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Fics
Dark Desires â Azriel x reader x Rhysand
Sins & Shadows | Shards and Shadows â Azriel x Vanserra!Reader
Caught on Camera â Human!Camboy!Azriel x Neighbor!Friend!Reader
Self-Indulgent | (part I) (part II) â Azriel x Priestess!Reader
Vendetta â Modern!Mafia!Eris x Rival mafia princess!Reader
Kneady â Azriel x Baker!Reader
Blurbs, drabbles, & headcannons
Dark Desires blurb â Azriel x Reader
69 with Azriel
Azriel x Vampire!Reader
Sub!Lucien
Modern!Azriel's Christmas Video Surprise
Vampire!Rhys x Reader
Kidnapper!Azriel
Requests are closed, but I'm more than willing to discuss or expand on any of my current works đ (...except Dark Desires)
Contains: Post what-could-be-considered sexual assault, self-harm?, mention of splattered brains, physical violence, blood. Unedited, no use of Y/N.Â
a/n: halo-hanging posting ?! đŠ sorry if any spelling errors my spellcheck isnât working. also shoutout to you all for giving me the ideas to write this one so sorry iâve been gone <3
Cold air clung to your skin tighter than the thin shift wrapped around you, carrying a damp, musty weight that settled deep in your lungs with every breath.Â
That male hadnât returned since throwing the itchy garment through the bars and telling you to suck it up.Â
You didnât want to think of his nameâwhich, at least, you hadnât provided him the satisfaction of moaning. Just thinking of him and what heâd done to youâŠyour stomach roiled with shame at the sick, sick part of you that initially found him just the slightest bit attractive, that enjoyedâeven just a little bit, enough to want to orgasmâhis complete violation of your body.Â
Your body, which was still shaking as you curled your legs up to your chest, the dim light allowing you to see your skinned knees when his damned shadows had dropped you. Gently, you brushed your thumbs over the scrapes.Â
It was sickening how you could still feel his seed dripping out of you.Â
In. Out. In. Out. You reminded yourself to breathe, even as the sound of your heartbeat in your ears got louder.Â
The hope that your brothers would be here had soon dimmed. Maybe you didnât matter as much as you actually thought. Maybe you werenât worth the effort of retrieving.
So much for holding you as leverage against your court.Â
Soon you lay your aching, shivering body sideways on the ground, legs still curled up. If it were any other time, you mightâve been mindful of the cleanlinessâbut nothing could be more disgusting now that youâd been taken in such a way by some Night Court scum.Â
And even as you tried to keep silent, the dungeon walls echoed your weeping mockingly.Â
Meanwhile, upstairs, Azriel was occupied with drafting the terms for the Vanserra girlâs return. Not his task of choiceâbut he could never disobey outright orders from his High Lord.Â
The quill flew across the paper, using the neat lettering he favoured for diplomatics. Whilst the Vanerssa daughter was one of the main subjects of the paper, you, downstairs, were barely a thought in his mind. Merely a good fuck and hopefully something thatâd irk your eldest brother if he found out. Azriel wasnât afraid of potential revenge for the act, being undaunted by Erisâthough he should probably give you something to mask his scent on you, not wanting to go through the trouble of the male.Â
Azriel continued to write.Â
Your response will determine howâand how soon sheÂ
Azriel froze. His shadows, once lazily swirling at his feet, froze as well.Â
Something was wrong.
The world tilted.Â
Blood roared in his ears, each heartbeat slamming through him until the edges of his vision darkened. For a moment, there was nothing but shadows.
Then it collapsed.
As quickly as it came, the sensation shrank into a hollow in his chest. The entirety of that feeling compressing into such a small space. A black hole. He couldnât breathe. It hooked its fingers into his heart and pulled, wrenching something deep and vital in him toâ
You.Â
Mate, the tug whispered.
Azrielâs breaths fractured. His fingers tangled in his hair, hard enough he shouldâve felt pain, but he didnât.
Mate, it whispered again.Â
This second time his shadows understood.
They recoiled.Â
They moved faster than heâd ever seenânot from the room, or a threatâbut from him. Vanishing into nothing.Â
Azriel sat alone, the word echoing in his chest. On the desk beneath him, the quill pen had leaked ink all over the statement heâd been drafting. Irremovable stains expanding over his precise writing, mirroring the way the bond spread over his usually controlled self.Â
His legs itched to carry him to the dungeons downstairs, but he strongly doubted youâd want to see his face. He wasnât even sure if youâd felt the mating link snap yet. How was he supposed to fix anything like this? With what heâd just done to youâŠhe gagged on the bile that surged.
So badly, Azrielâs instincts called out to protect you, to care for you. How was he supposed to do that if you refused him? If you were afraid of him? His breath lodged in his throat.
For once, Azriel had no clue what to do.Â
The first thing you noticed when you awoke was the thick blanket over you. He probably realised youâd be of no use to Night if you died of hypothermia.Â
The second thing you noticed was the dulled soreness between your thighs, then your eyes tired from crying.Â
It was brighter now. The sconces lining the walls near your cell had been lit. Shifting around, you found a tray with water that looked clean and a plate of breadâsliced. A press of your fingers found that it was warm, too. Clever incentive to get you to eat and drink something that was likely laced to keep you compliant.Â
But it wasnât as if you could get worse anyway, so you ate the bread while it was still warm and downed it with the water.Â
Just then, you spotted rippling shadows at the bars of your cell. Watching you. Unbound, you could easily warm the bars of the cell and bend them just enough to get yourself out. But not with the shadows there.Â
You wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself, shuffling to sit in the corner. Stared at the shadowsâthough it was a funny thing, since you werenât quite sure where you were supposed to look, but you were sure they were entirely aware of you anyway.Â
âTell your master,â you began quietly, âthat nobody will be coming for me. And that itâs no use for them to keep me here.âÂ
The shadows seemed to pause. Then a coil of them reached out and easily unlatched the lock, the sound of wheels rolling on stone echoing through the dungeon as they pushed the bars aside.Â
You were wary of their actions. It had to be some sort of test or trick. There was no way theyâor heâdâlet you go so easily. Was there?Â
Sitting there, you watched the shadows. They didnât move, remaining by the now-opened bars. If you made a run for it, would they catch you and drag you back? Dangle freedom in front of your face just to cruelly remove it once again, toying with you the way their master seemed to so enjoy?Â
Enough time had passed while considering the suspicious offer of freedom for you to realise nothing you ate had been laced. Perhaps theyâd realised you really werenât worth anything to trade.Â
The thought was a pin in your heart, but you could do nothing about it except help yourself.Â
You wrapped the blanket tighter over your shoulders and stood. The shadows didnât react. You didnât make a run for it, knowing you wouldnât be able to outrun them. Instead, you just headed straight out.Â
But at the bars, a mild, curious shadow curled around your wrist. The touch wasnât heavy at all, but the sensation that came with it brought you crumbling to your knees, your grip on the blanket slipping. You didnât even register the pain as your already-scraped knees hit the ground; with all your concentration focused on trying to breathe through the phantom hands that seemed to close around your lungs.Â
Deep breaths seemed to calm your racing heart and bring oxygen back into your lungs again after a moment. Your hand clung tightly to a bar of the cell gate, knuckles white.Â
You werenât graced with the time to collect yourself or your thoughts when your hands flew to your chest.Â
Nails digging into the shift. Scratching at the fabric. All in an attempt to gouge the unfamiliar feeling out of your body. Willing to excavate your heart if it meant removing the firm bond that linked you to him.
âStop,â you wailed. The shadows, not expecting such a reaction from you, were unsure.
It was a string of fate, all right. One with a hook in your soul and the rope tight around your neck like a noose.Â
The fabric gave. You clawed at your chest, leaving ugly red lines. Skin tore easily. Soon there was blood under your nails and the promise of flesh.Â
Trembling, you cried out. You didnât know what hurt moreâthe bond, or your self-inflicted pain.Â
âStop, make it stopâŠâ
The shadows intervened. Some gently embraced your wrists, urging you to stop. Others wrapped around the tips of your fingers. Preventing you from raking your skin.Â
âStop it!â They held fast even as you attempted to bat them away. You tried to dig your fingers into your sternum, but the shadows around your wrists lightly strayed your actions.Â
The other shadows drew the blanket back over your shoulders, rubbed your back, dried your tears, and smoothed your hair.Â
He had to know, for his shadows to be here, you realised. Even more it made you want to swat at them, but they seemed to adamant on caring for you. If this was his attempted apologyâŠ
âMake it go away,â you hiccuped. âMake it go away! Stop, stop, I donât want thisâŠâ
Disgust and nausea overtook youâquite promptly, you lurched over, bile and blood rising in your throat.Â
This was the male the Cauldron chose?Â
Your torn skin stung, but you couldnât bring yourself to care as you emptied the contents of your stomach on the stone floor. At least your hair was held back.Â
You werenât sure how long this continued to happenâyou may have passed out, because when you got ahold of yourself again you were leaning on a wall, and the shadows had another glass of water for you.Â
They raised it higher, offering it to you.Â
Shaky fingers closed around the glass. You used it to wash the taste out of your mouth until you could only imagine the metallic tang behind your teeth.Â
Your head hurt. Your chest hurt.Â
You remained there as the bond festered into something sickly within your body, then decided that that was enough of moping. Standing, your hand shot out for balanceâfinding the grimy wall that made you grimace. Stomach churning, fingers trembling, you threw another glance at the shadows that hovered by the open gate of the cell. They fluttered unthreateningly, one of them even pushing the door open further. Go on, they seemed to whisper.Â
A chill spread through your bones, but whether from the cold of the dungeon or the flickering, unwanted awareness in your heart you were unsure. Either way, you tugged the blanket tighter around your shoulders, wincing as your hands brushed the self-inflicted mess over your sternum.Â
With another glance at the suspicious shadows, you slowly trod out of the cell. The shadows remained still. Another cautious step. Still no movement. Once you were a comfortable few paces away from the cell, you made a run for itâonly for the shadows to chase after you. You knew they could outrun you, yet they never seemed to lay a tendril on you; only hovering by your elbows.Â
Following the light, you emerged inâa library? What seemed to be priestesses had taken on the role of librarians, not batting an eye at you even as you made your way through the tome-filled shelves. Ahead of you, the shadows snaked a path to an exit. Or a trap. You ignored them, swapping your blanket for a robe snatched off the back of a chair. Â
There were so many sets of stairs. The shadows returned to you as you blindly chose one, thick material of the robes bunched in a fist as you ran up the steps. It gave way to a tidy antechamber, a door ajar at one end and double doors wide open at the other. A flash of movement caught your eye through the crack of the former door.Â
Your chest tugged.Â
Sensing your presence in his antechamber, the spymaster came barrelling through the door. A gasp escaped your lips as you backed up. Bloodshot eyes took you in. With every step you took away from him, he took a smaller one towards you.Â
He could feel your intentionsâjust as you were about to bolt, a hoarse âWaitâ glued your feet to the marble floor.Â
âI didnât know,â his voice cracked, wide eyes welling with tears. His knees hit the floor with a thud. âI swear on the Cauldron, I didnât fucking knowâIâm sorry, please, pleaseââÂ
âNo,â you said firmly. âI donât care. Every breath I take will be in rejection of this bond; till the day I die I will remember how you violated me. May the Mother bless me with the knowledge of your eternal guilt and suffering for laying your filthy hands on me.âÂ
With each word, you could see the light drain from those hazel eyes, silent tears streaming down his rugged face. âIâmââ
âIâm not done. To anyone who asks, both you and I will deny the existence of the bond. You will not say a word of it to anybody.âÂ
Your demands were just thatâa strict order. But when the male agreed brokenly, âDealââit was secured as an agreement.Â
His mistake was recognised too late. With your statement being sealed into a pact, you pushed your heavy sleeve up as you felt, in horror, the sensation of pinpricks crawling around your wrist and forearm. In its wake was dark ink in a coil of thorns. A choked noise from the spymasterâsingalling his identical markâconfirmed your suspicions.Â
A bargain tattoo.Â
As if you needed anything else to bind you to the kneeling spymaster. You let the sleeve fall to cover your arm again, looking down your nose at him. He was a mess, hunching and wings drooping with his red-rimmed eyes and black locks messy from worrying his hands through.Â
He brought his ruin upon himself.
