The Inner Circle was infamous throughout Prythian—spoken of in hushed, reverent tones, feared in equal measure for their power and adored for the unbreakable loyalty binding them together.
A family forged in fire, sacrifice, and secrets.
And somehow by luck, by fate, or by the Mother's twisted sense of humour they became my family.
My brothers and sisters in all but blood.
All stories begin somewhere And mine began centuries ago with one boy, one arrogant, sharp-tongued, violet-eyed boy who would one day become the most powerful High Lord Prythian had ever seen.
Rhysand. I met him first, long before courts rose and fell, before wars reshaped the world.
Back when we were children, when titles still meant everything, and I was expected to bow to anyone with more power, more jewels, more shadows at their back.
My father's voice still echoes in my mind.
"Be polite, be quiet, and for the love of the Mother do not—do not—cause trouble for the High Lord." His tone was clipped, already fraying with the knowledge that my simple existence constituted trouble.
I sniffed, adjusting the stiff dress he'd stuffed me into. "You act as if I'm going to throw myself out the nearest window."
My father shot me a glare so sharp it could have carved stone. "Yes. Because you have, in fact, done exactly that—more than once."
I waved a hand. "That was an accident."
He snorted. "You climbed onto the ledge voluntarily."
"Accidents come in many forms," I muttered.
We moved through the Moonstone Palace, its corridors glowing with soft lunar light, elegant and cold. The air always smelled faintly of frost and starlight, like the place itself was holding its breath.
"Explain to me again," I grumbled, "why I must attend this meeting when you're the one doing business with the High Lord?"
"Because," he said through clenched teeth, "it is time you learned how alliances work."
"What if I don't want to meet them?"
"Then pretend you do," he hissed.
But the moment he stepped into the throne room, bowing deeply and reciting pleasantries, I slipped away swift as a shadow, taking a sharp right down the nearest hallway.
If I had to endure being dragged to this palace like some polished ornament, I could at least find a corner of it worth exploring.
I was halfway through planning my glorious escape when I collided violently with something solid. No, someone.
I stumbled back, blinking stars from my eyes.
Violet eyes. Inky black hair. Golden-brown skin. A jawline forged by the gods purely to inspire trouble.
The boy looked down at me as though I'd personally offended him by existing.
"Watch where you're going," he said, brushing invisible dust from his immaculate clothing.
I bristled. "Watch where you're standing." I pushed myself upright, glaring. "Who do you think you are?"
His brows rose, equal parts disbelief and intrigue. "Rhysand. Heir to the Night Court you're currently standing in."
I blinked once. Twice. Then I smiled sweetly in the most insincere way imaginable.
"Lovely. The future High Lord is an egotistical asshole."
For a heartbeat he simply stared. And then he laughed. Not a polite chuckle. Not the restrained, practised amusement of a court-raised son.
A real laugh. Warm. Surprised. Sharp with delight. It echoed through the moonlit hallways like the chiming of distant stars.
"You're not afraid of me," he said, sounding almost bewildered.
"Should I be?"
"Most would bow."
"I'm not most."
He grinned then, slow, wicked, like he'd just discovered something precious. Like I'd stepped across some invisible threshold neither of us could return from.
"Good," he murmured. "I hate bowing."
"What a coincidence," I said, crossing my arms. "I hate arrogant heirs blocking hallways."
His grin widened. "Come on. If you keep wandering like that, you'll get lost. Or worse—end up in another meeting."
"Tragic," I deadpanned.
He extended a hand, palm open, eyes bright with mischief and possibility. "What do you say? Want to escape together?"
And that was how it started.
Two children sneaking away from their fathers. Two stubborn souls refusing to bow. A spark that would one day grow into something vast and unshakable.
Rhysand didn't know it then. Neither did I. But that moment was the beginning of a bond that would shape centuries.
The beginning of my place in the Inner Circle. My home. My family.
And if Rhys had been the door into that world, Morrigan was the warm, golden light waiting on the other side.
I met Mor next obviously. Rhysand made sure of it.
By then, he and I had fallen into a rhythm my father pretended to approve of.
We spent more and more time together though not in the dignified, politically advantageous way he hoped. There were fewer lessons in diplomacy than there were daring escapes, arguments about nothing, magical mishaps, and Rhys teaching me how to steal pastries from the kitchen without getting caught.
For the record, he was terrible at it. I was much better.
So when Rhys insisted practically demanded that I meet his cousin Morrigan, I agreed immediately.
He'd said it with such certainty, too. "You and Mor... you'll understand each other."
He hadn't been wrong.
The day I met her, sunlight spilt through the Moonstone Palace windows and turned every dust mote into drifting gold. Rhys led me down a quiet corridor, humming with excitement that he tried and failed to hide.
"She's not scary, is she?" I asked.
Rhys snorted. "Mor? Scary? Only if you're a pigheaded male with the emotional depth of a puddle."
"So... most males?" I teased.
He grinned. "Exactly."
He pushed open a door to a sitting room warm with afternoon light. And there standing near the window, a book abandoned on the sill was Morrigan.
Morrigan of the Night Court. Morrigan of golden hair and molten honey eyes. Morrigan who looked like she'd been carved from sunlight and laughter and something unbreakable.
She turned as we entered.
And the very first thing she ever said to me without hesitation, without even blinking was "Mother above, you are gorgeous."
I froze. Rhys groaned into his hands.
But she meant it, every word shining in her eyes like starlight.
I blinked once, twice, then managed "Says the literal goddess standing in front of me."
Her smile... it was like the world brightened just for her. Warm and bright and mischievous, as if she had been waiting, truly waiting, for someone to say exactly that.
She crossed the room in two strides and took both my hands in her own, examining me like a jeweller inspecting a priceless stone.
"Has Rhys been treating you well?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.
"No," I said loudly. "He's been insufferable."
Rhys spluttered behind us. "Excuse me—"
Mor waved a dismissive hand. "He was born insufferable. It's not your fault."
And just like that... we were laughing. A soft, bubbling laughter that melted the last of my nerves. The kind you only shared with someone who felt familiar and safe despite having known them for all of five breaths.
The kind you shared with a sister.
We spent hours talking that day. Mor asked about everything, my likes, my dislikes, my hopes, my fears, my dreams. She listened as if every word mattered.
She teased Rhys relentlessly, much to my delight. She told me stories of Velaris, of star-lit streets and hidden cafes and quiet corners she swore she'd show me one day.
And beneath all of it, beneath the radiance, there was a shadow in her eyes. A bruise made not of skin but of soul.
Keir. I didn't know the details then. I only knew hurt when I saw it. The kind that didn't fade with time, the kind pressed into bone.
She hid it well. Too well.
And maybe she saw the same reflection in me, my own fractures, my own loneliness, the cracks my father pretended not to see.
We fit together seamlessly. Two girls from gilded cages, finding freedom in each other.
Years passed just like that.
She was the one who held me when my father died, her arms warm around me, her voice strong even when mine wasn't. She stroked my hair and whispered promises that I wouldn't face the world alone, not ever again.
And I held her when they dragged her broken and bleeding from the border of the Autumn Court, left for dead by the male who called himself her father.
I stayed by her bedside through every nightmare, every tremor, every tear she tried to hide. I reminded her she was more than the horror she'd survived. More than Keir's cruelty. More than her scars.
We saved each other, again and again.
Sisters by choice, not blood. Sisters by battle, by laughter, by loss. By love.
Mor was the second thread woven into my life, golden and fierce and unbreakable. And even now, centuries later... I cannot imagine who I would be without her.
Azriel and Cassian came next. Together, naturally, because where one Illyrian went, the other followed.
It happened the same way everything with Rhys happened, with absolutely no warning.
One morning, just as I was enjoying the first quiet moment I'd had in days, Rhys burst into my room like a bat out of the Cauldron and said, "Get up. I'm taking you to meet my brothers."
Before I could protest, argue, or even finish glaring at him, he'd scooped me straight into his arms and launched us into the sky.
I screamed the entire time. Rhys laughed the entire time.
And somewhere in the middle of all that chaos, he kissed the top of my head and said "You'll like them. Just... be yourself."
Which, coming from Rhys, was both a compliment and a warning.
The Illyrian training camp was a sprawl of mountains, wind, and raw muscle. The air tasted of cold iron and the metallic tang of adrenaline. Warriors sparred in the distance, their wings catching morning light like blades.
And right in the centre of it, shirtless, sweaty, smirking stood Cassian and Azriel.
Cassian noticed us first.
The moment Rhys landed with me still clinging to him because I refused to let my death be because I fell from two thousand feet due to pride, Cassian whistled so loudly half the camp turned to look.
