Lipstick Stains
Pairing(s): Azriel, Cassian, Rhysand, and Eris x f!Reader (separate)
Contains: fluff / est. relationship
WC: ~2.4k (approx. 500 - 600 each)
Azriel
It was a strong start to summer. Spring was hardly giving way to unrelenting heat, and despite being Prythian's northernmost court, it was futile.
The heat waited for no one. War didn’t care about the weather. Not that there was a war going on, but Azriel insisted on training like there would be any day. Just in case. It was a force of habit—centuries old—to start training at dawn. Sometimes alone, sometimes with his brothers.
By mid-morning, he’d shed the upper half of his training leathers. Cassian had too. Somewhere between the past two sparring rounds ending in a tie, the swords had been traded for bare knuckles. Dust kicked up and muddied their sweaty skin, with dirt under their nails and in crevices. Warrior versus warrior, some of the strongest of their kind—and the Night Court—had ever seen.
The brothers panted, a stubbornness rivaling the blistering heat, as neither of them wanted to surrender to the other. They were a balanced tangle of muscles, limbs, and wings. Cassian’s provoking comments, teeming with grunts, slipped into Azriel’s ear. He’d heard it all to the point of desensitization, and Azriel wouldn’t budge.
All comments but one. Luck sprinted from Azriel’s corner and into Cassian’s, the general grinning with the taste of victory stuck between his teeth.
“Oh, what’s this, brother?” Cassian teased, catching the barest crimson stain behind Azriel’s ear, tucked under a dark, sweaty curl stuck to his skin. too purposeful, too solid to be blood, and too dark to be a blush. As if to provoke Azriel further, Cassian held his brother in a headlock with one arm as the other quickly moved the lock of hair hiding it. It took a second to register the smearing mark from contact, sweat, and grime, but when he did, Cassian’s shock gave way to great amusement.
It was a second, long enough to give Azriel an opening. He threw his weight back, turning the tables and pinning Cassian face down onto the dirt. Yet Cassian was unbothered, as if his discovery were a far better victory than some sparring session.
Azriel’s eyes narrowed on Cassian, his knee digging into his shoulder blades. "What are you laughing about?” Azriel huffed, sweat dripping down his nose lazily. Cassian laughed harder. Azriel was more confused, getting off of his brother to sit beside him.
Azriel was catching his breath. Cassian was trying, but a lull was followed by another bout of laughter. Azriel rolled his eyes, lightly kicking Cassian’s side. “What are you on about?”
“You should clean the back of your ears better,” Cassian teased, relishing his brother's rare confusion as he pushed himself off the dirt with a grunt. Azriel barely raised a brow. Lo and behold, a pair of curious shadows swirled into that spot only to whisper in his ear.
Lipstick stain. Mate's present was left for Master.
His fingers brushed against your "gift," a flush unrelated to the heat and exertion from training prickling his skin. Cassian's laughter was suddenly distant as he was more focused on the phantom pressure of your lips from the night before. You were giddy, teasing, and delirious with the late hour, and instead of wiping your makeup off like you'd normally do, you decided kissing it off against his skin was much better. You said he was an irresistibly perfect canvas, red smudges gradually fading all over his neck and jaw between giggles. He'd washed them off this morning—or at least he thought he'd gotten them all.
Cassian ruffled Azriel’s hair as he passed by, causing the shadow singer to blink out of his trance.
Azriel was considering three things. 1) How long could he avoid his family, whom Cassian was going to undoubtedly tell right now? 2) He is definitely getting you back for this somehow. And 3) how soon he could make your mark a tattoo.
Cassian
"Gods, where are those two?" More grumbled, tapping her foot impatiently as she glanced at the clock. For the first time in a long time, whether it was luck, the stars aligning, or divine intervention, she had managed to not only find a free night in everyone's schedules but also convince everyone to go out to Rita's.
At least that was the plan.
"If these two aren't down in the next five minutes, I'm ditching them and getting drunk alone," she added under her breath, glaring down the hallway where Cassian's room was. Rhys chuckled from beside her, swirling his wine with one hand as the other one slipped around Feyre’s waist, drawing her off the arm of the couch and into his lap.
