#morrigan x reader

I was sprawled across the couch in Morrigan’s estate, curled up on her sofa while she lounged beside me. One elbow rested on the armrest as she watched me with a lazy, amused smile. We were both on our fifth glass of wine.

My eyes were squeezed shut as I laughed, tears forming in my eyes. Wine sloshed over the rim of my glass, spilling across my dress, but I couldn’t care.

“You can’t be serious!” Mor shouted, throwing her head back

“Yes!” I gasped, barely able to breathe through my laughter. “He did!”

She shook her head, still smiling, her voice teasing. “God, you deserve so much better than that.”

I took another sip of wine, cheeks flushed. 

“Better than bad sex and disappointing dates?” I mumbled.

“Yes,” she said, voice low and teasing. “Maybe it’s men.”

“Maybe it’s the men I go for,” I countered.

“Maybe it’s men in general,” she whispered under her breath.

I rolled my eyes, setting my glass down with a clink. 

“I’ve been on okay dates with men,” I protested, though even I didn’t sound convinced.

“When was the last time a man left you satisfied?” Mor asked, tone turning serious.

My breath caught. 

“Noah,” I muttered, burying my face in my glass. 

The memory was more of a blur than a night worth remembering.

Mor snorted, laughter echoing through the room. “The one who made you pay for dinner and left before you even—”

“Elijah,” I interrupted quickly, my voice cracking.

“Oh, right. The one who moaned his ex’s name and cried,” she said, laughing louder.

I groaned, sinking deeper into the couch as embarrassment flooded me.

“You deserve better,” she said simply, sipping her wine.

“I just want good sex,” I muttered, shaking my head.

“When was the last time you even came?” she asked, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips.

“Last night I—”

Her hand landed gently on my knee, cutting me off. 

“When was the last time someone else made you come?”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. 

I didn’t have to say it; she knew the answer, it was written across my face.

“Never?” she gasped.

I groaned, hiding behind a pillow. “Mor, let’s change the subject.”

“No way,” she said, slamming her glass down on the table.

“Stop,” I laughed, burying my face in my hands.

“No one has ever—”

I shook my head. “No one.”

Her gaze dropped to where her hand still rested on my thigh. 

“Oh, god,” she murmured, voice softening. “You’re missing out.”

“Oh, please,” I said quickly, grasping for a comeback. “Like, you have the best dating life? What about Emerie?”

Morr’s face flushed instantly. 

“You really had to bring that up?” she whispered, her brown eyes narrowing on mine.

“You made fun of my dating life first,” I teased, grinning as I leaned forward to reach my wine glass.

Her eyes followed me, that familiar spark of mischief lighting behind them. 

“I could make it up to you,” she murmured, lips curling into a wicked smile.

“And how would you make it up to me?” I teased, leaning closer, our noses almost touching.

“I am going to be the first person to make you cum,” she said, voice full of determination, eyes sparkling. 

My heart stuttered, and my breath caught.

“You’re joking,” I whispered, my eyes flicking down to her mouth just for a moment as my heart pounded in my chest. 

“Trust me,” she murmured, her voice a whisper. “I am not joking, I am proving a point.”

“And what point is that?” I breathed, her lips brushing mine.

“That women are so much better than men,” she whispered against my lips.

She kissed me.

She tasted like strawberries and wine. 

My glass slipped from my fingers, forgotten, as my hands tangled in her soft blonde hair. Her fingers found my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. 

Our lips moved together, slow at first, then hungrier, deeper.

I tilted her head, deepening our kiss. She groaned against my mouth, her tongue tasting mine. 

Heat rushed through me, every nerve alive beneath her touch as her hands traced my sides, firm and certain.

“You taste like strawberries,” I whispered, breathless, when we finally pulled apart for air.

Her eyes sparkled, and her smirk was teasing as she replied, “You taste like sin.”

Before I could respond, Mor pushed me back against the cushions of the lounge, caging me beneath her.

Her body pressed against mine.

My heart raced, my palms trembling as she kissed me again, her lips soft yet demanding. Her hands moved, teasing and testing, as if mapping every inch of my skin. 

Her lips trailed down my throat, and I forgot how to breathe. Her hand slid higher up my skirt, and my body arched into her, caught between curiosity and want. 

My fingers traced the curve of her waist, the softness of her hips, her frame fitting perfectly against my curves. My skirt bunched around my waist, and her mouth pressed hot kisses and trailed marks along my throat.

I shivered, my breath hitching as her fingers hooked the lace of my underwear. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Mor murmured. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” 

Her words sent a shiver down my spine, her breath warm against my skin. I whimpered, my chest pressing against hers, my back arching as if craving her touch.

My breath hitched as her fingers hooked the lace of my underwear, tugging them down slowly. Her fingers trailed up my skirt, finding my soaking core, and I moaned.

I was drenched and trembling as her fingers began to trace delicate patterns between my thighs.

“You’re so wet,” she purred, satisfaction dripping from her words.

My cheeks flushed, but my body betrayed me, desperate for more.

Her fingers circled my clit, pushing me closer to the edge, and I gasped as she slid between my legs. 

She was intoxicating.

“Mor,” I whimpered, as her fingers slipped inside me.

Her rhythm was relentless, her tongue pressed against my clit, and I saw stars. I clenched around her fingers, tangling my hands in her golden hair, pulling her closer as she moaned against me.

“Oh lord,” I groaned, seconds from falling over the edge.

Her tongue was teasing my clit, pushing me closer and closer to the edge. She moaned against me, her fingers curling, hitting spots I didn't even know I had, as if she knew my body better than I did. 

Maybe she did, because I was seconds away from—

I couldn’t even finish the thought before I fell over the edge, clenching around her fingers, my body shaking with release. 

I screamed her name as I pressed myself against her mouth, riding out my high.

She pulled away slowly, her mouth trailing kisses down my thighs.