"Well, well, well..." he drawled, swaggering forward. "Rhys, you dog. Who's the beauty? New lady friend? New lover, perhaps—"
I cut him off so fast Azriel blinked. "That is vile. Do not finish that sentence."
Cassian's eyebrows shot up to the Mother and back.
I continued, sweetly venomous, "I would rather recite a vow of celibacy than let Rhysand near me with his... thing."
Rhys sputtered behind me. Cassian choked on air, I think before bursting into a bark of laughter.
"Cauldron take me," he wheezed, wiping his eyes. "She's got claws."
"Not claws," I said. "Standards."
That only made him laugh harder.
He planted his hands on his hips, wings flaring with interest. "Alright, sweetheart. What about me? I'm taller, stronger, better looking—"
"No."
He blinked. "Just—no?"
"Correct."
Cassian stared at me like he'd never been refused in his entire immortal life. Then he did something I will never forget. He grinned. Not offended. Not wounded. Delighted.
"Mother above, I like you already."
And just like that, Cassian, chaos incarnate, decided we were friends.
Azriel, on the other hand... was quiet.
He approached with the grace of a shadow slipping into place at your back, silent, controlled, powerful. His golden-brown skin glowed in the morning sun, siphons gleaming like captured starlight.
Shadows curled lazily around him, studying me with far more curiosity than he showed.
He stood a few feet away, wings tucked neatly, eyes calm and unreadable.
But I wasn't fooled. He'd been listening the entire time. His voice, when he finally spoke, was smooth and low.
"So you and Rhys... are not together."
"No," I said instantly.
"Not even a little?" he pressed, head tilting, expression still unreadable.
"If we were the last two in Prythian and the continuation of the realm depended on us, I would simply die."
Behind us, Rhys groaned into his hands.
Azriel stared for a long moment. Then so subtle I almost thought I imagined it, the corner of his mouth lifted. A faint, rare smile.
"Good," he murmured. "I prefer you alive."
Cassian nudged him. "See? Told you she's trouble."
Azriel replied, "You say that like it's a bad thing."
And something warm curled in my chest. Different from Rhys. Different from Mor.
Azriel wasn't loud or playful or dramatic. He was quiet warmth. Steady strength. The kind of presence that made you feel... guarded, even before he ever swore to protect you.
His shadows twined around my wrist, curious, testing, then slipped away as if satisfied.
"She's not afraid of you," Cassian observed, crossing his arms.
Azriel's eyes glimmered. "Good."
And that was that.
Cassian adopted me loudly. Azriel adopted me silently. And I felt something like belonging settle into my bones.
Four threads woven together now. Rhys. Mor. Cassian. Azriel.
And somehow... I was part of it. Part of them. Part of the family that would one day save me and that I would bleed for without hesitation.
Amren, naturally, was the last one I met.
Not out of avoidance, at least not on my part. It simply... happened. She was elusive, unpredictable, too ancient and brilliant and terrifying to be summoned by something as mortal as convenience.
But the day I finally met her? Oh, I remember every second.
It began with a question I regretted as soon as it left my mouth.
"So... she drinks blood?" I asked Rhys.
Cassian and Rhys were arm-wrestling on the dining table, again, so Rhys only grunted in acknowledgement, too focused on beating Cassian to spare me a glance.
"Yes," Rhys drawled. "She does."
I blinked. "What kind of blood?"
"She could drink yours if she felt like it," Azriel replied calmly from the corner, sharpening a dagger with the kind of quiet menace only he could pull off.
My entire soul left my body. "Azriel," I hissed, "that was not reassuring."
He shrugged, shadows curling lazily around him. "You asked."
Part of me knew they were messing with me. The other part was currently planning my will.
"Okay," I said slowly. "But what happens if she hates me? And decides today's the day she wants a snack? A quick sip? A little taste—"
"No one is drinking your blood," Azriel murmured, eyes flicking upward only long enough to keep track of who might win the arm-wrestling match.
Mor, lounging like a queen on the sofa, gave a solemn nod. "I would drink your blood if you asked me to."
My heart softened. "Thank you. I love you. You're my favourite."
Cassian groaned. "Sweetheart, please get off the table so I can finally prove to Rhysand that he is not as strong as he thinks."
"I need to know if Amren will—"
I didn't get to finish. Because a voice, smooth, feline, and sharp enough to cut bone, purred from behind me.
"If Amren will what?"
The entire room fell silent. Even Rhys and Cassian froze mid-arm wrestle.
I turned slowly because of course I did, to find Amren standing in the doorway as if she'd materialised from thin air.
Silver eyes. Dark hair perfectly arranged. An expression that said she tolerated our existence only because destroying the building would be inconvenient.
She stepped inside, gaze slicing through the room like a blade.
Rhys, traitor that he is, took the opportunity to mutter, "She's afraid you're going to hate her."
Amren didn't even blink. "I do," she said casually, sweeping past us. "I dislike everyone."
She sat at the farthest possible seat from us, legs crossed, looking both bored and ready to commit homicide.
I cleared my throat. Loudly. "Right. Good talk," I said. "Um. So... I brought you something."
Cassian immediately perked up. "Wait—she gets a gift?"
Mor sat up straighter. "I thought I was the favourite."
Azriel didn't move, but his eyes sharpened with interest. "You brought Amren a present?"
"I literally got body-slammed by her last week," Cassian added indignantly. "If anyone deserves a gift, it's me!"
I ignored them all, hopped off the table, and retrieved the small velvet box I'd been hiding for two days, debating whether offering a gift to an ancient, possibly god-borne being was a sign of respect or a declaration of war.
I walked toward Amren slowly. Carefully.
She watched me with mild curiosity, as though I were a particularly amusing insect she hadn't decided to crush yet.
I opened the box and presented the necklace. A silver chain holding the largest, brightest amethyst I could find, cut so sharply it seemed to glow from within.
Amren said nothing. Her silver eyes flicked from the gem to my face... and back again.
The room held its breath.
Then, delicately, she lifted the necklace with two fingers and examined it, the gem catching and scattering light across her features.
Her expression didn't soften but something shifted. A twitch at the corner of her mouth. A glimmer in those predatory eyes.
"Then perhaps," she said, voice silken as smoke, "I do not hate you after all, girl."
Cassian dropped his head onto the table. Rhys groaned. Mor squealed. Azriel's shadows twined around him in quiet amusement.
Me? I let out a breath I'd been holding since sunrise.
Because in Amren's language, in the language of ancient terrors not hating me was the highest compliment I could ever receive.
And from that moment on... she tolerated me. Which, for Amren, meant she liked me. Loved me, even though she'd never admit it out loud.
And I—foolishly, blindly, wholeheartedly, loved her right back.
A/n - First part and we're starting with how she met everyone in their own chaotic ways!!
I hope (and pray) that everyone feels in character—I spent an embarrassing amount of time debating dialogue, timing, and vibes... and exercising an incredible amount of self-control not to add a love interest :)
There isn't a strict overarching plot. This is more a collection of moments, memories, and little snapshots of what it's like to be a part of the Inner Circle x
Thank you so much for reading <33
Circle of Us tag list - @sophieliz @azrielblue @whump-loverz @galacticoceans @lilah-asteria @niiickelodeon @justtryingtosurvive02 @rosie-posie08 @mis-lil-red @dnfhascorruptedme @jugodeshadowsinger @cardiganconfessions @hyruledemigod20
You threw back another drink at Rita’s trying to drown the way you were feeling. You sighed as you leaned against the bar. You watched as Azriel leaned into Elain to make sure she was okay. You felt your heart crack a bit. You made sure your walls were up mentally and physically. You didn’t want anyone else to know how you felt about the shadowsinger. Mor was the only one that knew and you wanted to keep it that way. You closed your eyes centering yourself. When you opened them again, you locked eyes with those hazel ones you have loved for the last two hundred years. You gave him a smirk as you turned for your next drink. You felt a presence beside you.
“How are you holding up?” Mor leaned against the bar with you.
“I’m fine, Mor. Nothing a little of this can’t take care of.” You swirled the amber liquid around in the glass. Mor rolled her eyes at you.
“Maybe, you should tell him?” You felt yourself freeze. She was the only one that knew the mating bond snapped, for you anyway. She was there when it happened. Your jaw tensed.
“I’m not telling him.”
“Why?”
“Look at him over there with her. He’s infatuated, he looks like he’s in love and in the last three hundred years I’ve been with you all he’s never looked at anyone else like that before. Anyone.” Mor pursed her lips. She was about to say something when she saw it about the time you felt it. A shadow wrapping around your ankle. You smiled a bit. You let the shadow slither up to your shoulder.
“Hello there. I’m fine, you can tell him.” You gently caressed the little shadow before it scurried back down your side and over to the shadowsinger. You looked over to find shock on his face. Did he not know one of them came over to you? You quirked your eyebrows but quickly turned back to your conversation with Mor. “Anyway, I’m gonna go. I leave in the morning.”