Again, as you turned, came another croaky âWaitâ. He cleared his throat twice before speaking. âItâs almost impossible for you to leave.âÂ
âI can winnow.â I am not staying here with you.Â
âTheâ wards. You have to jump before you can do that.â
You glanced over your shoulder. âAnd how can I trust you are not asking me to jump to my death?â
A pained sound left his throat. âPleaseâŠbelieve me. I want no harm to come to you. Thereâs a stairwell as well, but the ten thousand steps require incredible mental fortitudeâŠâ The way he spoke sounded as if it hurt him to have you leave him. Perhaps the stories of fae males feeling the bond more strongly meant it did.Â
âI will leave however I want. I do not wish to speak to you.â
Deep, ripping regret and self-loathing echoed down the bond. You shoved it aside and turned to leave with his shadows continuing to trail you.Â
Attempts to winnow out on your way to finding a balcony proved it impossible. Standing by a balcony balustrade, you looked down. Sparse clouds drifted across the rocky mountain the house was built into, overlooking the city below.Â
You were shaking from weariness and fear as you gathered the robes and stepped onto the balustrade. Waiting a moment too late to winnow would have your brains splattered across the rocks.Â
Following a sigh, you stepped off the balustrade.Â
Keeping the winnowing channel of your mind open, all you could do was wait as gravity waited to welcome you by kissing your cheeks with harsh wind.Â
As soon as the wards faltered, you were sucked into the warm whirlwind of darkness.Â
In your mind you pictured the red and gold forests of Autumn. But this drained, you couldnât winnow across courtsâespecially not one so far from Night. You remembered a hazy image of a forest in Night youâd seen once. Of course, there was the risk of not returning properly to your body, but it was your only shot.Â
Carefully gathering your thoughts, you were lucky when you were spat out onto damp earth. The sun was still up, thank the Motherâbut it wouldnât be for long. You needed to ignore the pull in your chest and find your bearings.Â
It wasnât long before you were kneeling by a stream, lips wet with drink and soles aching from walking barefoot.Â
A questioning call of your name came from behind you.
The moment you made eye contact with your eldest brother, your facade crumbled. With sure steps, Eris made his way over to you.Â
You sagged with relief as he knelt beside you, relieved by the familiar comfort of his presence. Though neither of you were particularly expressive through physical means, the pat on your back unlodged something in your chest. The same steady reassurance youâd known since childhood.Â
âI thoughtâ thought you werenât coming for me,â you got out through hiccups as he helped you to stand.Â
âYou were being kept in Velaris,â Eris explained, âwe couldnât get in; but did you really think weâd just leave you there? âŠDonât cry, godsdamnit, I donât know what to do when you cry.âÂ
Despite everything, you let out a watery laugh.Â
He was midway through telling you how your other brothers were looking for you as well, saying that heâd winnow the both of you home first, when he went silent, noticing the loitering shadows. Through your less-teary eyes now, you glanced sideways at your brother.Â
His expression was murderous. âWhat did that bastard do to you?â
You took in a shuttered breath. His eyes swept over you, landing on the blood crusted beneath your nails.Â
âTell me what he did.â
âEris,â a sob bubbled.Â
At your reluctance to speak, his lips formed a grim line. âWeâll get you home and cleaned up first. Then weâll talk about it.â
Back at the Forest House, each inhale had your ribs pressing tight against the bandages wrapped around your chest. Youâd scrubbed yourself raw in the bath, making sure there wasnât a trace left of the Shadowsingerâs scent on your body. All that remained were the shadows, the tattoo, and the bond.
Now you sat in bed, nursing a bowl of warm broth while Eris paced. Once you were done speakingâcareful to avoid any mention about the bond or the tattoo, Eris stood still. âThis is an insult to Autumn honour. His actions will not be overlooked.âÂ
âWhat will you do?âÂ
Eris was silent for a few moments. Then, quietly but not any less intimidatingly, âHe will answer accordingly for what he did to you. I shall invoke a blood duel.âÂ
The shadows flinched.
âNo!â You cleared your throat, realising your argument sounded as if it was in the Shadowsingerâs defence. âI mean, itâs not worth it. I donât want you getting hurt because of this.âÂ
âI will not let some bastard get away with assaulting my blood!âÂ
You thought of the spymaster, begging on his knees. The acute regret zinging down the bond. He meant his apology, but Eris wouldnât know or believe that.Â
And the bond. Even if your brother were to initiate a blood duel, mating bonds cannot be broken in death. Eris would win, and the bond would remain, weighing you down in the Shadowsingerâs death; or Eris would die in vain.Â
âYou canât do it.â
âYou doubt me,â came his dry disappointment.Â
âIf anyone were to fight him to the death, it should be me.â But it wouldnât be a fair fight. Not at all, if you knew the spymaster would refuse to lay a finger on you again.Â
âI will not let him hurt you. Again. Unless you have better ideas?â
You watched Eris silently, unable to voice the thoughts behind your eyes. âNânoâŠâ
âI shall dispatch a missive.âÂ
The shadows turned to face you as one, watching without eyes, as Eris left your chambers.Â
Two weeks later, your party of three waited in a lambent forest clearing. You, Eris, and another one of your brothers, Brandt, here to play mediator. With you at the head, the three of you stood a formidable trio; you and Brandt in ornate Autumn clothing, and Eris in shined silver armour.Â
Your group watched in disdain as the Spymaster of the Night Court approachedâwith Nightâs own war general, trudging through orange undergrowth. Even from fifty feet away, the Shadowsingerâs posture was already defeated. Brandt sneered.Â
As he neared, you could see he was dressed in casual leathers. He was either incredibly confident or incredibly stupid. The two Illyrians ceased their conversation once within your earshot.Â
The bond hummed, a living thing between you two. Azriel swallowed thickly. His face paled at the sight of his own shadows guarding you. From him. You avoided his eyes. Tugged on your sleeve to make sure it was hiding the tattoo.Â
Brandt stepped forward between the two parties and cleared his throat. âLet it be known that Eris Vanserra, heir to the Autumn Court, has invoked the ancient rite of the blood duel against Azriel Shadowsinger of the Night Court. Let the accused answer and state whether he accepts or refuses.â
âI accept.â Azrielâs voice sounded as if it were hanging by a fraying thread.
Eris unfastened his red cloak, folding it neatly before tossing it to the side where you and Cassian moved to stand apart.Â
âThe grievance has been heard,â Brandt intoned, âthe challenge has been accepted. Let the duel commence.âÂ
Both males stood at the ready, though the spymasterâs stance seemed limp. Eris wasted no time in surging forward, his fist connecting with Azrielâs jaw hard enough to snap his head sideways. Azriel staggered a step; blood bloomed on his lower lip.Â
He didnât raise a hand to strike back. Eris faltered momentarily, but his fist flashed out again, catching Azriel square across the bridge of his nose.Â
âAzriel,â Cassian yelled. âWhat are you doing?âÂ
With a start, Eris launched himself at the male in question. They hit the ground hardâEris on topâlanding a series of blows to which Azriel only responded with a groan.Â
âFight me, damn you!â A devastating crunch followed. You winced at the distress that shot down the bond. âFight back!â
A broken sob followed. Cassian, slack-jawed, looked ready to intervene. Brandt scoffed, murmuring something under his breath.Â
âHave you no honour?â A wheeze was elicited from Azriel at Erisâs knee pressing against his sternum. âYou have insulted my court. Violated my sister. Do you not wish to defend yourself?âÂ
âI canât,â he said tremulously. Tears streamed down his temples; blood streamed down the sides of his mouth.Â
âAre you mocking me with your inaction, Shadowsinger?âÂ
âI canât do it,â Azriel repeated, weeping.Â
Tensely, Cassian called, âAzriel, donât be stupid.â
Erisâs eyes were ablaze. Fisting a hand in Azrielâs hair, he slammed his head back onto the ground.Â
âAzriel!âÂ
The spymasterâs teary eyes caught yours, uttering your name. âIâm sorry,â he gargled out unintelligibly through a mouthful of blood. Or at least, you thought that was what he said, with the wave of his guilt that overcame you.
âThat will not change what you did.â Erisâs statement was emphasised with another hit to the ground.Â
The third slam had Azrielâs eyes falling shut, his hair matted from the pooling blood. Cassian roared. The bond shuddered. Yet Eris was relentless.Â
âEris,â you cautioned shakily, watching the blood seep into the earth. âEris, stopâyouâre going to kill himââ
âYes.â His tone was too unbothered for the way he was repeatedly driving Azrielâs head into the rocky dirt. âHe accepted the duel knowing what they are for.â
âEris, enoughââ
âClose your eyes if it bothers you.âÂ
âListen to your sister, please,â Cassian cried.
âEris, you have to stopâŠâ You exhaled before raising your voice firmly. âEris Vanserra, by my right as the wronged party, I grant mercy and insist this blood duel be ended.âÂ
Erisâs blazing eyes narrowed at you. âWhy.âÂ
You shook your head. Eris released Azrielâs hair and slowly stoodâCassian rushed over immediately.Â
âYou are defending him? Is it out of guilt, sister?â
âNo, no. IâŠâ
âExplain.â
You gulped uncertainly with another small shake of your head. âI canât.â
âI am sick of hearing those two words todayââ
âThereâs no point. In killing himâit wonât change anything,â you replied. âIt wonât undo what heâs done, andââ
âYou must be out of your mind,â Eris barked a sardonic chuckle. âFirst you stop the duel, then protect him, defend himâŠperhaps next youâll inform me the bastard is your mate.âÂ
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.Â
âNo,â Eris was saying, his anger melting into dismay. âNo, no, no. Are you bonded? Tell me you are not bonded.â
Even Cassian and Brandt were looking over now. You stuttered.Â
Eris pressed on. âAnswer me. Is he your mate?â
âIâ I cannot tell you.â Your throat tightened. âIf you askâŠI am forced to lie.âÂ
Sub!Eris who spends all day running the ruthless and demanding Autumn Court, just wanting to crawl into his pretty wifeâs lap and bury his face into her side for comfort
Sub!Eris who loves it when you run your fingers through his red hair, whispering words of affirmation, as he closes his eyes gently and hums against your skin
Sub!Eris who doesnât notice at first when your hands start traveling lower and lower down his body, grasping for his belt and freeing him of his trousers
Sub!Eris who shifts to give you easier access, eyes watching as you wrap a soft hand around his growing erection, teasing him until he starts whining and growing impatient
Sub!Eris who can hardly hold it together when you climb on top of him, pinning his hands above his head as you sink yourself down onto him with sadistic gleam.
Sub!Eris who loves to feel the weight of your body on top of his, grinding and moving against him tauntingly, closing his eyes as he lets you take advantage of his every weakness
Sub!Eris who nearly finishes before you allow him to, the words âSuch a good boy for me, arenât you?â ringing through his mind, as he craves to be praised and rewarded by you
Sub!Eris who canât take it any longer as he watches the sweat glisten down your body in the afternoon sunlight, tits bouncing in his face, as he whimpers beneath you and finally decides to let go
Sub!Eris who was in for a round tortuous, merciless punishment after he recovered, having learned the hard way that there consequences for not listening to his demanding wife
Azriel has the SLUTTIEST HIPS???? The most sensual, the most biteable??? He goes around in leathers and scale-like armour, but he comes home and wears these low-slung, cotton lounging pants that just HANG off his hips like theyâll fall off any minute. Such shape, such curve. You can see the DIPS. Dark hair dusts his NAVEL and trails down beneath those pants. Sometimes, first thing in the morning, he stands shirtless at the window and his muscles RIPPLE??? He absentmindedly RUBS HIS TUMMY while thinking about what to eat??? And his hips just exist there, begging to be LICKED????!!!!
also you changed your name to a lucien phrase, that made me wonder if you will ever write x reader fics of him?
as for the Lucien question probably not any more likely than it is currently i just liked the quote haha
and as for a very incomplete list Azriel's kinks:
Choking: he loves having his hand around your throat, whether it be squeezing during sex or just resting there in your sleepâjust as a collar to remind you youâre his.Â
Primal play: as the hunter, being able to let go of himself in those moments, with his mind narrowed in only on you.