The moment she pulled away, I sank to my knees before her, fingers trembling as I gathered her skirts around her waist.

“Teach me how to please you,” I whispered, eyes half lidded as I gazed up at her in a lust-filled haze. 

Her hands gripped the couch, knuckles white, as she nodded.

My mouth began to trail up her inner thighs, her lace panties damp and dark. I felt her shiver, her breath hitching, as my fingers started to tug them down slowly.

I spread her lips gently, tasting her, her sweetness coating my tongue.

“Again,” she whined, pressing closer.

I obeyed, mimicking her movements, my fingers sinking into her, tongue pressing harder, my tongue flicking, sucking gently.

“Harder,” she whimpered.

I pressed my tongue harder, my fingers curling. Her hips bucked, and I felt her tighten around my fingers.

“Oh god,” she gasped, her body trembling.

She came on my fingers, her body shaking, and her fingers tugging on my hair, as her thighs clenched around my head, unwilling to let me go.

Eventually, I pulled away, trailing kisses down her thighs as we stared at each other, lust in our eyes.

“You were right,” I panted, licking my lips. “Women are so much better than men.”

She gave me that familiar beautiful grin, and before I could think, I was pulling her down onto the rug by the fire.

Our mouths collided, all heat and motion, hands tracing wherever they could reach.

Day 4 | Kinktober Masterlist | Day 6

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“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.”

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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.

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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. 

Azriel:

“Hey bitch, what’s for dinner?” He really tried not to let his voice crack, but he couldn't help it. The idea of calling you something foul outside the bedroom is painful. 

“Based on the way your voice got quieter for that word, I'm going to assume this is a stupid dare from Cassian. And that you aren’t actually that stupid to talk to me like that.” You said as you continued to stir the pot of soup. 

“I’m so relieved you know me that well.” He couldn’t help his sigh. 

You snorted as he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “If I ever actually talk to you like that, take Truthteller and use it, cause it’s not me.” 

You let out another snort. “My big baby.” You said, taking your hand up and ruffling Azriel’s hair as he pressed kisses to your neck. 

Cassian:

He came in so confident too. But quickly was humbled. 

“Hey bitch, what’s for dinner?” 

“Wanna try that again?” He doesn’t get scared of much, but your calm tone in this moment will strike fear into his heart.

“No, ma’am.” He shook his head. 

“And what did we learn?” 

“Never say that stuff to my spouse and mate who I love very much?” He asked. 

“Mhm.” you hummed as he came up to hug you. “Speak to me like that again and I’m cutting your hair off.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Rhysand:

“Hey bitch, what’s for dinner?”

He didn’t even get a chance to breathe after that sentence because you turned around with the knife in your hand. Seriously, what an idiot approaching you with that stupid shit while you’re cooking dinner. You’re hungry and holding a knife. 

You stabbed it into the countertop, it made a twang sound and shook from the force of you stabbing it. 

“The fuck did you just say to me?” 

“…” 

“Go on say it again since you wanna be all cocky.” You leaned against the counter with your arms crossed. 

“I love you.” Not much scared him, but his wife humbled the shit out of him. 

Your mouth made a flat line and your brows raised as you said, “Mhm.” 

“And I’ll do whatever you want for a month. Hell, the rest of our lives.”

“Mhm.” You ripped the knife out of the counter and then turned around and continued chopping vegetables. 

“Honey?”

“You know, I think I’ll invite Feyre and her wife over for dinner. They wouldn’t call me that.” You continued. 

“Baby,” he began and wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“Maybe I’ll invite Cassian and Azriel’s wives too, they’ll understand what it’s like to be married to the stupidest motherfucker we know.” 

He pressed a kiss to your clothes shoulder. 

“Are you done?”

“You have no idea the doghouse you’re in right now.” 

“Does it help if I told you that Cassian dared me.” 

You set the knife down and turned around in his arms. “You’re still an idiot.” You wound your arms around his neck, your fingers playing with baby hairs growing at the nape of his neck. 

“I know.” 

“Good,” you said and smacked his ass.

He yelped. 

Feyre:

“Hey bitch, what’s for dinner?”

“What crawled up your ass and died?” You asked. 

She couldn’t help but giggle. “I love that you humble me.” 

“Me and Rhys’ wife have a load on our hands considering you fools are best friends. You have got to stop influencing each other.” 

She hummed at the thought of her best friend and his wife. She put her arms around your waist and you leaned into her. “One day, we’re gonna snap and kill you.” She kissed the area between your neck and shoulder. “We have the best wives.”

“You got that right.” You reached around and smacked her ass. But you miscalculated and hit her hip. 

Morrigan:

“Hey bitch, what’s for dinner?”

“Nothing, slut. Bend over the table and spread your cheeks, if you think you can talk to me like that I’ll show you otherwise.” 

 You sat up from your spot on the couch looking at her with a “WTF” expression. 

The woman was too stunned to speak.  “It was a joke but now I’m horny.” 

You laughed, “into degradation are we?” 

“Didn’t think I was, but hey you learn something new everyday.” She shrugged, actually thankful for Cassian because now she could explore this new thing with her wife. 

Amren:

“Hey bitch, what’s for dinner?” She opened the door to your shared home to yell. When she heard nothing but silence she was concerned, she could smell you, you were home. 

“Y/N?” She called. 

She walked into your living room from the entry hall to find you standing there. Staring at her with sad, wide eyes. 

“Love?” 

“….what’d i do?” Your voice wavered and she couldn’t take it. She pulled you into her arms and rocked you side to side. 

“If I ever speak to you like that, you better smack me across the fucking mouth.” Was all she said. “Why’d you say that?” You sniffed. You two pulled away from each other, only enough to lean your foreheads together. “Cassian got it in his big dumb brain that it was a good idea to say that to our mates.” She whispered and wiped your cheeks with her thumbs. 