“Leave? Where are you going?” You downed the rest of your drink before you answered her.
“The continent. Rhys wants an eye on the queens since we haven’t heard from them since before the war with Hybern.” Mor’s eyes widened.
“Are you going alone?” You nodded. She let out a scoff. “I can’t be here right now, Mor. Not while all of this is going on. I need to go somewhere, do something. I won’t be gone long, just a day.” She sighed. She knew.
“Doesn’t mean I like it. Just be safe, don’t die.” You laughed at her. She gave you a smile back.
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” You gave her a small hug and made your way out of Rita’s. You were halfway down the street when you heard, and felt, a gust of wind.
“You’re leaving?” Shock covered your features as the shadowsinger appeared behind you.
“Jeez, Az, a little warning please.” He waited for you to answer his question. “Yes, I’m going home.” He gave you a look. You sighed before answering him. “I leave in the morning. I’ll only be gone a day, two at the most.”
“Where?”
“The continent.”
“It’s dangerous.” You tilted your head at him.
“I’ll be fine, Az. You’re the one who trained me. I’ll be fine.” Azriel didn’t seem so sure. You giggled as one of his shadows wrapped up your arm. You smiled down at it. “Tell him I’m going to be fine.” The little shadow seemed to disagree as well. You let it wrap around the hand you held up to it. You let it wrap around your hand and slide around for a while until it seems to be content.
Azriel was looking on in awe. He didn’t even ask his shadows to do that. They did it of their own accord. He had never seen that happen until tonight when you were at the bar with Mor. The way you giggled as it wrapped around your hand made his heart squeeze in a good way. Once his shadow seemed pleased it slithered back down your arm, leg, then scurried across the small space between the two of you.
“Are you sure you don’t need anyone to go with you?” He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of you going that far alone made his entire body ache. You reached out, giving his arm a squeeze.
“Az, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” That signaled the end of the conversation. Azriel sent one of his shadows with you to make sure you made it home. You let out a loud laugh, “Thank you, Az. Goodnight.” The shadowsinger didn’t reply. He just waited until you made the short walk back to your apartment.
~
You were not fine. Someone had tipped the queens off about your arrival. You didn’t know who it was, but you sure as hell were going to find out. You were taking a quick breather in a cave that seemed to be safe. That’s when you felt it. A little shadow crawling from behind your wing. You let out a sigh of relief.
“Hey there. He just couldn’t stand that I was going alone could he.” The shadow seemed to do a little dance confirming you were right. “I need you to tell him I was ambushed. I don’t know who did it and it could be more than a day until I’m back. He cannot come and cannot send anyone. I’ll make it back.” The little shadow slithered down to your hand and wrapped itself around it. You gave it a smile. “I will make it back.” It seemed to hear the conviction in your voice. It seemed to hug your hand before it scurried away.
You took a deep breath steeling yourself for what you were to do next.
~
Azriel’s shadow came back to him. He was surprised considering he hadn’t sent any out today. Once back it told him what happened. He swore the entire world stopped at that moment. You were ambushed and you told him to stay away. The worst part is, he knew you were right.
“Dammit.” He made his way to Rhys’s office at the House of Wind to relay what he found out. He did send a few shadows out to see if he could find who ratted you out. Azriel opened the door to find Rhys and Cassian already there. “We have a problem.”
“What is it?” Azriel explained everything that happened to you and how you were holed up in a cave, safe, for now.
“Shit.” Cassian was up pacing before he even finished and Rhys had his head in his hands.
“What was this for anyway?”
“I needed someone to go see if there was any movement from the queens. I was going to ask you, but she volunteered.” Azriel didn’t know how to feel about that.
“Why would she do that?” Rhys and Cassian leveled him with a stare.
“For a spymaster, you sure are dense.” Rhys threw a hard stare in Cassian’s direction.
“For the love of the Mother, Rhys, I can’t not tell him at this point.”
“Tell me what?” Cassian and Rhys shared a conversation he wasn’t privy to. Rhys finally relented.
“She’s your mate, Az.” Az felt his heart drop.
“What?” Rhys and Cassian sighed. You didn’t know Rhys and Cassian knew the bond snapped into place for you. They had sensed something was different. It didn’t take long for them to put the pieces together, although you hid it very well. They let the information sink in for the spymaster.
“She volunteered because of the way you’ve been stuck to Elain’s side.” All three turned to see Mor standing in the doorway. She wasn’t sure if they had put the pieces together, but she knew Rhys, it wouldn’t take him long. Azriel felt his chest tighten. Yes, he had been by Elain’s side the last few months, but she didn’t see him that way, she just needed a friend.
“That’s not, there’s nothing between Elain and me.”
“It didn’t seem that way, especially to her. I tried to get her to tell you, but she thought you wanted Elain. So, she took this mission to get away, even if it was just for a day.” Azriel had no idea. Didn’t even get a hint that the two of you were mates. It made sense though, the way he was around you. He seemed more open with you, it was easier to joke with you. The way his shadows were drawn to you. It made so much sense. The other three stood there watching as all the pieces fell in place for the spymaster. Azriel opened his mouth to say something when one of his shadows wrapped around his ear.
She’s hurt.
Azriel stood up ready to go find you when they heard a commotion in the hallway. The four of them ran out to see what was going on. They followed Naula down the corridor, she led them to the balcony outside the dining area. There you were a crumpled heap on the ground.
~
You heard your name. You looked up to see Azriel, Mor, Rhys, and Cass running toward you. Azriel reached you first. He hooked one arm around your back and the other under your knees lifting you off the ground.
“What a welcome committee.” You rasped. You were breathing hard, too hard. Az watched the pain flash across your face. Your hand gripped Az’s shoulder a little harder. One of his shadows curled around your hand. You managed to smile a little. “Hello again.”
“Where are you hurt? What happened?” You closed your eyes, taking a breath before you replied.
“My wings.” The four of them looked to see the ends of your wings torn and many different spots. You heard Rhys yell for someone to get a healer. “I found out who did it. They won’t be a problem anymore.” Azriel couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his face.
“That’s my girl.” He kissed the top of your head. Azriel carried you to a room, there was a couch. That’s all you could manage to comprehend through the pain. Azriel laid you down on the couch and immediately kneeled down beside you. He grabbed your hand. He didn’t let go. Not when Madja arrived. Not when you nearly passed out from the pain. He was there. Never letting go. Never leaving your side.
~
Madja said to rest for a few days. It was currently day four of healing and you had managed to talk Madja into letting you go home. You were rummaging through your kitchen when you felt it. You giggled as the shadow wrapped itself around your ankle and made its way up your side and perched on your shoulder.
“You can come in, Az. It’s unlocked.” A second later you heard your apartment door open. You turned to see him bringing a couple of bags in. “What’s all this?”
“A few groceries. I thought you might be getting low.”
“Thanks, Az.” You started helping him unload the bags. You were putting them away, his shadow still perched on your shoulder.
“They don’t do that with anyone else.” You turned, giving him a questioning look. “My shadows. They don’t do that with anyone.”
“You haven’t sent them?” Azriel shook his head. “Even the one that was with me on my mission?”
“I didn’t send it. I didn’t even know it was gone until it came back to me.” The shock was evident on your face. You had assumed he sent it. You looked at the little shadow still perched on your shoulder. “They only do that with you.”
You felt your heart stutter at the look he gave you. That’s when he felt it. The bond snapped into place. It had snapped for you long ago, but you could finally feel him. Everything.
“Az,” you didn’t know what else to say as he made his way to stand in front of you.
“You’re mine.” You felt the bond glow within you, but you had to ask.
“What about Elain?”
“What about her?” He didn’t mean it in a mean way, but he wanted you.
“You two just seemed so close.” You didn’t know how else to say it.
“I don’t want her. I’ve loved you for so long. I just didn’t think I was enough for you. I’m a-” you placed your finger on his lips. You knew what he was about to say. He was about to repeat what every Illyrian warrior has called him for years. You weren’t having any of it.
“Don’t you dare. You are everything, Az. Everything.” You cupped his face and watched as his shadow crawled across your arm to join the others. You stared into those hazel eyes, losing yourself. You took a deep breath knowing what you were about to do would make this final.
“Would you like something to eat?” Azriel’s eyes widened. He knew you were mates, but he was still unsure if you would accept the bond.
“Really?”
“Really.” Finally he slotted his lips against yours. You felt everything in the kiss. You were his and he was yours.
summary: After years apart, one open door is all it takes to bring everything rushing back—heat, history, and the kind of hunger that never really went away.
word count: 3,129
content: [ explicit sexual content, oral sex, 69, clothes ripping, references to past sexual encounters, emotional themes, explicit language ]
author's note: i've never written mor so this was a bit of a challenge for me, but i hope this turned out alright :) thank you for this request! i hope you like it !
