#Feyre's just casually minding her own business in the townhouse

[rosanna-writer]

I totally forgot that my favorite part of writing Rhys POV is him calling Feyre "Queen of Night" every two seconds in his internal monologue

#I'm back on my we said hello Rhys POV bullshit #Feyre's just casually minding her own business in the townhouse #and his thoughts are all QUEEN OF NIGHT IN HER RIGHTFUL PLACE #feysand

[separatist-apologist]

I'll Bet You Think About Me

Summary: Feyre Archerons neighbor stands out on their shared deck each morning.

Totally naked.

Read what the critics are saying: "ITS LIKE YOU DONT CARE THAT YOURE KILLING ME" and "IM CHOKING OH MY GOD RHYS 😂😂😂"

moodboard by @velidewrites, beta'd and written for @the-lonelybarricade who gave me explicit permission to rip off her own neighbor fic, You Look Like Bad News (which you should all go read so she will UPDATE IT FOR ME)

Read on AO3

Feyre worked strange hours. 

She didn’t have to, of course. She rented out studio space downtown that offered twenty-four hour access via a keycard and Feyre found she much preferred to paint at two in the morning…and again at two in the afternoon. In between, she taught a painting class to rambunctious hospital children all the way across the city, and three painting classes at night for adults who liked to drink wine. She had enough money, thanks to some wealthy business man purchasing one of her paintings, to afford one of the nicer townhouses in a quieter part of the city. Did she need that much space? No. But she liked it.

She liked the dark wood floors and the bay window that overlooked the street. She liked the crown molding and having two bathrooms upstairs and half of one downstairs.

And most of all, Feyre liked her neighbor. Rhysand. She knew because she’d once gotten a piece of mail for him, numbered for next door but slid into her box. She’d returned it, turning that name over in her mind.

He didn’t realize she lived there. At least, that’s what she assumed, given every morning he bade his strolled onto the back deck they shared totally and utterly naked. She’d been standing outside the sliding glass door, about to introduce herself to him. 

He’d introduced himself, instead. 

Rhysand. 

Rhysand with his golden brown skin and his muscular body. Rhysand, with his raven’s black hair and eyes so blue that they seemed violet in the early morning sun. Rhysand, with those dark, black inked tattoos over his broad shoulders and chest.

And Rhysand, with his absurdly large cock. She’d heard the phrase shower versus grower, but never had Feyre understood what that meant until she saw the thick, heavy appendage hanging casually between Rhysand's muscular thighs. 

Feyre made sure she was home every morning to see him strut out on the deck. Sometimes he went alone, nothing in hand, to lean against the railing and stare out at the river in the distance. Other times he had coffee or a book. A few times a very naked woman would join him—always different, which made her feel a little better.

It wasn’t as if she had a shot in hell with him. Rhysand looked like he had an expensive job. Like he’d been born into money and his life was merely a natural extension of that. He certainly wasn’t covered in paint at any given time, and the women he brought home weren’t, either.

Still, he was a nice little fantasy. Most morning’s Ferye lied to herself about why she watched him. It wasn’t, she swore, because he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

He was merely a good body study. Examining him so closely, watching the way his muscles shifted and pulled, made her a better artist. And Feyre was consumed with being a better artist. She’d never been able to get past the awkwardness that came from studying nude figures, but since Rhysand didn’t know he was being watched, Feyre didn’t have to feel uncomfortable. 

It took her three months of living in the townhouse to work up the nerve to sketch him. He’d been leaned over the railing, one leg popped out, the other stretched behind him. No penis—only his rather nice ass and the bunching muscles in his back. He stayed that way just long enough for her to get a rough outline of him. 

She hadn’t slept that morning—Feyre had to finish her charcoal drawing. It had made her class that night hell and still, was well worth it. She’d managed to capture his contemplation rather well, which always made her giddy.

A week later, she’d pulled it out again to draw him spread in a chair. That sketch was more self-indulgent and yet the way his cock hung between his thighs, the head pressed to his leg, was more good work. New work. She’d transferred it onto an easel, using oil to draw out his mood and the world around him. 

If he hadn’t been a real person, Feyre was sure she could have sold it. He was absurdly beautiful, even drawn from her own hand. The world deserved to know someone like him existed. 

It was a violation in and of itself to even draw him, let alone put one of those pictures up for auction. It wasn’t as if he knew and Feyre was positive if he learned he had a neighbor, he would have put on pants. 

She managed to stay out of his line of sight for a full six months. She might have managed it forever had they not met on the sidewalk just outside their shared walkway. He had his arm around a giggling brunette. Her dress was riding up over her ass and his tie was pulled off his neck.

Feyre was covered in paint.

The three of them paused, looking at each other. His dark brows furrowed, keys in his hand. 

“Hey, neighbor,” she said awkwardly. He blinked those violet eyes, his expression illuminated under the porchlight.

“How long…” his words were slurred. “Neighbor?” 

“Six months,” she informed him sheepishly. Fuck this was so awkward. Her stomach sloshed with jealousy, unable to take her eyes off the woman running her hand up his broad chest. She wished that was her. 

“Have a nice night,” she told him, jogging towards the stairs before he could ask her anything else. Feyre’s heart pounded just on the other side of the door. He was drunk, she reasoned. He wouldn’t remember this in the morning. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was up to, though despite their shared walls, she didn’t hear a peep out of him. 

Whiskey dick was a real bitch, she told herself with more than a little glee. 

Feyre was certain she was in the clear the next morning. She had her sketch pad at the table, coffee steaming from a paint covered mug, when a knock on the front door sent fear skittering up her spine. Feyre turned towards the long hall, well aware of who would be waiting.

It was Rhysand, in a dark suit, and box of donuts in hand.

“I didn’t know I had a neighbor,” he said by way of greeting. “Six months?”

“I’m surprised you remember,” she said breathlessly. Watching him from her window was one thing. Standing just on the other side of the door frame, close enough to breathe in the salt and citrusy scent of his masculine cologne was wholly another. Rhysand was tall, looking down at her with open amusement.

“Can I come in?” he asked when it was clear she wasn’t going to invite him. 

Get it together.

“Yeah, sure,” she agreed, stepping aside. He practically ducked in, eyes sliding over her walls. They snagged on one of her paintings, squinting as though he recognized it. She wouldn’t be surprised. For a whole year, Ferye had advertised her pieces in various restaurants as a way to drum up interest. 

“Do you know what happened to the last woman who lived here?” he asked conversationally. Feyre led him to the kitchen, not bothering to think about what he might see when he stepped in.

“She passed away, I think,” Feyre replied. He nodded, gaze pinned to her closed sketchbook.

“She was nice. Used to bake.”

Did she watch him naked from the window, too? Feyre didn’t blame her if she had. Rhysand set the donut box on her little table, positioned perfectly to watch him on the deck.

“This was really nice,” she tried, unable to take her eyes off him. Rhysand went straight to the closed balcony doors, peering out into the morning light. Was he missing his usual routine? 

“It’s my pleasure,” he assured her, turning so suddenly she stumbled back a step. Hands braced on the counter, Feyre had to blink in order to really look at him. “Six months, huh?”

She nodded, swallowing hard.

“Never wanted to say hi? That’s not very neighborly.”

“I work late hours,” she told him breathlessly. His eyes flicked back out to the deck. “Out late? Up early?”

“Something like that.”

He nodded slowly. “And when do you sleep?”

The question was innocuous. Polite, even. Or, it would have been were it not for the predatory look in his eyes or the way he managed to make that question sound like a suggestion.

“I…” Feyre walked around the kitchen island, putting a healthy distance between them. “When I can.”

He nodded, glancing back at her sketchbook. Nodding towards it, he asked. “You draw? Can I see?”

She lunged, snatching it out of his hands before he could flip it open. He was so close to finding multiple drawings of his own cock. All but panting, Feyre said, “That’s private.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is,” he agreed. She wanted to die. Did he know? Had he guessed? Or was her guilt making her project? 

“Thank you for breakfast,” she told him, holding her sketchbook protectively to her chest. He smiled.

“Maybe you’ll return the favor once you get to know me. I’m Rhys.”

Rhys. 

“Feyre,” she breathed.

“Feyre,” he repeated. He spoke it like a prayer—like a lover's caress. “I look forward to getting to know you better, Feyre.”

And that was it. He left her with twelve really nice donuts and his lingering scent in her apartment. 

She convinced herself it was all in her head. Locked up in her studio, Feyre reassured herself that was just how he was. Flirty. He didn’t know shit. He was just nosy and too nice and she felt guilty that she watched him every morning.

Not so guilty she didn’t return that next morning. If he knew, she reasoned, he would stop. Any sane, rational person would. She was relieved to see him out there, sitting in one of the deck chairs with his legs wide open. It was a familiar pose…though the erect cock wasn’t. Neither was his gaze, pinned to her form. 

“Good morning,” he called, lifting his mug of coffee in the air. “Care to join?”

She couldn’t stop staring at his penis. She’d just assumed the flacid version was as big as he got, but filled with blood and pointed towards the sky, Rhys’s jutting dick pressed against his belly button easily. 

She didn’t move.

“I thought you might prefer drawing me if you were outside, too. Naked, even?”

She turned away to a cajoling, “Oh come on, Ferye, darling—”

Feyre spent the rest of the day hiding in bed, utterly mortified. 

He was more brazen the next morning. Still naked though not erect, Rhys knocked on her backdoor as she was thundering down the stairs for coffee and her sketchbook. She’d never closed the curtains, so Feyre was greeted with his gloriously muscular form and that wicked smile.

“I had a bad day yesterday,” he told her when she froze on the tile of the kitchen, eyes immediately fixated on his cock. “Ask me why.”

“Why?” she breathed, wondering if he could even hear through the glass.

“My pretty neighbor didn’t want to draw me,” he replied. Feyre exhaled a huff of breath. “Am I going to have another bad day today, Feyre?”

“You’re unhinged. Do you know that?”

He smiled. “C’mon. Sit outside and talk to me, at least.”

“Are you going to put on pants?”

He scoffed. “Absolutely not. This is my time, and in my time, I don’t wear pants. Why don’t you take off yours. Turnabout’s fair play, is it not?”

Feyre rubbed her eyes. “Do you want me to say sorry?”

“I want you to show me your sketchbook. Ideally while you sit in my lap,” came his quick reply. 

Jesus Christ. 

“You’ll really let me sketch you?” she asked, stepping a little closer. Rhys grinned, running a hand down his naked chest.