“He’s an idiot.” You deadpanned. 

“I'm aware.” “And you’re an idiot for doing it.” 

“I deserve that.” Was all she said before she kissed you. 

Nesta:

“Hey bitch, what’s for dinner?”

You were silent and she looked at you from her spot on the couch. You were staring at her wide eyed, your eyes began watering. 

“Y/N?”

“That really hurt my feelings, Nes.” You were about to cry. 

She shot off from her spot on the couch and crawled into the chair you were sitting in. She pulled you into her chest. 

“Oh baby.” She said, “it was a stupid fucking prank from Cassian.” She whispered at the top of your head, kissing your hair. 

“Tell that overgrown bitch of a bat to watch his back.” Your voice was muffled from her tits. 

“I will.” She scratched your head lightly. 

“Nes?”

“Yes, my love?”

“You ever speak to me like that again, I’ll make you wish you never met me.”

She let out a laugh like breath through her nose. “Okay, baby.” 

“Tears and all I’ll pummel you.” You declared and she kissed your head, rocking you back and forth. 

“I know.” 

Elain:

“Hey bitch, what’s for dinner?”

“I will grill your flowers if you talk to me like that again.”

She cackled like the witch she is. 

Lucien:

“Hey bitch, what’s for dinner?”

“Soap.”

“Soap?” 

“If you’re going to talk to me like that, you’re getting soap. Bitch.” You threw a jar of soap at him. “Go put that on spaghetti.” 

Eris:

“Hey bitch, what’s for dinner?”

You whipped off your shoe and threw it at him. Feyre taught you that move. He didn’t duck, he just let it hit him because he knew his dumbass deserved it.  

Tarquin:

“Hey bitch, what’s for dinner?”

“My ass.” 

He loves that you match his freak, “I'm so relieved you didn’t think I was serious.” 

“You aren’t that stupid, plus, Azriel’s mate sent a missive because he tried it.” 

“Drinking with Cassian is the worst.”

“And yet, your dumbass still did it.” 

The grand hall of the House of Wind buzzed with the energy of the Night Court's elite. Fae from all corners of Prythian had gathered for the solstice celebration, their laughter and clinking glasses filling the air like a symphony of indulgence. You stood near the edge of the crowd, a goblet of rich, spiced wine in your hand, watching Mor across the room. She was radiant as always, her golden hair cascading in loose waves down her back, her crimson gown hugging her curves in a way that made your pulse quicken even from a distance. But tonight, that beauty twisted something sharp in your chest.

Mor leaned against a marble pillar, her laughter ringing out as she conversed with a tall, broad-shouldered male fae. His dark hair was tousled, his eyes gleaming with obvious interest as he bent closer to her, murmuring something that made her tilt her head back and smile—that sensual, effortless smile that drew everyone in like moths to a flame. He was too close, his hand brushing her arm as he gestured animatedly. You knew Mor didn't mean to flirt; it was just who she was, her sensuality spilling over without intent. But watching his fingers linger on her skin, seeing the way his gaze dipped to the swell of her breasts, ignited a fire in your gut. Jealousy, hot and unbidden, coiled tight.

You took a long swig from your goblet, the wine warming your veins, loosening the knot of restraint you'd usually hold. Normally, these moments ended with you pulling her aside for kisses and soft words, her arms wrapping around you until the world faded. But tonight, after your third—or was it fourth?—glass, the idea festered. Why should she get to make you feel this way without consequence? Your eyes scanned the room, landing on a striking female fae nearby, her silver hair shimmering under the starlight illusions dancing across the ceiling. She caught your gaze, her lips curving into an inviting smile, and something reckless sparked in you.

You sauntered over, goblet in hand, letting your hips sway just a bit more than usual. The female's eyes lit up as you approached, and she extended a hand. 'I've been watching you all evening,' she purred, her voice like velvet. “You have the kind of presence that commands attention.”

You laughed, a tipsy sound, and let your fingers trail lightly over her arm as you replied, “Do I? Well, perhaps I should make the most of it then.” You stepped closer, your shoulder brushing hers, close enough that Mor—standing just a few feet away—could see every deliberate move. The female leaned in, her breath warm against your ear as she whispered compliments about your eyes, your lips, and you played along, tossing your hair and meeting her gaze with a flirtatious tilt of your head. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Mor's posture stiffen, her golden eyes narrowing as she excused herself from the male and turned fully toward you.

The female's hand found your waist, pulling you into a light dance as the musicians struck up a lively tune. You let her spin you, your laughter mingling with hers, but your focus was on Mor now. Her face was a storm—lips pressed thin, cheeks flushed not with wine but fury. She crossed the room in swift strides, the crowd parting instinctively before her. Before you could react, her hand clamped around your wrist, yanking you from the female's grasp with a force that sent your goblet splashing wine across the floor.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Mor hissed, her voice low and venomous, her grip iron-tight as she dragged you toward the shadowed corridor leading to the private quarters. The female called after you with a confused protest, but Mor ignored her, her other arm snaking around your waist to haul you along.

You stumbled slightly, the wine making your steps unsteady, but the thrill of her jealousy surged through you. “Just having a bit of fun,” you shot back, though your voice wavered under her glare. “Like you were with that male. He was practically drooling over you.”

Mor kicked open the door to your shared bedroom, the heavy oak slamming shut behind you as she shoved you inside. The room was dimly lit by faelight orbs, casting a warm glow over the massive bed draped in silks and furs. She rounded on you, her chest heaving, eyes blazing like molten gold. “Fun? You call flirting with that bitch right in front of me fun? After I've spent the night watching every male—and female—in this hall eye-fucking you without you even noticing?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but she was on you in an instant, her hands fisting in the front of your dress as she backed you against the wall. Her body pressed flush against yours, heat radiating from her skin. “You have no idea how many times I've had to bite my tongue tonight,” she growled, her lips inches from yours. “All those fae circling you like vultures, and you just smile, oblivious. But this? This was deliberate. You wanted me to see.”

