I feel like I keep randomly disappearing and popping back up, smh!! Anyways, I just wanted to update you guys on what's been going on in my life to give you a little background.
School has been ✨HECTIC!✨ I'm going into the medical field—not a big career or anything like a doctor or surgeon. I'm going into the pharmacy side of the medical field, a pharmacy tech to be more specific.
I finally finished all my courses, modules, and mock exams. ✨Sighhhh.✨
And I've been doing my externship for the past two months. So in other words, I haven't had a day off in almost two months 😭😭, except I finally did on Memorial Day 🌝 (for my American babes, iykyk), and this past week I've been going to the pharmacy more than usual to catch up on my hours because that one day ruined my schedule. 😣🔫
Since I've still been working full-time—basically my 40 hours a week as a retail manager—then I spend my two days off at the pharmacy. At least the pharmacy staff is cool. And this upcoming Monday is my last 8 hours at the pharmacy before I have to schedule my state exam to become a ✨licensed✨ pharmacy tech.
Which means I'm going to be studying and miserable for the next couple of weeks 🙂, because I'll be upset if, after a year of this work, I don't pass my final exam.
I haven't even been reading for my 2026 reading challenge. Part of me thinks I can still make it to 100 books this year; guess we'll find out if I get it done 🙄. Hopefully, I'll get some inspiration for some stories and post them, and finally finish my unfinished Kinktober fics. I am, however, going to start planning the pairings for this year's Kinktober fics, and they will be all finished before October even starts! 😏 (btw this is meant as a funny sardonic smirk, not a pervy one lol)
Warm panting breaths wash over the soft skin of Aelin’s neck the closer you get to your peak. One of your arms is loosely draped around her toned shoulders, the other cradling the back of her head, your slender fingers buried in the roots of her silky golden blonde hair. “Aelin, Aelin,” you moan against her heated skin.
She shushes you, kissing your temple, “keep going, sweets,” she rasps. Just as much out of breath as you are. Her nails leave little crescent moons on the swell of your hips as she guides you back and forth on her toned thigh. Toned and lithe from years of training, fighting, surviving.
But, right now? It’s perfect for riding again. Perfect for your swollen little clit to rub against.
Your thick thighs start to tremble on either side of her thigh. Heat spreads under your skin, before it pools in your lower back. You nuzzle her slender neck, your lips brushing her hot skin, “Fireheart, I’m so…” *a whimper* “so close.”
Hips jerking, faltering from the direct stimulation on your swollen bundle of nerves.”I— I can’t,” you whine.
Aelin lets go of your right hip, sliding it up your sweat slicked spine, “no,” she grunts. “Keep fucking going. Like the needy little brat you are.” She growls, her hand fisting in your messy hair. Guiding your head until your forehead is pressing against hers.
“Take what’s yours, sweets.” She murmurs against your lips. Then she kisses you. Hard and starved. Your lips moving against hers, just as starved. Both of you devour each other in a kiss that can only be described as greedy and frantic.
Always needing the other like air.
Her left hand leaves your hip, sliding back to grip your ass as she guides your movements. Making you rut against her thigh, slick and wet from your arousal. “Good girl,” she groans against your lips. Earning another whine from you. “Fucking me so good.” She praises.
Even if she’s the one guiding you. Moving you. All because her little brat can’t handle the stimulation when she’s close to the edge.
You pull back from the kiss. Sucking in a sharp breath at the fast pace she’s moving you. Sitting up just enough to cradle her jaw, your eyes burning into her turquoise ones— rimmed with gold— “I always fuck you so good,” you pant. “Right, mommy?”
Aelin’s pupils blow wide at that fucking pet name. At the way ‘mommy’ drips from your lips in that sweet little fucked out tone you know drives her crazy.
Her grip on your ass tightens before she pulls it back and comes right back down in a sharp smack. Making you jolt. “Yeah, my little girl always fucks me good.” She smacks your plush ass again, making you yelp at the sharpness of it before gripping your ass again— this time with both hands.
Neither one of you point out that she’s still the one guiding your hips to rut against her. “Then you cum so pretty for me after.” She grunts, her eyes drinking in the way your flushed face contorts with pleasure. Then dips her gaze down to your perky tits bouncing as you ride her.
“Mh-hm,” nodding frantically. Getting pushed even closer to the edge at the way she stares at you so unabashedly, so hungry, it feels like your nerves are on fire. Set alight by the Queen of Terrasen who has fire in her veins. “Gonna cum for you—“
She grinds you down harder on her, lowering her mouth to one of your bouncing tits and sucking your nipple into her mouth. Sucking hard as her warm tongue flicks against the hard bud. Your hands slide away from her jaw and fist in the back of her golden blonde tresses.
“Gods— Aelin— fuck!” You gasp, your entire body shaking atop her thigh as your orgasm barrels through you. Your hips jerk in time with each spurt of squirt as you soak her thigh. Finally going limp against her, spent and sticky as harsh breaths leave you.
Aelin releases your nipple with a wet pop, “so fucking pretty,” she says and you can hear the smirk on her lips. Even with your eyes closed, still reeling.
Author’s note: I miss my wife (wish I could read tog for the first time again 😣) Finally going to start getting these done so I can write different fics.
Thank you to everyone who voted. I love you guys sm😭😭. I’m going to post three new masterlists from three different series/universes right now.
I started writing a couple fics for those characters, but I’m going to finish my kinktober fics first and either post the new character fics in between or post them after.
Summary: Azriel makes it up to you after your allergies get really bad while on a mission in the Spring Court.
Warnings: Smut
Word Count: 1.1k
****
You stand in your ensuite in the House of Wind. Your three older sisters and you each got your own rooms, well Feyre technically shares hers with Rhys. But, you each have your own space.
Thank gods, you love your sisters but you’d had enough of sharing a room— a bed with them back in the mortal lands. Elain would take up most of the bed, Nesta hogged the blankets, and Feyre kicked in her sleep. Kicked you specifically since you two would always be next to each other.
And right now with you having the sniffles because you’re allergies are horrendous from letting Az taking you in a fucking flower field in the Spring Court. You’re grateful about being in your own space as pollen slowly tries to kill, knowing Nesta and Elain would complain about you sneezing. Feyre would probably try to get you something for your allergies and you’d be too stubborn to take it.
“Achoo!” You sneeze, glaring at yourself in the reflection of your bathroom mirror. Shaking your head at yourself. “Stupid Illyrians,” you mutter but there’s no real irritation behind it. The tip of your nose is pink from tissue-burn because you keep having to blow it.
“Never again,” you tell yourself, frowning while you continue pulling out flower petals and pieces of grass from your hair. A few of Azriel’s shadows float beside your head as they help you pull them out. One of them glides over your cheek, almost caressing it, as if to say “whatever helps you sleep at night”.
“Traitor” you mutter half heartedly. Sniffling again, but your lips twitch wanting to curve up into a grin. Knowing his shadow is right.
The same little shadow quickly taps your cheek, like a little kiss before getting back to work and getting the greenery out of your hair.
“You’re right,” Az suddenly says from where he’s leaning against the doorframe. One wing in the ensuite, the other in your room. “They are traitors,” he almost pouts. His voice is that same soft raspy tone that always makes your knees weak. “I told them to remain in Spring after I got their report, but instead they chose to leave and come help you.”