“I’ll let you do anything you like to me.”

She held his gaze. “Give me a second.”

Feyre scrambled back up the stairs for her set of charcoals and her sketchpad. She didn’t dare let herself think about what she was doing, instead running a brush through her tangled mass of golden blonde hair. She braided it quickly, tossing the tail over her shoulder before yanking on a slouchy sweatshirt and a pair of clingy leggings. The more layers, the better she reasoned.

Especially if she was going to sit across from her neighbor, who was so absurdly hot it made her knees shake.

Rhys was waiting in his chair, ankle crossed over his knee. He frowned when he saw her. “You’re wearing more clothes.” “I need them,” she informed him frankly. He uncrossed his legs just in time for her to press her thighs together. 

“I’ll bet you don’t.”

“Is this how you treated the last neighbor?” Feyre demanded, as if she had any leg to stand on given how many pages of his naked form she had to flip through in order to get to a blank page. 

“Mrs. Robinson would have loved an offer into my bed,” Rhys said with a suggestive wink. “Honor her memory, Feyre.”

“Have we graduated from nude drawings to…” God she couldn’t even say it.

“I wouldn’t say no,” he agreed, his words practically a purr. 

“You were bringing a woman home two nights ago,” she snapped, hating how jealous she sounded. Ferye couldn’t look at him as she began thumbing through her set of charcoal. “I’ll bet your sheets still smell like her.”

“You think I wouldn’t wash my sheets for you?”

Fuck him.

“I like drawing you,” she managed, heart pounding in her throat. “I’m sorry if I made it weird.”

“Draw me again,” he insisted, some of his teasing. “It’s not weird at all.”

Feyre wasn’t sure that was true, but for an hour that morning, Rhys sat utterly still and Feyre sketched without having to move so quickly, fearing he’d move or shift or leave. It was odd to show him in the aftermath and worse still when he yanked the sketchpad from her hands and flipped through it, wide-eyed.

“Are these all of me?” he asked her, turning one to the side so he could view it better.

“There are others that aren’t,” she mumbled, embarrassed. “You’ve been my muse since I moved in.”

He caught her wrist before she could escape back inside. “I’m happy to be your muse.”

Their eyes locked. “Sorry for watching you naked.”

He smiled. “Don’t be.”

Feyre spent the rest of her day all but floating. 

I’m happy to be your muse. 

She wanted to show him the oil painting she’d done—which, despite him not realizing he was even the subject, was still some of her finest work. She thought he might appreciate it, if only to make some lurid comment about having sex with her. 

Ferye was still in a good mood as she set up her classroom for painting with adults. People—usually couples—paid for a two hour art class during which they could also drink while they did it. Very rarely did Feyre get a painting that looked good when a bunch of novices added alcohol to the mix, but it was her bread and butter in terms of getting her rent paid. Feyre was looking forward to that night because she had an interesting prop—a large, gleaming sword. Set atop a faded purple pillow, and when the light overhead hit the metal, different colors shone over silver, depending on where that person sat. There was depth, there was the chance for nuance. She, herself, spent her prep time painting an example from where she sat, setting it on an easel behind her.

People started pouring in around seven fifty…including her fucking neighbor and the most beautiful blonde she’d ever seen in her entire life.

“Don’t be annoying,” the blonde said the moment she stepped inside. She was immaculate, dressed in a tight red dress that hugged her body and tall heels that made both her and Rhys nearly the same height. His cheeks were inflamed the moment those violet eyes landed on her. 

Oh fuck him.

“Sit down,” the blonde ordered, practically shoving him into the chair at the far end of the room. It wasn’t uncommon for women to drag unwilling partners…but usually it wasn’t because the teacher had drawn their cock just that morning. 

Any decent person would have left. Rhys, apparently, had no decency in him. He shrugged off his crisp black jacket and began rolling the salmon colored sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. He looked stunning in gray slacks and a belt she might have been fantasizing about had he not brought a date to her class.

Feyre was forced to wait for the rest of the pairs to arrive. A giggly bachelorette group occupied the front row, clearly already drunk, which gave Feyre something to fixate on. 

“Hi!” she said, too brightly despite how firmly she was gripping a paint brush. “I’m Feyre–”

“Tell us about your credentials, Feyre,” the blonde interrupted. Her painted red lips curled with amusement. Rhys elbowed her hard in the ribs. “And your hobbies. What do you like to do for fun?”

“I’d like to know that, too, actually,” a man—who’d come in a larger group of couples, and was clearly their seventh wheel—added with hopeful eyes. “Are you single?”

Rhys started to stand, only to be yanked back in his chair by his date. 

“I can’t imagine how that’s appropriate,” Feyre replied smoothly. “Why don’t we pour a drink and then I’ll describe what we’re painting—”

“Looks like a sword,” that guy called again. “I can show you–”

“Shut the fuck up,” Rhys called darkly. “And let her talk.”

“Right.” Feyre swallowed hard. “The bar is at the far end of the room. Pour yourself a drink and grab a case of paint on your way back.”

Feyre leaned against the wall behind her, heart hammering in her chest. The rest of the room moved towards wine and other spirits—except for the blonde. She sashayed towards Feyre, tossing a long lock of her golden hair over her bare shoulders.

“I still want to know the answers to my questions,” she said, revealing two rows of perfectly straight, utterly white teeth. Fuck, she was so pretty. Not a drop of paint on her. Feyre’s chest tightened.

“I got a BA in fine art from Velaris U—”

“Good school,” the blonde murmured appraisingly. Brown eyes swept over her, framed by mascara coated lashes. She looked so well done, and Feyre couldn’t blame her. This was obviously Rhys’s type. 

“And your hobbies?”

Feyre blinked. “I paint.”

Her laugh was pretty. She chuckled, nodding. “I guess I walked right into that. Anything else?”

“Can I ask why you want to know?”

The woman stepped closer, clearly about to offer Feyre some secret but Rhys’s voice interrupted.

“Mor!” he barked. “Come get some fucking wine.”

Mor rolled her eyes, as if to say men, amirite? The whole thing was so utterly strange that Feyre had to walk back with the group to pour herself some wine, too. Mor was there, and when Feyre reached her, she murmured, “Red or white?”

“White.”

“Hm. I like red,” she said, though she handed Feyre a little plastic cup of white wine all the same. Mor turned again, to ask some other question, but the man who’d interrupted her was also waiting.

“Sorry about that guy's outburst,” he told her earnestly. “I wasn’t trying to be weird.”

“Sure,” Mor said on Feyre’s behalf smoothly. “What were you gonna say, anyway?”

His cheeks darkened. “I just think a sword is a cool prop. Can’t wait to show you what I do with it.”

“Oh, gross,” Mor whispered while Feyre smiled. 

“I can’t wait to see what you come up with,” Feyre said. This was still her job, and the last thing she needed was some man complaining because she couldn’t be friendly. It wasn’t the first time someone had hit on her.

It wouldn’t be the last. 

“Morrigan!” Rhys hissed, earning another eye-roll. 

“You could do better,” Mor whispered, “Than my terrible cousin.” 

Feyre choked on her breath of air. “Cousin?”

Mor merely laughed, walking back to Rhys who, to his credit, looked as if he wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole. 

Cousin. He’d brought his cousin to her painting class? Why? Feyre couldn’t tease it out…but she could punish him for all the jealousy she felt when he’d first walked in. Mor was having a lovely time, despite being a terrible painter. She spent most of her time drinking and telling loud stories about Rhys as a child, which the group of bachelorettes loved.

Rhys didn’t. He kept elbowing Mor, his eyes darting to Feyre as if to say I’m so sorry.

And maybe he ought to be sorry. If only a little. Feyre walked around the room, surveying people’s work and offering help when they muddied their colors and drew something absurdly phallic—like the guy who asked if she was single. Feyre frowned when she saw it, leaning closer.

“What is this?”

“A sword,” he replied, holding his wine close to his lips. “Do you like it?”

“Seems misshapen,” she murmured. “Something you should see a physician about.”

His friends beside him choked with laughter, drawing a scowl from Rhys across the room.

“One of your talents?” he crooned, smoother than she’d prefer.

“Not likely.”

She sent everyone home with their terrible drawings, grateful to shut the door in their faces—including Rhys and his very lovely, very nice cousin. He’d tried to speak to her on the way out, his eyes all but pleading but Feyre lacked the emotional capacity to hear him out. 

As if it mattered. As she began cleaning up the stations, Feyre found Mor had left her a little note on the clean piece of paper beneath her own painting.

Rhys has a crush on you. You should ask him out.

Feyre stared at it for a long time. Long enough the shop next door went dark and she had to walk to the parking lot herself. She took that piece of paper with her, folded up in her pocket as she drove home.

Rhys has a crush on you.

Rhys has a crush on you.

Rhys should think she was a pervert, she thought wryly. Had he told his cousin about her? And—oh God, what had he said? 

He was waiting on the front steps when she pulled up, parking in their shared driveway just beside his own nicer, shinier car. He pulled open her door before she could cut the ignition.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed, the scent of his cologne overwhelming her senses. Even under the harsh porch lights, Rhys was too handsome to stay mad at. And she wasn’t even mad.

Just embarrassed. 

“I told Mor I liked you,” he rushed out, his cheeks flaming red. “And she suggested we catch up and talk. I didn’t…I didn’t think she was insane enough to look you up.”

“She seemed nice,” Feyre offered mildly, walking towards her front door. It was so odd to see Rhys stumbling over his words. Where had his smoothness gone? 

“She’s a menace,” he retorted. “I ah…”

Ferye turned to look at him. 

“Can I show you something?” he asked, hand on his own door. “Pants on, I swear.”

“Is this the part where you chain me up in your basement?” she teased, following just behind. She was curious about his place, if nothing else. 

“The only chains I keep are on my bed—no don’t go, that was a joke—”

Feyre crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t make this weird.”

Rhys only sighed, gesturing for her to come in. 

Their set-up was exactly the same. Dark wood floors and crown molding. The same layout, the same ivory colored walls. He’d done a much nicer job decorating than her, which included several really lovely pieces of art on his wall.

“Up here,” he said, hand gliding over a mahogany wood rail as he led her up. Feyre’s heart pounded, well aware Rhys was taking her to his bedroom. To see the chains? A big part of her almost hoped so. She was so busy thinking about what he could do to her and how much she’d like it, that Feyre didn’t register what he was showing her when he pushed open his bedroom door.