Her mouth crashed down on yours then, not gentle like your usual reconciliations, but punishing, her teeth nipping at your lower lip hard enough to draw a gasp. You tasted the faint tang of blood, but it only fueled the fire between you. Your hands flew to her hair, tugging at the golden strands as you kissed her back fiercely, the jealousy twisting into something raw and desperate.

Mor broke the kiss with a snarl, her hands ripping at the laces of your bodice. “You're mine,” she said, her voice rough as she yanked the fabric down, exposing your breasts to the cool air. Her palms cupped them roughly, thumbs circling your nipples until they hardened into peaks. “No one else gets to touch you like this. No one else gets to make you moan.”

You arched into her touch, a whimper escaping as she pinched one nipple sharply, sending a jolt straight to your core. “And you're mine,” you managed, your voice breathy. “That male was too close, Mor. You were letting him—”

She silenced you with another bruising kiss, her tongue invading your mouth as her hand slid down your body, bunching up your skirts. “He was nothing,” she muttered against your lips. “A distraction. But you... you think you can tease me like that and walk away unscathed?”

With a swift motion, she spun you around, pressing your chest against the wall. Your hands splayed on the cool stone for balance as she hiked your skirts over your hips, her fingers digging into your ass. You felt her breath hot on your neck as she leaned in. “I'm going to fuck you until you forget every other name but mine. Until you beg me to stop—and then beg for more.”

Her hand slipped between your thighs from behind, finding you already slick with arousal. Two fingers parted your folds, stroking along your slit before plunging inside without warning. You cried out, your body clenching around the intrusion as she pumped them deep and hard, her thumb pressing against your clit in firm circles. “So wet for me already,” she purred, her free hand sliding up to grip your throat lightly, tilting your head back so she could nip at your earlobe. “This pussy is mine. Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasped, pushing back against her hand, the rhythm building a pressure that made your knees weak. Her fingers curled inside you, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. She added a third finger, stretching you, the wet sounds of her thrusting filling the room alongside your moans.

But Mor wasn't done. She withdrew her fingers abruptly, leaving you aching and empty, and you whined in protest. “Patience,” she commanded, her voice laced with dark amusement. You heard the rustle of fabric, then felt her press against you—her own arousal evident as she ground her hips forward. She'd shed her undergarments somewhere along the way, and now her bare pussy rubbed against your ass, slick and hot.

She guided you to the bed, shoving you down onto the mattress face-first. You scrambled to your elbows, but she was there, straddling your thighs, her hands pinning your wrists above your head. “Stay,” she ordered, and you obeyed, heart pounding as she positioned herself. Her knees spread your legs wider, and then she was lowering herself, her wet heat sliding against yours in a slow, deliberate grind.

The friction was exquisite—her clit catching on yours with every roll of her hips, her folds parting to envelop you both in slick warmth. You bucked up instinctively, seeking more, and she laughed breathlessly. “Eager little thing. You want me to fuck this pretty pussy?”

“Yes,” you pleaded, twisting in her grip. “Please, Mor—”

She released your wrists only to grab your hips, flipping you onto your back in one fluid motion. Now facing her, you saw the raw possession in her eyes, her hair wild, lips swollen from your kisses. She hooked your legs over her shoulders, folding you nearly in half as she aligned herself again. This time, she rocked forward with purpose, her pussy grinding down hard, clits mashing together in a rhythm that had you both gasping.

“Look at me,” she demanded, her hands braced on either side of your head. You locked eyes, the intensity making your breath hitch as she fucked against you, her movements growing faster, more urgent. Her breasts bounced with each thrust, nipples grazing your skin, and you reached up to pinch one, earning a moan that vibrated through her body into yours.

The pressure built relentlessly, her clit swollen and sensitive against yours, the slick slide turning frantic. “You're going to come for me,” she growled, one hand snaking down to rub your clit directly, fingers slippery with your combined arousal. “Come on my pussy, show me who owns you.”

It hit you like a wave crashing over the Sidra—your body seizing, walls clenching as pleasure ripped through you. You cried her name, nails digging into her thighs, and she followed seconds later, her own orgasm shuddering through her as she ground down one last time, juices mingling in a hot flood.

But Mor didn't stop. Panting, she slid down your body, her mouth latching onto your oversensitive clit without mercy. You jerked, hands fisting the sheets, but she held your hips down, tongue lapping at you greedily. “Not done yet,” she murmured against your flesh, sucking your clit between her lips and flicking it with precise strokes. Her fingers joined again, three this time, thrusting deep while her mouth worked you over.

You were a mess of pleas and moans, the overstimulation bordering on pain but tipping into ecstasy as another climax built. “Mor—fuck, I can't—”

“You can,” she insisted, her voice muffled as she sucked harder, her free hand kneading your breast. The coil snapped again, your release gushing against her tongue, and she drank it down, humming in satisfaction.

Finally, she crawled up, collapsing beside you, both of you slick with sweat and cum. Her arm draped possessively over your waist as she nuzzled your neck. “No more flirting,” she whispered, though her tone held a hint of that earlier fury softened by sated desire.

You turned to kiss her, tasting yourself on her lips. “No more for you either.”

She chuckled, pulling you closer. “Deal. But if you ever pull that stunt again...”

It was a stupid, idiotic game suggested by stupid idiotic males. 

Mor was nursing a glass of red wine, sat at a round moonstone table at the river estate. The inner circle’s usual night of reverie at Rita’s culminated in everyone slumping back to the estate half-dead with 90% liquor in their veins. The night started out fun with good food and good-natured ribbing amongst her family but it had devolved into a headache. Truly, a nuisance was building at the back of her head, thumping uncomfortably. The alcohol certainly didn’t help but she wasn’t about to endure a drunk Cassian and Azriel without a buzz going. 