The few shadows working in your hair, stop for a second as if listening to him, the tips of them bobbing just slightly like they’re nodding. Like they’re all agreeing with his assessment, “yes. We did leave. To be with her instead”, they’d say if they could actually speak.
You give him a smug, dimpled smile when they go back to their tasks. “At least they care about me while I slowly lose the battle to pollen,” you mutter. Azriel rolls his eyes, pushing off the doorframe to make his way to you.
He tucks in his massive wings to slip through the doorway, a couple other shadows coil around his broad shoulders, before they disappear and reappear on the counter of your sink. One grabs a tissue just in time and presses into your nose when you sneeze again. Then dabs a clean part of the tissue on the red tip of your nose.
“Aw, my poor little star,” Az coos mockingly as his shadows fuss over you. “Can’t handle a simple bed of flowers,” he teases, walking right up to your back. His body radiating warmth through his leathers to you as he presses his front to your back. Sliding his hands over your middle as he dips his head to kiss your bare shoulder.
Your curvy frame clad in a simple pale blue night gown, the hem only long enough to cover the curve of your ass. You usually sleep naked, but you were going to bathe before bed once you got all the flower petals and grass out of your hair. Azriel’s hazel eyes lock onto yours through the mirror.
His broad, muscular frame completely dwarfs your curvy one. A full two heads taller than you. Your head brushes his chest. “Want me to make it up to you?” He asks, ducking his head to rest his chin on top of your head. His big scarred hands slide up and down your sides in a soothing manner.
Rolling your eyes, and crossing your arms over your chest. “Your dick isn’t going anywhere near me,” you scoff. “That's how I got in this predicament in the first place.” You remind him; sniffling, red tipped nose, with watery eyes.
The shadows bob again, like they’re nodding. Siding with you, “exactly”, you imagine they’re saying.
Az huffs out a chuckle. Squeezing your hips, “that’s not what I had in mind.” He breathes. Kissing your shoulder again, then nuzzling your neck, “let me rephrase, little star.” He whispers in a tone that promises you’ll be cumming again in a few minutes. “Let me make it up to you…”
Before you can even ask how, he sinks to his knees behind you. Pushing up the hem of your nightgown so it pools around your hips. Baring your ass and already slick cunt to him. In your defense when are you not turned on by him.
He sighs in contentment when each one of his scarred hands palm a plush cheek, using his thumbs to spread them apart and see your entrance flutter in time with your breaths. “Fuck,” he growls, “still dripping from when I fucked you earlier,” he says.
And it’s true, you’re still full of him. Then before you can even say anything he dives in. Licking a broad strip from your clit, through your messy folds, to your pink rim. “Taste’s just like mine,” he moans. He swirls his warm tongue over your tightest hole again before dipping into your cum-filled entrance.
You moan, thighs trembling as your palms slam against the marble counter. “Az,” you gasp and push your hips back against his mouth, your hips chasing his warm tongue on their own accord. He grunts in approval, blunt finger tips digging into the flesh of your ass as he glides his tongue in and out of you.
Tasting you and eating his own spend from your perfect cunt. He pulls back, panting, “I could die happy right now,” he says unrepentantly. Then smacks one cheek, making it jiggle. “Gods I love your ass.” He chuckles hoarsely.
Then he spreads you open again, lapping over your pink rim. Swirling the tip of his tongue over it, his spit dripping down his chin and your slick folds. He lowers his head and drops one of his hands on your thighs. Squeezing it, in a silent signal for you to spread your thighs wider apart and you do. His lips sealing around your swollen bundle of nerves and sucking on it like his life depends on it.
It doesn’t take much longer before you're cumming on his tongue. Toes curled on the mat in front of your sink, eyes rolled back, and knees buckling. Clawing against the counter, scrambling for purchase as he keeps working you through it. His grip on you not letting you run as he devours you completely until you’re a trembling begging mess.
1k Celebration Masterlist
Author’s note: This fic is a part two to “Bed of Flowers” but can be read alone. Thank you so much for 1k!!
Summary: You tell Eris about your brother, Rhys's suggestion for you to marry Tarquin, the High Lord of Summer to form an alliance for the upcoming war with Hybern.
Warnings: Mentions of Beron, violence & smut.
Word Count: 1.5k
****
You stir well past noon, completely naked under the soft white sheets pooling around your waist. Leaving you uncovered from the waist up. The warm sunlight of the Summer Court seeps in through the open window, bathing you in its golden glow. You reach for Eris, sucking in a sharp breath at movement, your body sore from all the rounds you two went all night.
You don’t feel him on his side of the bed, the sheets no longer warm, but instead cold under your touch. Making you pout. You know he hasn’t gone back to the Autumn Court, he would’ve woken you up if he had.
“Er?” You call out, your voice echoing through your small cozy villa. Sitting up in bed, your hair sticking up every which way from Eris pulling on it while he fucked you in everyone one of your favorite positions. “Where are you?” You ask a little louder.
Pulling the bed sheets back, you see all the little bruises blooming on your hips. Dozens matching the shape and size of a certain Autumn Court nobles blunt fingertips. Some of his thick seed drips out of you, running down your inner thigh as you get off the bed. Your legs a little unsteady.
“Kitchen,” Eris answers. The sound of food being plated on a fine porcelain plates flits to your ears. “Stay in bed,” he calls over his shoulder.
But it’s too, you’re only a few steps away from him. Seeing his muscles shift under his ivory skin, the light pink scars on his back— courtesy of his father’s cruelty. Then your eyes lower, focusing on the way his broad shoulders taper down to his waist.
The heir of Autumn stands stark naked in the kitchen of your little hideaway. His firm toned ass and his muscular thighs are a welcome sight. You walk up behind him, sliding your arms around his middle, kissing his back. “Too late, love,” you sigh softly in contentment.
He sighs back in mock frustration, his hands pausing midair; a pan of scrambled eggs in one hand and a wooden spatula in the other. “You just don’t listen, do you, Princess?” He huffs, a small smirk playing on his lips.
You shrug, rubbing idle circles over the lean muscles of his abdomen. “Mhh, sometimes.” You answer, watching him finishing plating your breakfast, well lunch technically since it’s well past noon. “Only when it suits me,” you grin against his back.
He shakes his head, chuckling. “Only when it suits you,” he echoes back. “Right.” He says like he’d expect nothing less. Eris reaches a big calloused hand down, squeezing the soft flesh of your thigh. “Well, princess. Right now it suits you to eat.” The red haired male says, in that no-nonsense tone he always uses when taking care of you.
You huff dramatically, but can’t deny the way butterflies bloom in your tummy whenever he’s soft and sweet around you. Which is why you let go of him and pad over to the sofa, a few seconds later and you take a seat on it. Your sore thighs pressing together at the sight of Eris walking towards you with a plate balanced in each hand. Yours and his.
His massive cock, thick and heavy, juts out with step as he approaches. His tips flushed rosy pink, thick veins prominent along his 10 inch shaft. Eris notices your gaze, his gold eyes shining with what you could only describe as male satisfaction as he drops onto the sofa beside you. Handing you your plate, “later,” he promises. “Eat up.”