She only saw the bed, draped in black with a pretty white throw tossed over the bottom edge. Rhys cleared his throat, as if he realized what she was looking at—his headboard, free of any restraint at all. 

On the unbroken wall the two of them shared, was a painting that was all-too familiar to Feyre. Framed in silver lovingly, it was her work. 

Feyre whirled to look at him. “You?”

He swallowed hard. “I keep it there so it’s the first thing I see in the morning,” he admitted. “It makes me feel…” he paused, hand pressed to his chest. 

“You paid too much for it,” she whispered. “It’s how I bought my place next door.”

His eyes lit up. “It's my fault you’re my neighbor.”

“In a way,” she agreed with a laugh she didn’t quite mean. 

“Lucky me,” he murmured, taking a step towards her. Ferye needed to get out before she did something stupid. Something wholly foolish, like fucking her neighbor as a thank you for buying my artwork. 

“I uh…” she cleared her throat. “It's been a long day.”

“Have breakfast on the deck with me tomorrow,” he told her, his hands clenched to fists at his sides. 

“Pants on?”

He shook his head. “No pants, Feyre.”

She took a breath. “We’ll see.”

Feyre fled on trembling legs, not daring to take a breath until she was in her own bedroom, back pressed to the wall her painting hung on. She could hear him moving faintly on the other side, though whatever he did wasn’t clear to her. Not immediately, anyway.

Not until Feyre slipped into her own bed naked, hand snaking between her legs. In the dark, every little noise her neighbor made was magnified. 

He grunted. It was such an obscenely sexual noise that Feyre whimpered in response. Silence settled between them, and then Rhys’s voice called through the wall. “Can you hear me, darling?”

Don’t respond, don’t respond, don’t respond— “Yes.”

He exhaled a loud, almost needy sounding breath. “Why don’t you go in the kitchen and see what you do to me?”

“I’m not wearing any clothes,” she told him, speaking louder than she wanted to so he would hear her.

“Fucking kill me,” he groaned softly. “Go downstairs, Feyre.”

Maybe it was her lust that drew her upwards. Or maybe it was knowing that Rhys had liked her before he’d ever even met her. Maybe he was just hot and it had been a year since she’d been the object of anyones sexual desires. Whatever it was, Feyre wrapped a blanket around her body and padded down the steps, calling, “I’m going,” before slamming her door loudly, just in case he hadn’t heard.

He must have run. Rhys was outside, chest heaving, by the time Feyre pulled back the blinds on the sliding door. He was utterly naked, illuminated by the light he’d flipped on and his massive cock was all but twitching in his hand. He was watching her with an intensity that made her whole body ache. 

“Take off the blanket,” he ordered, walking to her door to open it. Feyre was grateful she’d locked it. Rhys could tug all he liked. She wasn’t letting him in. 

Not tonight.

She did drop the blanket though, scooting forward in the chair so her toes were pressed to the glass. Legs spread open so he could really look at her. Rhys pressed his broad hand against the glass, resting his forehead against the door.

“Feyre,” he practically begged. “Open the door.”

“I don’t think I will,” she whispered, running her hands up and down her thighs. “That wasn’t the deal.”

“Feyre—”

“Show me what I do to you, Rhys.”

His free hand was still wrapped around his cock. When he stroked, Feyre couldn’t stop the soft whine that escaped her lips. He was exquisite and watching him pleasure himself while staring at her spread open pussy was so erotic Feyre could scarcely breathe.

“Touch yourself,” he rasped. “Show me how you like to be touched.”

“Thinking about touching me?” she tried to tease, though her fingers brushed her swollen clit all the same.

Rhy’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “Open the door, Ferye. Let me show you.”

She was tempted. So tempted her arm jerked without her consent, her body desperate to know what it would feel like to have his big, broad hands on her. 

Feyre dipped two fingers into her body, her stomach flipping when Rhys practically whined at the sight. Coating herself in her slick arousal, she trailed upwards, leaving a glistening path over her stomach as she toyed with her breasts. 

Rhys looked like he was seconds from falling to his knees, to begging and pleading to be let in. 

“Tell me what you would do,” Feyre ordered, bolder than she’d ever been in her life.

Rhys’s lips parted as her hand left her nipple, sliding back to rub indolent circles over her clit. 

“Feyre.” His voice was the softest plea, his breath fogging the glass. “Let me taste you.”

She arched her neck. “You talk a big game.”

“Let me show you,” he ordered roughly, pulling the door handle again. Stupid, she was so stupid. 

She leaned forward, fingers still sticky, and flipped the latch. Rhys pounced, pulling the door open so hard it bounced on the hinges. He didn’t care, not when cool air poured into her kitchen and certainly not if he broke the thing. 

He took four steps, hitting his knees so hard she could hear his bones groan in protest. Hands gripped her hips, yanking her forward until she had to drape her legs over his shoulders. He didn’t ask, didn’t say a gloating word. Feyre wasn’t certain he had any speech available to him at that moment. 

Feyre squealed when his tongue slid up the length of her. He hadn’t been lying on the deck. Rhys only adjusted his hold, pulling her to the edge of the chair until she was practically sitting on his face.

“Fucking hell, Feyre,” he moaned, the sound muffled as he sucked her clit between his lips. 

Oh God, she thought. He was so obscenely good with his tongue it ought to be a crime. Feyre gripped the edge of her chair, the only thing keeping herself from sliding into a puddle of wet nothing. 

Feyre had to press the balls of her feet against his naked back to keep from flying upwards. Rhys didn’t offer tentative licks or act like her last boyfriend every time he’d been between her legs. No hesitance—Rhys kissed, practically swallowing her with an urgency that made her whole body ignite with pleasure. 

Rhys ate pussy like he was hungry. It wasn’t pretty or elegant—he was messy. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, watching how his jaw worked, how his eyes held her gaze. Gauging, she realized, to see if she was enjoying herself. It took Feyre a moment to let go, to realize he wasn’t doing this just long enough to get her wet before he pushed himself into her. 

He was eating pussy because he liked it. 

Feyre carded her fingers through his dark, silken hair. “Rhys,” she panted, digging her heels into his back until there was no way Rhys was breathing. If he cared, he didn’t say. Hands kneaded at her thighs, her ass, anything he could put them on to heighten her already hot pleasure. It was a crime that a man as hot as him was as good with his mouth as he was. How did anyone stand losing him? 

“Rhys,” she breathed again, wondering if their neighbors could hear how loud he moaned into her. He’d figured her out too quickly—fucking her with his tongue until she was all but riding against his face, before dragging upwards to circle and suck at her clit. She felt wild, utterly out of control. Feyre pulled at his hair, all but ripping it from his scalp. It only made him moan louder.

“Rhys!” she pleaded a mere moment before she detonated around him. Her legs shook, clamping against his ears. Rhys pulled her closer still, tasting her release with hungry abandon. She had to push him off her to get him to stop.

Rhys yanked her to the floor, pulling her into his lap for a wet, messy kiss that tasted like her arousal. She was practically dripping wet, could feel the sticky slickness coating her thighs. Feyre clung to his powerful shoulders, sliding her tongue over his until they were both grinding on the floor, overcome with near feral desire. 

Rhys was the one who lifted her in the air like she was feather light, breaking the kiss long enough to keep them both from toppling back to the unforgiving tile. He walked her out into the late evening chill and set her atop the smooth rail of the deck. 

“Tell me,” he began, nipping kisses over her collarbone. “Is this what you imagined when you watched me?”

She didn’t answer at first—he sucked her nipple into his mouth, reigniting her arousal all over again. She could practically feel his tongue back on her clit. She wouldn’t have stopped him if he’d gotten back on his knees. Feyre slid her hands down his chest, halting when she felt the wet tip of his cock brush the back of her hand. 

Rhys moaned against her skin as she gripped him, pumping the thickness of him in a hand that hardly felt big enough to hold him. 

“Is it?”

Oh God, she’d forgotten he’d been speaking.

“No,” she whispered. “I just thought you were beautiful.”

The hungry look on his face softened for a moment. “You’re so lovely,” he whispered, teeth against her neck. “I’m going to fuck you, Feyre, and afterwards I’m going to take you to my bed and show you just how lovely you are.” She was still pumping his cock, her thumb slicking through the precum practically weeping from the tip. How did he seem so controlled? Feyre was losing herself entirely.

Rhys replaced her hand with his, pressing closer until he was notched against her. Feyre waited for him to thrust in and when he didn’t, too busy teasing her with his wicked mouth, she wrapped her legs around his waist, dug her heels and his ass, and pushed him into her body.

“Fuck,” he cried, loud enough to disturb nearby crickets singing sweetly in the grass. Speech eluded Ferye entirely as she adjusted to the fullness of holding him. It was almost like her first time—the stretch was a pleasant sort of pain. 

One hand on her hip, the other around her neck, Rhys began driving into her. The slap of their skin meeting was louder than the singing crickets and the street traffic just outside. Feyre didn’t care. She hoped someone looked out their window and saw what he was doing to her. 

Rhys’s hand was big enough to span the entirety of her neck, his fingertips pressing just enough to leave her breathless. 

Rhys dipped his head, licking just behind her ear. “You should have told me you were watching,” he whispered, teeth sinking against her lobe. He tugged and Feyre moaned, tightening around him. “I would have fucked you months ago.”

She dug her nails into his shoulders, pushing her feet until he was practically pounding with bruising force into her body. She’d never been more turned on in her life. The air kissed against her overheated skin, stimulating her just as surely as his hands and cock was. He was dragging her up back up in a way no one had ever managed before. The precise roll of his hips, the way he paid such careful attention to each little whine and whimper all added to the exquisite drag of his cock. He knew what he was doing.

“Rhys—” he covered her mouth with his own, swallowing her scream greedily as her pussy clamped tightly around him, drawing him deeper and practically holding him still. Feyre was wrecked, could barely breathe as a second orgasm ripped its way through her.

Rhys was all but rutting into her, whimpering with need. He was going to come—Feyre could practically feel the way his heart throbbed. His careful rhythm faltered, hips pushing and pushing until he dropped his hand around her throat to bite against her shoulder. His own release was dizzyingly erotic, only adding to her pleasure.

“Up,” he whispered, kissing her neck as he lifted her back up against him. He was forced to withdraw so he could walk. She whined in protest.