Feyre and Rhys had absconded to their room long ago and Amren had disappeared with no notice and no indication as to where she had gone (typical). Elain and Lucien went on a moonlit walk and Nesta had deemed the night over and stomped up to her room the moment Cassian started quoting a dirty passage from the novel she was currently reading. 

Leaving Mor with Cassian and Azriel and a stupid, idiotic game. 

They had somehow gotten on the topic of lovers and Cassian being Cassian, was eager to pry into everyone’s intimate business.

Mor was planning to call it a night soon anyway. This game didn’t interest her and she’d rather be with you. In your arms, in your bed. You’d known each other loosely for a while ever since you worked as a lounge singer at Rita’s but one night, Mor was one of the only people left in the place after your set. You two got to talking and the chemistry was un-fucking-deniable. Your chance meeting quickly blossomed into a fling.

Except something deeply wounded Mor to call it a fling. It made it sound so… cheap and flimsy. Yes, you were phenomenal in bed. Yes, she could cum just from the mental image of you with your head thrown back and her fingers plunged inside you. But you were also talented and ambitious and witty and matched her tit for tat when it came to her silver tongue. There was still some anxiety she felt when she was with females. It never allowed her to fully relax or lose herself in a moment. But you…

You excited her. 

“Okay, okay. Azriel’s turn. Name the best lover you’ve ever had.” Cassian smirked. 

“I don’t kiss and tell.” Azriel said.

“Come on, Az! I told you mine!” 

Azriel snorted.

“You’re mated. You wouldn’t have said any name except Nesta’s. And if you had, she would have ran down here and kicked you in the balls.” 

“And it would have been a major turn on because everything Nesta does turns me on because Nesta is the best lover I’ve ever had now DISH!” Cassian screamed, pointing his wine glass at Azriel and making the wine spill everywhere.

Normally, Azriel didn’t partake in such games. He didn’t kiss and tell. He was respectful and likely got a kick out of being so stoic and mysterious. But they had been drinking so heavily for so long. The shadowsinger’s hazel eyes were swimming with mischief.

“Alright. It was fairly recent. About 10 years ago.” Azriel began to loosely describe this female he had a fling with over the winter that he met while shopping for Solstice presents. The smirk on his face deepened as he described their love making. “She had a phenomenal body and I swear, I didn’t think it was possible for my dick to go so deep inside someone. She was a great cook, too. She always baked me a pie afterward. ” Mor was barely listening. She was about to dump her wine into the plant in the corner and winnow to your apartment when something turned her blood to ice.

Your name.

Your name coming from Azriel’s lips.

It happened in less than a span of a heartbeat. Less than the flutter of an eye closing than it took for Mor to sail across the table and connect her fist with Azriel’s jaw. 

She could barely register Azrie’s weight beneath her, Cassian’s cackle that turned into a worried shout was muffled as she began punching Azriel over and over. Mor roared and gripped the lapels of Azriel’s shirt, readying to bash his head into the floor when a force stronger than drunken Mor pulled her away. 

Azriel’s shadows.

Azriel groaned, blood trickling out of his nose mixing with the spilt wine on the floor. He wriggled his nose and winced. Not broken but Mor gotten in a hell of a punch. 

“What the hell, Mor?!” Cassian shouted. 

Mor was held back by Azriel’s shadows, tears streaming down her face. So many emotions were washing over her at once, spawning in the pit of her stomach and trailing to the center of her chest. Jealousy and rage flowed to the top. 

Azriel had been with you. The two of you had made love. Azriel had known your body, tasted you, gazed upon you in your naked form. He’d known the pleasure only you can provide.

And she wanted to fucking kill him for it.

Azriel just stared at Mor while Cassian berated her, screaming some nonsense about how they’re a family and hitting is only okay if they did something to provoke it.

“Cassian.” Azriel’s sharp voice cut in. “Leave us.” 

Cassian complied. Even this drunk, he could tell when his brother truly needed something. He murmured something about going to get ice and a healing tonic and left the two of them alone. 

Azriel stood up and slowly walked to where Mor was restrained by his shadows. Another feeling started to mix in with the others. Shame. She’d hit Azriel. She’d hurt Azriel. She’d hurt her family. And now there was no hiding anymore. 

Azriel leveled his gaze at her and Mor shivered. He’d never looked at her that way. Never as the feared, icy, ruthless Shadowsinger of the Night Court.

“Is there something you need to tell me, Morrigan?” 

***

Mor insisted on talking in Azriel’s room. This wasn’t a conversation she wanted anyone else to hear and his was the only one she trusted to be thoroughly soundproof. 

She sat on Azriel’s bed, clutching a pillow in her lap while Azriel stood over her. A blush crept onto her cheeks.

“Don’t stand there, Azriel, like I’m a teenager in trouble. Sit.” 

It was his room and his nose and jaw that she’d tried to break but still, he sat.

Mor took several steadying breaths and begged herself not to cry. She wouldn’t be able to get out the words if she cried. But still, her cheeks and eyes warmed as fat tears began to pool in her eyes. One of Azriel’s shadows came up to wipe them away. 

And Azriel’s scarred hand gently placed atop hers.

“Mor…” His voice was tight. He’d only seen her cry on a few occasions: when Rhys was captured by Amarantha, when Rhys returned, when Nyx was born and he and his parents almost died… It wasn’t a sight he enjoyed. 

“I just–” She heaved a sob. “I need a minute, okay?” 

Azriel squeezed her hand. 

“I’ll wait.” 

Azriel had waited. He’d waited 500 years for something to happen between them. Something that would never happen. Something that Mor had communicated in a roundabout, cruel way. Gods, she hated herself for it. But who could blame her for being skittish? For being so scared that she’d kept this part of herself hidden from even her family? 

…Azriel wouldn’t. 

Mor took another breath. And another. And another after Azriel had conjured up a glass of water for her. 