Morrigan stood on the porch like she’d forgotten how to hold herself together. Her coat hung open at the throat, her golden hair mussed from wind she hadn’t shielded against. She looked entirely out of place against the crooked little fence and wilting garden. Too bright. Too fae. Too much of a past that had no business showing up like this..
“I need somewhere to stay,” she said, with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
She could’ve stayed with Jurian, Lucien, and Vassa. If she’d needed shelter or company or diplomacy, she could’ve had it there. They would’ve had to welcome her. And she’d told herself she would. That she’d go where she was supposed to, say her piece, pass along Rhys’ message, and stay for as long as it took to figure out what to do about the places still too wary of magic, too scarred from the war to trust the Night Court’s promises.
But her feet had led her here anyway. She’d walked slower the closer she got, like maybe the distance could stretch into a reason not to knock.
And now you were looking at her like you hadn’t yet decided whether to shut the door or let her in.
You looked older. Not in a cruel way. Not in a way that made Mor think you’d lost anything. Just… different. A bit harder around the eyes, maybe. The kind of change that happens when ten years stretch longer than you thought they would. When no one comes back. You stood in the doorway wrapped in a silk robe, the tie loose at your waist, collar slipping slightly off one shoulder. Familiar, domestic, bare. It made her throat go tight.
“You think this is a good idea?” you asked finally, voice low and not unkind.
Mor didn’t answer. She didn’t trust herself to.
The house behind you was small and dim and warm. Lived-in. Human. It wasn’t built to hold gods and warriors and memories that had never fully died.
But still, she stood there. Waiting.
And you didn’t close the door. You stepped aside without a word—just tilted your head slightly, not quite an invitation but not a rejection either. It was enough.
Mor crossed the threshold like she was breaking a rule.
The warmth hit her first. The faint smell of woodsmoke and lavender. A quiet hum of something cooking low on the stove. Her eyes adjusted slowly, taking in the smallness of it—the narrow hallway, the sagging couch, the faint indent in the carpet where a rocking chair must’ve once lived. It was the kind of house that didn’t expect guests. The kind of house that had been made to be lived in quietly.
The door closed with a soft click.
Mor hovered near the entryway, not quite sure where to put her hands.
“I was just about to make some tea,” you said, after a moment. “If you’d like some.”
“Oh.” Mor blinked. “Yes, please.”
You moved into the kitchen like you hadn’t been caught off-guard by any of this. Like you hadn’t spent the last ten years not seeing her. The kettle was filled without comment, the clink of metal against porcelain a little too loud in the quiet.
Mor sat at the small kitchen table, her hands folded neatly in her lap. It felt like being a guest in someone else’s life—which, of course, she was.
She studied the worn pattern of the tablecloth while you moved around the space with practiced ease. It was strange—familiar and not. Like watching a dream carry on without you.
“How long are you staying?” you asked finally, your back to her.
Mor hesitated. “A few days. Maybe less. Depends on how things go.”
You hummed. Not agreement, not disbelief—just something to fill the silence.
“I passed Lucien’s on the way here,” Mor added, too casually.
“Did you? How is he? And Jurian and Vassa?”
“They seemed well.”
“Good.”
The kettle began to whistle. You turned the stove off and poured the water with steady hands. You set a cup in front of Mor, not quite meeting her eyes.
“Thanks,” she said, wrapping her fingers around the mug like it might give her something to hold onto.
You both sipped in silence for a few minutes.
It wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t hostile either. Just… cautious.
Mor could feel the weight of everything they weren’t saying pressing into the space between them. It sat there on the table, quiet and impossible.
“You look…” Mor started, then trailed off.
You raised an eyebrow, just slightly.
Mor cleared her throat. “You look well.”
A slight smile curved the corner of your mouth. “You don’t have to lie.”
“I’m not.”
“You hesitated.”
“I’m just… nervous.”
You finally looked at her then. Direct and level. “Why?”
Mor held your gaze. Swallowed once. “Because I didn’t think you’d let me in.”
You didn’t reply. Just took another sip of tea, eyes unreadable.
The silence returned, heavier this time.
And still, neither of you said what you meant to.
“I shouldn’t have come when you were getting ready for bed,” Mor said after a moment, voice too soft.
You blinked. “It’s the middle of the afternoon.”
She looked down into her tea like it might correct her.
You set your cup down gently. “I wasn’t sleeping. Just… hadn’t gotten dressed yet. Didn’t plan on going out today.”
Mor nodded, slow. “Still. I’m sorry.”
She sounded like she meant it. And she probably did. But it wasn’t the kind of sorry you could take seriously, not when it was standing in for so many others.
“It’s just me here,” you said. “You’re not interrupting anything.”
That, at least, was true.
Mor looked around again, like she’d only just registered the quiet of the place. The lack of other voices. The stillness that hadn’t shifted in hours. Her fingers tightened slightly around the mug.
“I don’t have another room, but would you want the couch?” you asked, not looking at her this time. “It pulls out, if you need it to.”
“I’m fine with just the cushions,” she said quickly. “Really.”
You nodded.
She took another sip of tea, then set it down too carefully. She wasn’t usually like this—overly polite, overly still. There was something about watching her try not to take up space that made your chest ache a little.
“Mor.”
She looked up.
“I didn’t say you weren’t allowed in.”
She didn’t smile. Just breathed a little deeper. “No. You didn’t.”
• . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. •
The first night, you gave her a blanket and a pillow and stood awkwardly in the doorway while she arranged herself on the couch. She smiled, polite as ever, and said, “Thank you again. I know this is…” but didn’t finish the sentence.
You nodded and turned off the hallway light.
She slept on her side, one arm folded neatly beneath her head, the other resting over her stomach like it might hold her together. You watched from the shadowed hall for a few seconds longer than you meant to. She looked untouched by sleep—still, dignified, like she hadn’t truly let go.
She didn’t the nights after, either.
She was polite in the mornings, too. Said thank you when you passed her the sugar, thank you when you handed her a towel, thank you like she hadn’t already lived in your space before.
The sound of her footsteps in the hallway never stopped feeling foreign.
Sometimes, when you left your tea steeping too long, you’d turn and find she’d already pulled it from the kettle for you. She’d nod at your half-smile, but never commented. Never asked how you liked it.
She went out during the day. Not long—just a few hours here and there. Said she had meetings with Jurian, or Vassa, or Lucien, depending on the day. Sometimes she came back smelling faintly of pine. Once, her sleeves were dusted with flour, and you didn’t ask.
You didn’t ask what she was really doing, and she didn’t offer.
You tried talking, sometimes.
She’d pass you in the kitchen, or sit at the end of the table while you sorted through dried herbs for a stew, and she’d say something—soft, careful.
“Do you remember that summer we couldn’t keep the windows closed? The fireflies kept—”
“Don’t.”
Always quiet. Never cruel.
But it stopped her just the same.
She let the memory go. And you sat a little straighter, like not remembering was the only way to survive it.
The fourth night, you heard her shift on the couch. Just once. A sigh, low and tired, more like a release than frustration.
You didn’t get up.
But you didn’t sleep for a long while, either.
The fifth morning came too quickly, though neither of you spoke of time passing.
You found her in the living room, sitting on the edge of the couch, her small bag open beside her. She folded her clothes with care, like she was afraid to leave a single thing behind.
You lingered in the doorway, hands folded loosely in front of you, not sure how to bridge the silence that had settled between you.
Mor didn’t look up.
“Sorry to impose,” she said finally, voice low and distant—like she was saying goodbye to a stranger instead of someone she once carried inside her.
You nodded once. “Safe travels.”
She closed the bag with a snap, standing slowly, shoulders square but a little hollow.
Without another word, she turned and walked to the door.
The door closed softly behind her.
You stayed where you were, listening to the quiet echo that followed.
• . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. •
Mor walked.
There wasn’t really a plan—just her feet on the dirt path, the wind soft against her coat, the sun already high and indifferent. She told herself she’d find somewhere to winnow from soon. Somewhere open and quiet. Somewhere that didn’t ache quite so much.
The talks with Lucien, Jurian, and Vassa had gone as well as they could have. Jurian was still smug as ever but at least measured now—his reports on the outer villages were thorough, if a bit theatrical. Vassa was more direct, more fire-eyed than Mor remembered, but willing to listen. Lucien had mostly watched. Said little. He was good at that—reading the shape of a conversation without stepping into it.