“I’m not done with you,” he informed her, walking her back through his place. Rhys dropped her on his bed where she could see that painting hanging on his wall. Proof, perhaps, that they’d been meant to find each other.

Rhys crawled up her body. “I’ll never be done with you.”

Feyre thought she wouldn’t be either.

#feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #feyre x rhysand #a little smut on a tuesday afternoon #sometimes thats just self-care

[mmvalentine]

But You pt 7 | Feysand

Modern AU. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 The smut continues! Honestly I get so carried away this could have been a one shot. You've been warned.

The gallery where Feyre's paintings hung was throwing an honest to goodness ball.

At first she had thought it was pretentious, but then Rhys had actually been excited. In sixteen-odd years of knowing Rhys, in her one year of living with him in their cosy little townhouse, she had never seen him excited for a social event. Not once.

So she brought out the black, backless dress she had impulsively bought for that one gala a couple of years back, and watched with endless amusement as Rhys primped and peacocked for over an hour in the bathroom. They were almost late. By the time got his hair and bowtie just so, Feyre was holding the door open and yelling to the taxi that they'd be right there. Rhys emerged in a haze of hair spray and cologne, took one look at her, and pushed it closed again.

"Feyre you looks absolutely delicious," he said, trapping Feyre against the door. His hands remained on the wood on either side of her face, and his bedroom eyes burned into her as they dragged down her body. Back up. Caught on her breasts, and then on her mouth.

"Rhys, we really do have to go," Feyre said. Rhys bent his elbows, pushed a thigh between her legs and ran his teeth over her throat. "We will," Rhys assured her. "In a minute."

His hands found the slit in her skirt and trailed up the inside of her bare leg. When he discovered she wasn't wearing any underwear, he froze on the spot. Then a feline grin spread over his face. "Wicked creature," he purred. "Pretending to be all business-like when secretly..." He stroked a finger over the centre of her, and her core clenched in response.

"I just didn't want a panty-line," she tried to explain, gasping as Rhys' hand moved. "No objections here," Rhys said, and ghosted his lips over hers. "I'm wearing make-up," Feyre protested weakly. "I just want one little taste," Rhys whispered. "You'll get lipstick on you." "I won't," Rhys argued, and then dropped to his knees and with no warning at all licked a stripe up between her legs. Sucked her clit into his mouth and tongue-kissed it until Feyre's legs started to give.

Then he stood again, straightened her skirts, and smoothed a hand over his hair.

"Well we'd better not keep the driver waiting any longer," he said smoothly, and held his arm out for Feyre to take. She gaped at him. "Come now, my dear, you can't be late when you're one of the artists."

She looped her arm though his, and let him walk her to the taxi in a daze. He held the door for her, and when he slid in next to her she said, "You're a bully, you know that?"

Rhys smirked. "Leave you wanting, did I?" "Started things you couldn't finish, more like," Feyre huffed. Rhys' eyes brightened. "I'll have you know that I can accomplish anything I set my mind to." He hugged her closer to him on the seat. Smoothed a hand down her leg, and found that slit in her dress. Stroked up the inside of her thigh.

"Of course, I don't intend to make this evening about myself," he said conversationally. While his fingers found her entrance.

"I more than anyone know how hard you've worked for this exhibition." The volume of her black skirts over the dark sleeve of his jacket meant the driver wouldn't be able to see anything if he happened to glance back. But Feyre blushed a deep scarlet anyway.

"I mean, you've always enjoyed a bit of exhibition, haven't you darling?" Rhys went on. His fingers dipped in just enough to feel the slickness there, and then slipped up toward her clit. "It's always important for an artist to be able to be in the public eye, I think."

He rubbed slow, wet circles over her clit, and Feyre's hands tightened on the seat.

"Of course, some prefer to labour in silence," Rhys said. "What do you think, Feyre? Could you work unnoticed? Can you stay quiet?" "I... um..." Feyre stammered. Rhys' fingers sped up. "Oh I know, so typical of artists to have difficult speaking about themselves. That's the paradox, isn't it?"

And then he plunged two fingers right up inside her. Feyre bit down hard on her lip to stop herself from crying out.

"Say driver," Rhys said casually. As he fucked her with his fingers. "How far away do you think we might be from the venue?"

The driver looked up at his rearview mirror, and Feyre forced her features into neutrality. Pretended to cough as the heel of Rhys' palm pressed against her clit.

"I think we're coming up on it now," the driver said. "Oh excellent," Rhys replied. And then sure enough, they were pulling over and Rhys was withdrawing his hand. Feyre whimpered and squeezed her now very empty thighs together.

Rhys got out of the cab and rounded the other side. Opened Feyre's door.

"Why Feyre, you look a little flushed. Are you feeling alright?"

Feyre just nodded, and let Rhys help her out of the taxi.

That cab ride more or less set the tone for the evening. Rhys stuck by her side like glue, and was always touching her some way or another. While they mingled and met patrons and other artists, Rhys kept a warm hand on her bare back and stroked over her skin. Nails on her spine. Finger tips above her tailbone.

When they sat down to listen to speeches, Rhys' hand sat on her knee, drawing circles there, never stilling. Every so often he'd lean over, and brush his lips over the curve of her ear.

Finally, the string quartet sat down and everyone was called to dance, and with no hesitation Rhys swept her up on her feet and into his arms. Where he held her tight enough against his body that she could feel the press of his erection in her abdomen.

"You are driving me absolutely insane," Rhys murmured. I'm driving you insane? Feyre wanted to say. Instead, she asked, "Where did you learn to dance?" "Brazil, probably, maybe, I don't know. I don't know anything right now except that I think I have to get you home immediately." "Rhys we just got here." "Yes yes, we came, we looked amazing, we can leave now, right?"

At that moment, a man whom Feyre recognised as one of the other exhibiting artists tapped Rhys on the shoulder.

"Excuse me," he said, with a beautiful smile. "May I cut in?" "No," Rhys said curtly, and whirled Feyre away, leaving her to mouth "Sorry," and give the man her most apologetic expression as he stood there looking shocked and a little confused.

"Well that was rude," Feyre scolded. "Do I look like I give a flying fuck?" Rhys asked. "When you are in that dress, no one else is touching you, not even to shake your hand. You are mine." "That's so funny," Feyre crooned. She shifted her hips against the hardness pushing into her belly, and watched with satisfaction as Rhys suppressed a shudder. "Here I thought you were mine."

Rhys hid his face in the crook of Feyre's neck. "Of course I am," he breathed. "Of course." "Well then," Feyre said, and stepped away. Rhys frowned and opened his mouth to protest, but Feyre took his hand and led him away. Out of the ballroom, down a corridor, and through a door that she had to open with a keycode.

"Where are we?" Rhys asked, looking around. Rows and rows of large, rectangular canvases lay on their sides. "The archives," Feyre said. "This is where they keep the artworks that aren't currently on display. I have the current code because I have a couple of paintings down here, but it changes every week."

Rhys looked back at her with half a crooked smile.

"And what are we doing here in the archives, Feyre darling?"

Feyre pushed him back against the wall, and when his back thudded audibly the grin stretched wide. "You're finishing what you started is what," Feyre snarled. "Yes ma'am," Rhys breathed, and turned them so their positions were reversed and it was Feyre backed up against the wall. Feyre leaned forward to kiss him, but Rhys pulled away.

"Careful dear," he said. "Wouldn't want to ruin your pretty lipstick."

He grabbed her hips and spun her around. Feyre's hands hit the wall, and Rhys pushed this thigh between her knees to widen them. He pulled her skirts open at the side slit, and put his fingers in his mouth before he slid them into her. Feyre groaned.

"Is this what you wanted?" Rhys asked. "Is this what you've been thinking about all evening?" But Feyre shook her head. "More," she gasped. "More?" Rhys echoed. He slid another finger into her, earning a second, louder moan. Pumped her already soaking pussy. "More," Feyre begged again, and this time Rhys unbuckled his belt and pushed himself into her.

Feyre's knees unlocked, even as she arched her back to get him in deeper. Rhys paused there for a moment, breathing hard, then pulled out and pushed in deeper. Did it one more time and he was seated to the hilt.

"Is that what you needed?" Rhys murmured. He stroked his hands over the bare skin of her back, his rough callouses raising goosebumps in their wake. Feyre smirked at the wall, and licked her lips.

"More," she said, and Rhys growled low in his throat as he gripped her hips in his hands and fucked her relentlessly from behind.

After a whole evening of teasing, it didn't take long for Feyre to come apart. She tried to keep it quiet, but Rhys pounded into her so hard that stars burst before her eyes and no part of her body was in her control. She just had to hope that they were far away enough from the crowd, and that the music was loud enough that the would go unnoticed. After all, she wasn't the only one with the keycode.

When Rhys' hand slid down in front of her to slide over her clit, Feyre's climax was a live thing between them. It burned through her, until she was leaning her hot face against the cool of the wall.

"God you're beautiful when you come," Rhys murmured. He had slowed down as Feyre's orgasm faded, but was now speeding up again, building toward his own release. Feyre let him, for about ten seconds. Then she pushed him away.

Rhys scrabbled to pull her in again. "Where are you going?" he grumbled. But Feyre just smoothed her skirts down and leaned back against the wall.

"You can't come in here Rhys," she said, with mocking concern in her eyes. "These are precious artworks and I am wearing a nice dress."

Rhys just opened and closed his mouth, his erection still sticking out of his open pants.

"Hurry now and put that away," she said with a glance down. "We're at a formal function for goodness' sakes." And with that, she swept toward the door, leaving Rhys to fumble with his button and trot helplessly after her.

"Gods," he muttered, as they made their way back into the main hall. "This why other people are never fucking worth it. Let's get out of here." He made to grab Feyre's hand, but she yanked it out of his reach.

"But Rhys darling, this is a very big event for me, there are still people I have to meet." Rhys groaned loudly and gnashed his teeth at her. She ignored this, and continued to torture him for a good fifteen more minutes before graciously agreeing to leave.

They made out in the taxi all the way home, Rhys tipped the driver generously in apology before Feyre dragged him in through the front door. They didn't make it to the bedroom. Feyre got about half way up the stairs before Rhys grabbed her ass, flipped her skirt up and started eating her out from behind.

Feyre dropped to her knees, hands on the steps in front of her, and was just starting to climax in his mouth when Rhys replaced his tongue with his cock and fucked her until his cum was running down the backs of her legs.