They sat there for close to 20 minutes before she finally spoke. 

“The first fae I ever loved…” Mor sighed. “Was a female named Andromeda.” 

She weaved the tale over an hour and a half, detailing the first flicker of confusing affection she felt for females, twined with the lesser but still present affection for males. The sexual politics of her taking Cassian as her first lover. Andromeda. Their love story that culminated in the loneliest sadness Mor had ever felt. Loving and losing and her heart caving in all while her family was unaware. The lingering fear and panic she felt regarding her father and Beron and Eris. How she’d avoided Azriel by sleeping around with other males. All leading up to you. How the two of you met at Rita’s one late night after you’d finished a set. How she bought you a drink. How she bought you a second drink. How you became quick friends. How your friendship spiraled into something steamy and undeniable. How Azriel saying your name had unlocked a river of white-hot rage buried so deep inside her that she didn’t even feel like herself when she’d launched herself across the table at him. 

Her throat was dry and raspy by the time she was done talking. She’d cried through a lot of it, especially when talking about Andromeda. She braced herself for Azriel’s reaction. 

“I am sorry that you have been hurting, Mor. But I am also hurt that you thought–” Azriel’s head whipped to the side like he’d been phantom-smacked. His tongue darted out to lick his lips. “I am hurt that you thought I would… what? Berate you? Drag you kicking and screaming into the Court of Nightmares and drop you at Kier’s feet? Be so heartbroken that I would resent you?” 

Mor shuddered.

“Don’t you?” 

Azriel sighed.

“Mor, you are… dazzling. Beauty and wits and heart is what you’re made of. It’s no mystery why I fell for you. It’s no mystery why anyone would fall for you. You’re also kind, and caring, and family.” 

Azriel’s hazel eyes burned into hers and she shifted slightly on the bed, unnerved by the intensity of it. 

“You were always going to be one of the most important people in my life. And no, our relationship didn’t fall into place the way I desired it to and yes, it hurts but what I can’t get over is that you didn’t trust me. You didn’t trust any of us.” 

Mor pulled on the end of her dress, just to have something to do with her body aside from sit here in this uncomfortable conversation.

“Um, actually… Feyre knows.” 

Another deep sigh from Azriel. Mor has never felt so small. So unguarded. Her secrecy was the only armor she had and now it was dust in the wind. No going back. 

“Do you hate me?” She whispered.

Azriel scoffed.

“By the Cauldron, Mor, have you been listening to me?” Azriel reached for her hands. “I could never hate you. I don’t care if you like females or males or both or neither. I don’t give a shit about any of it. You are my family. In 500 years, I have never felt safer than I have with all of you.”

She sniffled, tears welling in her eyes once more.

“Really?” 

“Of course.” Azriel said, his voice softer than it had been all night. “Look, I’m not saying I’m happy with you for toying with my feelings and this might take a while for me to process the fact that it’s never going to be us but… I love you, Mor. I’m happy when I’m around you and it kills me to know that you haven’t been completely happy around all of us.” 

Mor felt a swell of relief in her chest. She slipped her arms around his neck and hugged Azriel and hugged him and hugged him until she felt like crying again. This time, she let the tears fall until she was sobbing into his chest.

They spent two more hours talking, ironing out their feelings, and crying. Well, mostly Mor cried. Azriel conjured up more water for her and some food as well. It was practically dawn anyway with the dark blue sky conceding to a blushing, orange sunrise. 

“How do you feel now?” Azriel asked over a strawberry flake strudel. He was now sitting at the foot of his bed, his back leaning against one of the four posters as his wings draped lazily on the ground. 

Mor loosed a long sigh and pulled the straw in and out of the plastic coffee cup she had long since drained until Azriel told her to stop because the sound was annoying.

“I feel like… I want to go see my girlfriend.” She was spent. Her emotions had all spilled out of her like nightmare vomit and she was utterly empty. She craved nothing more than to curl up in your warm bed and stroke your soft hair until she fell asleep. 

Azriel barked out a laugh. 

Mor’s brows knit into a line. She kicked at Azriel’s foot but he quickly dodged. 

“What?” She bit.

“That’s a funny word.” Azriel said, smirking as he finished off his breakfast treat.

Mor sat her cup on his nightstand and sat up.

“What do you mean?” Sure, you two didn’t have a label yet. But you were basically girlfriends, right? You spent most nights together, you slept together, went shopping in Velaris together, had lunch dates all the time. At least, she hoped you’d want to be her girlfriend.

Azriel rolled his eyes at her.

“Morrigan. You flew across a ten-foot long table and beat the shit out of me just because one time, a decade ago, I slept with–” 

Mor growled. That same feeling she got when Azriel first said your name last night was building up again. She felt it from her navel all the way up to her chest. A dark, swirling vortex of negative emotions and yet, somewhere within was a bright white light. 

No, not white. 

Golden.

Mor’s entire world cracked open. Every scar. Every ounce of pain and trauma that she’d collected split open and filled with a shimmering golden liquid that came from the reservoir of your soul and bled into hers. 

“...mate.” 

Azriel said it the moment Mor realized it. Everything aligned for her in that moment. The seas were bluer, the birds chirped a perfect melody, and everything made sense. It had all been for this. All been for you. Every awful horror, every fitful night of sleep, everything… it was all aligning for Mor to find you.

She scrambled to get up, all the while Azriel was laughing. She couldn’t find her shoes. Where were her godsdamned shoes? 

Mor decided to forgo the accessories and just go straight to you. Barefoot and in love. And although the bond was pulling at her, willing her to find you, she turned back to Azriel. 

“Az? Are we… are we going to be okay?” She was scared to ask, but it was high time to stop being afraid. To stop keeping Azriel–her entire family, really– at an arm’s length. They all loved her and she needed to embrace that, or else she’d never be truly happy.