They’d talked food distribution. Infrastructure. Winter was coming faster than expected, and some of the farming settlements weren’t prepared. There was still tension between fae territories and human ones, despite Rhys’s best efforts. Too much history. Too many ghosts still walking the fields. Mor had written it all down, the details she’d need to bring back: which routes were breaking down, which towns refused fae aid outright, which leaders were ready to open trade again.
Useful. Important.
But none of it followed her now.
What did was the last five days.
You’d been careful with each other. Too careful. Polite where you used to be loud. Strained where you used to be effortless. Every word between you weighed, measured, left hanging just a little too long.
It made her ache.
You two used to be—gods, there wasn’t even a word for it.
Not lovers, not exactly. Not always. That had come later, after the affection had grown teeth. After the friendship got too big to be harmless. But before that, you’d been… entwined. A closeness that didn’t need naming. A bond forged in stolen summers and quiet rebellion. You’d had years of each other. Soft ones, sharp ones. You used to dance in the kitchen with no music playing. You used to argue for the sake of arguing, just to watch the other get riled up. You used to share everything—mornings, jokes, beds, silence.
Until you didn’t.
Mor didn’t let herself replay the ending. She never had. All she knew was the aftermath: the silence. The years. The absence stretching longer than either of you thought it would.
And then—this week.
She hadn’t meant to stay so long. Just two nights, maybe three. But five days had slipped by, and somehow she still hadn’t figured out what she was trying to prove by walking through that door.
She paused at the crest of the hill, where the trees thinned and the wind tugged gently at her sleeves.
Her chest was tight. Not from the walking.
She could go back.
The thought surfaced quick and sharp, bright as blood.
She could go back, knock again. Say what she hadn’t. Stay another night. See if the silence would break.
But then the second thought followed, heavier:
It wouldn’t be a kind thing to do.
She’d already imposed once. Five days of shared air and half-formed conversations, and not once had she tried to fix what she’d broken. And what would going back change? You hadn’t asked her to stay.
And still…
You hadn’t taken a husband. You’d said you lived alone, and Mor had looked—subtly, carefully. There were no signs of someone else. No second mug on the counter. No coat by the door. No trace of another life built in the time since.
You lived alone.
But it would be selfish—gods, it would be cruel—to think you’d been waiting. To imagine you hadn’t moved on just because you hadn’t moved out. Mortals didn’t have the luxury of stalling their lives. You wouldn’t have put everything on hold for someone who left the way Mor did. For someone who should never have come back.
Mor closed her eyes.
She would winnow soon.
Really.
But then her hands curled into fists at her sides, and she exhaled once—sharp, through her nose—and said, aloud to no one, “Fuck it.”
She didn’t think. Just reached for the tether of her power and let it snap.
The world blurred, folded in, turned itself inside out.
Mor stumbled as she landed hard, knees buckling slightly, breath caught in her throat like she’d run too far too fast. Her magic flickered beneath her skin—too unsteady, too shaken to sustain the movement. She blinked, winded, and realized—
She was standing just outside the house again.
She hadn’t meant to winnow here. Not exactly.
But the body always remembers what the mind tries to forget.
Her hand was on the knob before she could think better of it.
She didn’t knock.
The door opened easily, the hinges quieter than they had any right to be.
The house was warm. Dim. Still.
She stepped inside and let it shut behind her.
The living room was empty. The kitchen dark.
It didn’t take long to find you.
Down the hall, second door on the left. It was half-open, a small invitation in Mor’s mind.
She paused in the doorway.
You sat at the foot of the bed, wrapped in warm, slanting light. Lingerie dark as ink, lace and silk clinging in ways she’d memorized long ago. Something in her stomach lurched violently. She’d torn one just like it once, on a night she couldn’t think about without tasting blood. A night you’d both sworn to bury.
But here it was.
Here you were.
You didn’t look surprised. Only leveled her a steady, devastating look.
“I thought you’d come back,” you said.
Her breath caught hard.
Gods.
Her mouth was suddenly dry, her pulse a hot, low throb between her thighs. She couldn’t stop her gaze from drifting downward—high-cut hips, sheer lace over ribs, the thin straps sharp against your collarbones. Her jaw tightened.
You tilted your head, a small question, an open door.
She stepped forward before she knew she’d moved. Hands catching your waist, mouth colliding with yours like it had been held back for a decade. Not gentle. Not careful.
She kissed you like she was starving—like your mouth might burn out the rot still lodged in her ribs. Her thumbs stroked the edge of lace, slow, claiming, before curling under it. You gasped into her mouth as she pressed you back, half-laughing, half-moan. And then she tore.
The lace ripped like paper beneath her hands—shoulder straps snapping, fabric parting with a vicious, satisfying sound. She groaned against your skin.
“I told myself I’d forget this,” she rasped into your neck, breath hot. “I told myself I wouldn’t ever—fuck—”
Her mouth moved everywhere—your throat, your shoulder, the swell of your breast—open, hungry kisses that bordered on desperate. Nails scraping your sides, she shoved the ruined lingerie down your hips, baring you inch by inch.
You arched into her like no time had passed at all.
She pushed you further up the bed, palms firm under your thighs, following until she was braced over you, hips slotting against yours.
When her hand slipped between your legs, fingers finding slick heat, she cursed under her breath. Then her kisses trailed lower—over your ribs, your stomach—until her breath skimmed where you needed her most.
But before she could close her mouth around you—
“I want to taste you too,” you said, voice hoarse.
Mor froze.
Her eyes lifted, wide and wrecked, and then she made a sound—something between a laugh and a groan—as if you’d just unraveled her with those six words alone.
You tugged on her arm. She let you guide her without protest, turning with you, legs tangling, mouths meeting again—messy, teeth and promise—before you shifted.
Gods.
You both settled, mouths finding each other at once. Her moan tore loose the second your tongue touched her, and in the same instant, she was on you again—hot, restless.
It was messy. Urgent. Familiar in a way that made your eyes sting.
She tasted like heat and salt and heartbreak. She moved against your mouth like she couldn’t help it, like her body remembered even when her mind begged restraint.
Her tongue worked you open with practiced ease, the flat of it dragging slow and sure as her fingers tightened around your hips. She was cursing into you, gasping against you, devouring you like penance—like maybe if she made you fall apart first, it would mean she was allowed to.
But your mouth was no less intent. You licked into her with purpose—slow when she sped, faster when she faltered—driving her higher with every pass.
Her thighs trembled against your shoulders. She whined into your cunt when you sucked just right, and the sound punched your orgasm through you—hard, blinding, your hips jerking against her mouth.
Mor didn’t stop. She licked you through it like she was drinking down something she’d been dying for. And when she came moments later—shaking, breath caught in a strangled cry—you felt the victory in your teeth.
After, you stayed together, breath shuddering, every inch of you still humming. Wrapped around each other in a way that felt more like remembering than anything else.
Summary: In which you get drunk while dancing with your favorite people and Rhysand can't keep his eyes off of you (fluff)
Word Count: 1725
The music pulsed through the dimly lit club, wrapping around you like a heartbeat. Bodies swayed and moved, the energy electric as you danced with Feyre and Mor in the center of it all. The bass seemed to sync with the rhythm of your steps, your arms thrown up as laughter spilled from your lips, carefree and intoxicating. Feyre twirled you with a grin, and Mor pressed her back to yours, her hands grazing your arms as she matched your movements, her golden hair catching the light.
At the edge of the dance floor, you could feel Rhysand’s gaze on you. His dark eyes followed every sway of your hips, every twist of your body, and you caught his smirk whenever you turned your head his way. Across the room, Amren sat perched on a barstool, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd while Azriel leaned beside her, sipping a glass of something dark. Cassian and Rhys were locked in a drinking game, each trying to outdo the other, their competitive banter carrying over the music. Cassian’s boisterous laughter boomed as Rhys finally downed his drink and slammed the glass down with a triumphant grin.
As the song changed, you broke away from Feyre and Mor, your body still moving with the beat, the sway of your hips exaggerated just enough to be playful as you caught Rhys’s attention. His smirk widened as you approached, his dark eyes dragging over you like a caress, lingering on the glow of your flushed cheeks and the curve of your smile. Without hesitation, you reached for his hand, your fingers tangling with his as you tugged him onto the dance floor with a laugh that was half a dare, half a plea for him to join your revelry.
“Don’t tell me you’re too dignified to dance,” you teased, your voice loud enough to be heard over the music.
“Never,” he murmured, his hands settling on your waist as he pulled you close. His touch was steady, grounding you even as the world spun in a blur of lights and sound. You moved together, your bodies perfectly in sync, his hips brushing against yours with each sway. The heat between you was tangible, your hair whipping back as you tilted your head to laugh, the motion exposing your neck to the cool air. His hands slid from your waist to the small of your back, pressing you closer until there was no space left between you. Sweat glistened on your skin, but neither of you cared, lost in the rhythm and each other. His breath was hot against your ear as he leaned in, murmuring something low and teasing that made your pulse race. When he spun you unexpectedly, your laughter rang out, pure and unrestrained, and his smirk softened into something tender as he steadied you again, his hands lingering possessively on your hips.