Then you two eat breakfast in comfortable silence. Your thighs pressed together as you sit beside each other. The sound of the ocean waves crashing down on the beach and the birds chipping filter through the open terrace doors like white noise.
After you’re done eating, he gathers both plates and heads over to the sink. Washing them, so domestic, so different to what everyone expects from the cruel heir or autumn. You lean against the counter with your hip, watching him.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” you say tentatively. Your brows furrow as you stare at his hands. Sudsy with soap and washing the dishes. “I thought it’d be best if you heard this from me as opposed to someone else.”
He glances at you, setting the sponge down and turning on the faucet to rinse the first plate. “Hmm?” He grunts. Looking back at the task at hand.
“Rhys, suggested I marry,” you tell him, his hands faltering for only a heartbeat before he goes on rinsing. “He thinks I should marry Tarquin.” You add hesitantly. Shoulders tense as you fight the urge to pick at your cuticles.
“No,” is all Eris says in response. Not looking over at you.
You continue, “he thinks it’d be good to form an alliance between the Summer and Night Court for the upcoming war with Hybern.” You sigh, running your hands through your mused hair. Half mused from and the other half is because of how much Eris was pulling on it last night.
He shuts off the water and puts the plates up, then dries his hands with more force than necessary before standing in front of you and cradling your jaw gently. Tipping your head up to hold his gaze. “I said, no, Y/n.” He repeats leaving no room for argument.
Then before you can retort, his big hands grip your hips and lift you up onto the counter. He stands between your spread thighs. Drinking in your naked form with a possessive hunger. “You’re really gonna stand here and tell me you might marry another male when you’re still dripping my cum?” He all but snarls.
Your heartbeat races from his words, but it stutters when he slips two thick long fingers inside you. An obscene squelch coming from your tight little cunt as he scoops some of his spend out. Holding it in front of you, “See. You’re mine, Princess.” He growls. “You’ve been letting me pump you full of me for a while now.” He points out.
“Eris—“
He presses his sticky, cum-covered fingers against your plush bottom lip. “Suck.” He demands and gods help you, you do. Pupils dilating at your combined taste. Eris leans in, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with his free hand. “How do you know my seed didn’t already take?” He whispers.
Your eyes flash at his whispered words. You’ve been suppressing that thought for a while now. For a few reasons.
You release his fingers with a wet pop, “Eris,” you try again. “Your father would have me executed.” You remind him, because even though you’re high fae, you’re only half. Thanks to your mother, your half Illyrian. “He hates the Night Court anyway. And— and you don’t get along with the Inner Circle. We’d never make it.”
Eris’s jaw clenches at the points you make. Listening to them carefully. “Then we kill my father.” He answers simply. “And I wouldn’t be marrying the inner circle, I’d be marrying you.” He points out. His gold eyes shining with determination.
You sigh and shake your head, another reason on the tip of your tongue.
“Fuck it—“ Eris snaps and that’s all the warning you get before he sinks his massive cock inside you. It’d be a lie to say you weren’t wet since you saw him making breakfast, watching the way his cock bobbed as he walked, and then when he made you eat his cum off his fingers.
“Mmh!” You whimper, burying your face in his bare chest. Your arms wrap around his shoulders as he grips the underside of your thighs for leverage as he pounds into you. “Oh! Gods, please!” You moan, nails clawing down his back.
“That’s it,” he grunts. Tugging you closer to the edge of the counter to change his angle. Getting as deep as possible. “That’s it, let me in so I can pump you full nice and deep,” he groans. Grinding into you with precision, his cockhead hitting your sweet spot with every stroke.
“Yes— fuck yes,” you beg him. Panting against his sweat slick chest. His body radiates heat like a furnace. “Mark me, Eris.” You tell him desperately in between ragged breaths. Your wet cunt flutters around him.
He growls at your begging, positioning into you harder. Faster. “Gonna mark you so fucking deep that it’ll take so I can marry you,” he promises then you both cum. Together. Your orgasms hitting both of you just as hard as the ocean waves crash into the rocks below your villa.
And true to his word he pumps you full and deep of his thick white release as you cum all over his cock. Your legs trembling on either side of his hips. He grinds into you as his balls empty. Trying to keep you stuffed full so his seed can’t escape. So it’ll stick. “You’re mine,” he rasps. Holding you to him.
Your hearts; both his and yours beat rapidly. In sync as one as you nod. Leaning into him. “Yours,” you breathe.
1k Celebration Masterlist
Author’s note: This fic is a part two to the fic "Meet Me At Our Spot” if you didn’t notice, but can be read alone.
Summary: Rhys tries to lie to you about not wanting you, but you know the truth.
Warnings: Brief mentions of violence, death, Beron, Amarantha and smut.
Word Count: 2.5k
****
The loud groan of the stone doors of the throne room Under the Mountain sounds as it opens. Followed by sharp clicks of heels, moments later amarantha comes into view, climbing the dais before taking her seat. Trailing silently behind her is the Highlord of the Night Court. Dressed in infamous Night Court black.
Amarantha lifts a hand and everyone bows their head. A wave of warmth radiating from Beron. He loathes having to bow to anyone else— especially to a female. More so that it’s Amarantha. She spouts whatever bullshit she usually does and then announces for the same debauched revelries to begin.
As she speaks, the massive stone doors groan again. Followed by the soft rapt of heels against the stone floors. Sure and steady. Dangerously calm. Yours.
The long blood red colored silk of your gown clings to your body, your curves like a second skin. The long hem of it licking at your ankles the same way your flames lick at your finger tips when you summon your powers. Your hair cascades down your back, the ends of it swaying tantalizingly against the bare skin of the small your back, thanks to the low open back of your dress.
The first pair of eyes on you— your gown— are Rhysand’s. His violet gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary before he looks back to Amarantha.
And you wonder if maybe, just maybe he knows what it symbolizes. Few might remember, most may not.
Amarantha's cold black gaze slides to you when she hears the click of your heels against the stone floor. Her cold features twisting into something cruel and deadly as she lets her gaze run over your gown. You make your way over to where your family stands, head held high with a spine of steel.
Your pointed ears twitch at the low murmurs and gasps you hear when the others around you realize what you’re wearing. What it means as you go to stand beside your twin brother, Eris, Who stands next to your father Beron.
“Rhysand,” Amarantha purrs, too soft to be anything but. “The beacon of Forest House. Tell me what color does it glow when it calls its banners to war?” She asks, her gaze never leaving yours— never leaving you.
Rhysand’s gaze flicks back to you, then he smirks, “Blood Red”. He answers, naming the color of your gown.
Amarantha nods sharply, her nail tapping on the armrest of her throne as she stares you. Then, “Daughter of Autumn,” she commands, not asks. Waiting for you to step forward, once you do, she waits. To try to make you uncomfortable with the silence. “What a choice for tonight’s festivities.”
You smile at her, smoothing your hands over the curves of your hips. The luxurious silk fabric smooth under your touch. “Suits me, doesn’t it?” You ask, your voice even. And it throws her off. Having expected you to cower.
She grunts, then nods for you to rejoin your family, her dark gaze watching you as you do before she starts her speech again.