Azriel leaned his head against his four-poster. 

“Of course we will, Mor. Maybe not today, but we will be.” 

Mor nodded slowly and headed for the door. She looked back one last time at Azriel. At her family. She knows she hurt him and she would have to do some serious groveling to earn his forgiveness. Even though he was a good male and would likely not accept any gifts or excessive sweetness, she would do it anyway. Mor would win back his trust and help heal the scars she inflicted. But the cage she had trapped herself in had suddenly combusted. The world was wide open. And she liked it. And so Mor said, for perhaps the first time in her life, but meaning it fully:

“I love you, Azriel.” 

***

Rushed knocks were all she could manage. Feeling a mating bond that had yet to be reciprocated was suffocating and intoxicating all at once. She was shaking and bouncing on her feet like she’d had 300 coffees. If you didn’t open the door in three seconds, Mor didn’t know if she could keep herself from knocking it down. 

Mercifully, it swung open. And there you stood.

Her mate. 

Her perfect, beautiful mate. 

You wore a pair of tiny shorts and a very thin, very see-through white tank top underneath a red kimono robe that Mor was almost certain had once been at home in her closet.

Despite dawn just rising up to wish Velaris a good morning, you didn’t seem perturbed at Mor’s early intrusion. You gave her a lazy feline smile.

“Hey, good looking—” 

You never even had a chance. Mor pounced on you like a jungle cat, claiming your mouth with hers and grabbing at whatever skin she could get her hands on. Although surprised, you didn’t waver for even a moment. You slid your hands up through the fae’s hair and walked her backwards into your apartment. 

Mor’s heart sang a golden chorus that blended in with chirping birds and distant water fountains.

Mate. Mate. Mate. 

Happy. Happy. Happy.

You pulled Mor off of you for only a moment, but she chased after your lips, her hands practically pawing at your chest like a needy housecat.

“What’s gotten into you?” You asked, giggling. But the second Mor’s wide eyes looked into yours. You saw it. You felt it. That golden tether tying you to Mor. 

The noise you let out was something between a happy gasp and a squeal. 

You surged up and kissed her again, parting and letting her claim your mouth and claim you. She tugged the kimono down, shoving it off your perfect shoulders. You tried to do the same with her dress but she insisted on wearing those cross-back ones and intricate tit chains and it was so complicated to get off in a rush. 

But eventually you both worked all the offending garments off and onto the floor. Mor lifted you up and carried you to your kitchen table, her mouth never leaving your neck as she did so. 

She laid you out on your back and attacked your neck with kisses, nipping and biting at your jaw, your ear, anywhere she could reach. Her fingers went down to trace the insides of your thighs, drawing a shudder of pleasure from you. 

Her hand dipped even further, her middle finger tracing the outside of your entrance, barely ghosting over your skin, playing in the wetness that was already there. 

“Wait!” You shouted, just before Mor could get her fingers inside of you.

Her brows knit together in concern and her perfect lips formed a pout, but the distress melted when she saw you reach across the kitchen table grabbing at a tin of cherry pie you had made. You pulled it toward you and grabbed a sloppy handful from the middle. You held it out to Mor, your eyes wide from both love and lust. 

“Eat.” You gently nudged the pie up onto her lips. 

Mor watched a stream of cherry juice drip down your hand and wrist. She leaned in and traced it with her tongue, collecting it off your skin. She dragged her tongue down your arm and back up until she took your entire pinky in her mouth, sucking on the digit. Then she did the same with your ring finger and your middle finger and so on. Her teasing was utterly unfair and you pouted as she took her sweet time sucking on your fingers until she finally ate the handful of pie you’d extended out to her. 

A pang of jealousy sang in her chest, remembering that you baked pies for Azriel after every time you did it but the solidification of the bond quickly stamped that out. 

Mor ate every bit of pie you offered her and licked the palm of your hand clean. Her lips were stained red from the cherries and the sweetness rested pleasantly on her tongue. 

“I love you.” She murmured, placing kisses along your bare chest and over your boobs. She wrapped her mouth around a nipple and sucked and nipped at it, drawing precious little “ah!”s and moans from you. 

“Mm… I love you too, Mor.” You said, twining your fingers in her hair, not caring that you were getting pie crumbs all in your lover’s blonde hair. Because she wasn’t just your lover anymore. She was your mate. 

She fixed her attention on your other nipple and her fingers found her way back to your entrance, teasing, grazing. 

Your mate sat up, eye-fucking you as she took in your form. It didn’t make you shy. You were never shy with Mor, or at Rita’s when you were belting out a song. It was one of the things she loved about you. One of the reasons you were perfectly matched to her. The Mother did a good fucking job. 

“How much do you love me?” Mor said in a sing-song tone, dragging her knuckle up your slit. 

“So much.” You gasped. You truly did love Mor. She was confident and carefree and fun. She made you feel like every day only happened so you could experience pleasure. Like mornings were made for strolls in the sun and evenings were made for lovemaking under the moonlight. There was no pain and no turmoil when you were together. There was just you and your mate and the golden love that flowed through you and around you. 

“How good do I fuck you, baby?” She whispered, sliding one finger inside you. 

You gasped and grabbed her wrist. Not to stop her but just to have any sort of contact with you. Mor rectified this immediately by holding one of your hands in her free one and pressing kisses to the back of it. 

“So good, Mor.” You murmured as she lazily dragged her finger in and out of you. It wasn’t enough. You needed more. 

Sensing your needs, knowing exactly what her sweet mate needed, she added another finger and amped up her speed ever so slightly. You moaned your affirmation.

“I know what you like.” She whispered. The minx. You could hear the smirk on her face.  

She pulled you right to the edge and then retracted her fingers faster than you could comprehend. Your eyes shot open and tears quickly filled them, so close to your peak and then denied so quickly. 

Mor shook her head, grinning at you the whole time.