They collapsed there, until eventually Rhys went to fetch a towel to clean up and then carried Feyre up to bed. Carefully helped her out of her ridiculous dress and shoes, and even brought a wet towel for her makeup.

"You're the sweetest," Feyre said. "I might just have a shower before bed." "No," Rhys said, pulling her into his chest. He was now just in his boxer briefs. "Stay here with me." Feyre laughed. "I'll be right back." "Shower in the morning," Rhys insisted. His arms wouldn't budge.

So Feyre lay back down and loved the feeling of his nose nuzzling into the back of her neck.

"Let's not see other people for another month," Rhys said. "I hate everyone." "Everyone?" "But you."

Feyre grinned in the dark. "Good boy," she said.

****

Fam let me tell you I almost ended it when Feyre walked out of that archive room but I figured I had tortured poor Rhysie long enough! That's the end of this one, thank you enormously to everyone who has read and reblogged. I don't hate any of you.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @thalia-2-rose @f-cursebreaker

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #smut #mine

[sirensumbra]

Chapter 1 - On Leathery Wings

It was early spring in Velaris. The sky was a weighty blue velvet drooping over rooftops. Ironically, since the attack, the dawns had been breathtaking. As Azriel stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the townhouse his shadows all but disappeared.

“Well,” his brother said in way of greeting, smirking up at him from the street. “Don’t you look like shit? I thought moving to the townhouse was meant to give you peace?”

“I don’t know the meaning of the word,” Azriel grumbled, voice flat. “Why are you here?” And grinning, but he didn’t need to ask that to understand why Cassian wore such a look.

He’d been wearing it for weeks now. Azriel had been attempting to remove it during practice but the general was more resilient than Az gave him credit for. Cassian’s happiness was decidedly infectious.

“I’m here,” Cass answered, “Because Rhys would like to see us. He’s up at the House.”

“Why didn’t he-“

“Look,” Cass interrupted with a shrug. “I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you - I mean you almost killed one another at the cabin - but you need to work it out.” He waved a hand back and forth at the spymaster who scoffed and stepped past him. “I’m serious,” Cass went on to explain. “I could use a night out. Just us. It’s been a while.”

Good luck with that, Azriel mused to himself. Rhysand hadn’t left the River House since Nyx was born.

“Married life chaffing, Cass?” Azriel teased, biting back a smile.

“We’re not married. Yet,” Cassian corrected. “Emerie and Gwyn have been over almost every night this week. As much as I love-“

This is where Azriel tuned his brother out. Call it cruel, but this was the same one sided conversation he’d had with Cass, oh, three times now. Was it really conversation if only one of them were speaking? Azriel didn’t personally believe head nods and hmphscounted as conversing but he’d mastered the art form.

He sympathized. He really did. Cassian recounted being kicked out of his own bed, finding a small Pegasus in his boot and how one of the girls had, once again, inked something inappropriate on his forehead while he’d been sleeping. Azriel couldn’t help but smile at that, though he erased it quickly.

Cassian might complain but Azriel knew his brother adored his mate and her friends. Even he had to admit that the girls brought an abundance of laughter and joy to the House whenever the trio graced it’s halls. A rare and intoxicating sound that had even roused him from his room multiple times only to catch Cass peeking curiously at them from around a dark corner.

Though if he was being honest with himself, which he rarely was, Azriel was beginning to find the townhouse, comparatively, suffocatingly quiet. Too far removed from his family and friends. Late at night Azriel felt the creeping dark closing in, a sinister umbra spreading through him like venom. It was with great mental effort that he stayed his darker thoughts, but he was finding it more challenging of late. His ongoing feud with Rhys wasn’t helping.

Shadows dashed, darting from his shoulders to comfort the spymaster only to reel back in the morning light. Azriel focused his attentions away from the dark corners of his mind to beat of his footsteps. The last thing he needed to dwell on was what happened during Solstice.

It was still early morning in Valeris. The war-torn homeless still slept against the walls of buildings and the ice carts weren’t even out making deliveries. He preferred this time of day, just before the spring heat shimmered against the streets and curled the ends of his hair.

Aside from Cass, who was waving his arms, going on about the amount of women’s underthings he’d found in all sorts of strange places, it was mostly quiet. There was no one to stare or utter harsh whispers as Azriel passed.

Normally he flew or called shadows to him and winnowed within their comfort but this was a rare moment when Valeris was tolerable. He’d once described the city as the loneliest place in Prythian and he’d meant it. Tens of thousands of people flocked these streets and not a single one looked him in the eye. Very few did.

With one brother mated and the other in the process of being so, Azriel hadn’t felt more alone in his life. He had no stories to share with Cass on their morning walk. None that would make the general laugh or smile. No, his stories were best kept to himself - locked away were Rhys could extract what he needed and not question his shadowsinger’s techniques.

“You’re not listening,” Cassian suddenly accused, huffing a sigh. His arms dropped. The courts greatest general defeated.

“I’m always listening,” Azriel corrected. “You’re frustrated you don’t have your mate all to yourself anymore.”

“You-“ Cassian gave him a glare worthy of Amren. “And when have I had her to myself exactly? Every time-“

Again, Azriel tuned his brother out.

The House of Wind came into view, a great gleaming crown atop the mountains. His gaze lingered on the lower levels that housed the library. Not that most would know to look there as the windows were magically kept from view. The dozens of priestesses that worked in those stacks were kept hidden and protected. Just as Rhys had promised them.

Light flickered as shadow danced across his wings and over his shoulders. Braving the soft, dewy light to whisper in his ear, their chilling touch reached up his neck before spilling secrets.

She was at morning service.

A flash of color, heated cheeks and bright teal eyes - it wasn’t clear to him, still, this obsession his shadows had taken on. Over centuries he’d gathered unmeasurable amounts of information on his kingdoms allies and rivals. Yet, he couldn’t speak to what his friends had for breakfast this morning. He was painfully aware, however, that a certain priestess had sipped honeyed tea and eaten a single slice of rye smattered with butter and cinnamon and that her nose scrunched when she-

“Nesta wants you over for dinner,” Cassian commanded, ever the general.

“All right.”

“I have to go by the River House. Elain made a bundt. Nesta will likely murder me if I forget to bring it back,” Cass huffed. “Bundt? Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

“It’s cake.”

“Why not just call it cake then? Why be confusing?”

“It’s a type of cake.”

“No, chocolate is a type of cake.”

“Cass, chocolate is a flavor.”

As they approached the thousand steps that led up to the House, Cassian and Azriel kicked off in tandem aiming for the open balcony above. The air was cool as it passed over their skin, heated from the walk over. Matching the steady beat of his heart, Azriel’s enormous wings cut through the mornings low hanging clouds.

Rhysand, their High Lord, waited for them. Once he caught their approach he turned, heading inside. Azriel’s gut tightened. Their fights didn’t often escalate to this level. On a single hand he could count the times they’d fought to the point of not speaking.

His boots touched down upon stone before Cassian’s. He held, waiting for his brother. His hesitation to follow Rhys inside didn’t go unnoticed.

“Azriel-“

“He ordered me to stay away from Elain,” emotionless and flat, the words left his mouth before he could think better of it.

Silence settled between them. The rare outburst had Cassian’s eyes growing round and Az couldn’t tell if he was going to yell or laugh. Maybe both.

“Why,” Cass drawled so slowly Azriel almost missed what he was asking. “What have you-“

“I haven’t,” Azriel stopped him.

“How did you know what I was going to say?”

“I didn’t, I just know it wouldn’t be good.”

“Point,” Cassian admitted with a tilt of his head, “but why would Rhys ask you stay away if nothing was happening?”

“Something almost happened.”

“Something? Almost happened?”

Azriel sighed.

“Lucien-“ Cassian hissed.

“I know.”

“Feyre and Nes would have your balls.”

“Would they?”

“Yes!”

“Glad to know just how unworthy everyone thinks-“

A strong grip on his upper arm had Azriel turning, eyes flashing gold. Cassian’s gaze was hard, unapologetic. His hand dropped, fully aware of the rising shadows that now threatened to gobble his brother whole. The Night Courts general understood danger.

“It has nothing to do with worth,” he grumbled angrily in a rare sign of lost temper. “Everyone is overly protective of that girl, how are you surprised?” Azriel blinked down at him. “She has a mate, Az. Regardless of how either of you feel - which I really don’t want to know about, by the way, please leave me out of that shit - but like I was saying,” Cassian blew a breath from between his lips before going on in an even tone. “whether she wants it or not, she has a mate. She has a decision to make regardless of you.”

He had a point, one that Azriel laid awake at night thinking of.

“Besides,” Cass continued, turning to walk into the House. Azriel followed reluctantly. “You’ve been around each other all of what, 6 times? I mean, how involved are you that Rhys had to - you know what, I said I didn’t want to know.”

He almost smiled at Cassian’s bluster. Azriel was grateful for both his brothers and their never ending, often un-needed advice, but conversations like this if had with Rhys often descended into quick-tempered arguments.

The High Lord of the Night Court waited for them just inside. He held himself casually, pouring another mug of hot tea. The top buttons of his crisp shirt were undone but the stiffness in his shoulders told Azriel that Rhys was prepared for a fight at most, and at best he had news they wouldn’t like.

“Morning,” Rhysand greeted, lifting his face to them. Bright, amethyst eyes regarded each of the Illyrians, looking for anything amiss.

“Morning,” they answered in unison.

“How’s my boy?” Cass asked greedily, boyish grin in place at the thought of his nephew.

“Well, as is his mother,” Rhys replied eyes warming at their mention. That warmth didn’t last when his purple gaze met Azriel’s.

“I have something for you,” Rhys stated without so much as a lead up. Straight to business then.

“The queens are no longer a threat,” Cassian mused, dropping into a nearby sofa with no desire to confront Rhy’s straightforwardness.

“I need Azriel at Mount Ramiel,” Rhys corrected, tone leaving no room for discussion.

Cassian’s eyes darted between his brothers as the temperature in the room suddenly dropped. Leaning against the far wall, shadows coiled and snapped at the spymasters shoulders. His lips parted, an argument rising from his throat.

“The outside interests surrounding Ramiel concern me. Given Nesta’s vision, I believe it’s something we should look into with haste. If there is something of interest there, Azriel will find it,” Rhysand offered, cutting off the shadowsinger.

None of this came as a surprise to Az other than being kept out of the decision making. Ever since the Blood Rite, the war camps had been acting suspiciously and he knew it bothered Rhys to the point of keeping the high lord awake at night.