Mommy kink: as mentioned, with his mommy issues should we even be surprised. He probably doesn't even know he's into it, but the first time it slips out...
thinking of azriel and cassian play-brawling but someone one ending on top of the other shirtless and sweaty ⊠⊠heavy breathing ⊠eye contact âŠ
Kidnapper!Azriel whoâs had his eye on you for weeks. His sweet little mateânot that you know that, but thatâs okay. Either way, youâre going to be his. He presses a sedative-laced cloth over your mouth while you sleep, not wanting to hurt you unnecessarily.Â
You wake up on a soft bed, bleary-eyed and propping yourself up. Thereâs a winged male sitting by the bed, looking concerned.Â
Heâd taken care to decorate the area in your favourite colourâweeks of stalking you beforehand gave him plenty of material on you.Â
On the bedside table sits a glass of water, which he quickly moves to offer to you. He doesnât seem harmful, so you nearly accept it, but shifting yourself brings your attention to the iron cuff around your ankle, chained to the bed.Â
He hastens to reassure you, âItâs not what it looks likeâŠâÂ
Kidnapper!Azriel who hauls you over his lap when you stare at the door for too long. Even after the first week, you never dare to try it, also because itâs latched with some sort of magic you canât figure out.Â
He flips your skirt up, revealing pretty panties that heâd bought for you. With his leg locked over yours and a hand on your back, you canât even attempt to squirm away. Wedgieing them to expose your bum, he lands a slap to a cheek. âPretty girl, itâs for your own good.â Another stinging slap has you yelping. âDonât you trust me to take care of you?â
Kidnapper!Azriel who dotes on you endlessly, making sure you have everything you could want and moreâexcept freedom. Pretty clothes, booksâŠanything material you ask for, heâll deliver. Of course, however, he makes you model all the clothes for him.Â
He loves to bring you lingerie, making you spin and show off. Though shy, you canât disobey him. Not when it gets you a slap across your face before youâre grabbed by the cheeks, being asked, âWho do you belong to?â His grip tightens if you donât respond fast enoughâbecause you will answer, and correctly. âExactly. So act like it.âÂ
Kidnapper!Azriel who loves when youâre crying. Be it from homesickness or his hands striking your body, he still gets those puffy lips, shiny eyes, and flushed cheeks.Â
He can never help himself from bringing your hand to his crotch or pushing his hips into you while youâre sobbing, asking, âFeel how hard your tears get me? My babyâs so pretty like thisâŠâ
Kidnapper!Azriel who cuts fresh fruit and hand-feeds them to you, pushing the bite-sized cubes past your lips while you sit in his lap.
Kidnapper!Azriel who spots you trying to escape one day. Trying to loosen the window latch by your bed. Itâs a large window, giving you a nice view of the woods outside of the cabin heâs keeping you in, but tightly hinged so it only opens a few inches to let the breeze in.Â
You freeze as soon as you register his sudden presence behind you. Turning to face him, you hide the hairpins youâd been using behind your back. âIâm justâŠtrying to fix itâŠâ
He doesnât even respond verbally, landing a blow across your cheek. As you begin to cry, he says, âI donât want to hurt you, pretty girl, but sometimes you leave me no choice. Is it so hard to be obedient?â
A rough hand grabs you by the hair and bends you over the bed, pulling your skirt up and panties down. âStupid little girl. How many times do I have to tell you itâs not safe for you out there?â
After your punishments, he cradles you in his lap and wipes the tears off your face with hands that werenât this gentle just minutes earlier. âIâm sorry, baby. Itâs for your own good, yeah? I donât wanna see you pulling any stupid fucking stunts like that again.âÂ
Kidnapper!Azriel who, when sleeping with you, has a heavy leg over your hip and a loose grasp around your throat; heâs not letting you get away. Even the slightest shift has his grip tightening and letting out a deep, sleepy warning growl into your ear.Â
Kidnapper!Azriel who sinks into you from above, his arms caging you in. Kissing your cheeks softly as tears leak down your temples. âDonât worry, my little love. One day youâll learn to love me like I do you.âÂ
Summary - One bed doesn't work well for 3 illyrians and their mate.
Warnings - Azriel's slutty sweatpants, mentions of wing clipping but nothing graphic, swearing
A/n - Anyone else wonder how any quad would handle a one bed situation?
Written for @polysjmweek day three: Will there be enough room?
SJM Poly+ Week Masterlist
Master Masterlist
âOh you have got to be shitting me,â Azriel grumbled. âRhys, you were supposed to ask for 2 beds.â
âI did,â The High Lord pulled off the hood that did nothing to disguise him, prompting a giggle from you and Cassian. The look of annoyance he gave the two of you had you hiding your face in Cassian's chest. âI suppose you two think this is very funny.â
âVery,â Cassian chuckled. âAzriel is acting like the 4 of us haven't been sharing a bed for, what, 200 years?â Cassian's hands guided you into the room, setting your bag down. âGo bathe first.â
216 years, you would never correct Cassian, and they still ensured you showered first in these situations. It wasn't the first time you four found yourselves in a rundown inn seeking shelter after a rough mission. It wouldn't be the last either. Peeling off the sweat and dirt-caked clothing made your skin crawl. You four had been hunting Illyrians that had crossed Rhysand for the last time. Your husband was tired of the clippings and the fighting.
All three of your husbands were, actually.
It had started with you and Cassian. The bond had snapped when he saw you on the Summer Court's pleasure barge, per his banishment from your home. He had introduced you to Azriel a few days later, the fight between them now being the cause of the infamous sand castle collapse that shook the Summer Court. Not wanting to live without them, you left when they did, arriving at the Night Court and causing another fight the second you laid eyes on Rhysand. The four of you worked hard to make the dynamic flow, but once it fell into place, the three of them all admitted their lives and connection made so much more sense.
âDo you need help, sweetheart,â a purr made you pause, hands moving away from the corset you wore for extra protection. Rhysand began to work on the ties. âWe are attempting to figure out the bed situation,â his voice was slightly annoyed. âWith two males with wings-â
âBaby, I can sleep on the floor,â you offered.
âOver my dead body,â his eyes met yours in the mirror. âIf we move the bed to the center of the room, we can have Azriel and Cassian take the outsides-â
âAnd squish you in the middle with me on the floor,â your voice was meant to be firm, but the relief as he finally finished unlacing your corset made it more of a relaxed sigh. âYou can't handle sleeping on floors or the couch. your knees will get stiff, and then you will become grumpy.â
He nipped at your ear playfully, âI do not get grumpy.â He walked with you toward the tub, arms around your waist as he hugged you from behind. He kept you practically glued to him, turning the faucet on, âI fear the water won't get warm.â
âIt's okay. One cold bath won't kill me,â your fingers traced his forearm tattoos. âWe get to go home tomorrow, right?â
He nodded, âAzriel found and took care of the last group while you and Cassian were doing whatever you two were doing.â
You leaned back to narrow your eyes, âVery serious mission things.â A lie, and Rhysand knew, but he wouldn't push it. âWe were critical to the success of this operation.â Not a lie.
A dark brown lifted as his smirk began to form. âI will pretend I didn't just see a flash of what you two were doing in the woods today. Bathe while I get the bed figured out.â He left after smacking your ass, laughing as he did.
You sunk into the water, the harsh drag of wood on wood outside the door. The rules of your missions typically involved bathing quickly so you could all wash up, but with the water cold, there was little reason not to soak longer than you normally would. Once you were chilled to the bones, you stepped out and drained the tub, cringing at the sight of the dirty water.
A real bath, preferably with 3 sets of hands helping you, would be a must once you were back in Velaris. You wrapped yourself in the towel, walking out to where Azriel was situating things. âAnd where did the other two go?â
âThey claim food,â he murmured. âRhysand said the water is cold.â His hand reached for your hair, twisting a lock. âAre you cold?â
âA bit.â
âStart a fire if you'd like,â the tone of his voice was soft and almost musical, as it always was when he relaxed. His lips were warm on your forehead as he went to bathe, leaving you to try to heat the cold room with the small hearth. You studied the bed once you had it going, changing into your last clean pair of leggings and finding one of Cassian's shirts to wear.
There was no possible way all four of you would fit. Your bed in Velaris was custom-made, allowing all three males to stretch out their wings. That wouldn't be possible here. Rhysand would have to keep his tucked in with his magic, Azriel and Cassian would have to let theirs rest on the floor.
You had a plan. One they'd hate. You grabbed a blanket from the corner of the room and a pillow and laid in front of the fireplace. They'd believe you fell asleep warming your skin back up and hopefully, they'd let you sleep there. Maybe that would allow the three of them some sort of comfort. You shut your eyes, the warmth so enjoyable it lulled your mind into relaxing.
Cassian and Rhysand walked back into the room, Cassian quick to notice your form curled up under a blanket. âWe should have just pushed and flew her home,â he told Rhysand. He kneeled down next to you, waving the questionable soup in front of your nose. Your tummy grumbled, forcing you to open your eyes from the sleepy state. âEat.â
You took the bowl, sitting up to see Azriel coming out and Cassian motioning for Rhysand to go in. Azriel's sleeping pants hung loose on his hips as he grabbed a bowl as well. His waist looked fsr more interesting than the grey and clumpy soup, but you resisted the temptation. âLike bathing in a damned river,â he muttered to Cassian. âWhat are you doing on the floor,â he glanced at you.
âSleeping,â your face, as you took a spoonful of soup, made both males pause.
âCan't be picky, sweetheart,â Azriel said softly. âPicky starves.â
âI know.â
Rhysand took the fastest bath you think he'd ever done, shivering as he walked back out in his towel and began to change. He said nothing as he took his first bite of food, nor did Azriel. Cassian had got to take his turn by the time you looked up. Once he was back, his own pants did not rest as low as Azriel's. He glanced at you. âThat is my shirt,â his face was bright as he took you in, the material hanging almost drowning you in it. âBut yes, you can wear it.â
All eyes were on that single bed. Rhysand appeared to be calculating the space, as if he could ensure his little plan would work. You laid back on the floor, stretching and then curling back to the fireplace. Wordlessly defiance was something you specialized in, but the three of them weren't stupid, and it didn't take them long to begin situating.
Azriel wanted the spot that'd allow him to lay facing the door, always on high alert when your little pack found itself away from home. Cassian took the side that allowed him to face the window, another watchful eye to where any threats may come. Rhysand was forced between them, a silent conversation before Cassian walked over and picked you up.
That's how you found yourself laying on Rhysand. One of his arms held your hips as the other moved to cup the back of your head. One wing rested on the two of you like a weighted blanket, then another. âGo to sleep,â Rhysand whispered to you. âYou may not realize this, but you are trapped.â There was no response from you, no argument. The soft sound of your breathing was the only thing coming from you as you laid on what would now Be your favorite bed.
âNext time, we will fly home,â Azriel stated.
Cassian immediately agreed, âThis isn't fair to y/n.â They both glanced at Rhysand when he didn't respond, only to find him asleep. âOr maybe it wasn't fair to us,â Cassian added.
âThinking it definitely wasn't fair to us,â Azriel chuckled. âHe worked this to his advantage.â
âHe always does,â Cassian said. His voice was getting deeper and slower. âAlways does.â It did not take long for the two of them to fall asleep, the room filled with nothing but the sounds of a dying hearth and four hearts beating in sync.
summary: On a rare night alone in the House of Wind, the worst storm in decades strikes. It wouldnât be a problem if they didnât make you so uneasy. Luckily, the House isnât as empty as you thought.
word count: 11.7k
content: [ explicit sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), piv, explicit language, there's only one sleeping bag, y/n is scared of storms, very briefly insinuated tamlin x reader, daemati-use, wet dreams, lovemaking for the most part but we get rough for a sec ]
author's note: weâre gonna assume mental shields stay up during sleepâŠ. yeah...