“Sweet girl… you know how this goes. We don’t ever finish that quickly. Besides,” Mor dug her fingers into the pie you had decimated, plucking out a single cherry and holding it up to the light, admiring it like a lost artifact. “You haven’t had breakfast.” 

She dragged the cherry around your lips, painting them red. Your tongue darted out to lick at the tips of her fingers and she placed the cherry on your tongue. You chewed and felt the bond growing stronger, more prominent in your chest with every little bite. The second you swallowed, Mor was on you again, kissing you desperately, licking into your mouth. 

She hiked your leg up and started grinding her wet cunt against yours. The warmth was perfect and you felt your body and soul practically singing with how right it felt, how perfect you two were. 

Mor’s warm, wet pussy was like a dream. You grinded against her, creating more friction and soon you were both shouting, both unable to contain your moans. Mor sped up, bouncing against you and that simply wouldn’t do. You couldn’t let her have all the fun. You broke from the kiss and took her nipple in your mouth, sucking on it as she had done to you. Except, you had a little payback in mind for her edging you. You let go of her nipple with a wet pop and started sucking a love bite onto the skin of her breast, right on top where it would be visible in those low cut dresses she wore. Everyone would know she had a mate. Everyone would know she belonged to you. 

Mor moaned your name in a desperate whisper, increasing her speed. The two of you weren’t going to last long. The pressure was building up and it was already too perfect, too all-consuming. 

Once you were satisfied with the darkening mark on her chest, you latched onto her neck, kissing and sucking. But that wasn’t enough for your mate. She gripped your chin in her hands and kissed you desperately. Like she needed you to breathe. 

That was what sent you over the edge. 

You came and Mor followed soon after. The pleasure flowed through you two freely like the love through the bond. You’d never felt so connected to someone and by the pulsating you felt at the other end, you knew Mor hadn’t either. 

“I love you.” She slurred, pupils blown wide with lust. You swore they almost looked like little hearts. 

You returned the sentiment, murmuring it into her skin as you kissed up her sternum and across her jaw before she finally gripped a fistful of your hair and dragged you up to her lips. 

You sighed in contentment against your mate. But Mor wasn’t done with you yet. 

She sunk to her knees in front of you, eye-level with your glistening wet pussy. 

“So…” she drawled, licking a stripe up your slit, collecting both her and your wetness on her tongue. “When were you gonna tell me you fucked Azriel?” 

At the same moment you uttered “what?” Mor plunged her tongue inside you, swirling around and suckling at your clit. You clawed at the table, wishing you had laid a tablecloth down so you’d have something to grip onto. You were still so, so sensitive but Mor was relentless as she toyed with your bundle of nerves. 

“I know you fucked him…” She mumbled against your hot core. 

You laid your head back in pleasure, unable to form any thoughts. Mor knew you liked a little overstimulation and the mating bond was amplifying it by one hundred.

“Was a long time ago…” You murmured. Utterly pussy-drunk. 

“Don’t care.” Mor said, plunging a finger inside you. “Should’ve told me. I almost broke his nose.” 

Some part of you deep down felt bad for Azriel but that part was trapped beneath an ocean of pleasure and right now, you’re not sure you could even remember what Azriel looked like. 

“Mmm…” You moaned, your clit twitching as Mor sucked on it. She added two fingers, pumping in and out of you faster than she did before. 

Mor brought you to the edge again and you could barely register her lifting you up and carrying you into the bathroom. You were so lost in your own pleasure and the feeling of your mate holding you that no other sensations even mattered. Your body simultaneously roared at you to fall asleep and to hop onto Mor’s lap and grind your pussy against hers over and over again. 

“Sleep, my love.” Mor said. 

You felt her easing the two of you into a hot bath, her keeping you tight against her chest.

“No.” You grumbled petulantly, though your eyes fluttered closed. She did wake you up awfully early and make you cum twice. Mating frenzy or no, you were exhausted. “Need to fuck you.” 

Mor giggled against your ear.

“We’ll have a lifetime of that, baby.” Mor ran her fingers up and down your arm, the sensation calming you and sending tiny tingles of pleasure to your brain. She was most definitely moving you into the river house once the frenzy was over. Or she could move in here with you. Or maybe you two would build a new property. You could design your dream home together. Whatever. Permanent decisions could wait until after your mating ceremony. Because you would be having a mating ceremony. A spectacular, classy, romantic affair. Candles everywhere and her whole family in attendance. All of fucking Velaris. She would marry you in front of anyone anywhere in the world. 

You nodded your affirmation and slumped against your mate as she took to washing you both with your nice smelling soaps. 

When you woke up, Mor would find your vibrator and make you come two more times with it. She loved getting you worked up because once it was her turn, you were relentless. You would pull orgasm after orgasm from her until she was in tears and screaming your name so loud, the cranky neighbors pounded on your door demanding you keep it down. 

“Tell me, mate.” Mor whispered as she shampooed your hair. “What flavor pie did you bake Azriel after he fucked you?” 

You hummed and pinched Mor’s thigh for fixating on silly things and pulling you out of your sleep. You and Azriel had a fling that lasted less than a winter season ten years ago and had only ever been casual friends since. It was nothing compared to what you felt for Mor. How pleasure overtook every cell in your body when you were together, even if all you were doing was sharing a turkey sandwich at a bistro down by the Sidra. 

If you peeked into your skull, it would be filled with images of Mor. Your lover, your best friend, your mate. She was your ending and your beginning. Nothing before or since matters. 

“Blueberry.” 

Mor nipped your ear and your moan signaled you liked that a little too much. Even as your eyes fluttered shut, you grabbed her hand and guided it to your center. You wanted her to make you cum one more time, just one more teeny tiny orgasm before you fall asleep. 

Mor massaged your wet, soapy breast with one hand while the other lazily circled your clit. She pressed hot kisses over your neck, occasionally licking and nipping the skin there too.