“You’re sending Azriel to the war camps,” Cassian barked. “Are we cutting them loose? Razzing them to the ground, then?”

“I’m not sending you to deal with the Illyrians,” Rhys corrected, eyes on his spymaster, and shook his head.

“He’s sending me to sneak around in the dark,” Azriel offered.

“You are quite good at it,” his brother smirked, violet eyes flashing in reply. “I’ve had the priestesses pull everything from the library, including my own personal collection. Lore, histories, whatever they could find.” Rhys took a long, slow sip of tea, eyes closing only briefly. “Gwyn has offered to assist in translations. Her command of ancient language is rather impressive.”

“Should you really be dragging the priestess into this,” Azriel accused.

“She volunteered,” Rhys countered with a shrug. “Besides, I think she’s proven herself to be capable, don’t you? She’s identified some areas of interest around the eastern slope. A good place to start.”

Seething, Azriel attempted to put a damper on his temper. He couldn’t help but feel that Rhys had gone behind his back. It was one thing to order him about, but what was he thinking involving Gwyn? The priestesses were never a part of this side of the kingdoms business. Icy rage spilled, drip by drip, down Azriel’s spine.

“Cassian,” Rhys observed, turning to their brother, “Elain was waiting for you at the River House this morning. Something about a cake needing to be retrieved? If you go now you might catch Nyx before his mid-morning nap.”

There was no argument from their brother. Carefully his gaze met Azriel’s, a gentle warning in their depths. He often found himself in the middle of their conflicts and Azriel had to respect that he didn’t complain about it. Much.

“I’ll let Nes know you won’t be at dinner,” he said. With a heavy sigh Cass lifted from the couch. He nodded his dark head at Rhys and then Az before sauntering back out into the light.

“What is this really about,” Azriel asked, voice as cold as his stare.

“I beg your pardon?” Rhys cooed with a raised brow.

“Why wasn’t I included in the planning?”

“I didn’t need you for it.”

The declaration hit Azriel in the chest like a fist. Air rushed out between his lips in a shocked gasp. He stepped forward, dragging shadow with him.

“Rhys-“

“It’s nothing personal, Az,” Rhys pleaded.

“Personal,” Azriel growled, voice low. “I’m your spymaster and brother.”

“Az-“

“You’re overstepping,” Azriel went on, the words flowing like the Sidrah - cold and unstoppable. “Again, you’re taking everything on yourself.”

“I’m only doing what I can to keep everyone safe.”

“Safe,” Azriel accused, “Is that what you were doing keeping Feyre in that bubble? Honestly, how do you find that any different than how Tam-“

“Enough!”

Beneath them the mountain shook, rattling glass and sending a few stray books to the floor. Rhys was on his feet, wings snapped open behind him. On opposite sides of the room, one bathed in shadow the other night incarnate, they regarded one another.

“Brother,” Rhys once again pleaded with his spymaster. “I know you’re angry with me. I admit, I have not been myself. Between Feyre and Nyx, you and Koschei - the fucking Dread Trove,” he trailed off, running a hand through his dark hair. “We’re spread thin, you know that. We need our allies. Old and new.”

He’d all but said the same on Solstice. After all these years did Rhys not see him? See beyond the courts infamous torturer? To the male that lurked inside his own shadows? A long, tense silence labored between them. As always, an impasse.

“Azriel, let yourself feel something for once. I don’t care who-“

“Is that all,” Azriel grunted, moving his gaze away from the high lord’s. If Rhys opened his mouth with more shit to give he was sure he’d lose what was left of his shredded control.

“Dismissed,” Rhys conceded, shoulders dropping.

Azriel was outside and shooting off the balcony into the sky before Rhys could utter another word. His wings churned the air with each vicious beat. Burning agitation flooded through him. HE could feel it in his very bones. Attempting to soothe, his shadows coiled close, whispering.

Rhys had a lot of nerve. Of anyone, he knew Azriel best. Mor always accused them of being too similar and its why they didn’t always see eye to eye. He wasn’t sure he agreed with that assessment. Rhys was level headed and controlled. Azriel felt as if he were unraveling. Control wasn’t the way he’d describe it, rather an effort to hide it all away so it didn’t need to be dealt with.

The training rings came into view as he rose but he didn’t linger, swinging wide so that he’d remain unseen. Dots of color milled about. The priestesses were gathering for training. He could sense Nesta below with Emerie. And her.

He would have to send word to Gwyn about postponing their lessons. Meeting with her had become something of a guilty pleasure. He found he enjoyed teaching the doe eyed priestess more than he thought he might. Training was Cassian’s thing. Az found he didn’t often have the patience or care for it.

Shadows hissed, warning not to rely on Clotho for this. Azriel would be better served sending a note himself. The thought of those large, sea glass eyes darkening with disappointment made his chest ache.

Let yourself feel something.

Rhys’ words replayed in his ear as Azriel made the descent to the townhouse. He’d moved his things over months ago though Cassian always seemed to find some excuse to get him back to the House of Wind. Despite living there for years it no longer felt like home to him.

It hadn’t come as a surprise when Rhys had asked him to chaperone his brother and future mate. Neither himself nor Rhys actually expected Azriel to have to step in between the two. Rhys had simply wanted a backup in the event Nesta lost control which was likely to happen given how often her and Cassian argued.

So, Az had let them battle things out on their own. And they had. All over the House in fact. Repeatedly.

Though he had to admit, interrupting them at the most awkward times had become a game to him. But, he had, in all the ways one would being around a newly mated pair, grew incredibly frustrated. In a way it had become a torture of its own.

That frustration was likely what fueled his blunder the night of Solstice. One look at Elain and he’d been as hard as the mountainside the House of Wind was carved from. Azriel hadn’t been able to help himself. She was beautiful and everything he forbid himself. She wanted him, it was obvious, which made the entire situation all the more confusing.

In the end, he wasn’t sure where he stood with the girl. Cassian’s hadn’t been wrong in his assessment. They’d barely spoken to one another, let alone discussed her intentions with Lucien… Azriel would rather not think on the male who’d sat idly by while his high lady’d been tormented.

Landing at one of the terraces, Az made his way into the townhouse. He’d taken the largest room upstairs. It had the most wall space for his blade collection.

Azriel threw daggers and maps into his pack with such force, they almost went through the bottom of the bag. Rhys was right to send him on this mission. He needed space. A couple months in the mountains would do good to clear his head.

Before he locked up after himself, Azriel grabbed some paper from his desk and wrote a quick note to Gwyn. His careful words sounded clipped and overly formal as he reread the hastily scratched message, but shrugged off the concern with indifference.

Without goodbyes, the shadowsinger quietly left the city of Velaris. His wings carried him away, further into the mountains. He tucked all thought of his brothers and the priestess with molten hair from his mind. Wrapping himself in shadow, Azriel became the cold, unfeeling monster his reputation afforded him.

He felt nothing. Was nothing. His Illyrian wings carried him further away until he was nothing but a bruise against an otherwise perfect sky.

[vidalinav]

FluffMaas Day 1: Like Falling Snow

Summary: Cassian can’t stand to leave Nesta on Solstice, and is determined to make it a holiday they’ll both remember.

Read on AO3, FluffMaas Masterlist 

Song Rec: Come out and play by Billie Eilish 

*It’s close enough to December (shrugs)

~

The snow fell in heaps across the icy landscapes, dipping each tree in frothy white. Cassian stared out the window and wondered if someone could be buried under it. Alive, but barely. Breathing steadily under the brush of winter.  

When he was little, the thought of snow would leave him shivering. To a boy with no home and few clothes, winter was a promise of death. If the snow could bury him, erasing all evidence that he had ever existed, the memories could make sure Cassian never resurfaced.

He grasped his throat, feeling the suffocating cold years behind him. In an hour, this cabin would be nothing but a memory, gone with the bitter frost.

There was nothing left of that little boy; he had disappeared on winter wind along with Cassian’s childhood. He could no longer call winter a punishment, either—not when he learned that family was a type of warmth. The pain of winter ebbing until only love was left behind.

They were waiting for him, no doubt. For him and the others, wherever in Velaris they were. Traditions were more important now. Differentiated only by the time and people they could never get back.

Cassian wished he could say he was excited, but the imminent dread followed him even after the snow had melted off his coat.

In the cabin, the fire roared. Sweet crackling that made him think of warm hot chocolate, spiced with chili peppers and dolloped with whipped cream. He imagined the townhouse in all its splendor, the fireplace they’d wait for him to decorate with garland and poinsettias.

The image warmed his heart, made his wings itch with need. He’d be surrounded by family and warmth and love. Not this house, encased in only snow and emptiness. With its barren walls and furniture that no more seemed welcoming than the doormat still wet from his boots.

But… she’d be here.

Waiting, maybe. Wondering where it all went—where even he had gone. If Cassian had even been there to begin with.

He sometimes wondered that, too. If he was there or if he was like the winter, himself, a silent passerby that brought nothing with him, but left a thousand different worries behind.

If Nesta was anything like him, she’d sit on the window’s ledge, curl her knees to her chest, and look outside. He could almost imagine her fingers trailing along the glass, pretending the snowflakes she drew in the crystal would answer all the questions she didn’t dare ask.    

Cassian looked towards Nesta’s door, hiding her behind the redwood.

Sometimes he’d hold himself back from knocking, as if the door would somehow open for him, suddenly. She’d be there—expecting him. She’d smile, he’d laugh, and everything would be different. So different that he could see it, like catching snowflakes in his hands.

Cassian never did let himself knock, his fading footsteps the only evidence he had been there at all.

Nesta rarely came out of that room and they’d been here for months now. Something about her enraged him enough not to care, simply because of the that gut-wrenching ache in his belly that only grew at the sight of her and festered when she refused to look at him.  

If she was content to hide away, then he was content to leave her there, trapped in a world he’d long ago decided was trying to bury him alive.

Cassian had almost started to miss the way she clenched her fists in agony, any moment ready to hit or maim him. Her fiery temper rivaled only his own, and though she infuriated him to no end—even infuriated him now—he enjoyed their spats. Even looked forward to them on occasion.

Now, they barely spoke to each other.

It was the greatest form of dismissal that Nesta preferred the company of silence over him.

Really, It was probably what she wanted him to feel: worthless and aggravated.

He’d be loved in Velaris, and Nesta would be here, entertaining the dust and snow. It was the first thing she did once the winter came, writing Feyre that she would not and would never again go to one of their “exclusive inner circle functions.”