⊠. 1k Celebration Apothecary . âŠ
midnight essence
infused with a veil of dreammist & a dash of blaze
enhanced with lover's knot & starlight crystals
stirred
thank you anon for the request!!!! i'm finding i really enjoy writing friends to lovers this is so sweet :") anyway i hope you like this one!! <33
The cold in the Winter Court didnât seep into your bonesâit gnawed at them. Gnawed like it had teeth and purpose and the unrelenting patience of a predator that knew youâd wear down eventually.
Youâd stopped pretending to sleep an hour ago, after the lantern blew out. The wind outside the tent moaned like a creature in mourning, threading through the seams and catching in the corners of the thin canvas until it felt like the whole thing might lift and carry you off with it. You pressed deeper into the bundled cloak beneath you, trying not to shiver too obviously. You failed.
You were wrapped in more layers than you could countâthermal base, thick wool, a coat heavy enough to double as a blanketâbut it still wasnât enough. Even Rhys, normally indifferent to climate or discomfort, had resorted to cloaks and furs, the sharp line of his jaw the only part of him visible from beneath the hood pulled low.Â
Behind you, Rhysand exhaled, sharp and irritated. âYouâre shaking so hard I can feel it through the ground.â
You didnât open your eyes. âYou always this broody when youâre forced to keep all that power on a leash?â
A beat. ThenââKeep talking and Iâll show you how not broody I can be.â
You snorted, cracking open one eye. âThat doesnât even mean anything.â
âIâm cold. Iâm tired. I havenât let my magic out at all in twelve days. Give me a break.â
You finally rolled over to face him, the dim moonlight filtering through the tentâs fabric casting his features in pale blue and silver. There was a tension around his mouth, in the fine line between his brows. He hadnât looked truly relaxed since your boots first crunched through the snow at the border.Â
The artifactâknown only in whispers as the amulet of Larethineâwas said to suppress magic so completely that even a High Lordâs power would snuff out like a candle. Rumored to have vanished after the war centuries ago, it resurfaced in scattered reports. They all pointed to the same abandoned temple buried somewhere in the Winter Courtâs northern edge, where the snowfall was so constant it blanketed even sound. Rhysand intended to retrieve it quietlyâbefore word spread and the wrong hands reached it first. So here you were. Nearly two weeks with no magic, no contact, no help. Just the two of you, and a map worn soft at the creases.
Rhysandâs power coiled beneath his skin like a thing alive, begging to be freed. But Kalliasâ wards draped over the court like a net of ice, intricate and merciless. The second he even brushed the world with a tendril of it, youâd be caught.
You hadnât expected it to wear on him like this.Â
âYour pack,â he said after a pause. âStill soaked?â
You winced, remembering the misstep near the creek a few days ago, then nodded. He shifted. âCome here.â
You blinked. âWhat?â
âYour pack, and everything in itâincluding your sleeping bagâis useless. It wonât dry in this weather. Either we share mine or I watch you freeze to death. I vote the former.â
You hesitated, the silence between you swelling into something tight and uncertain. But then another gust of wind screamed past the tent, and pride gave way to practicality.Â
âFine.â
You crawled across the narrow space and slipped into the sleeping bag beside him. It was crampedâpainfully soâand the moment you settled, his body pressed to yours, impossibly warm. You turned onto your side instinctively, back to his chest. You could feel every breath he took, feel the slow thump of his heart against your spine, the barest hint of muscle shifting when his hand curved around your middle, settling just beneath the edge of your ribs, his palm held steady against you.
Behind you, something rustled, and then the faint brush of membraneâRhys shifting, one wing sliding from the sleeping bag in a slow stretch over you.Â
âDonât you dare,â you whispered. âThat thing freezes and falls off, weâre really fucked.â
He snorted quietly. âIt has excellent circulation, thanks.â
âPut it away.â
Another rustle of fabric as he tucked the wing back inside.
âWarmer now?â he said dryly.Â
âMm.â
The silence this time wasnât uncomfortable. You listened to the wind, to the soft crinkle of fabric with each small movement, to the quiet hum of his presence behind you. It was startling, how much space he took up without speaking, how much lighter the silence felt now that he was pressed against you.Â
His breath stirred at the hair at your nape. You tensed, then forced yourself to relax again, inching away a fraction. He followed.Â
âRhys.â
âWhat.â
âYouâre breathing on my neck.â
A pause. Then, shamelessly: âItâs where your neck is.â
You huffed, and he chuckledâa rare sound lately. Low and warm, it rolled through your back where your bodies touched, and you had to fight not to smile.Â
After a long moment, his voice came again, quieter.Â
âWeâll find it tomorrow.â
You gave a small nod, felt more than seen.
He shifted behind you, the subtle movement bringing his chest closer to your back, breath skimming your hair. âThen we get out. We go home.â
You let out a quiet breath, just enough to fog the air in front of you.
âYou always this optimistic at night?â
He hummed low in his throat. âMaybe you bring it out in me.â
That pulled a small, tired smile from you.
âMust be the frostbite. Youâre delirious.â
His fingers flexed slightly where they rested at your waist.
âMm. That, or the cold makes me honest.â
Something in your chest achedânot sharp, but deep. You didnât answer. Just let the silence settle soft around you.
Sleep found you curled into his warmth, his hand resting at your waist, his breath a gentle rhythm against your skin. And in the morning, with the air sharp in your lungs and the scent of pine still clinging to the chill, that warmth lingered over your skin.
The cold in the Winter Court hadnât gone with the morning light. Youâd found Larethine two days after thatâtucked beneath the roots of an ancient ice-locked tree, a whisper of power veined through crystal. The mission had ended days later in a quiet exhale, a long journey home trailing behind it. It had been nearly three weeks since then. Long enough for bruises to fade, for muscle to stop aching.
Still, the cold seemed to have burrowed itself into your bones, the bite of it still there, even in the warmth of your bed in the City of Starlight.Â
You woke to the sound of wind clawing at the windows. A storm, full and furious, had settled over Velarisâthe kind that turned the Sidra restless and made even the stars hide. Thunder cracked a beat later, loud enough to shake the walls.
Your heart was already racing, breath shallow and tight, at odds with the warmth wrapped around you. You lay there a moment, still and listening, the storm rattling through your bones like it had teeth again. Theyâd always scraped at your nerves, left them humming like struck strings.Â
The covers were a tangled mess around your hips, shoved down in sleep. Your T-shirt had ridden up high, bunched beneath your ribs, and when you looked down, you caught a glimpse of bare stomach, underwear, the slope of one thigh kicked over the sheets. You shifted, tugged the hem back down, fingers moving slow and clumsy like they werenât entirely yours.
You remembered bits and pieces of the dream, not that itâd been much different from the others youâd had since that night. Tonight, he hadnât been content just to hold you. His hands wandered. His mouth dragged slowly over your skin, coaxing sounds youâd never let slip in daylight. You woke slick between your thighs, the ache lodged deep and stubborn.Â
Another crash of thunder rolled across the rooftops. You pushed the blankets off and swung your legs over the side of the bed. The house was magicked to stay warm; your skin was slick with sweat, and still, you felt chilled.Â
You didnât think about it. Didnât bother with pants or slippers. Just padded into the hall in your T-shirtâsoft, worn thin, hem brushing mid-thigh and swaying with every step.
The storm pressed against the glass. The quiet inside felt louder for it.
You moved through it automatically, headed for the kitchen. The house was still, shadows long and familiar, but your mind had already drifted somewhere elseâsomewhere colder.
You hadnât stopped thinking about that night. Maybe youâd tried to. Maybe youâd told yourself it hadnât meant anything. But your body remembered. Before your thoughts could catch up, your body rememberedâhis warmth at your back, the weight of his hand at your waist, the breath at your neck.
That same tension had curled beneath your skin now. You hadnât realized you missed it until it came back.
The air had gone heavy the moment he touched you, and you hadnât breathed properly since. You hated how your body still reactedâlike it didnât care what your mind had decided. Like it knew better.
Maybe it did.
You reached the stairs and took them without thought, one hand trailing the banister. The house didnât creak beneath you. Even your own footsteps felt hesitant, like they didnât want to disturb the memory.
Youâd spent weeks pretending it hadnât changed anything. That you were still the same. That he was.
You stepped into the kitchen without turning on the faelights. The storm outside pressed at the windows, a steady beat of rainâor maybe snowâsmeared against the glass in streaks. Slush, probably.
You moved on instinct, pulled the kettle from its place, filled it from the tap. The cool weight of it settled in your hands, groundingâbut not enough.
You set it on the stove and twisted the knob, a faint click giving way to the low hum of magic-warmed coils. Still, your thoughts refused to quiet.
Youâd been telling yourself you hadnât wanted it. That it had just happened. But you remembered leaning into him. You remembered the way your body had reactedâeager, instinctual, like youâd been waiting for it.Â
You reached for a mug without looking, fingers curling around the ceramic absently. It was warm from the cupboardâs enchantment, but your skin still felt cold.
You exhaled slowly and leaned your hip against the counter, staring at nothing.
And while the kettle began to warm, your thoughts slippedâquiet and treacherousâback to the tent. But your mind didnât pull up the truth of that night. Not the soft hush of breath, the shared warmth, the way youâd both kept to yourselves despite how closely you lay. What you remembered insteadâwhat you feltâwas the dream youâd had in his arms. The one you hadnât dared to admit to anyone.Â
You remembered the weight of his hand curling around your hipâbroad, sure fingers splaying possessively across your skin like heâd always known exactly where to touch you. His thumb pressing just beneath your navel, slow little circles that made your breath catch. His chest, solid and hot, flush against your spine. Each inhale of his drawing your body tighter to his, like he wanted to fit you perfectly between every breath. Like he couldnât stand the space between you.
And gods, youâd imagined how heâd move. Heâd start slow, savoring it. Savoring you, every thrust controlled. Heâd want to melt into you, to lose himself in every slick, shivering inch. And the press of him felt so real in your mind that your thighs pressed together without you meaning to.
The slow, deliberate roll of his hips against you, grinding in the dark with maddening restraint. Like he wanted to drag it out. Like he wanted to feel it, not just fuck.Â
But it wasnât like you didnât have dreams about that, too.
Like the one youâd just awoken from.
Where he wasnât slow at all. Where heâd pushed you against the window, dragged your panties down with a growl, and dropped to his knees. He devoured you like a male starved. Like he needed it to breathe.
His tongue was relentless, slick and firm, fucking you with slow, torturous precision until your hand flew to your mouth to muffle the cries threatening to tear from your throat.Â
And just when your body began to shake, just when you thought youâd collapseâhe was rising, lifting you like you weighed nothing, and sinking into you with one long, ruinous thrust that stole every breath from your lungs.
His voice rasped against your ear, all filth and hunger, whispering what heâd do next, what youâd beg for, how good you look, all wet and wanting and his. Every stroke dragged need from you like a confession, torn from your throat in gasps, in whimpers. Every thrust was a claim, a promise, a demand. You shattered on his cock like youâd been made for itâagain, and again, and againâuntil your body blurred at the edges and all you could feel was him.
And thenâyour name. A low murmur against your throat, reverent and rough at once, like it scraped its way out of him. Like it meant something. Like saying it against your skin was the only prayer he knew.
Almost a whisper. Almost a plea.
Almostâ
Lightning split the skyâand thunder followed like a war drum, slamming through the silence hard enough to rattle the windows.Â
You flinched, heart in your throat, the mug slipping and knocking against the counter. Goosebumps bloomed across your skin as the thunder faded, but it wasnât the cold tiles beneath your feet that made your hands shake.
Wasnât the storm making your chest rise and fall just so.
It was the echo of your name, murmured into your neck.
The ache in your body for something that had never even happenedâ
But felt, somehow, like it had.
Your breath came fast and shallow, heat rushing to your cheeks in a flush you couldnât chase away.