By the time you all reconvened at a bar table, your cheeks were flushed, your hair slightly mussed from dancing, and your steps had gained a noticeable sway that betrayed just how much you’d had to drink. Amren sipped her drink with a raised brow, clearly unimpressed by the chaotic energy of her companions.
Cassian was halfway through telling an exaggerated story about how he “almost won” against Rhys, gesturing wildly with his hands and sloshing his drink onto the table in the process. Feyre burst out laughing, dodging the spill as she swatted at him. “Cassian, you’re worse than a toddler.”
“Toddlers wish they were as handsome as me,” Cassian shot back, winking at her before continuing his tale with even more embellishment.
Azriel, ever quiet, smirked into his glass as Mor leaned over his shoulder, trying to swipe it. He pulled it away just in time, earning a dramatic groan from her. “Az, come on! Sharing is caring!”
“Not tonight,” he replied, his voice smooth as silk, and Mor stuck her tongue out at him before leaning back in her chair.
Rhys’s arm draped over your shoulders as he leaned into your space, his voice low. “You’re having fun, aren’t you?”
You turned to him, your smile wide and unsteady, poking his chest with a finger. “I’m having the best time. And guess what? Cassian’s beating you at drinking games.”
Rhys raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “I let him win.”
“That’s what losers say!” you declared loudly, earning a cackle from Mor and another round of laughter from Feyre. Cassian, overhearing, puffed up his chest. “Damn right, I won! You’re just jealous, Rhysand.”
Rhys rolled his eyes, but his attention stayed on you, his hand gently squeezing your shoulder. “And you,” he murmured, leaning in so only you could hear, “are entirely too drunk.”
“I’m not drunk!” you protested, the words slightly slurred as you jabbed a finger at his chest for emphasis. “I’m… perfectly fine. Totally steady.”
“Is that so?” he replied. His lips twitched in amusement but he didn't argue further.
Eventually, the group began to disperse, and Rhys practically had to drag you away from your friends, your protests slurred and cheerful as you tried to convince him to stay for just one more drink. "They need me!" you exclaimed, pointing vaguely in the direction of Mor and Feyre, who were still laughing at one of Cassian’s wild stories. Rhys shook his head, a mix of exasperation and delight lighting his features as he took your hand firmly. The cool night air was a relief after the heat of the club, and you stumbled slightly, giggling as your shoes pinched your feet.
“Take these,” you said, pulling them off and handing them to Rhys. He took them with a laugh, slinging them over his shoulder.
“You’re a menace, you know that?” he teased, steadying you with a hand on your back, his thumb brushing a soothing circle over your spine.
“A lovable menace,” you corrected, your grin wide and unrepentant, leaning into him just slightly as you stumbled on the uneven cobblestones. He caught you effortlessly, his other hand curling around your arm to steady you.
When you reached a fountain in the square, you couldn’t resist climbing onto its edge. The moonlight shimmered on the water, and you stretched your arms out as though it were a tightrope, your steps exaggerated and wobbly. Rhys followed a few steps behind, watching you attentively.
“Be careful,” he warned, his tone indulgent but his hand ready to catch you if needed.
“I’m fine,” you started to say, your words tumbling together, just before your foot slipped. You toppled into the water with a loud yelp, the cold splash shocking you into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. You sputtered as you pushed your hair out of your face, looking up to see Rhys standing on the edge, his hands on his hips, shaking his head with mock disapproval.
“Serves you right,” he said, though his grin betrayed him as he stepped closer. When he extended a hand to help you up, you grabbed it with both of yours—and promptly yanked him into the fountain after you.
The indignant noise he made sent you into another round of laughter, your sides aching as he surfaced, spluttering and drenched. The water glistened on his midnight-black hair, dripping down his sharp jaw and collarbone. He splashed you in retaliation, his playful grin softening as he caught your gaze.
“You’re impossible,” he muttered, his tone laced with affection as his hands found your waist, steadying you as the ripples in the water settled. His thumbs brushed over your wet skin, a soft, grounding touch as your laughter faded.
“And yet you love me,” you said, tilting your head up at him, water droplets clinging to your lashes.
“More than you know,” he admitted gently, his gaze dropping to your lips. He kissed you then, slow and sweet, the world around you fading into nothing but the feel of his hands and the cool water surrounding you.
By the time you made it home, you were still giggling, your clothes damp and sticking to your skin. Rhys set your shoes down by the door and helped you out of your wet jacket, his eyes full of fond exasperation.
“I want you,” you murmured, your hands fumbling at the buttons of his shirt as you tugged him closer, your fingers clumsy but insistent.
“You’re drunk,” he said gently, though his lips brushed your forehead as his hands stilled yours, his thumbs tracing circles over the backs of your hands.
“So?” you pouted, leaning into him stubbornly. “I’m not that drunk, Rhys. Just a little… tipsy.” Your voice was petulant, and your lower lip jutted out in a way that made him chuckle.
“You can’t even say the word tipsy without slurring it,” he teased, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face. “And I’m not taking advantage of you in this state.”
You groaned dramatically, flopping against his chest. “You’re impossible! I’m perfectly fine. You just don’t want me!”
“Don’t even try that,” he said, his voice laced with amusement as he guided you to sit on the edge of the bed. “You know I want you more than anything, but not like this. Tomorrow, love, when you’re sober, you can yell at me all you want.”
Your pout deepened, and you crossed your arms. “You’re no fun.”
“I’m plenty fun,” he countered, kneeling to wipe your makeup off with a gentle touch. “You just don’t remember how much fun because you’ve had too many drinks.”
You squinted at him as he slid you into one of his shirts, the fabric soft and familiar. “Fine, but only because I’m tired. And you better be ready for me tomorrow.”
He laughed, settling beside you and pulling you into his arms. “I’ll be ready, menace. Now sleep.”
You let out a soft hum of protest, pushing him flat onto the bed and flopping down on top of him, your limbs sprawled out like a starfish. “This is comfy,” you mumbled into his chest, your words muffled but content. Rhys chuckled, his hands coming to rest on your back, stroking soothing circles.
“You’re ridiculous,” he said, though the smile in his voice was undeniable. “But I guess I’ll allow it.”
“Goodnight, menace,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair as your breathing evened out, and sleep claimed you.
mor but she tackles unsuspecting you with tickles while ur cuddling on the couch (ft a grumpy Amren)
come join my acotar party!
--
You know what's coming the second Mor's hand snakes beneath your belly on the couch, but you're not fast enough to lift yourself up in time to avoid the curling of her fingers.
"No- Morrigan, stop!" You shriek, but it's no use, and her other arm wraps around you before you can flee.
Amren's sharp eyes dart to where you're writhing on the couch, Mor having slipped her lithe body over your own and pinned you face-first into the plush cushions. She's straddling your ass, and she has unmitigated access to your sensitive middle.
"Fight me off," She insists, and you can hear the wicked grin on her features, "Come on, you can do it, pin me down and have your way with me!"
"You two are loathsome," Amren decides, her teeth glinting in the firelight, fangs glistening with bloodlust, "Do you realize you're around other people?"
"Keep going." Cassian grins, nudging your foot with his own where he sits in a chair turned towards the couch, "Az, bet me 5 gold marks."
"Y/N wins." Azriel decides, his eyes tracing your prone figure trapped beneath Mor's, "We've been working on her takedowns."
"I'm already down," You seethe, unable to find leverage as Mor's fingers poke and prod mercilessly at your gut. Laughing undermines your ferocity but it's impossible to resist, and you find yourself gasping for air as she buries her face into your neck to ghost her lips over the ticklish skin there, too.
"Get up," Azriel suggests dryly, and you feel one of his shadows tugging insistently at your leg, eager to help grant you some strength. You let it wriggle beneath your body and prod you upwards, and as soon as you can you flip beneath Mor. It puts your chest against hers, and you force her backwards before she knows what hit her, her head just barely missing the arm of the couch as you press it into the cushion your feet had been pinned against mere seconds ago.
"Aah!" She squeals, laughter pouring from her chest like she'd been the one pinned and tortured, "How did you-?"
"He cheated." Amren supplies dryly, pointing a clawed finger at the shadow that assisted you.
"That's no fair," Cassian groans, spying the sneaky shadow that slinks back to its master, "I'm not paying you."
"A deal's a deal," Azriel smirks, and you take immense pleasure in lifting the hem of Mor's shirt to expose her soft belly, her hands pinned by two more helpful shadows so that she can't swat you away.