Your twin brother’s eyes flick over to you as you saunter up beside him. He gives you a quick once-over, sighing, “You said you weren’t going to do anything,” he says only low enough for you to hear. “You really think this a good idea, baby sister?” Eris asks after a minute, trying to act unconcerned.
Your gloss painted lips curve into a soft smirk, the deep dimples on your cheeks making an appearance as you stare straight ahead. Staring at Amarantha on her throne. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, brother.” You answer, finally glancing at him. “And don’t call me baby sister,” you huff. “I’m 9 minutes younger than you, not centuries.”
At your last comment, Eris nudges your shoulder with his. “You’ll always be my baby sister, Y/n.” He says to annoy you, but you can hear the affection behind it that only a few ever get from him. “Even when we’re wrinkled and grey.” He teases, then nudges you again so you’ll look at him again. “Be careful,” he mouths.
Then, just like every other night we all do. But, tonight you have one thing on your mind, try to make a deal with the Highlord of the night court to kill Amarantha. “Stay with mother,” you whisper to Eris, the rest of your family can go to hells. Except your mother, the Lady of Autumn, and your youngest brother, Lucien. But, he’s currently abed in one of the many rooms under the mountain while he heals from being whipped a couple days ago.
It’s what drives you to approach the dais. Within seconds you’re standing right in front of the first step. The sight that greets you when you approach is Amarantha wearing a wicked smirk as she looks up at Rhysand, a sensual smile curving his own mouth.
But, his shoulders are too tense, even though you can tell he’s trying his damndest to stay relaxed. As if he’s trying to not recoil from her touch. Her head swivels to your like a viper at the sound of your heels. “Yes?” She grits out through a smile that’s barely more than a baring of teeth.
You ignore her. “Highlord, one of my brothers has need of one of your wraiths.” You say to Rhysand directly. His gaze hardens for a second, a monster to many, and yet for nearly 50 years he’s protected those from his court stuck with him under the mountain. Like the twin wraiths Nuala and Cerridwen.
“What for?” He says lowly, it’s not secret your brothers are cruel. Well except for Lucien and Eris, Eris only pretends to be. Does he take it too far at times? Yes. Does he do it for a reason? Also yes. The others however? Utterly disgraceful.
“Oh, you know,” you smile, finally acknowledging Amarathana with a nod. “To do as our queen commanded. To revel. Rejoice.” You answer, the title complete bullshit. It sounds more like you’re just saying it to appease a toddler. “Come now. Fetch one of them or Carmine will hunt them down himself.” You say about one of your younger brothers. “He is rather impatient.”
Then you spin on your heel and head for the chamber doors that lead to the hall outside the throne room. The tail of your gown billows behind you. Slipping through the door you wait at the end of the hall, tucked away in a dark shadowed alcove.
You look towards the doors waiting for Rhysand to appear when you suddenly feel big strong arms wrap around you. One bands across your middle, the other pressing over your mouth. Pulling you into the darkness, before you can conjure a single flame.
One second you're in the alcoves, the next you're hidden in the shadows. You grip the muscular forearm wrapped around your with both hands and let your flames do the rest. “Ow! Fuck!” Rhysand growls and lets go of you.
“Don’t be a big baby,” you say, barely suppressing an eye roll. “It wasn’t even that hot.”
He scoffs, “Right. Like you didn’t just burn me.
You crane your neck back to look up at him, only you can’t really see him. Both of us swathed in shadow. You can’t even see your own fingers in front of you, just feel them. “You used your powers first. Now we’re even.”
“Not even close,” He replies. “And tell your bitch of a brother, Carmine to stay the fuck away from the members of my court.” He growls, standing so close to you that you can feel his chest rumble from it.
You grin, but he can’t see it. “Don’t worry, Carmy won’t go near your beloved court members,” you reassure him. “My brothers won’t sully themselves with lesser fae.” Your words are blunt but true.
You more so feel rather than see his big hand wrap around your throat, talons grazing your soft skin. “All of you brothers?” He sneers. “What about little Lucien,” Rhysand accuses, “last I heard he doesn’t mind lesser fae.” He says, his tone implying he knows about Jesminda.
That he knows about the way Lucien fell for her— a lesser fae. If he knows about that then he also knows that your father ordered her to be tortured and executed in front of Lucien. And that Beron allowed you other brothers to hunt and try to kill Lucien as he fled our home court.
You growl at the mocking title he gives Lucien; little Lucien, about the way he so easily talks about what happened between your sweetest brothers' most tragic moments. “Watch your fucking mouth, Rhysand.” You hiss and summon your flames to curl around his hand that’s wrapped around your throat. Burning.
Rhysand yelps and lets you go, “stop doing that,” he growls beyond irritated and winnows both of you out of the alcove. “Fucking brat,” he mutters under his breath. The sleeve of his black tunic completely burnt off, revealing a strong corded pale forearm.
You take a look at your surroundings— a bedroom chamber. His chamber from the looks of it. You sigh tiredly, emotionally that is. “Relax, if I wanted to burn you, you’d be a piece of charcoal.” You tell him, his violet eyes narrow at your words and before he can retort, you continue. “Just… don’t talk about Lucien.”
He arches a dark brow. “And Eris?”
“No.” You answer instead. “You can’t talk about him either.” Rhys scoffs softly but doesn’t push it, just watches you sit down on the edge of his bed. Your blood red gown going taut across your chest and hips.
“So,” he says after a beat, nodding at your dress. “You really think it’s a good idea to provoke her?” He says, and you know exactly who he’s talking about. Amarantha.
“She provoked me when she ordered Tamlin to give my baby brother lashings till he was unconscious and denied him the healer to fully heal him.” You seethe, crossing a thick thigh over the other, the slit in your gown exposing your soft smooth skin.
Rhysand steps forward. “I would’ve thought you hated your brothers,” he says carefully. Big hands curling around the hem of his ruined tunic before pulling it off over his head. Revealing his broad shoulders and muscular abdomen.
“I do,” you answer smoothly. Taking in his pale skin before looking away, focusing on the hearth instead. “Except for Lucien and Eris.” You clarify. “Carmine, Jasper and August though? They can go fuck themselves.”
That earns you a low chuckle as he tosses away the ruined tunic, only in his trousers as he moves to sit beside you on the bed. A few inches of space between you. Neither of you say anything for a few minutes, the Highlord stares down at his pale hands. Big, veiny, long thick fingers. He curls them into fists on his thighs.
“Last time I saw my brothers, was the last time I saw the sun,” he whispers so low you almost don’t catch it. Your heart pangs at the raw flicker of pain in his violet eyes as he stares down at his pale hands— lacking their usually sun tanned warmth— and before you can think better of it, you reach for his hand. Slender fingers lacing with his thick ones.
He doesn’t pull his hand away but his head snaps up, something unreadable flashes over his face, you both take a breath and then his lips are on yours. You falter for a second before kissing back. Your heart thunders in your chest when he guides you to lay back, never breaking the kiss as he positions you underneath him.
“This doesn’t mean I want you, darling little fox,” he murmurs against your lips between kisses. One big calloused hand slides from your calf, up your leg to your thick thigh, his warm skin on yours thanks to the deep slit in your gown.
“You’re a beautiful liar, Highlord,” you whisper back, not buying it. Your fingers sliding up to thread in his raven black hair. He groans into your mouth when you tug on his hair. His other hand pushes the silk fabric of your gown up until it’s pooling around your waist.