Your heart was still hammering whenâ
âCouldnât sleep either?â
You jumped. The kettle screamedâwhen had it even started? The mug nearly slipped again, and you cursed under your breath, scrambling to keep hold of it.Â
A flush of panic surged alongside the remnants of arousalâ
Glamour. Now.
Your scent vanished in an instant.
You rushed to take the kettle off the burner.
Shieldsâalready up, and you triple-checked them. Reinforced them out of instinct, out of panic. Just in case.
Rhysand stood in the doorway, framed by the faint flicker of lightning beyond the windows.Â
Shirtless, his chest bare and skin golden in the dim light from the hall. Pajama pants slung low on his hips. Hair mussed, like heâd just gotten out of bedâlike heâd just been dreaming too.
Your stomach flipped.
You couldnât even bring yourself to look at himânot after what youâd been thinking, not with your skin still warm from it.Â
âIâm so sorry,â you blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush. âI didnât mean to wake you, I didnât realize it was whistlingâgods, Iâllââ
âYou didnât,â he said, voice low and even. âIt was the storm. Youâre fine.â
But something in his toneâthe careful way he said itâmade it feel like he was only trying to spare you.
You glanced down at the mug in your hand like it might save you. âRight. Okay. Still. Sorry.â
He didnât move at first. Just watched you, eyes unreadable in the dark.Â
Then, quietly: âStorm wake you too?â
âYeah,â you murmured. âThought tea might help.â
A flicker of a smile touched his mouthâbarely there. âYou always brew it with wide eyes and shaking hands?â he asked as he stepped closer, brushing your fingers when he took the mug from your grasp.Â
You huffed a soft laugh. âOnly when the thunder sounds like itâs about to rip the sky open.â
That earned a quiet breath of amusement from him as he slid an arm around your shoulders. Solid. Familiar. Like it belonged there.Â
âYou know itâs mostly just noise, right?â he murmured. Rhys topped off the water in your mug, grabbed two teabags from the tin, and dropped them into the mug. His arm remained looped around your shoulders, holding you close as he covered the cup with a saucer to let it steep. âSounds a lot worse than it is.â
You nodded, but your thoughts felt foggy and slow. Maybe it was the storm, or the hour, or the way he still hadnât let go. The way his arm fit around you so naturally, as if it belonged there. As if it had never left since that night.Â
You shouldnât read into it. Itâs just comfort. Just instinct.Â
But you canât stop noticing the warmth of him, steady and close. Canât stop thinking about how easily heâs always known how to settle youâhow natural it feels to lean into him like this.
Your lips press together, and you try not to think about how that same warmth once curled around you in a tent, or what it felt like to wake up in his arms.
His arm shifted, sliding from your shoulders to the small of your back, hand warm and steady as it pressed there. âCâmon,â he said softly, guiding you away from the counter and toward the little breakfast table near the window. He handed you your mug on the way, his fingers brushing yours again.Â
You moved without thinking, still wrapped in that dazed hush the storm had settled over everything. You sank into the chair without a word, and with a quiet flick of his fingers, the table filled. A crystal bowl of sugar cubes appeared near your elbow, followed by a small pitcher of warm milk, and even a tiny plate of shortbread cookies that hadnât been there before.Â
âThank you,â you murmured, the words quiet and full. Rhysand only nodded, moving back to the kettle to make his own.
After some time, you removed the saucer and took a careful sipâstill too hotâbefore setting the mug down. Instead, you watched the steam curling lazily upward, trying not to let your gaze wander to where he stood by the counter. The stretch of muscle across his back. The ink winding over golden skin. The slow flex of his wings as he moved.Â
Then, lightly, âCassian tried to give Azriel a haircut today.â
Your brows lifted. âHe didnât.â
Rhysandâs mouth curved faintly, though the only indication of his humor from where you sat was the soft shake of his shoulders. âHe did. Said he could âblend the endsâ better than the hairdressers at the Riverfront salon.â He turned slightly toward you, the kettle behind him just starting to bubble. Â
You snort. âThatâs because Cassian thinks âblendingâ means cutting in a straight line.â
âExactly,â Rhys said dryly, just as your fingers reached outâwithout lookingâtoward the honey jar at the far end of the counter.
His own hand twitched, summoning it with a flick of magic, smooth as breathing.
âHe nearly took a chunk out of one of his wings,â he added, the jar gliding toward you in the same breath.
You caught it mid-air and spooned in a little honey, not missing a beat. âAzriel let him?â
âHe didnât know,â Rhys replied, pouring his own mug. He added the tea bags, covered it with a saucer, and took the seat across from you. âHe thought Cassian was just trimming his own hair. Came back from the bath and Cassian had scissors and that look in his eyes.â
You stirred slowly, keeping your eyes on the swirl of tea. âIâm shocked he survived.â Whether you meant Cassian or Azriel didnât matter; the sentiment applied to both.Â
âMor told him if he even looked at her hair with a pair of scissors in his hands, sheâd skin him.â
You smiled faintly. âWise.â
Rhysâ lip twitched a little. âI thought so.â
The silence that followed was the kind that didnât need filling. You let it stretch, let it settle into your bones like warmth. Outside, the thunder seemed to soften, like it, too, was growing tired.Â
After some time, Rhys lifted his mug, nose wrinkling slightly as he brought it to his lips.Â
âLavender?â he asked, skepticism coloring the word.Â
You glanced up at him over the rim of your own cup. âItâs calming.â
He took a sip anyway, then made a quiet sound like he was trying not to grimace.
 âIt tastes like wet flowers.â
You gave him a look. âYouâre still drinking it.â
âOut of solidarity.â He gave a theatrical sigh, settling the mug down like it had personally offended him. âSuffering beside you. As always.â
That pulled a soft laugh from youâsmall, but genuine, slipping out before you could catch it. The first moment of true ease youâd felt since youâd woken up. Rhysand didnât say anything, just watched you with that quiet attention he wore too well, the corners of his mouth tilting upward like it pleased him to see it.Â
You let the silence stretch. âI didnât know you were staying the night,â you said, still not quite looking at him.
âDidnât mean to, â he said, leaning back in his chair. âHad a few things to check in on here. Then the storm hit, andâŠâ He shrugged one shoulder, casual, but not careless. âDidnât want you riding it out alone.â
The stupid little flip your stomach did was entirely unhelpful. You took a slow sip of tea to ignore it.Â
The quiet settled again, a little softer now. Gentler.Â
Then Rhysâ voice came, quiet and rough at the edges.
âYou always pace around in shirts that short when youâve got the place to yourself?â
You spluttered mid-sip, barely managing to swallow without choking. Then shot him a withering glare over the rim of your mug.
He was smirking now, the picture of smug innocence. âItâs cute,â he added. âCozy. Terrifying, really.â
âKeep talking and Iâll convince the House to trap you in the bathroom with no toilet paper.â
âYou wonât,â he said confidently, that lazy grin still tugging at his mouth. âYouâre too tired. And besidesââ he leans in just slightly, your eyes flicking up to meet his despite yourselfââyouâd miss me if I left.â
You flinched as a particularly loud boom of thunder cracked. The windows trembled in their panes, wind howling against the glass. The faelights dimmed briefly, a flicker like the storm had drawn a breath too deep.Â
âYou should lie down,â he said quietly.
âIâm fine.â
âYouâre wired.â His eyes flicked to the goosebumps on your arms. âAnd freezing. Come on.â He rose, tea still in hand. âIâll stay with you. Weâll wait it out together.â
You hesitated. â... You donât have to.â
âI want to.â The words were light, but not careless. âAt least let me for a bit. You can talk at me until the storm passes.â
And the way he said itâcasual, easy, like it cost him nothing to offer his presenceâundid you more than it should have.Â
You didnât answer right away. Just took another sip, hoping the warmth would quiet your pulse.Â
He let his words sit for a beat before offering, with a spark of levity, âIâll stay on my side. Promise.â
âYou donât have a side.âÂ
âIâll make one.â
You narrowed your eyes as you considered him, gaze trailing from the smug tilt of his mouth to the glint in his eyes. âFine. But no funny business.â
âDefine funny.â
âIâm serious.â
âSo am I.â
You stood slowly, cradling your mug between your hands, and padded after him down the dim hallway. Neither of you said anything for a few moments, and you liked thatâliked the hush between your footfalls, the faint creak of old wood beneath your steps, the way Rhys kept his pace just a half step ahead of yours.Â
Then, without looking back, he said, âYouâve got more mugs than sense.â
You glanced at him, deadpan. âTheyâre seasonal.â
He lifted his, inspecting the faded gold lettering. ââI survived Calanmai in the Spring Court.â Itâs nearly Starfall.â
You took a long sip. âYear-round commemoration felt appropriate.â
He snorted. âYou werenât even in the Spring Court for Calanmai. We were in the Day Court dealing with that trade dispute, remember?â
âSure, not this year.â
You turned your mug just as he glanced back, hiding the side that read âI Got Picked at Calanmai and All I Got Was This Mug.â
You shrugged. âYou donât know me.â
He stopped outside your door, wings tucking in as he leaned casually against the frame. You opened it without a word and stepped inside, flipping on the lamp. The room glowed in warm golds and shadows, the storm pressing faintly at the windows.
Rhysand followed a beat later, hands wrapped around his mug, gaze roaming the space like he hadnât already seen it a hundred times before.
You crossed to the dresser and started absently clearing upâfolding the sweater draped over the chair, tucking a pair of socks into a drawer, shoving a bra beneath a pillow like it hadnât been lying out all day.
âPlease,â Rhys said behind you, voice drier than your tea. âAs if itâs the first time Iâve seen one of those.â
You tossed him a flat look over your shoulder. âTheyâre not for your viewing pleasure.â
âEverythingâs for my viewing pleasure,â he muttered, already halfway to the bed, mug thunking down on the nightstand like a punctuation mark.Â
You rolled your eyes and turned back to the dresser, reaching for a lacy little number you hadnât realized was still outâonly for Rhys to beat you to it, no doubt winnowing the last few feet just for theatrics.
He held it up delicately between two fingers, eyebrows lifting in mock reverence. âReally, (y/n)? This barely qualifies as a scrap. Is it for⊠special occasions? Or just Tuesdays?â
You snatched it from his hand, cheeks warming. âStop being a pig.â
His grin was wicked. âOink.â
You glared at him, but the corner of your mouth twitched. âYouâre insufferable.â
Rhys just shrugged, entirely unbothered. âYour hospitality says otherwise.â He moved to climb onto the bed like heâd done a hundred times before. You gave him a long, unimpressed look, then turned to grab your tea.Â
By the time you turned back, he was already against the headboard, wings gone, legs stretched out. He looked perfectly at homeâtoo at home.
You slid in beside him with a muttered, âDonât spill anything.â
âI never do,â he said, tugging the blankets up from where theyâd bunched at the foot of the bed, covering you both.
You didnât dignify that with a response, just curled your fingers around your tea and let the warmth soak in. The bed creaked quietly as you shifted against the pillows. His thigh brushed yours.
Thunder grumbled far off, less urgent now. You let yourself breathe.
Then, casually, Rhysand said, âStill humming, by the way.â
You blinked at him.
âWhen you stirred your tea earlier,â he clarified, turning his head toward you. âDidnât even notice, did you?â
âI donât do that.â
âHum while you stir your drink? You do it all the time,â he said, flopping his arm behind his head. âDrives Amren insane.â
You let out a small, startled laugh. âNow Iâm just sad I donât hum louder.â
âThatâs the spirit,â he said, raising his mug in mock toast. âRattle whatever functions as her soul.â
You clinked your cup against his without thinking. âSheâd gut you if she heard you.â
âPlease,â he said. âSheâs wanted to gut me for centuries.â
You smiled into your tea, warmth pooling in your chest that had nothing to do with the drink. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasnât uncomfortableâjust full. Full of steam and thunder and the fact that Rhys was here, warm beside you, his presence taking up more space than it had any right to.
He sank deeper into the pillows, stretching out like he belonged to the space and it belonged to him. His eyes drifted to the ceiling, distant but not vacant. And you let yourself look. The lines of his face were softened in the low light, made golden and shadowed by turns. He looked older like this. Not agedâjust⊠full of time. The kind of tired that sat behind the eyes, ancient and endless and quiet.Â
And yet he was warm beside you. Solid. Here.Â
âYou always do that,â you said after a moment, surprising even yourself.