"Double the bet," You insist, eyes never leaving Mor's own joyful ones even as you speak to Cassian, "Ten marks she begs for mercy before a minute's up."
"I won't!" She insists, but a single brush of the pad of your thumb over her stomach makes her muscles clench, and a wary giggle spills from her mouth.
"Twenty." Azriel challenges, his eyes narrowed at Cassian, "And thirty seconds."
"You're on." Cassian decides, and you wonder how many fool's bets he's made with the Shadowsinger.
Shadows relentlessly brush against the undersides of her feet, but even Cassian is too warmed by the sight of her eyes crinkled with joy to call Azriel out on his foul play. You delight in raking your fingernails up and down her middle, and when she finally pleads for her life you dip down to press your lips to hers in a victorious kiss.
"Don't start a fight you can't win," You advise her, and your eyes flick up towards Cassian, though your breath still hits Mor's cheeks, "And don't make bets with Azriel."
Poly!ACOTAR x Reader Masterlist | Event Masterlist
Summary: You've been sent to the Continent to negotiate trade deals for the Night Court, with Nesta and Mor as your companions. You struggle to find lodgings for the night, and when you do, it's a room with one bed, just large enough to fit the three of you on.
Warnings: smut, slight bickering between Nesta and Mor
Words: ~3.8k
Author's Note: ohhh boy I did not really except this to get smutty (idk WHAT I was thinking, it's ONE BED??) but here we are. I cut it off cause it was getting too long and I wanted to get it out on time lol. I hope you like it! I loooove this pairing so muuuch it's perfect, I love my girls 🥹 read it on AO3!
18+ only pls
🤍❤️🤍🩶🤍
You were exhausted, and had long since grown silent, while your companions had become louder and more irate, sniping at each other whenever the opportunity presented itself.
The day had started out pleasant enough, with Mor winnowing you and Nesta to the Continent. Rhys had sent the three of you to smooth out the kinks in a few trade deals that had popped up, and you had landed in the largest port city on the western coast, Torva, around eleven. Since arriving, you had spent twelve hours in meeting after meeting, barely having a chance to scarf down a small dinner.
And now?
Now you had been wandering around the city for an hour, stopping at every inn to find rooms for the night. Nesta had stopped going inside after the fifth one, instead waiting outside for the news, a curse leaving her lips with each time you and Mor returned, empty handed.
“Maybe we’ll sleep in the streets,” Nesta groaned as the three of you began walking, the next inn looking to be a few buildings down. “Just what was Rhysand thinking, not preparing lodgings for us?”
Mor rolled her eyes before replying, “He was thinking that we would be done before dinner time, the stupid twat.”
“Twat is right,” Nesta grumbled as Mor pulled open the door of the last inn on this street, and you gave Nesta a tight smile before following her inside, hoping with all your heart that this would be the inn to have something available for the three of you.
You didn’t know how much more of their bickering you could take.
“Hello, how can I help you?” The fae at the counter asked as you and Mor approached, Mor’s elbows landing on the counter as she sighed loudly.
“We’re hoping that you have three rooms available? Though at this point, we’d take anything that you have,” Mor said, doing a good job of keeping her exhaustion and irritation out of her voice.
“I’m sorry, we don’t have three rooms, but we do have one room with a large bed,” the female said hesitantly, her nervous eyes flicking between the two of you. “Will that be alright?”
You bit your lip and exchanged a look with Mor. “I’ll go talk to Nesta,” you said reluctantly when Mor showed no signs of moving. The door swung open with a slight creak and you rejoined Nesta, her eyes trained on the night sky above you. “So…” you started. “They only have one room available, and its only got one bed. Will that be… okay?”
Nesta inhaled sharply before training her silver eyes on you. “I suppose… It will be better than sleeping outside, at the least.”
You nodded in agreement before opening the door once more, Nesta following closely behind you this time, and you both rejoined Mor at the counter, who had been engaging in polite small talk with the other fae.
“We’ll take the room,” Nesta said with authority, the clerk nodding a moment later before handing over a key, taking the small pouch of coins that Mor handed her in exchange.
“Very well, if you ladies would follow me,” she said, stepping out from behind the counter and leading the three of you up the stairs, down a hallway, took a right, and three door down she stopped before a door, stepping aside to allow Nesta to open the door. “We serve breakfast from six to noon, if you’d like something brought up to the room, there is a menu along with a note pad that will send your order to the kitchens. If you need anything at all, I’ll be downstairs through the night,” she said warmly before stepping around the three of you and heading back the way you’d come.
Nesta entered the room first, loosing a sigh at the room. “That bed will not fit the three of us.”
Mor laughed bitterly. “Yes it will, Nesta. You just won’t be able to sleep without touching us.”
She glared at Mor, crossing her arms over her chest. “No, the bed is not big enough for three people to sleep comfortably.”
Her words made Mor scoff. “Comfortably, you say, meaning without touching either of us,” Mor hissed, opening her mouth to continue the budding argument.
“Okay, I’m going to go take a quick bath,” you said, hoping to interrupt them before they really got going. Or at least escape the worst of it while you got cleaned up from the long day. “Mor, you said that could you could give me a change of clothes?”
“Uhm, yeah I’ll bring them in to you in a few minutes,” Mor said, glancing at you as you walked towards the washroom before turning her attention back to Nesta. “You just don’t want to share a bed with other women, do you? Or do you think I’m going to-”
You shut the door to the bathroom just before she finished the sentence, but you could hear Nesta’s enraged response at whatever it was that Mor had accused her of thinking. A sigh left your lips as you slipped out of your clothes, your dress, socks, and underthings falling in a pile over your shoes before you stepped out of it.
The tub filled up quickly with hot water, steam rolling off of it thanks to whatever magic the inn was equipped with. You sank into it eagerly, breathing deeply as you relaxed into the water, the heat melting away your tension.
Until you heard Nesta and Mor’s voices, still arguing back in the bedroom.
You rolled your eyes to the ceiling before closing them and taking a deep breath, sinking your head below the surface.
Under the water was peaceful, calm. All you could hear was your heartbeat and the sound of water bubbling in your ears.
A welcome change.
But eventually you needed to breath, and you moved above the surface, the sound of arguing still greeting you. You sighed as your annoyance with the pair of them grew.
Couldn’t they put it to rest, at least until morning?
You scrubbed yourself quickly, wanting to get out of the tub so you could make them cease whatever petty argument they were currently wrapped in. Within five minutes you were up and wrapped in a towel, your wet hair dripping down your back as you opened the bathroom door.
“Hey,” you said loudly, grabbing the attention of both Nesta and Mor, stopping Mor mid-sentence. “Can the two of you calm down? And Mor, do you have something I can wear?” you asked shortly, fed up with their childish behavior. Nesta, you could excuse, being so young compared to you and Mor. But Mor? Mor was older than you, she should not be behaving like a cranky ten year old.
Color rose to Mor’s cheeks as she stared at you. “Oh, uh… Here,” she said, handing you a night gown made of a dark purple silk.
“Thank you. I’ll be out in a moment, and one of you can bathe.” You shut the door behind you without waiting for a response. Your hair was wrapped in the towel before you pulled the nightgown over your head, the soft silk pleasantly running down your skin, ending just below your hip.
“Mor?!” you asked as you left the bathroom, your brows pulled together. “What is this? You call this a nightgown?!”
Mor smirked at you from her spot in a chair, Nesta standing against the opposite wall. “You needed something to wear, and I provided it,” she explained with a shrug, but the sparkle in her eye told you she might have another possible motive.
You narrowed your eyes at her. A nightgown did not mean lingerie!
“Well, I’m going to go take a bath,” Nesta said, taking your expression as a cue to leave.
“Mor!” you hissed as you approached her, pushing her shoulder back against the chair. “If you want to keep playing this low-key, maybe you shouldn’t be dressing me in nothing!”
Mor merely pulled you into her lap, your thighs spread over her lap - a usual, tempting position for the two of you. But Nesta was in the next room, for an undetermined amount of time -
Mor’s lips on your neck drew a low moan from your throat as you melted into her. “Mor,” you whined softly in her ear, sighing when her hands rubbed your back soothingly.
“You look so pretty in this one, doll,” Mor said against the skin of your neck before pulling you back, eyes greedily drinking you in. “I love this especially,” she said with a smile as she ran her fingers over your breasts, the delicate lace that made up the cups of dress just barely covering your nipples. “And this.” Her hands squeezed your bare ass, two fingers drifting lower to dip into your cunt, just barely. “So wet for me already, love,”Mor hummed in satisfaction.
You sighed against her neck, burying your face in her hair. “Was this your plan? Get me to the Continent and tease me to death?”