"No, you won't," Rhys mused knowingly. “For one, you'd get bored halfway there, and two, you've been begging us to go out for ages. Besides, mates who have been apart for so many weeks could be more insufferable," he added, tipping the glass towards her before taking a sip.
She rolled her eyes and sipped her wine.
It was in between idle conversation that a door opened down the hall, followed by a jolly whistle.
Mor huffed in mock exasperation, leaning back enough to look over at the couch and down the hall. "It took you long enough. If I—"
Her words died, a mixed buzz of amusement and disbelief taking over. She snorted a laugh into her glass as Cassian stepped into the full light. Rhys, Azriel, and Feyre gave similar reactions.
"What the hell are you wearing?" she snickered, turning to look at him fully. The general wore dark trousers and a dark shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbow, showing off his forearms carved from endless hours of training and battle. His hands were in his pockets, and a very proud grin was on his face.
"What? What’s wrong with my outfit?" he replied, as if nothing were unusual. In the center of his chest was a white tie, once spotless silk, now smothered in lipstick stains of varying opacity.
"No," Feyre began, trying and failing to hide her laugh. "It's just...it’s definitely something."
"Thanks, I'm trying something new." Cassian ignored her thinly veiled amusement, his own swallowing his smug pride, especially with his wider grin. "Had some help."
"Don't listen to whatever he's saying!" You called out from down the hall, your mate senses tingling with his smug mischief. You emerged, sparkly, fixing your earrings and giving a playful glare at your mate. "I told him not to wear it, but it was like talking to a brick wall."
Cassian feigned offense, though it didn't last long, not with the cackle erupting from him. He drew you closer, like it was sacrilegious to be in the same room and not touch you in some way. "But why? You gave me a gift. Should I not be using it?"
"It was a gag gift at best," you deadpanned.
"Still a gift. And what better sign of being taken than this?" he added with a smirk, smoothing the tie with a large hand like it was a priceless trophy.
You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you decided this wasn’t a battle you were choosing today.
If it weren't for Cassian remaining near you all night, the tie certainly did work as a deterrent.
Rhysand
The rain was steady, on and off all day. Low-lying clouds swallowed the red mountain peaks surrounding Velaris. Mist kissed your skin and collected like morning dew in your hair as you leaned against a windowsill.
You didn't come here to find something or get away from another. It was happenstance that you were walking back from the kitchen and the view drew you in. The House of Wind was quiet save for the bone-deep hum of its magic and the rain.
You were caught up in drifting thoughts and watching rain trickle through the earth to spot Rhys. Maybe he took advantage of your distraction, or maybe you were used to his safety.
He stood at the end of the hall, hands in his pockets, and enamored joy settled comfortably in his chest. He watched you against the rain, framed by the arched window, with your dewy skin and frizzy hair, and for a moment he wondered if it was too soon to marry you all over again.
"You okay?” he asked lightly instead of a second proposal, though he would’ve in a less restrained state.
Your head snapped his way, surprise softening for familiarity. You huffed a laugh, a hand splayed on your chest. "You scared me.”
Rhys chuckled quietly, closing the gap with languid strides until he stood beside you. He gently nudged your shoulder with his, his way of a halfhearted apology. "What happened to 'I know you by your footsteps’?” he teased, his grin widening as you rolled your eyes.
"I was distracted and didn’t hear you coming. Otherwise, I certainly would’ve, Bigfoot," you sassed. Rhys feigned offense so theatrically it must've been Cassian finally rubbing off on him.
"Oh, so that’s how you want to play,” he growled playfully, pulling you close and playfully nipping wherever he could reach—your cheeks, nose, neck, and ear. "Calling me Bigfoot, huh?” he grumbled between nips and occasional kisses. It was ticklish, the surprised gasp cascading into shrieking laughter. You smelled like rain, sandalwood, and love.
He nipped your cheek a second time before withdrawing enough to let you catch your breath and for him to take in the aftermath. Your frizzy hair clinging to your cheeks and forehead, your hands resting over his heartbeat while yours was still steadying. As beautiful as always, he thought.