“Gods you’re insufferable,” he mutters, pulling away from your lips to lick and suck at the swell of your tits that are on display because of your plunging neck line. “But so fucking pretty,” he adds. Placing wet opened mouthed kisses anywhere he can.
You moan under his ministrations, back bowing off the bed when you feel a blunt finger tip rub you through your lace thong. “Rhysand, we shouldn’t,” you tell him, because of Amarantha, because of what he is to her. Here— under the mountain they call him her whore, but still your thighs part wider. Making room for him as he works his way down your body.
His violet eyes flick up to yours. “Fuck her,” he snarls and rips your lace panties clean off. Groaning half agony, half reverence at the sight of your folds glistening with slick. “This is the one thing I’ve actually wanted to do in nearly half a century,” he says, spreading your folds open with his thumbs.
Your cheeks burn scarlet at the way he spreads you open, staring hungrily at the your tight entrance flutters. “Help me kill her”, you whisper and hold you breath before add, “thing or me?” You barely manage to keep your voice from cracking. Needing to know if he wants you or a distraction.
He doesn’t answer, instead he keeps you pinned under his body and gaze as he licks a stripe from your entrance up to your clit. Both of you shudder at the contact; him from your taste and you from his warm tongue. “Rhysand,” you whimper, fisting the comforter underneath you.
He licks and sucks at your slick cunt. His chin glistening with your essence. He lifts his head only enough to speak, “Rhys,” he rasps. Voice thick with want and need. “Call me Rhys, not Rhysand. Not when I’m doing this with you,” he says. Jaw clenching at the vulnerability of his own request.
You nod softly, reaching for his hands again, he intertwines your fingers together this time, “Whatever you want, Rhys,” you tell him. And literally see any remaining tension disappeared from his body. His squeezes your hands harder, like he needs to reassure himself this is real.
When you squeeze back, he places a kiss on your inner thigh and then gets back to work. Drinking and eating you like a man starved. Your hips rolling against his mouth, moaning and writhing when his lips seal around your sensitive little clit.
“Fuck, mmm—“ you squeal in pleasure. Thick thighs trembling as they clamp down around his head, but he doesn’t stop. If anything he redoubles his efforts, wanting to push you over the edge. His hands never let go of yours. Not even when you finally let go.
“Rhys!” You cry out, white hot pleasure filling every inch of your body from head to toes as you cum. Squirting on his face, his violet eyes rolling back at the sweet taste of your release filling his mouth. Your legs shake as you pant under him, yet he doesn’t stop. Just slows down and laps at you gently. Getting his fill.
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Author’s Note: I didn’t mean for this to be so long 😣
Summary: You're the only one in the Inner Circle to welcome Lucien to Velaris besides, Feyre and offer to spar with him when you find him training alone atop the House of Wind.
Warnings: Smut
Word Count: 1.8k
****
You land on top of the House of Wind with Azriel and Cassian on either side, flanking you. All three of you land with ease, wings fluttering behind you before you tuck them in. Your eyes immediately find Lucien’s back, his muscles ripple as he goes through forms with his sword.
“Coming?” Cassian asks you, a knowing look in his hazel eyes as he glances at Lucien, then back to you. Always teasing, making your cheeks flush. They know about your crush on him. But, don’t push because of what’s going on between him and Elain. Even though you know something he doesn’t.
Something that could change everything.
Before you can respond Azriel claps a hand on his shoulder, “Let’s go. Pack it in, Cass.” He says and starts ushering him towards the double doors that lead into the house.
You take a shaky deep breath and pad over towards him. Feeling your heart rate pick up with nerves, because even though you’ve been the most welcoming to the red haired male, you still get flustered. Clearing your throat a couple feet away from where he goes through the moves, to not startle him with your sudden presence, having noticed his brows furrowed with concentration.
Lucien turns, looking over his shoulder at you. His pink lips curve up into an easy smile, but just as quick as it came it’s gone. “Mother tit’s,” he curses under his breath and steps back. His hand wraps tighter around the grip of his long sword. “Gods…” he whispers, wide eyed as he looks at you from head to toe.
Your heart drops, not understanding his reaction until you look down at yourself. Realizing what he’s reacting to, you, but your siphons. All 14 of them to be exact. They’re strategically placed on certain points of your Illyrian leathers. One on each shoulder, one on each elbow, one on the back of each hand, one on each knee, one atop each of your boots.
Then three across your chest— the biggest one in the center— and then the last one is placed under the center stone on your chest. Sitting over your sternum. 14 siphons that pulse dark blue. A soft barely audible hum coming from them. The only Illyrian female to ever receive one, let alone 14 of them. “I— uh—“ you stutter feeling shy all of a sudden. “I forgot you’ve never seen me like this.” You murmur, cheeks burning.
Lucien usually sees you in a tunic and pants, or a flowy dress. Even though it’s obvious that you’re Illyrian, the massive wings on your back, and rounded ears give it away. But, you can understand how jarring this must be. He’s never even seen you wield a weapon, and right now you have two swords strapped behind your back, a knife in your belt and 14 siphons gleaming with the raw killing power that runs through you.
“I thought— what the fuck— how?” Is all Lucien can get out. Looking confused and maybe a little afraid.
You step back a step, then two. Hands clenching at your sides to keep from bolting. Get it together, you’ve literally fought in wars and battles for centuries. “Most males that receive siphons usually only need one to filter the raw killing power we Illyrians possess,” you start to explain. “Some require two. Then there’s Cassian and Azriel that require 7 each for theirs.” You exhale raggedly.
Lucien nods along, his eyes— one russet, one gold— dart to all the siphons adorning you.
“I need 14 to filter the power I possess.” You tell him. “I come from a long line of strategic breeding.” You explain, shuddering at your own words, but they’re true. All Illyrian males care about is power and titles. “Millennia’s ago— several generations back— my paternal grandfather was a king of the Northern part of Illyrian’s territory.”
Your brows furrow as you look down at the deep blue siphons that glow brightly. “It’s said that his wife was a goddess. From another world, another time, who blessed the noble houses with the raw killing power. Who taught them to forge and utilize siphons to control it.” You look back up at him. Noticing he standing closer now.
“For generations after, the males in my line were arranged to marry females from powerful families. My house, House Aristeia was and still is the most formidable. The most powerful. Only producing sons for generations, each bearing two siphons to contain the raw killing power.” You explain. “If their wives bore daughters they’d kill them and wait for the females to heal enough before getting them pregnant again.” Your lip curls in disdain at the way the women in your family were treated in the past. Siphons pulsing as your anger rises.
“My father was away at war…” you start, looking past Lucien. Jaw clenching as you recount what you know to be true. “When my mother started her labors. She was Rhys’s mother’s best friend.” You tell Lucien. “His mother was there for my birth, and knew what my father’s family did to their female offspring. So she faked my mother’s and I’s death. Told him neither of us survived the birth.” Your siphons flicker.
You startle at the sudden feel of his thumb swipe away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen down your cheek. Staring into his eyes a moment longer before looking away again. “Rhys’s mother protected me as I got older, as my power started to develop. Had to deal with a rebellion because I needed a siphon and the lords at Wind Haven didn’t want to give me one. Until Devlon did.”