His gaze slid toward you, slow and deliberate, like he wasnât sure if he wanted to hear the answer. âDo what?â
âGo quiet. Like youâve left the room without getting up.â
A faint hum, low and noncommittal as he turned back to the ceiling. âSometimes I do.â
It wasnât a deflection. Just a truth handed to you gently.Â
You ran your thumb around the rim of your mug. âWhereâd you go just now?â
A pause. Not long enough to mean avoidance, just⊠thought.
âNowhere.â A pause. âHere.â
His eyes didnât leave the ceiling, but something in his jaw eased.Â
You didnât look away. Couldnât.Â
Then Rhys moved, and your shoulders were almost touching. He huffed a quiet laugh. âYâknow, I used to imagine this.â
You blinked, the sudden shift catching you off guard. âImagine what?â
He didnât seem to notice your disorientation, eyes still fixed ahead. âThisâsitting here, quiet like this. You. Me. Tea.â
You stared at him for a second.Â
âTea, huh?â you managed, still trying to catch up.
He grinned faintly. âAlways figured itâd be chamomile.â
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. âLet me guess. In your daydreams, I served you tea in a silken robe and draped myself over your lap like some lovesick devotee.â
Rhysand raised an eyebrow, finally turning toward you with a glint in his eye. âYou were wearing mismatched socks and humming off-key. The usual.â
That startled a laugh out of you, too loud for how late it was. âSo youâve always had terrible taste.â
His brow pulled just slightly, not in confusion but⊠disappointment? âI like to call it refined,â he said after a breath.
You felt heat rise to your cheeks again, so you did what you did best: sipped and looked away. Beyond the window, wind and water still tangled in the darkâbut the violence of it no longer touched you.Â
âYou know,â Rhys said after a pause, his voice dipping low again, âif weâre pointing fingers, youâve been the quiet one.â
That violet gaze stayed fixed on you. Youâd been on the receiving end of it beforeâin briefings, in battle, across a crowded room. But never like this. Never steady enough to knock the air right out of your lungs.Â
You didnât answer.Â
He shifted again. âWonât even look at me. Whatâs that about?â
You didnât look up. Kept your eyes on the tea gone cold between your hands. There were a dozen reasons you couldâve given. Because the moment felt too full. Because it was easier not to see his face when you answered. Because his voice in your space, his body next to yours, felt like opening a book you werenât ready to finish.Â
Instead, you said nothing.Â
Rhys didnât push, he let the moment stretch.
You tilted your head back, eyes flicking toward the ceiling like it might hold a map for what to say next. But what came out wasnât planned. Just something that had lived on the tip of your tongue for far longer than you were comfortable with.Â
âDo you remember that night in the Winter Court?â you asked softly. âWhen we were in the tent?â
His reply was instant. âWe were in the tent a lot of nights, you might have to be a bit more specific.â
You gave him a sideways look. âThe night with the storm. When the fire kept going out.â
Realization flickered across his face. âAh,â he said, voice quieting.
You hadnât meant to bring it up. Not really. But something about tonightâabout the tea and the thunder and the way he looked lounging on your bed like he belongedâŠ
You two had never talked about that night. Never talked about the way his arms wrapped around you like instinct. Never talked about how it felt too natural, too easy, how the silence between you only ever felt like comfort and understanding. But now, with the storm as this strange cocoon around youâŠ
You didnât know what youâd expected him to say. But now that the words were out there, you couldnât take them back.
You nodded, fingers tightening slightly around your mug. âI couldn't feel my toes. Thought I might lose them honestly.â
âYou were shaking,â Rhys said, a quiet chuckle buried beneath the words.
You looked over at him, the corner of your mouth lifting. âYou didnât seem to mind holding me.â
Rhys tilted his head, his smile softer now. âI didnât.â
Time slowed, dense with everything you werenât saying. The storm pressed against the windows. His thigh brushed yours.
Then, quietlyâlike he was still deciding whether or not to say itâ
âI thought about kissing you.â
You looked at him, heartbeat racing.
âYou were freezing,â he added quickly, almost like a defense. âI kept thinking if I kissed you, it might stop your teeth from chattering.â
You huffed a breath, setting the mug down on your nightstand. âThat is not how body heat works.â
âNo,â he agreed, eyes warm. âBut it was a nice excuse.â
Your chest tightened. He wasnât teasing anymore. Not really.
âI didnât sleep much that night,â you said.
Rhysand looked at you. Really looked at you. âNeither did I.â
You swallowed. The storm murmured against the windows like it remembered too.
ââŠI had a dream,â you admitted, voice barely above the hush of rain.
His brows lifted, but he didnât speak. Just waited.
You hesitated. âNot the kind I shouldâve had with you so close.â
A beat passed. And then he said, softly, âNo?â
You shook your head once.
Rhysâs voice dipped, amused but careful. âWas I at least impressive in it?â
That pulled a short laugh from your chestâbreathless, a little flustered. âYou were⊠very convincing.â
His smile turned lazy. âConvincing, or irresistible?â
You huffed. âDonât push it.â
âNever. I ease,â he said with a smirk like sin, sipping from his mug. âThatâs how you get what you want.â
You rolled your eyes, but your pulse was a steady thrum beneath your skin. You could feel the heat of him beside you, the weight of everything that hadnât been said over the years pressing in like gravity.
âI kept waking up,â you murmured. âBecause I thought⊠if I moved too much, youâd pull away.â
He was very still. âI wouldnât have.â
You looked over at him, heart skipping. He was watching you with that unreadable expressionâthe one that always made you feel like he knew more than he let on.
Then, almost too casually, he added, âFor the record⊠you did move. Quite a bit, actually.â
Your heart stopped.Â
No, surely notâ
You wouldâve remembered that. You definitely wouldâve remembered that. Right?
You blinked. âI did not.â
His grin was maddening. âMmm. Rolled right into me. Twice.â
Heat rushed to your face, ears, down your spine.
You opened your mouth, then closed it again, then opened it just to whisper, âYouâre lying.â
He looked far too entertained.
âTwice,â he repeated, like he was doing you a favor.
You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. âKill me.â
âI did consider it,â he said with a faint smile, âbut you were clinging to me. It felt cruel.â
âCauldron boil me,â you muttered.
âI thought you were doing it on purpose,â he went on, tone far too innocent. âTorturing me in my sleep.â
Your face remained planted in the palms of your hands, groaning. âIâm never speaking again.â
âThat seems dramatic,â he said, clearly delighted.
âI hate you.â
âYouâre blushing.â
âIâm leaving.â
âThis is your room,â Rhys said, not missing a beat.
You peeked at him through your fingers. âAnd you just let me?â
Rhys gave a one-shouldered shrug, eyes twinkling. âWell, what was I going to do? Shove you away?â
You sputtered. âMost people wouldâve!â
His expression didnât change, but something about the air shiftedâlike even the storm outside had quieted to hear what he might say.
âI wasnât exactly in a hurry to stop you.â
Your breath caught.
You looked at him, expecting the usual grin, some teasing remarkâbut there was none. Just quiet.
âYou never⊠You never said anything,â you murmured. You werenât talking about that night anymoreâyou both knew it.Â
Rhys hummed, low in his throat. âDidnât want to spook you. Or tempt fate.â
This was about all of it. The looks, the silences, the way heâd never pulled away. The way he always felt just out of reach, like he was waiting for you to be sure. Like heâd been sure all along. But so had youâonly you hadnât known he was. Youâd stayed just out of reach, too, waiting for a sign that never came.
You gave a breathless sort of laugh. âYou think that wouldâve tempted fate?â
He arched a brow. âWouldnât it have?â
Your silence said enough.
He let it hang there for a beat, thenâwithout looking at youâreached for his mug again. Took a slow sip like he wasnât aware of the tightrope he was walking. Like this wasnât everything.
And when he set it down again, he spoke like it was nothing. âWhatever it was you dreamed⊠you certainly made it hard to stay asleep.â
Your fingers curled in your lap.
He still wasnât looking at you, but his voice was velvet. âYou were restless. Kept shifting. Making these soft little sounds, kept sayingââ
You made a strangled noise. âRhys.â
That made him glance overâhis smirk unfairly smug. âYeah, like that. A bit breathier though.âÂ
You smacked his arm without thinkingâmore flustered than actually annoyed.
He chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. âJust saying. Mustâve been quite the night.â
Your pulse thudded hard against your ribs. You shouldâve told him to shut up. Shouldâve changed the subject.
Instead, you said, quiet and steady, âYou can see it, if you want.â
That wiped the grin off his face. He sat up, and his eyes found yours again, sharp and glittering.
ââŠCan I?â
You hesitated. Because the air between you felt different now, like the quiet after a confession, when the world waits to see what youâll do with it.
You pushed the blankets off and sat up, mirroring him. Legs folded beneath you. Hands braced in your lap. You werenât touching, but it felt like you were, every inch between you a live wire. Close. Closer than before.Â
You met his gaze and slowly, steadily, exhaled and let go.
Not all the way. Just enough. A slow unspooling at the edge of your mindâlike a thread tugged loose.
It wasnât dramatic. No crashing walls. No shuddering gasp.
Just a tilt. A lean. A flicker of trust in the quiet.
Like cracking a door openânot wide, just enough for someone to slip through if they wanted it badly enough.
And he felt it. You knew the moment he did. Not by any shift in his expression, but by the way his presence respondedâquiet and immediate, the brush of his mind ghosting along the threshold of yours. Not a push or a pry, just a gentle touch, like a fingertip at your temple, tracing the edges of your mindâs adamant, as if to say, Iâm here. Itâs only me. Donât be afraid.
When he did come in, it was careful. Gentle. Not a push, not a pryâjust a brush of thought, like a thumb brushing over your bottom lip. He moved through you with reverence, with restraint. Not like he was looking for something, but like he was waiting for you to offer it.
The pressure in your chest built. Not from fearâbut from how intimate it was.
You felt the weight of him in your mind. The shape of him. Familiar and foreign all at once. Rhys, your friend. Rhys, the shoulder youâd leaned on more times than you could count. Now quiet in your head, holding still, holding backâwaiting.
So you let him see.
The memory rose, and it bloomed slowly, like a flower opening to sunlight.
Your skin slick with sweat, flushed and bare. Blankets kicked down around your hips. Rhys between your thighsâhis mouth everywhere at once. On your throat, your breasts, the inside of your knee. His voice low and rasping, coaxing, worshipping. You arched into him, hands fisted in his hair, dragging him closer, closer.
Soft sounds slipping from your lips. His name. Over and over, like a prayer.
The pace of his thoughts shifted.
You felt itâfelt himâreact, felt the pulse of heat that wasnât yours.
But still, he didnât move. Didnât speak. He only watched as the memory played out, as you trembled beneath the ghost of his mouth in your dream. As your back arched for him. As your dream-self gasped his name like it meant everything.
You could feel his focus on every detail, like he was memorizing it all.
The way you sounded. The way you looked. The way you wanted him.
Rhys.
You whispered it in your mindâhis name soft and aching.
Rhys.
The dark curled tighter inside you, shadows licking through your veins like smokeâhungry and unrelenting.
Taking. Taking. Taking.
Your hips shifted. Your breath hitched.
Rhys.
His breath stuttered in responseâwherever he was.
And then, in the quiet of your room, you heard it.
A groan.
Low. Wrecked.
Rhys.
Your eyes snapped open.
Onlyâyou werenât in your room anymore.
The air was sharp and cold. You could smell pine, damp earth, that faint mineral tang of snow on the wind. Canvas fluttered quietly overhead. The lantern cast that same golden pool of light. You heard the storm beyond the trees, muffled and distant. And beneath youâsleeping bag. Mat. The slight ache in your shoulders from a long day of hiking.
It was perfect.
Too perfect.
You blinkedâand felt it all at once: the soft cotton of your shirt clinging to your skin. The same T-shirt youâd fallen asleep in earlier tonight. The same thin underwear beneath it. Your legs were bare. Cold.