He leaned closer, violet eyes narrowed yet twinkling. "Do you yield, beloved?” he whispered, drawing you close enough for your nose to brush against his. You let your eyes soften with affection, feigning defeat at the edges. Rhys was too smug and enamored to catch it.
You moved swiftly, pressing your painted lips to his. An innocent kiss, and Rhys believed it. You smiled innocently up at him, suppressing laughter for a whole minute before breaking. You were weak, dropping your head against his chest with shaking shoulders. Rhysand's arm looped tighter, keeping you close. "What's so funny?” he asked through a confused laugh; yours is always contagious to him.
You glanced up at him, laughing harder. You couldn’t speak, and your poor husband was increasingly confused. It was on your third failed attempt when you gave up and pointed to the mirror hanging behind him. You watched his features morph from confusion to realization (and slight horror) before ending in final amusement.
Rhysand met your gaze again, squeezing you gently as your laughter finally began subsiding. "I see," he muttered with a grin. He returned the gesture, giving you a firm kiss before mimicking his earlier antics until your lipstick smudged all over his lips and your face. He vaguely heard your startled noise melting into a laugh, which only fueled the fire.
He withdrew eventually, taking you in for a third time, frazzled, a little dazed, and sharing lipstick stains with him. "There. Now we match.”
Eris
You could handle yourself. Eris knew you were more than capable; you'd been doing this before you met.
It was harder to convince a primal instinct older than time and centuries of history ingrained in Autumn Court soil and memory. His own history.
You were safe—just busy in your studio all day. He missed you, but he knew better than to interrupt you, especially when it was something you loved. So Eris kept himself distracted with the never-ending High Lord duties.
The candles had burned steadily, flames and parchment fluttering with the breeze from the cracked windows. His study smelled like it always did: spice, ink, and mahogany. He'd been in his study since you'd left early afternoon, waiting for your return—or simply any correspondence—despite knowing there was nothing threatening about a bookbinding studio. Nothing you couldn't handle, at least.
He was in the middle of reading a report from Rhysand when a little folded paper materialized on his desk. Unsuspecting except for the subtle fragrance of leather and your perfume hovering around it. The report was quickly neglected for it.
“I can feel you missing me from all the way over here. I'll be home soon.”
Eris’s thumb grazed over your handwriting. Neat, simple, and sweet.
"You say it like it's a crime," he scrawled on the back of your note with an angry, doodled version of himself despite his little smile. It was more for your amusement than his conviction. The note vanished just as it came. Your bemusement came down the bond like tinkling bells. His chest swelled with pride, wishing he could see your smile for himself and hear your laughter.
"Now you're putting words in my mouth." Your reply arrived right under his empty complaint. Additionally, you added a doodle of yourself beside his, two little stick figures holding hands.
He couldn't resist, not when you set it up for him so perfectly. "I could put something else in your mouth if you'd prefer." He scrawled, adding a wink at the end, and sent it on its way. He felt the precise moment you registered his words. Your emotions coming all at once from flustered to incredulity were like a beacon in his chest despite being halfway across town.
He laughed softly when your reply was purely doodles. A side-eye, another vomiting, and lastly, you wide-eyed and blushing. A crippling fondness and delight swallowed him whole, the dopey grin wide and lovesick in the privacy of his study. He imagined you making the same faces as your doodles as a separate note appeared.
"You're gross. I'll be home in an hour. I love you, stinky." Eris huffed a laugh at your strange term of endearment. Warm softness bloomed in his chest as he spotted your special signature, one you began doing early on in your relationship. A scribbled heart with your lipstick stain beside it. Your kiss imprint—he could recognize the mark, the ridges forming a unique print. the only one he’d care to memorize. It was like a secret message just for him, sending him vicarious kisses and your love.
His thumb grazed over the rouge, faintly warm from your kiss moments ago. A flick of his hand and a sleek wooden box spawned on his desk. Unsuspecting and boring but enchanted to hell and back. He set both your notes gently with the rest, a growing collection through the years. The most sacred pieces in any autumn court vault.
The hour could not pass soon enough.
A/N: Here's this brain worm I've been having :p
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