If Cassian was being honest, he wasn’t sure they wanted her to attend. Feyre and Elain, of course, but the rest of them…

She probably preferred it that way. Nesta wanted to be alone, preferred the silence, the books, the cold. Not the familial warmth that reminded him he was alive, but only seemed to burn her.

Her blatant exile would last far past Solstice, anyway. A fact both itched at his chest and liberated him from guilt. Nothing much would change past these three days. Nesta would still be the same person when he came back, with her anger so cold it itched like frostbite.  

He felt bad for even thinking it, though. Nesta was just… easier to deal with when she wasn’t there.

The trek back to Velaris would take him half of the day. He stretched his wings in preparation. Covering himself in his leathers and coat. He checked the firewood—made sure there was enough to last her. He checked the pantry, the locks, the roof, everything that could go wrong in the span of three days.

There was no chance of a storm, though a large snowfall was expected.

Everything Nesta needed was right here in this cabin, stocked, ready, and capable. She’d be okay, he promised. This is what she wants.

Stepping outside the cabin was harder than he’d expected, every step through snow grabbing at his legs. Cassian merely kicked it away and walked on. If he held his head in indignation or primped his wings stubbornly, he didn’t acknowledge it—Ignored the part of his conscience that was wound around that redwood door, like it had tied a string around his heart.

Cassian was all too ready to dismiss her from his life, and from this Solstice, all together. To get the holiday over with and back to normal, back to steady silence and silent pleading.

The fear kept nagging, though, as silent as the snow. Cassian hoped nothing changed, that nothing ended up being worse than before, so much worse that it was irreparable. He’d freeze time if he could, just to stop things from rotting and withering away.

His thoughts kept him on the ground, until his wings couldn’t take it any longer, feeling the freeing, brisk air—euphoria in clouds. Still, he waited and wondered, watched the little cabin get smaller and smaller.

Still, he wished.

It would be a great relief to see the sparkling rooftops of Velaris. His family, the laughter, the glistening sidra. To forget everything about her and that house.

It would be a great relief when Cassian couldn’t feel the string pull any longer.  

~

Cassian didn’t make it past the evergreens.

He was an idiot. For a multitude of reasons.

He was an idiot for not listening to her or to himself. A coward, for leaving her there. He had flown and flown and flown, and she was alone… just like he always felt, waiting to suffocate under the weight of snow that just kept falling.

He remembered the little boy who fought for the clothes on his back. The one who looked at his brother and wanted what he had, and instead of feeling remorse, beat him until his brother’s clothes belonged to him. Refusing, not for one second, to believe that he could be swallowed whole by the earth without it feeling his kicking rage.

His anger had never been quiet… and neither was hers.

Cassian kicked open the door, lugging the monstrous pine through. The door, smaller than he ever noticed. The needles poked at his skin, and he refused, absolutely refused to let it damper any bit of Solstice spirit he would puke inside this house.

He was so busy, dragging the tree through the kitchen, muttering to himself in a fit of aggressive yuletide carols, he hadn’t even the tea kettle whistling, or the pillows strewn across the floor.

Cassian stopped, completely and utterly wrecked at the sight of her.

Nesta stared at him, the color of winter in her gaze. She did not look away, and Cassian reminded himself, again, that he was an idiot. Not because he left, or… came back, but because she was here, and he couldn’t even think about leaving her.

Cassian imagined this many times. Played it over and over as his soul enjoyed the flight, his heart wrestling with his mind. In his head she always looked angry, her eyes a thin layer of ice that he’d fall and drown in.  

Instead she looked breathless… and surprised. And, the look made him smile softly at her, a breath of fresh air to the million minutes he was suffocating.

“I thought you were supposed to be in Velaris.” Nesta said shockingly.

He expected to hear a tinge of anger at being disturbed; for seeing her relaxed and warm and normal. But the anger he knew roared in her, that he stoked along with fireplace, had perhaps been buried under inches of snow—along with his excuses.

Nesta was dressed more casually than he had ever seen her, wore merely an oversized sweater and leggings. Her fluffy socks peeking out beneath the checkered blanket she cradled close to her chest. There was a book on the coffee table, silently staring at both of them, waiting.

Cassian wondered why she hadn’t already bolted.

Maybe she was just as surprised as he was… Or maybe she wanted this as much as he did. The thought, somehow, made him feel both warm and foolish.

“I was on my way to Velaris.” Stupid. He was so, so stupid for thinking this was a good idea, “but I came back.”

Nesta looked at him curiously, took in the whole of him, no doubt flushed by the cold wind, and ruffled by the tree. If she was any of the others, she would have already been laughing at his disarray, the way he tried not to fidget at her judgment.

But Nesta wasn’t anything like the others, and maybe that’s why nothing in his body could leave her. She was like him—even if she hated it. Even if he hated it sometimes. She could tear him up easily if she wanted to, knew his weaknesses like they were her own.

“Why?” Nesta asked softly, always questioning. Always curious.

Cassian wanted to tell her the whole story, to write it out like a novel she could read and dissect. Wanted to tell her that he had been waiting for her all this time, watched that door and hoped the knob would turn suddenly. That he wanted to talk with her but didn’t want to be the reason she hated this world. That he was scared, and angry, and not okay in the slightest—and it was easier. So, so easy to pretend.

It was never easy to forget, however, and maybe that’s why he was standing here. Still carrying the tree, he hadn’t set down. The weight making his shoulder ache, and his hands just wanting to hold her, like some lovesick fool.

Cassian didn’t know where to start this new game of theirs, a different kind than their raging words. Scarier, still.

He supposed, he’d start with the truth.

“It’s Solstice. And, this year, I want to celebrate it in this house… with you.” He finished lamely. His chest raced to catch up with his thoughts, his lungs suddenly out of breath. “If that’s okay.”

Nesta looked uncomfortable with the words, her own caught in her throat at the thought that he wouldn’t leave. Things he knew she wanted to say, because he had seen that look many times, when he was too stubborn to let her win their many arguments.

“What about the others?” She asked convincingly. Cassian merely jostled the tree so that it laid more securely, dragging it past the snipe of cold and frostbite. He didn’t take his gaze off of Nesta as he moved, entranced by the whole of her. Hoping to all heavens that she’d never stop talking.

“They can survive without me this year.” The tree was heavy as he neared the window, the earth embracing the snow like two long-distant lovers. “Besides I sent the presents early, so they won’t miss me too much.”

She worried her lip in her teeth, her eyebrows furrowing in contemplation. He wondered if she did really prefer being alone to being with him. Cassian brushed over the ache before it could show on his face… or in his temper.

Cassian stood the tree up, near the window and the fireplace. When he was flying past, he sometimes saw her there, looking outside like she, too, wondered if winter was an enemy or a silent guardian.

Right now, it was easier to tell. Its watchful gaze reflecting Nesta’s curiosity through the glass. He’d give her all the answers if only she asked.

But Cassian underestimated how large the tree was to the house, got lost in his impulsive need to come back like he had never left to begin with. The height reached past the ceiling, the tip bending to fit. It lugged side ways and he almost lost his grip, the tree swaying dangerously… and then steady.

He looked over at Nesta, surprised, her thin hands holding the other side. Even though she stared pointedly at the pine needles, she held on to it tightly. The almost-toppled tree a book laid open before her.

He’d seen that look before, too.

Her wide eyes only narrowed, when she couldn’t ignore his stare any longer. Cassian wanted to sigh with relief that she wasn’t angry or embarrassed or annoyed. Just waiting and willing, it seemed. The eyebrow she raised, told him enough, made him want to laugh, giddiness crawling up his chest.

“Can I ask why you cut a tree so large?”  

Cassian grunted at the question, shifting it slightly to get to the bottom. Nesta held it sturdily, while he secured the base. When he came back up, she was still waiting patiently for his answer. He motioned with his hands to let go.

“Honestly,” A good place to start. “It was the first one I saw on my way home, and it was large and… perfect.” He held his arms out in admiration—exaltation.  “So, this one it is.”

The tree stood proudly, only slightly hitting the ceiling. It looked at them both, watched and waited for them to move or to speak. An audience to their little game, that would either have no winners or two.

Cassian wrung his hands, his palms sweaty and nervous and so unlike him, that he almost laughed at himself. Nesta played with her fingers, and he felt the need to grab them, to enclose them around his and hold tightly. As though, it would make him feel steady.

He smiled softly at the tilt of her head, her pale neck bare and bending to look at the tree. Its height much taller than her.

Cassian gestured towards it and moved to get the box of decorations in his room.

The lights and bulbs had sat silently in the back of his closet. He had bought them, when he had bought the cabin and never used them since. Cassian didn’t asked himself why he bought them, didn’t really want to answer a question he only asked in his dreams.

Nesta waited at the door, looking in, but never stepping over the threshold. The box was light in his arms as he made his way back to living room, Nesta following him even if she pretended, she’d rather be doing something else. Casually, walking behind him.

The tree was bare and so was the house, but not for long. Not when they had a box filled with color, and two people with time and a terrible need to use it.

His lips turned up slightly, smaller and then wider, and then small again. Stupid and comical. He shook his head internally. “Help me decorate?”

Cassian wanted to show her that there was nothing to be afraid of. Not with him, and definitely not with them, together. That this game was something they’d surely win, if only they could do this one thing.

Nesta’s eyes searched his own, deciding what the cost would be. She went down the line of consequences, of future problems or regrets. Cassian hoped she’d choose him—for whatever it was worth, whatever the cost.

Cassian.

Instead of her quiet bedroom filled to the brim with books and blankets. Things that brought her more comfort and love than he ever had.

His wings widening out of habit, Cassian hoped like a child’s solstice wish that she’d stay.

“Okay.” She answered softly. Whole and steady like the tree. Waiting, and curious.

If Cassian didn’t already have wings, he would have grown them, then. Her flushed cheeks revealing what her eyes could not. Like, the winter had brought in more than new snow.

~

“Do you do this every year? Decorate the house in lights and greenery?”

The conversations had reached a steady humming of words. He was content, as her strong voice kept asking questions. Cassian answered them eagerly, rushing to fill her mind with wonder, before Nesta finally decided she had enough and stormed away. Gone, like she’d never been there to begin with.

“Of course.” He picked up another string of lights, ready to hang them across the living room like they had done with the tree. “It’s a Solstice tradition.” His answer bright and cheerful.