And he was there.
Rhys, kneeling over youâclose. Real. One of his thighs braced on either side of your hips, careful not to press down. His hands planted on the floor beside your shoulders. Caging you in without meaning to. Pajama pants slung low on his hips. Chest bare. Hair mussed.Â
No sign of the coats you had that night. No gloves or boots or scarves to fight off the cold. Just skin.
Warm. Alive. Here.
Your fingers dug tight into the sleeping bag beneath you. âWhat are you doing, Rhys?â
He tilted his head. âYou tell me. Itâs your dream.â
The words landed low in your belly.
Because it wasâyour memory, your dream, your body already humming with the way the figment of him had touched it before.Â
He was watching your mouth when you spoke again. âThis isnât how it happened.â
And gods, you could see itâwhere his hands had already touched this version of the night. Where the boundaries had softened, blurred. The cold clung to your skin still, but this was a watered-down echo of what youâd felt that night. Especially with the heat of him radiating so close, like he was the only warmth left in the world. The wind outside faded. All you could hear was the rhythm of your own pulse.
His gaze flicked up to meet yours. âNo. But it couldâve.â
You swallowed. âYou didnât have to quiet the storm.â
He blinked, like the thought had genuinely never occurred to him. âIâve been doing it all night,â he said simply. âWell, since the kitchen. Bit by bit, so youâd think it was fading on its ownâ
Your heart stuttered. âRhys.â
His mouth curved, not quite a smile. âWhat? You think I couldnât feel how tense you were?â
âYou didnât have to do that,â you said, the words quieter now. âI didnât⊠I didnât ask you to do that.â
âOh?â His brows rose slightly, magic shifting like the tide. âShould I stop then?â
And then, with no more than a flicker of thought, he did.
Sound returned all at once. Wind shrieking against your bedroom windows. Rain pounding the glass in sheets. Distant thunder rolling deep and endless across the city.
Your body locked up. Breath caught in your throat.
And just as fast as it came, it was gone again.
Silence fell. Not the true silence of the storm easing, but the quiet Rhys had crafted for youâthick, warm, and distant, like a memory.
You didnât say anything right away.
Because part of you wanted to laugh. Not at himâbut at yourself. At the sheer madness of lying half-dressed in your own memory, with your best friend hovering over youâinside the dream youâd had about him. Seeing it. Breathing it in. Touching the edges of everything youâd refused to say out loud.Â
Your voice came quieter this time. âWeâre not just looking anymore,â not really a question, but you needed confirmation.Â
A pause.
âNo,â he saidâlow and sure, gaze locked to yours like it was a tether. Like he needed the confirmation too.
You stared at each other. That same heat coiling in your gut, the same ache building where his hands hadnât touched you yet.
You shifted slightly, barely a brush of your knee against his.
That was all it took.
He leaned inâslow, careful. Like giving you a chance to stop him.
You didnât.
His mouth brushed yours once. Barely. A whisper of contact, soft and almost uncertain.
But your breath caught, and your hands moved on their ownâreaching, pulling him closer, until that uncertainty dissolved and his mouth claimed yours fully.
It was deeper this time. Hotter.
Not hungry. Not desperate.
Just inevitable.
Like heâd always meant to kiss you, and some part of you had always meant to let him.
While one hand held him up, the other found your hip, steady and sure, but not insistent. Just⊠there. A grounding point. A question.
You answered it without wordsâjust a shift of your weight forward, the press of your chest against his, your fingers sliding up to rest lightly at his jaw.
He groaned low in his throat. Almost inaudible, like he didnât mean for it to slip out.
Your kiss deepened, slow and molten. His tongue brushed yours, deliberate, and you let him in. Let him have that part of you.
His hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, just his fingers at first. Testing. Savoring. The warmth of your stomach. The shape of your waist.
His touch wasnât greedy. It was careful. Almost reverent.
âYouâve thought about this,â you murmured, breath catching as he dragged his knuckles along your ribs.
His lips ghosted down your jaw. âSo have you.â
You didnât deny it. How could you, when the lines between dream and memory were already blurring around you? When your body was already arching into his, betraying every want youâd ever buried?
You didnât have to say it. Not when he could feel it in every breath you took.
He kissed you again, slower this time, like he was trying to memorize how you tasted. How you responded. The way your breath hitched when he rolled his hips just barely against yours.
Still clothed. Still not quite there. But the heat between you was unmistakable. Heavy. Radiating.
You whispered his name against his lips, barely audible.
His mouth stilled against your skin. âSay it again.â
You did. Quieter. Closer to a prayer than a plea.
Rhys pulled back just enough to look at youâreally look.
There was no smirk this time. No mask of arrogance. Just that same dark, endless gaze, lit now with something deeper. Something older.
âYouâre sure?â
Not a tease. Not a dare.
Just a question. One last door he wouldnât walk through unless you opened it.
You met his gaze and gave him the only answer that matteredâleaning in, mouth brushing his in a kiss that was softer than before. Not desperate. Not urgent.
 Just honest.
Your fingers found the back of his neck, curling there, grounding yourself in him. In this moment.
And Rhys melted into it, bearing his weight on his forearm now, the hand beneath your shirt sliding up againâflat palm, slow drag. Like he was rediscovering a familiar map, one he hadnât realized heâd memorized until now.
Every breath you took pressed your chest against his. Every motion of your hips fed the fire you were both barely keeping contained.
But it wasnât just heat burning between you.
It was years. Of glances held too long. Of arguments that meant more than they shouldâve. Of moments like this, only imagined.
Rhysand pulled back, far enough to drink you inâeyes roaming, slow and deliberate, like he meant to memorize the sight. The flush on your cheeks. The part in your lips. The want you didnât bother hiding. âWhat were you thinking about in the kitchen?â
You blinked. âNothing.â
He arched a brow. âDonât lie to me.â
âIâm not,â you said quickly, too quickly. âI justâI couldnât sleep.â
He hummed, unconvinced. âFunny. Because I was sleeping. And then I wasnât.â
He shifted above you, and his hand drifted. Down your stomach. Past the pushed-up hem of your shirt. âIt wasnât the storm that woke me,â he murmured, and that hand kept going, slow and steady. âIt was your scent.â
You gasped as his palm cupped you over your underwearâbroad and warm and possessive. The heel of it pressed just right and he knew it. âRhysââ
But he didnât stop. Didnât soften.Â
âI wanted so badly to know what you were dreaming about,â he said, voice dipped in velvet and ruin, rich with heat. His fingers curled just slightly, a teasing drag along the soaked fabric. âI could smell it. Clear across the house.â
He leaned in, mouth brushing your ear now. âI could smell you,â he said, voice dragging slow, like he wanted the words to settle in your blood. âWarm and ready. Like sugar melting off skin. Like salt and heat.â
His breath skimmed your ear. âI wanted to fall to my knees right then and taste every drop of it.â
He inhaled at the curve of your neck, sharply, greedily, hungrily. Like he could drink in the want from your skin. âIt hit me like a fucking punch to the gut.â
Your thighs twitched. He smiled.
âYou were so wet, werenât you?â His thumb moved now, tracing slow, idle circles over the damp cotton. âDripping onto the sheets, dreaming of something. I couldnât stop thinking.â
You, on the other hand, simply couldnât think. You could barely breathe.
âThoughts of youâŠâ he murmured, dragging the words across your skin. âSpread out across my sheets. Still dreaming. Still wet. I imagined you there on my bed, mouth parted, thighs sticky with it. Maybe you were dreaming of me fucking you slowâdragging it out. Or maybe roughâhands on your hips, face pressed into the pillow.â
His hand stilled. Breath shallow.
âI wanted to touch myself to it,â he said, voice torn. âTo that scentâyour need hanging in the air like perfume. To the image of you in bed⊠It drove me fucking mad,â he whispered. âThe thought of you, wet and whimpering in your sleep. I almost fisted my cock right there, just to take the edge off.â
A pause, thick with restraint.
âBut it felt like⊠a line I couldnât cross. Like taking something that wasnât mine to have yet.â
His head dropped slightly, forehead brushing yours.
âSo I just lay there. Thinking. Burning. Telling myself to sleepâRhysand, ignore it. Donât be an idiot. Donât think about her fingers between her thighs, donât think about her mouth open, whispering your name into the nightâ
Just sleep.â
A beat. A slow, shaky inhale.Â
âBut I couldnât stop thinking. Couldnât stop needing you. And right when I couldnât fucking take it anymoreâright when I gave in and was reaching for myselfââ
âRhys,â you breathed.Â
âIt vanished. I thought maybe Iâd imagined it. So I got up, went to get some cold water.â He kissed the curve of your jaw. âTried to walk it off.â
Another slow press of his thumb. Another spike of pleasure.
âAnd then,â he went on, gaze sharpening like a blade, âI got close to the kitchen. Heard you moving around.â
His smile turned feral.Â
âAnd there it was again.â
You made a soft, involuntary soundâembarrassed and wrecked all at once.Â
Rhys purred against your neck, all smoke and satisfaction. âThat scent. Cauldron, itâs maddening. Didnât even touch yourself, did you?â
You shook your head, barely.
He groanedâdeep and low and filthy. âFuck, donât even have to touch yourself to flood the whole fucking house with it.â
His fingers dragged along the soaked fabric again, deliberate and slow. âAll of it between your thighs, and you just⊠stood there. Thinking about it. Letting it drip down like you didnât care who smelled it.â
You thought you were alone.
Cassian was in Illyria, Azriel was in Vallahan.Â
Rhysand hadnât said a word before youâd gone to bed. Hadnât made himself known, hadnât so much as sent a thought your way.Â
He had to know you thought you were the only one home.Â
You never would have left your room like that ifâ
âYou wanted me to find you like that?â he whispered. âIs that it? Standing there in your little shirt, soaking yourself, pretending you couldnât sleep while your body screamed for me?â
Your hips jerked. His hand didnât budge.
âRhys,â you tried, broken and breathless.
But he was far from done.
âMaybe,â he mused, voice going molten, âyou wanted me to walk in and bend you over the counter. Pull theseââ he snapped the waistband of your underwearââto the side and taste that sweet, sleepy mess you made between your legs. The one that begged me to wake you up with my mouth.â
You let out a ragged breathâhalf sob, half moan.
âTell me what you were thinking about in the kitchen,â he said again, lower now, darker. âAnd this time, donât lie.â
You swallowed. âI wasnâtââ
His fingers slid beneath the cotton. Skin on skin. Heat on heat.
You gasped, hips twitching, breath gone.
âTry again,â he growled, mouth at your throat. âOr Iâll keep my fingers here all night and wonât let you come. Not until you tell me.â
Your legs trembled. âIt was you,â you admitted, voice wrecked. âIt was always you.â
He groaned like the words were a reward, his fingers finally moving with purpose, circling, stroking.
âThatâs better,â he said. âNow tell me what I was doing.â
You bit your lip.
His fingers stilled instantly.Â
âYouââ your voice cracked, and you dragged in a shuddering breath. âYou had me against the window.â
He hummed in approval, fingers pushing in just a little, just enough to make you gasp. âWhich one?â
âThe big one. Upstairs. In your room.â
âOf course,â he murmured, darkly pleased. âYou like the one with the view.â
You nodded helplessly.
âAnd what was I doing to you?â he prompted, thumb brushing maddening circles again. âTell me exactly.â
Your cheeks flushed, but you obeyed. âYou came up behind me. Wrapped your hand around my throat. Pressed me against the glass.â
Before the words even finished leaving your mouth, Rhys shiftedâfree hand sliding up, fingers curling gently but firmly around your throat, thumb pressing into the soft spot beneath your jaw.
You gasped.
âLike this?â he asked, voice all sin and silk.
You nodded, throat moving against his grip. âYes.â
His hand between your thighs moved diligently, slick sounds soft and obscene. âKeep going.â
âYou pushed my legs apart. Made me look out at the city. Said you wanted everyone to see how pretty I looked for you.â
He groanedâlow and wrecked. âOf course I did.â
And then he movedâsliding down your body, pressing kisses to your stomach, your hip, the crease of your thigh. He peeled your underwear off your legs with lazy reverence, and when he looked up at you from between your legs, his eyes glinted like a god about to claim what was his.