Mor chuckled beneath you, pushing her fingers in deeper, setting a slow pace. “Not really, I thought that we would be done with negotiations before dinner, if I’m being honest,” she said as you whimpered into her hair, clenching around her fingers as you thought of how easily you could be caught. “My plan was to make you wear this pretty pretty dress and ride my face until you’re begging for me to stop because you’ve cum too many times,” Mor whispered into your ear lowly, chuckling when you shuddered against her at her words. “But I suppose… Since we’re sharing a bed with Nesta,” she growled, pulling you away from her neck by your hair when you clenched at the sound of her name. “Oh? Does my pretty girl want to share a bed with Nesta too? Hmm?”
She pushed a third finger into you when you didn’t answer, a loud whimper tearing from your lips. “Fuck, yes, okay, yes!” you admitted into the air between you, relieved when Mor pulled you back against her, your hips grinding down on her hand.
“Good, because I think this could be a fun way to get Nesta to admit that she’s wanted to fuck both of us for at least a year,” Mor said with a bright smile before taking her fingers out of you, holding them in front of your mouth. “Open, pretty girl, and you just might get your wish today.” You bit your lip before opening wide, letting Mor push her fingers into your mouth, your tongue licking them clean of your slick as a blush covered your cheeks. “Good girl,” Mor praised, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips before gently getting you to stand again.
Your ears picked up the sound of sloshing water, a sign that Nesta was likely climbing out of the bath, and only a minute or two away from leaving the washroom. Good thing Mor was paying more attention.
“Now, no finishing yourself before I get out of the bath, okay? That goes for letting Nesta make you cum, doll,” Mor whispered to you as she led you over to the bed, drawing back the covers. “But you can make her cum plenty, if she’s willing.”
You nodded, eager to abide by her rules - she always rewarded you so nicely when you did. You slid beneath the sheets, certain that your scent would still be plenty noticeable by the time Nesta came out of the bathroom.
Which was right when Mor had stepped away after pulling the covers over you, wrapped in a towel just as you had been.
“Mor do you…?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Mor pulled another nightgown from thin air, this one made of a silver silk. “Here,” she said as she handed it to Nesta, purposefully brushing her hand softly against hers before releasing the dress.
Nesta merely nodded her head before shutting the door, returning less than a minute later clad in a nightgown that hugged her curves, but was thankfully less revealing than yours. Mor slipped into the bathroom giving you a smile and a wink before shutting the door, leaving you alone in a room with Nesta.
And very aroused.
In practically nothing.
A Nesta was slipping under the covers right next to you!
You laid very, very still against the mattress, refusing to move an inch. She would need to make some kind of move.
“So… You and Mor?”
Your head turned quickly to the left, meeting Nesta’s gorgeous silvery blue eyes. “Uh… Yeah, sorry,” you said sheepishly, your cheeks reddening further.
“No, no, don’t be. I’m just…” Nesta paused.
“You’re just…?”
“Just… Wondering if there’s room to play? With me, specifically,” Nesta said breathlessly. “Mor happened to be talking-”
“What?” you asked, sitting up and letting the covers fall from your chest.
“Just about how much she’s wanted to fuck me since we met,” Nesta explained, one of her hands finding yours. “So when I came back out and the room is absolutely soaked in your scent, which is delicious by the way, I assumed that Mor might have had an ulterior motive for telling me tonight.”
You bit your lip, less nervous now that she’d displayed obvious interest. “Maybe… But I had no idea that this was at all in the cards. Not that I’m complaining,” you said with a flirty smile on your lips as you gripped her hand back. “So… Can I kiss you?”
Nesta smirked at you, and tugged you towards her by your hand. You complied, slotting yourself over her as you had with Mor, your hands reaching to hold the back of her head, her golden blonde hair so soft. Only a moment’s hesitation before you were pressing your lips gently to hers, indulging in the softness of her plush lips.
You attempted to pull back, only for Nesta to tug you in closer, one hand gripping your hair and the other on your lower back. Your mouths moved in tandem, one of your own hands travelling down from her hair to her chest, running over the neckline of the nightgown Mor had lent her.
Nesta broke away gasping when your fingers slipped below, brushing against one of her nipples lightly. You smirked at her as you moved your hand to the right strap, flicking it off of her shoulder before repeating it on the left side, enjoy the uneven breaths Nesta was taking, the way her skin was rising into your touch. A nod from Nesta when you made eye contact, your hands poised to pull the fabric down, let you do so, your eyes glued to the perfect, milky white skin of her breasts and puffy pink nipples.
“Absolutely breathtaking,” you breathed before lowering your mouth to the right one, laving your tongue over her nipple, soaking in the quiet gasp Nesta let out for you. A hand was still knotted in your hair, but her other had travelled from your back to your shoulder when you’d slid down her. And now, she moved it around your shoulder and down your own chest, slipping under the lacy detailing to pinch one of your nipples, a soft moan leaving your mouth, muffled by her skin.
Her hand tightened in your hair, the sting light enough to be pleasant, and you flicked your eyes up to look at Nesta’s face. Silver eyes met yours, closing when you lightly grazed your teeth over her nipple. You pressed wet kisses to the skin of her chest, moving over to her left side to pay love to an equally perfect breast, suckling a dark mark onto the underside of it, loving the soft hiss Nesta let out at the mild pain, soothed away by your tongue a moment later.
“I think this,” you tugged on the silver silk, “Needs to come off.” Nesta grinned at you, releasing your hair and letting you lift the fabric over her head, tossing it off to the side. You scooted down the bed a bit before pulling Nesta down by her hips so her head was resting comfortably on a pillow.
“You’re treating me like such a-” Nesta gasped when your lips connected with her skin again, this time kissing a slow path down her neck, down her chest. “Such a princess, I’m not used to it.”
You paused your movements, looking up at her. “Not used to it? What horrible, awful people have you been sleeping with that they don’t treat you, Nesta Archeron, Lady Death, a goddess in the flesh, like a princess?” You asked softly, saddened that Nesta hadn’t been treated well by her past lovers.
Well, from now on, you would make sure she was treated like a princess, every damn day of her life. You were mostly sure that Mor would be okay with it, given how she set all of this up.
Nesta’s cheeks were red, and she turned her eyes away from yours. “Hey,” you said softly, pressing a kiss to each cheek. “You are amazing, Nesta, and I’m just sad that you haven’t been treated the way that you deserve. Will you let me show you?” you asked her once she was willing to meet your eyes again. “Just a nod or a shake, that’s all I need. I’m fine either way, and Mor will be too, love.”
Nesta bit her lip, her eyes drifting to your lips, dipping lower to see how the fabric of your nightgown had fallen from your chest slightly, letting her see down your front. A tiny nod of her head, and you resumed placing soft, soft kisses down her chest, paying extra attention to both breasts before moving lower. You kissed down the smooth skin of her abdomen, past her bellybutton, making eye contact before moving lower.
Nes placed her hand in your hair, gently pushing you lower, a smile on your lips as you kissed lower once more, over the soft hair at the apex of her thighs before pulling back. You parted her legs gently and settled yourself between them, loving the sharp inhale Nesta took when your breath puffed over her core for the first time.
Your eyes locked onto hers when you pressed the first kiss to her pretty, gleaming pussy, noting the way they shut for a moment before fluttering back open, meeting yours once more. And when you licked a slow stripe up her, you loved the way they squeezed shut, only opening when you pulled away for a moment to move loop both of your arms under her legs, hands curled to rest where her legs and hips meet.
They shut as soon as your tongue flicked over her clit, and you smiled before repeating the action, loving the tiny wiggle Nesta’s hips did in response. You set to feasting on her, dipping your tongue inside of her shutting your eyes at just how soaked she was, proud of your handiwork.
You didn’t move your mouth from her core, even when you heard the bedroom door open and felt Nesta wiggle in your hold. The bed dipped behind you and your hips were lifted up slightly, and you jolted when Mor’s tongue ran over your cunt without a warning.
Mor chuckled when she pulled away. “I thought I could still get my wish to have you sit on my face, doll, unless you don’t think you can multitask?” she asked skeptically, her breath puffing against your core.
You pulled your mouth from Nesta, locking eyes with her, a smile on your face. “I can do both,” you said breathily, not wasting another second before diving back down, sucking on Nesta’s clit gently this time.
“Fuck,” Nesta moaned, her hips grinding into your mouth for a moment. “She can do both, Mor.”
No time was wasted as Mor pulled your hips down onto her face, a moan leaving you, muffled by Nesta’s skin.
You felt like you had died and gone to heaven, with how amazing the night had turned out, Nesta’s cunt on your tongue, and Mor’s tongue on your cunt.
And you could certainly get used to it.
🤍❤️🤍🩶🤍
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