, he would arrive approximately ten minutes after texting you that he was going to try to take a nap.
but, you knew your boyfriend and you knew he would arrive with his hair tussled and eyes wide and disappointed – from not being able to sleep on his own. you were used to izuku knocking on your dorm room at random hours, you’ve even grown accustomed to this routine.
currently, you’re sat by your door. playing with your matching all might keychain that izuku got you for your birthday when you were young.
knock, smack! knock.
you smiled at the noise, you made that knocking pattern up after one time while trying to knock on your door barely awake, izuku fell asleep and smacked his head off of your door.
you stood up, rushing to your door. a soft smile already on your face.
“hi. i-” izuku tried to defend himself, yet again, he forgets that you are used to this.
“you couldn’t sleep, i know.” you softly nodded and motioned for him to come in.
he smiled crookedly as he rubbed the back of his head, trudging toward your bed and flopping on it.
it was late, around 9 pm, the moonlight replacing the suns glare.
you stood by the door for a minute, admiring your boyfriend.
he laid with one of his hands behind his head lazily, the other hand playing with your all might keychain. he looked so cute. his lips were turned upwards at the sight of the keychain.
the moonlight made his freckles pop, his dark-green hair looking more abnormally fluffier than usual.
you moved towards your boyfriend, plopping down beside him and lifting the covers over you two.
“i think i look better in the dark.” izuku mumbled quietly as he noticed your staring, he turned to look at you.
you grinned, “you always look good, izu.” you softly whispered as he became flustered. the boy curled up against you as he moved to rest his head on your chest.
tuffs of hair tickled your chin, causing you to giggle slightly as you played with his shirt. he wore a shirt that you gifted him at the start of the year, to celebrate him getting into U.A. with you.
“what happened to napping in your own room today?” you teased, not noticing your boyfriend moving his hand so it was closer to yours.
“i had a nightmare.”
your teasing smile dropped, you should’ve known. izuku’s been having terrors constantly after the first war. it was miracle when you and your classmates had even convinced him to come back to U.A. and rest.
“sorry, they just don’t happen when i’m with you.” he said quietly after noticing your silence, his words slightly muffled into your chest as you kissed his head.
“i’m glad they don’t.” you looked down, noticing his hand beside yours, he has been awkwardly fiddling with the sheets this whole time. he was scared to hold your hand. he didn’t want to hurt you.
you softly sighed, interlocking your fingers with his. you knew he felt safe when people held his hands. izuku began drifting into a slumber, the feeling of you holding his hand comforting him.
“i love you.”
you looked down at him, expecting him to reply only to see his eyes shut, mouth opened slightly as he slept. you felt your own eyes close as you basked in the feeling of holding your lover.
izuku midoriya is one of the strongest people on earth right now but when he’s with you, he’s just your izuku. just a kid who deserves a break from society and a well rested sleep.
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a/n: my baby. THIS WAS A LITTLE OFF TRACK and very short, i’m sorry anon i got a little carried away 😔😔 i hope you enjoyed this! 🫶