Lucien listens with rapt attention. His eyes never leave your face as you speak.
“Because of Rhys’s mother I’m one of the few females whose wings aren’t clipped and the only to bear siphons.” You finish quietly, letting your eyes close as you take a few steadying breaths, before looking at him again. “I’ll let you go back to your training then.” You nod towards his sword in his hand and step back again to turn away.
And then— "Train with me,” Lucien blurts out. “Please…” he adds quickly. “It would be my honor, Y/n.” He voices, completely and utterly sincere. There’s no hint of mocking in his voice or eyes. Just an understanding of shitty abusive fathers. His posture is open and hoping that you’ll agree.
You hesitate, swallowing thickly before nodding. “All right,” you breathe and unsheathe one of the swords at your back. “Your move,” you tell him, spinning the sword in your hand before getting into position. Relaxing, your heart rate slows, always having been most at ease when training or amidst battle.
Lucien settles in across from you, mirroring your position, long sword at the ready in his grip. “Ladies first, beautiful.” He teases but not to discredit you as a warrior, but because the bastard is always polite to females. Even one as deadly as you.
“That’s why I’m waiting on you,” you tease back. Giving him a toothy grin. Feeling all the tension leaving your body.
Something flickers through his eyes at your comment before he chuckles, nodding. “You’re too kind my lady,” he says and then he lunges. You two clash, the metal making a loud ringing noise that echoes on the roof. You feel the strength of the blow shoot up through your arms. Then you’re parrying, followed by a riposte. He lunges again and you side step out the way just in time to make him stumble forward.
“Don’t hurt yourself, Lu” you tease before crossing the distance going for an overhead strike but he feints at the last second and goes for a pommel strike.
You wrap your hand around his wrist, stopping him mid movement and he does the same to you. Both of your chests heave as your both try to gain the upper hand. “I’m managing just fine,” he grins, but a second later grunts from effort. Then you push him off and get into position again.
You two could’ve been sparring for minutes or hours. Neither of you pay attention to time. Just on the person across from you.
Above you the sun starts to set, painting the sky in warm colors; oranges, yellows, reds, and pinks. You block another hit, then push his arm to the side and drive your shoulder into his chest. Making him stumble back, but not at the cost of him knocking your sword out of your hand.
That doesn’t stop you. You readjust and quickly drive your shoulder into him again before he right himself, knocking him back into the ground. He lands with a breathy ‘oof ‘. You quickly climb on top of him. Straddling him and pinning his wrists above his head.
“Yield,” you demand between panting breaths. Looking down at him. His torso tanned from the sun, gleaming with sweat. His chest rising and falling from exertion.
The autumn court male shakes his head, licking his lips. Your eyes dart down to his mouth, and he lets out a breathless chuckle. But then you shift your hips when he tries to move his hands, accidentally grinding down against him and he grunts for a different reason. “Fuck,” he rasps.
You two stare at each other for a moment and then you slam your lips against his. Letting go of his wrists to cradle his jaw. His hands immediately find your waist. Grinding you down against his cock that’s straining in his trousers. “Shit,” you moan against his lips feeling just how big he is. Tasting the saltiness from him sweating.
The sound of fabric rubbing against each other fills quiet air along with your desperate breaths. You rock back against his movements adding to the pressure. “Dammit,” he mutters against your lips, starting to place kisses on your jaw, working his way down your neck. “You’re going to make me blow in my fucking pants like a green male.”
You half laugh, half moan, “that’s fine. I’ll take it as a compliment.” You pant, then cry out in pleasure, you’re back arching when he accidentally caresses one of your wings when he was trying to get a better grip on your hips. “You do that and I’m going to cum fast.” You admit.
His nostrils flare, pupils blowing wide, when he realizes what the accidental little touch could do.
He ruts against you faster, harder, and you rock back against him. Matching him, squirming atop him because of the friction that’s right on your clit. Lucien feels pleasure hot and striking as he licks along his spine. It works its way lower, till his balls start to tighten with the need to blow his load. “I’m gonna cum in my pants and so are you, beautiful,” he says in between heavy breaths.
You nod and immediately bury your face in the crook of his neck. Then he caresses one of the membranes of your left wing again with a blunt finger tip— still gentle— and you shatter. “Nghh!” You cry out in a lewd whimper as your hips jerk. Squirting in your leathers as he grinds up against you one last time and cums in his pants.
“F-fuck yeah,” he pants. Hips jerking against you, a sticky wet spot on the front of his trousers. One of his hands leaves your hip to cradle the back of your head. “You’re so perfect,” he grumbles softly into your ear as you both come down. Sticky and satisfied in each others arms atop the house of wind.
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Author’s Note: I didn’t meant to write that long ass monologue but sometimes this shit just writes itself. And now I kinda wanna write a series about this Illyrian reader fic and lucien and expand on the plot . So let me know if it’s something you guys would read!!
Summary: Cassian gets injured by rogue Illyrians after Rhys sends him to check on some of the Illyrian war camps and Madja orders him to stay in bed to heal.
Warnings: Mentions of injury, blood, and war. Smut.
Word Count: 1.9k
****
Madja sighs, gently pushing Cassian’s back down onto the bed. Her wrinkled hands settle on his broad shoulders as she guides him to rest again. “General,” she says, shaking her head, “The Highlord strictly said you need to rest.” She tells him, exasperated. Having just ushered him back to his bed after catching him trying to stretch his wings.
Cassian grunts, half frustration, half pain. “Yeah, Madja. I know,” he mutters. But let’s the older healer guide him back down on the bed in Rhys’s mothers cabin here in Wind Haven. “But, I feel fine. I can walk around and stretch,” he says like a child being put on time out.
Madja arches a brow at him, one that says; ‘You’re just being a big Illyrian baby’. She fluffs a pillow for him. “Stay. Put.” She orders in that no-nonsense tone he’s heard dozens of times over the centuries. Sliding her free hand behind his head to help him lift it, to put the fluffed pillow behind it. “I’ll be back in a couple hours to check on your bandages.” She says and then pads out of the single bedroom.
Cassian sighs sharply, hands resting on his stomach, staring at the ceiling as he hears her soft footfalls against the wood floor of the cabin. A few seconds later the front door opens, then closes. “Fucking Rhys,” Cassian mutters under his breath, annoyed at being ordered bed rest. He shifts in bed, trying to settle in— begrudgingly— but winces in pain at the movement.
Then there’s a soft knock at the front of the cabin, and the Illyrian warrior pinches the bridge of his nose. “Madja!” He calls out, “You don’t need to knock. I already told you, just come in!” He says loud enough for the person on the other side of the door to hear. Rubbing his hands down his face.
And after a moment, the door pushes open, and in you step. Not madja. With a tray of brownies in your hand. Shivering from the cold, as you tap your boots on the door frame to knock off the snow before stepping inside. “Cass?” You call for him. Looking around the cozy cabin, brows furrowing, because who’s Madja? You wonder silently. Still shivering slightly, but head towards the ajar door on the other side of the cabin.
Cassian freezes, head snapping towards the sound of your voice. “Y/n?” He mouths to himself. Clenching his jaw as he tries to suppress a groan of pain as he moves to start sitting up. But it doesn’t work, because she hears it, and Cass hears her steps pick up and then she’s beside him.