âDid I touch you like this in your dream? With my tongue?â he asked softly, like he didnât already know the answer.
You moaned, thighs twitching. âYou didnât stop.â
He grinnedâdark, delightedâand then he didnât stop, either.
His mouth was on you in a heartbeatâhot, open-mouthed kisses to your swollen cunt, tongue dragging through your folds, firm and slow. His grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you open, helpless, right where he wanted you.
And gods, he was good.
He licked into you like he was trying to taste the dream itself, moaning against your cunt like you were the one unraveling him. When his tongue flicked your clitâonce, twice, then againâyour hips bucked and he groaned, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you still.
âGods, I knew youâd taste good,â he murmured to himself, voice hoarse. âDid I make you come like this?â
You whimpered. âTwice.â
His mouth sealed around your clit again, tongue flicking faster now, more pressure, more hunger. Your hands scrabbled at the blankets, his hair, anything to hold onto as the pleasure surged, sharp and sudden and far too muchâ
And then you broke. Legs shaking, breath gone, climax crashing through you with dizzying force. He held you through it, tongue still moving lazily, drawing every last tremor from your body.
You didnât even have time to recover before he was movingârising over you again, mouth glistening, eyes wild with want.
His hand cradled the side of your face, thumb brushing along your cheek as he leaned down, kissed you slow and deep. Let you taste yourself on his tongue. Let you feel how much he needed this.
He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing hard, voice low. âTell me what I did next.â
You blinked up at him, dazed and already aching again. âYouââ your voice faltered. âYou didnât even let me catch my breath. You just⊠slid inside me.â
A groan rumbled in his chest, and he shoved his pants down with the kind of urgency that made your pulse stutter. reached down, dragging the head of his cock through your slick folds with maddening patience.
âLike this?â
He guided the head of his cock through your folds, slick and aching. You nodded, breath catching.
âNo teasing,â you whispered.Â
His jaw clenched, and thenâ
He pushed into you with one long, slow thrust, the stretch of him making your eyes flutter shut.
âFuck,â he breathed, head dropping to your shoulder. âYou feelâ.â
He started to move, hips rolling deep and steady, slower than the rhythm youâd imagined in sleep. He thrust like he couldnât get enough.
Gentler. Like he wanted to savor it. Like he couldnât believe you were real.
His hand slid down your side, settling at your waist, grounding you as his body rocked into yours with patient, aching care. Each thrust was deliberate, every motion a silent promise. And when he looked down at youâeyes dark and open, lips parted with quiet reverenceâyou felt like the only thing that mattered in the world.
âIs this okay?â he murmured, voice low, rough with restraint.
You nodded, breath hitching. âBetter than I couldâve ever dreamed.â
That pulled a soft smile from him. He dipped down to kiss you again, slow and lingering, his hips still moving with that unhurried rhythm that had your toes curling. He wasnât fucking youâhe was making love to you. Deep and warm and full of something that felt dangerously close to adoration.
Then his fingers tugged at the hem of your shirt, a silent question. You shifted beneath him, lifting your arms to help, and he peeled it off you with reverent care, tossing it aside without taking his eyes off you.
His lips brushed yours again, breath warm and trembling. âYou feel so good,â he murmured, like the words had to be pulled from somewhere deep. His gaze drifted down your body, hungry and awestruck all at once. âAnd you lookâŠâ His breath hitched. âYou look so fucking beautiful.â
One hand slid up, fingers splaying over your ribs before cupping your breastâslow, purposeful. His thumb brushed over your nipple, and your back arched instinctively, a soft sound catching in your throat.Â
âThere you go,â he whispered, lips ghosting over your skin. âThatâs it. Just let yourself feel it.â
He groaned, leaning down to press a kiss to your collarbone, then lower. âBeen thinking about this,â he rasped, tongue flicking over the peak before he took it into his mouth. âDreaming of this.â
And his hips never stopped moving.
The pace stayed slowâfor a moment longer. Long enough to draw another gasp from your throat, long enough for your fingers to tighten against his back. But you felt itâhow his control began to fray. How the roll of his hips deepened, a little harder now, a little faster.
âYou still with me?â he breathed, lifting his head just enough to see you nod absently. âThatâs my girl⊠Let me take care of you.â
He drew back and pushed in hard, the force of it knocking the air from your lungs. Then again. And again. Still tenderâbut no longer soft. Not when he buried himself inside you like he couldnât stand the thought of being apart.
You clung to him as the pace built, sweat slicking your skin, breath mixing in the charged air between your mouths. He kissed you like he needed it, like he needed you, all of you, while he fucked you deeper, rougher, until every thrust had your eyes rolling back.
You turned your head, breath catching as his mouth dragged along your jaw. âYou feelâfuckâyou feel so good,â you whispered, the words trembling out of you.
He groaned in response, hips stuttering just slightly.
âEvery time you push in,â you went on, voice low and wrecked, âgods, itâs so deep.â
His hand slipped beneath your thigh, hitching it higher, opening you more. âYouâre perfect,â he growled. âFucking perfect.â
Your fingers curled around his nape, tugging him down until your lips brushed his ear. âYou donât have to hold back,â you breathed. âI can take it.â
His hips slowed.Â
You didnât stop. âI want to take it,â you whispered, and then added, a little bolder, âWant to feel all of it. All of you.â
A low, broken sound escaped him. âYou donât know what youâre asking.â
âI do.â Your gaze met hisâopen, hungry. âI want you, Rhys.â
He didnât speak. Didnât blink.
Then his grip tightenedâhands sliding under your thighs, pressing them up, hooking your legs over his shoulders, folding you open. The new angle had you gasping as he sank in, slow at first, then all at onceâdeep and overwhelming.
He held you there, panting above you, pupils blown wide.
âThis is what you wanted,â he said, and he started to moveâhard, fast, relentless, like a dam breaking, like heâd been holding back for years and couldnât anymore. âSo take it. Donât close your eyes, look at me⊠Thereâs my girl. There you go.â
You couldnât even think, couldnât breathe as he talked you through it. You could only feel as he fucked you into the blankets with single-minded, devastating purpose.
Your hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging in as he drove into you again and again, every thrust punching a sound from your throatâbreathy, desperate, wrecked. You couldnât even meet his gaze anymore, too overwhelmed by the sheer stretch of him, the heat of him, the way your body clenched around him like it never wanted to let him go.
âLook at me,â he growled, hips snapping forward.
You tried. Gods, you tried. Your lashes fluttered as your eyes met hisâwild and dark and hungry.
âThatâs it,â he murmured. âKeep those eyes on me while I fuck you.â
You whimpered, head falling back, thighs trembling in his hold. âRhysââ
âI know,â he panted, pace unrelenting. âI know, baby. I feel it too.â
His hand slid up your side, fingers splayed across your ribs before brushing the swell of your breast. He cupped it gently at firstâthen squeezed, thumb circling your nipple until you cried out.
âYouâre doing so well, fuckâtaking me so deep. Can you feel how tight you are around me? Gods, youâre perfect like this,â he said, voice cracking. âUnder me. Around me. Fuckâmine.â
You were closeâso close it ached, a coil drawn tight in your belly, ready to explode.
âI canâtââ you gasped. âIâm gonnaââ
âLet go,â he urged, voice nearly breaking. âCome for me. I want to feel it.â
And with one more brutal thrustâdeep, punishing, perfectâyou shattered around himâbody locking up, mouth open in a silent cry as pleasure surged through you like lightning. But he didnât stop.
He didnât slow down.
Rhys kept fucking you through it, relentless, determined, dragging every last wave of that climax out of you with deep, punishing thrusts. His grip on your thighs was bruising, the way he held you open, kept you wide and helpless beneath him, like he needed to watch the way you came undone.
âLook at you,â he groaned. âSo fucking beautiful when you come.â
Your hands clawed at the blankets, your mind white-hot and unraveling. Every thrust hit something electric inside you, your body too sensitive, too raw, and yetâyou wanted it. Needed more.
âToo much,â you whispered, the words barely a breath.
âNo, baby,â he growled, dragging his cock out slowâthen slamming back in so hard your vision blurred. âYou can take it. Youâre gonna give me another.â
Your mouth dropped open in a moan, back arching as he angled his hips just rightâgrinding deep, relentless, right against that spot that made you sob.
âI canâtââ you tried again, voice breaking, but your body told a different story. Your hips rolled to meet him, thighs quaking where he held them, cunt pulsing so hard around him it was all he could do not to lose it.
âYes you can,â he hissed, sweat slicking his chest. âYouâre already close. I can feel youâso tight, so wet. Fuck, youâre milking me.â
You couldnât think. Could barely breathe. The pressure built again with terrifying speed, your body strung so tight it felt like you might snap in half.
Then his thumb found your clitâcircling, pressing, teasing just enoughâ just enoughâ
You screamed. Loud and wrecked and his, as a second orgasm slammed into you, fiercer than the first, crashing over you like a storm. Your whole body locked up, legs shaking violently in his grip, and all you could do was feelâlike you were flying apart in a thousand pieces, pleasure white-hot and endless. Your vision went white. A cry tore from your throat as your body clenched down around him, pulsing with wave after wave of raw, blinding pleasure. He cursed, his rhythm faltering, then slamming back in with a groan as he chased his own end.
âGods,â he choked. âYou feelâfuckâfuckââ
And then he was coming, hips pressed flush to yours, buried as deep as he could go, filling you with every last pulse of him.
He didnât stop touching you, even thenâhis movements gentler now, grounding, soothing, his hands sliding down your legs, your hips, up to cradle your face as he pressed his forehead to yours, both of you panting, trembling, lost.
You were still trembling when he finally eased out of you, slow and careful, like he hated to leave the warmth of your body. You hissed at the sudden emptiness, your legs twitching with the aftershocks.
âShh,â he murmured, kissing your temple. âIâve got you.â
You barely registered him movingâjust the rustle of fabric, the shift of air. Then something warm and damp pressed between your thighs, and you jolted.
âRelax,â he said, voice lower now, rasping with the remnants of his own ruin. âJust cleaning you up.â
Your head lolled to the side, eyes half-lidded. âWhere the hell did you even get that?â
Rhys gave a soft huffâalmost a laughâas he wrung out the cloth and dabbed between your legs with unhurried care. âI always come prepared.â
You groaned. âThat better not be from your pocket.â
He smirked. âDonât worry. It was clean. Canât say the same for you.â
You swatted at his shoulder, too weak to land anything meaningful. He caught your wrist easily, brought it to his lips, kissed your knuckles. Then, quieter, more serious: âYou okay?â
You met his gaze, and for a second, it felt like the world narrowed to just thatâhis eyes, searching yours, all that fire banked into something steadier. Warmer.
âIâm good,â you whispered. âBetter than good.â
He nodded, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek. âDidnât mean to wreck you like that.â
âLiar,â you muttered, which earned another soft grin.
âI mean,â he murmured, voice dipping as he smoothed the cloth over your skin one last time, âI didâbut I wasnât planning on it going that far.â
You let out a breathless laugh, instinctively crossing your arms over your chest as the chill started to creep back in around the edges of your bliss.
âRhys,â you said dryly, âas much as Iâm enjoying the ambiance out here, Iâd really prefer not to freeze to death with your come dripping out of me.â
He huffed a soft laughâbut a blink later, the cold vanished. The ground beneath you softened, gave way to your plush mattress. Dim, golden light from your lamp spilled over you both. The scent of lavender and sex filled the space.Â
Rhysand shifted closer, his arm curling low around your waist. The weight of his touch, the steadiness, was enough to drown out the storm still raging beyond the window.Â
You tucked your head beneath his chin, let his warmth settle into your skin.
âNext time,â you mumbled, eyes already heavy, âyou conjure us a fire first.â
His chest shook with a quiet laugh. âNext time,â he promised, voice like velvet and shadows, âIâll give you anything you want.â