“No. No. No, don’t get up.” You rush out, setting down the tray of brownies on a table by the bed, then gently push him back down. Once he’s settled, you take him in. A bandage around his middle, specks of blood staining it, probably from him straining himself just now. And his wings, oh, his wings. Bandaged and seeping blood through them. “Cass…” you whisper. Never having seen him like this.
The hardened general’s shoulders curl in. Feeling vulnerable. He only started courting you a few months ago. It was no secret who he was— part of Rhys’s inner circle and the general of his armies. You’ve seen him with a few cuts and bruises here and there from training with his brothers. But this— this is the fruits of war. A war won, but not without a cost.
“H-hey, Y/n,” Cassian says sheepishly. His wings twitch under her gaze, feeling like he’s stripped bare before her and he winces at the movement before stilling them. “How’d you know I was here?” He asks, following the way her eyes track to the bandage around his middle and pulls the blankets up over them.
Your gaze softens when you see him, vulnerable— more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen him. “The Highlord did.” You finally answer after a beat, voice cracking you try not to cry. “I—“ a deep breath, then a slow exhale “—I brought brownies.” You murmur gently, like if you’re too loud, move too fast, he’ll break. Not liking the sight of him being hurt, even though you knew this was a possibility, after he told you when he asked to court you.
Cassian’s hazel eyes flick over to the tray of brownies. His soft, sweet, nurturing female brought him brownies. His lips twitch, remembering when he’d go to her bakery in Velaris every morning just to see her. And he’d order a brownie. Every. Godsdamned. Day. He looks at her again, brows drawn with worry, like her heart is breaking in real time at the sight of him bloodied and bruised.
Your gaze flicks up to his, seeing something unreadable flash in them and you clear your throat. “I should— I’ll go.” You whisper, giving him a shy smile. Feeling your cheeks flush. “Let you rest and all that,” you stand. Looking down at your boots, “And because you’re expecting Madja to come back.”
As soon as you stand, his big calloused hand wraps gently around your wrist. Capable of welding weapons and taking lives, yet the lord of bloodshed holds you like you’re his entire world. “Fuck— no, it’s not like that, baby.” He tells you, heartbeat thundering in his ears. “Madja is,” he chuckles, “Madja’s a healer.” He starts to explain.
You look at him, eyes flicking between his. Letting his warmth seep into you. “A healer?” You ask, blinking down at him.
His lips curl into a smile, “mhm,” he nods. His hand sliding down just enough for his thumb to brush over your knuckles absentmindedly. “A grumpy 800-something- year old healer who’s annoyed with having to babysit me because of Rhys’s orders.” He tells you. His tone is completely sincere. He holds his breath waiting for you to say you believe him.
Knowing how it must’ve sounded, especially because it’s no secret that males— especially Illyrians— fuck and cheat and use war as an excuse to make it acceptable. Even if they have wives, families, or a female waiting for them to return. Hells, Cassian did too once upon a time. Just fight, drink, and fuck. In that exact order and sometimes it changed. But that was in his youth. Centuries ago. Other females don’t even exist to him anymore now that he found you.
You nod, “okay,” you murmur. Letting him tug you down to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. “So, you’re okay? She healed you?” You ask, concerned. You free hand that’s he’s not holding shakes from the whirlwind of emotions at the sight of his injured wings. Knowing how much they mean to him.
Cassian lifts your hand to his mouth. Kissing it. “Yes,” he murmurs against your soft hands. “She’s doing it in sessions. To help speed the healing. Wings are tricky, but I’ll be back up and flying soon.” He promises. Lowering your hand down to rest on his chest, interlacing his fingers with yours. Keeping your hand hostage to his chest.
“So…” he sing-songs, “gonna kiss me like you usually do when I go visit you at your bakery?” He teases. Trying to get you to relax. Knowing how he must look. Knowing you’re not used to this. Still trying to get used to who he is and his position, I mean hells you’ve been to dinners at the house of wind and gone to Rita’s with the inner circle and still call Rhys, Highlord.
At his teasing words, you smile softly. The familiar dimples on your cheeks appear, before you shake your head. “I don’t wanna hurt you.” You tell him gently, earning a dramatic groan from him.
“You’re hurting me by not giving me a kiss, baby.” He huffs and tugs you closer. Till you’re sitting right beside him. Cradling your jaw to pull you down, his warm breath washing over your lips. “Kiss me better.” He whispers.
His lips brush yours— barely— when he whispers. A heartbeat later you do. Kissing him softly. His lips moving against yours. Letting you set the pace, then your free hand plants on his chest to kiss him deeper. Your tongues dancing. “Mmm,” you both moan into the kisses. Pulling away to catch your breaths. Then you start to kiss down his neck and chest.
Slow enough for him to stop you if it’s too much, but gentle enough to tease. His breathing getting heavier. “You’re a menace,” he sighs contently. His big hand threading in your hair, not guiding, just holding. Always needing to be touching you.
“I’m learning from you,” you say in between wet open-mouthed kisses. Going down his chest to his abdomen. But when you get to the bandage wrapped around his waist you press a gentle kiss to it. Accept it. Accepting him and everything that comes with being with him and you swear he doesn’t breathe for a second when he understands what the gentle kiss just meant.
“Y/n,” he warns. “Choose carefully,” he says. “There’s no rush. We have time.”
You place another kiss on his bandage again. “I’ve already chosen.” You answer and push down the blankets that are on him. Seeing his cock already hard and straining in his boxers. “Can I kiss this better too?” You ask, tracing a finger over the edge of his waistband.
He nods, eyes never leaving you. “Yeah, kiss it better,” he rasps, voice thick with emotion. Then he’s lifting his hip just enough for you to push down his boxers, freeing his thick length. It springs free, leaking precum. Twitching with need.
You shift down the bed, just enough to be sitting beside his hip and wrap your hand around him. So thick your fingers don’t even touch, making his breathing ragged, keeping your eyes on him as you kiss his leaking tip. “So pretty and pink,” you chuckle teasingly about his flushed tip. Swirling your tongue his crown. Lapping up the precum.
“Shit— fucking hells— you can’t say shit like that when I can’t fuck you,” he growls irritated. Not at you. Never at you, but because he’s ordered to stay in bed till he heals. And the wounds on his wings and the one on his side are stopping him from flipping you over and fucking you the way he wants.
“Soon,” you echo back to him the same word he told you moments ago. Then you wrap your lips around him. Pumping what you can’t take into your mouth, he’s simply too thick and too big to deep throat, but what you can take, you suck and lick and kiss. Moaning when he thrusts his hips up just barely.
You don’t know how much time passes, focused on pleasing him. Your eyes never leave his face, loving how his handsome features contort with the pleasure you're giving him. Then with once last suck on his tip he cums with a ragged curse. “Mother’s tits.” He pants, hips bucking shallowly as his hot spend hits the back of your throat. “Swallow it all, baby,” he says.
His thumb brushing your cheek as you do, balls drawn up as they empty in your warm mouth. Moaning as you savor the salty taste of him. You pull off only when he’s done. Kissing his tip again, “I think we both feel better now,” you giggle. He laughs, still breathless as he pulls you in for a kiss.
1k Celebration Masterlist
Author’s Note: Sorry this is so late again, it was my dad’s birthday and I just got back home 15 minutes ago and quickly edited this. Hope you all enjoy ☺️
Summary: You and Eris meet at your villa in the Summer Court after the High Lords meeting.
Warnings: Mentions of Beron and violence. Smut.
Word Count: 1.3k
****
You pace the foyer of your hidden villa that you bought in the summer court years ago. A century ago more like. On a whim, at the time you bought it because you wanted a place of your own to hide away in every once in a while when you wanted a break.
That’s not to say you don’t love your life back home in the night court— in Velaris. It doesn’t mean that you don’t love your older brother Rhys, or Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and Amren. Sometimes it’s just nice to get away for a couple days, fly under the sun, swim in the ocean.
Your brother and the rest of the inner circle have no idea you even have this little villa in Tarquin’s court. Hells, no one does. Not even Tarquin. You had planned to keep it that way, having always wanted something only for you, and yet somehow you ended up telling Eris Vanserra about it.
And now the two of you come here, as often as you can— as safely as you can. With who his father and brothers are. Because let's be honest, if Rhys, Cass, Az, Mor, or Amren were to find out about your little situationship they wouldn’t kill you. Either of you. Pissed? Definitely. Disappointed? Probably. Surprised? Eh, maybe. You’ve done more reckless things in the last couple centuries.
But Eris’s family? His father and brothers? Oh, they’d kill you. Without a doubt. They’d torture you, kill you, while forcing Eris to watch. Then they’d torture and kill him too. Except Lucien, your favorite ginger out of all the ginger fuckers and an old friend. Well… maybe not your favorite, Eris just might be above him. The both of them can fight for first place.
You continue pacing, your heels clicking against the white marble floor, still dressed in your night court attire that you wore for the high lords meeting. Non-natives of the night court would describe your attire as mere scraps of fabric. Something you might see a female wearing in a high-end pleasure house.
In truth it was a midnight blue lace dress, strapless, with a plunging neckline, nearly to your navel. High slits on either side that go all the way up to your hip bones. Your solid midnight blue strapless bra and thong— still visible through the lace— cover your most intimate parts. You paired your dress with tall, black glittered heels.
The ocean's waves slap against the stone that your villa sits on, the open windows allowing the smell of salt and sea to fill your nose, while the sound of the waves reach your ears. Like a metronome. It matches the rapid pace of your pulse. While you pace, wondering if Eris will come after what he said about Feyre. About Mor. All to keep up appearances.
To protect you. To protect what both of you have in this safe little hideaway.
“Fuck it,” you curse under your breathe and turn towards the door. Slender fingers wrapping around the door handle, to head out. Check if he’s near before winnowing to the Autumn Court and risking everything.
You twist the bronze handle, pulling the door open, and walk right into something hard. A chest. His chest. Eris. He’s here. He’s alive, safe, having feared maybe his father would punish him for what he did. If maybe one of his brothers found out about you too and told Beron.
“Sorry, I’m late—“
“Asshole,” you growl shakily and smack him across the face. Glaring up at him, but the tension in your shoulders falls away.
His mouth opens and closes. “Ow.” He deadpans. His ivory skin on his cheek tinges pink already. But he steps forwards, and you step back into the villa. “What was that for?” he chuckles, sliding an arm around your waist. His touch is warm. Always warm from the fire burning in his veins. “No ‘hello’ or anything? Just straight to foreplay, princess.” He teases and dips his head down to kiss you on the cheek.
But you slap a hand over his mouth before he can. “That was for what you said back at the meeting,” you huff, earning a sigh from him. His brows pinch. “And for… worrying me,” you admit a moment later, his usually hard gaze softening. “I thought you weren’t going to meet me at our spot.” You whisper.
He stares down at you for a few heartbeats. Kissing your palm that’s still covering his mouth before he slides his other arm behind your knees. Sweeping you up into his arms and walking over to the single bedroom. To the bed you two have shared in secret for the past few decades.
Only when he sits down with you still in his lap, do you drop your hand. In favor of pressing your forehead to his. “Don’t pull that shit again, lordling.” You murmur, concern and something else you both choose not to name, lacing your tone.
Eris nuzzles his nose against yours. “Yes, princess.” He answers sincerely. “It won’t happen again,” he vows against your soft lips. Kissing them softly before trailing kisses down your jaw and neck. Licking and sucking at your skin.
You bite your bottom lips, your breathing getting sharper with each exhale through your nose. Feeling his lips and hands on you. He keeps one arm cradling behind your back, supporting you against him, the other roams every inch of exposed skin. “Did you miss me?” He asks in between kisses.
“Mhm,” you nod, resting your head against his broad shoulder as you part your legs for him. The twin high slits on your dress give him access. Your nipples tighten into perfect buds behind the lace. Your breath stutters when the fabric brushes over them.
“Say it and I’ll make you cum as many times as it takes for you to not be pissed at me anymore,” Eris rasps. Leaning you back just enough to lower his head and flick his warm tongue over your nipples through the lace. “Come on, princess. Say it.” He adds, wrapping his lips around the little bud. Sucking on it.
Your eyes flutter closed, “Mhh— yes. I missed you.” You tell him and he sucks hard. His other hand slips between your thighs, pushing your flimsy thong aside and runs a thick long finger through your slit. Testing how slick you are. “Eris,” you whine at him teasing. “I said it. Now make me cum.”
He pulls back from your nipples, the midnight blue fabric now wet from his spit. Making it look back. “Such a bossy little princess,” he smirks and then plunges two fingers inside your tight heat. A lewd squelch coming from between your thighs when he immediately curls his fingers inside you. “Gods I love that sound,” he groans, “it’s like music to my ears.”
A gasp tears from your throat. “Y-yes. A little faster,” you pant, wrapping your arms around his shoulders burying your face in his neck as he fucks your tight wet cunt with his fingers. Already so close. “Oh!” You moan, toes curling in your strappy heels. You feel his hot gaze burn into you, you just know he’s watching you.
“You think Rhysand will burn this into my memory if I ask nicely?” He chuckles, eyes glittering with hunger and awe as he watches your pretty face contort with pleasure. Your body squirms with it as he keeps the steady pace up.
“Don’t,” you snap, fisting the back of his red hair tightly. In reprimand, and also to anchor yourself to something as you teeter on the edge. “Talk about my brother when I’m so close to—“ you cut yourself off with a squeal when his thumb starts circling your clit in tandem with his fingers pumping into you.
“Cumming,” he grunts, finishing your sentence for you as you start gushing on his hand. “So fucking pretty when you soak my hand, my cock, or my face.” He says, as he keeps pumping his fingers. Feeling your muscles spasm and contract around his digits while rubbing your clit. Kissing you on the temple once he wrings out every last drop.
“Two minutes, then you’re doing that again on my cock.” He tells you. Pulling his fingers out with a wet pop and licking them clean while you whine at the loss and from sensitivity.
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Author’s note: Sorry this was so late. Work was annoying and busy so I couldn’t write and I’ve had a headache all day. But here it is. Ugh I missed writing about this ginger fucker lmao (btw after i finish the rest of these fics i will finish the next part of “bound in flames” and post it soon!!)