Cassian didn’t mention how he had done it last year, too. How he wished, just like her sisters did that she had helped pick colors or set mantles. How it was a family activity, and though she didn’t want to be, she was family. Not just Feyre’s family anymore… Though sometimes they didn’t act like it much—a thought that made him ache at the regret a little more than just how her attitude had been.

Nesta gently lifted the red bulb in her hands, watching as it fit on the branch and hung with purpose and glee. She shrugged her shoulders casually, and Cassian marveled at the whole of her, at the strength it must have took to stay with him.

“It just seems like a lot of work.”

“It is.” He smiled widely, even wider at the look she gave him, like she didn’t know where the old Cassian had gone and when he’d been replaced by this festive version, that didn’t bite or pretend to. “When it’s all done though, you’ll see.”

Nesta looked doubtful, but Cassian knew the wonders of Solstice, the wonders of not being alone. Every little light fulfilling a million different wishes. All of them intangible and twisted. Ready to unravel at the sight.

Indeed, when they finished, half the day had flown by. The sky changing as the box of decorations emptied. When it was dark enough, the sky a deeper shade of violet and the stars poking through, Cassian turned them all on.

The tree lit a beacon of hope across the living room. The arches covered in garlands and color looked straight out of a picture book.

Cassian had never seen this place look so… homely. Like he wanted to live here and love here and laugh here. Again, and again.

Nesta stared in awe at the lights. The backdrop of snow making the room ethereal—magical. He almost forgot that she hadn’t gotten to see them properly. The last time not going as well as they all hoped or planned.

She encircled the room—slowly, taking in the colors. Cassian watched her as he was prone to do, like he always did even if he pretended otherwise. The slight upturn of her lips made his own raise involuntarily. His heart twisting as the blues and greens danced on her cream-colored sweater.

Nesta looked at him then, and he wondered how many time they had asked these wordless questions, when their own voices couldn’t do their hearts justice. She watched him with the same awe she looked at the lights with, like the winter itself had surpassed every logic and it was snowing inside the house. Surrounding them with something new, bright, and alive.

“I have to go get something.” He breathed, the words rushing out of his mouth, without a thought. She left him breathless and scrambling to put all the pieces back together that he ruined last year.  

She blinked up at him, and Cassian wished he had kept his foot out of his mouth.

His heart raced, but the last shop was closing, a young shop owner all to ready to end the day, but who held onto a small box for him. A gift. One that he spent a whole day wading in the water for, after that disastrous first Solstice.  

“It’s not going to take long.” He could barely grasp out the words, his own sentences fumbling in his search for his coat, his head. Where it had gone, he didn’t know. Lost somewhere between Nesta’s eyes and her pleasant smile. “Just— just stay here. Okay?”

He found his coat thrown haphazardly on the dining room table, remembered that Solstice didn’t actually start until three days from now. They’d need food and cocoa and wood to keep the fire burning and bright.

He’d collect each item. Wrote them on the list in his head and added more when he looked at Nesta and her thin sweater. Blankets and a heavier coat for her… and gloves. So, they could go outside and… start a new tradition.

Just him and her, and the time he promised.

Cassian rushed to the door, a flurry of hard limbs and snow, but she grabbed his arm. Strong, steady, and warm.

“You’re coming back,” her face awash in reds and greens, “right?”

Cassian wanted to hold her close, so close she’d feel how fast his heart moved. He couldn’t tell if he was out of breath or his chest had decided to combust. He wanted to hold her close, to take that haunted dip of her voice away, until he only heard peels of laughter that he’d heard quietly through the day—and those sweet, roaring insults he knew well.  

But first the box, and then he’d show her why she’d never have to worry about that again. Never as long as they lived, even after the snow melted away.

He smiled at her, big and bright, grabbed her shoulders gently. Keeping a distance, to let her get used to him.

Cassian slowed his movements down. Nothing about her and him had to be rushed. He’d use all the time she gave him.

“I’ll be right back.”

Blue met hazel and Cassian understood why they took so long, why it would take longer and longer until she’d never doubt him again. But the light shown brighter in her eyes, and a chance lied between them. A chance he was going to plant firmly, like the evergreen. Standing proudly like a trophy they had both won.  

When he came back, he’d bury them under blankets, and alive they’d be. Dancing under starlight and winter, reds and greens. Wrapped tenderly, sweetly protected by the light and their dreams. The warmth surrounding them like falling snow.

“I promise you.”

Disclaimer: I understand that this world may or may not have electricity, but suspension of disbelief y’all. Also, I rhyme a lot. I’m trying to stop, but it happens every time I write. I don’t know what’s going on. I re-read this thing like 7x I'm over it. On to the next one. 

ALSO- these fics keep getting longer and tumblr isn’t as good about in on mobile so I might have to start linking it back to AO3. Sorry just be aware. 

-No tags, but comments, likes, and reblogs are always welcome!

#nessian #nesta archeron #nesta #cassian #nesta x cassian #post acofas #acotar #nessian fanfiction #acofas #fanfiction #fluffmaas 2018

[adriata-archive]

i’ll put my future in you (feysand)

To my mate, @helloetherealsunshine: For your day of birth, have a fic about the events leading up to the birth of Feysand’s baby. I love you to the moon and back, darling.

AO3

Devlon had frown lines.

While uncommon, it wasn’t impossible for fae to develop wrinkles over time, and Rhys knew all too well the various forms of scars that war could leave. And, if he was being honest with himself, it would be the Illyrian war-lord who would bear the tell-tale lines of someone who looked perpetually displeased.

Once Rhys noticed the frown lines, it only added to the already difficult task of listening to Devlon debrief him on the new training program for young Illyrians, male and female alike. His was about to send a wave of amusement and an image of Devlon’s face down the bond before he remembered that Feyre wouldn’t be able to receive it.

They were doing important work, the both of them and their entire Inner Circle, but that didn’t stop Rhys from desperately missing his mate.

He should have been relieved and even proud of how strong and steady Feyre’s shields were as she navigated her way through a meeting with the High Lords of Prythian, how she had come to master her emotions in Tamlin’s presence and refused to bow to anyone, physically and emotionally, but all he could think of was the number of days left until they were reunited. Rhys couldn’t remember the last time they’d been separated for more than a week in the twenty years since Feyre had accepted the bond, and now they were nearing three. The ache shouldn’t have been as strong after all that time, but Rhys was still counting down the days until he could see his mate again. He’d promised her a vacation, once everything was settled at the Illyrian training camp and Feyre managed to finalize her negotiations with the other High Lords, and that vacation couldn’t come soon enough.

The bond was quiet between them, but its unwavering presence was enough to reassure Rhys - for now. That didn’t stop him from wanting to throw Devlon off of the mountain.

Rhys’s spine stiffened as he felt a gentle tug on the bond, his eyes narrowing of their own accord before he rearranged his features into a blank but interested expression. Yes, darling?

There was no reply.

Feyre?

Rhys had to remind himself that sometimes they reached for the bond subconsciously; Cauldron knew he’d done it plenty of times, even in sleep. And yet, even when they were fully occupied and their attention was elsewhere, the two of them always acknowledged the other somehow.

Feyre.

A sliver of an opening appeared in his mate’s mental shields and Rhys threw himself at it, only able to glean a hint of sharp anxiety before he felt Feyre collapse.

Rhys’s head snapped up, the tension that was no doubt surrounding him catching Cassian’s attention until his commander general casually wandered to his side. Even Devlon seemed to notice, his speech faltering a bit as he took in the sheer panic and fury at war in Rhys’s eyes.

“I think you should show me the progress everyone is making in the sparring rings now,” Cassian said mildly, though they all knew that he was not merely making a suggestion.

“Yes,” Devlon agreed slowly, “I think that would be best.”

Rhys winnowed before Devlon finished his sentence.

-/-

No matter how unpleasant her current company was, there was something about Summer Court that soothed some of the frayed edges of Feyre’s soul. She could credit the effect to Tarquin and the easy friendship they now possessed, but she thought it had to do more with Adriata itself than anything. As soothing as the call of the sea was to her, though, she still wanted to use the nifty trick she’d learned from her mate and rip away Tamlin’s ability to speak.

The word echoed in her mind, over and over again: Whore.

Twenty years, one war, and countless negotiations later, Tamlin still got under her skin. But with that time and experience, and no small amount of help from Rhys, Feyre had been able to grow in her confidence until she could respond to Tamlin’s petty jibes with grace and dignity.

That didn’t mean they didn’t bother her.

She could tell that they bothered Tarquin, too, despite his best efforts to remain the neutral, pleasant host. Viviane, on the other hand, had no such qualms.

“You would do well to remember that you are speaking to the High Lady of the Night Court,” Viviane said coldly, subtly angling herself so that her shoulder brushed Feyre’s. Not for the first time, Feyre was glad that it had been Viviane, and not Kallias, who had come to this meeting.

Whatever animosity he felt towards Feyre, Tamlin knew when he was outnumbered, and settled into a sulky silence. Tarquin cleared his throat and went back to discussing his plan on tracking down the last of the mortal queens turned fae, effectively drawing all attention away from Feyre. And it was a good thing, too, because she was starting to feel a bit lightheaded.

It was no wonder, really; her rage at Tamlin’s words had caused her skin to prickle, her power threatening to surge out of her at any moment, and it had taken no small amount of restraint to hold herself back. Even now, Feyre felt the draw of her power manifest as a light pull in her stomach.

One moment, she was sitting in her chair, and the next, she was slumped on the ground, Tarquin and Viviane kneeling over her as she struggled to regain consciousness.

“Feyre? Are you alright?” Tarquin asked, eyebrows creased in concern. “I’ve already sent for a healer, but perhaps you should return home.”

“I think that might be best,” Feyre said, wincing as she sat up. Cauldron only knew what Rhys would do if he stormed into Summer Court now.

“Are you alright to winnow?”

Feyre, darling, what happened? Are you alright?

“I’ll manage,” Feyre reassured both Tarquin and Viviane. To Rhys, she said, Just feeling a bit lightheaded is all. I’m returning to Velaris now.

I’ll send Madja to check on you at the townhouse. Feyre hid her frown and started to protest, right as Rhys continued, And no buts.

Feyre rolled her eyes and bade the remaining High Lords and Lady farewell, apologizing for her unexpected early departure and the inconvenience of having to meet again at a later date. Tamlin snorted at her apology, but rather than address him, Feyre disappeared into smoke and shadows.

-/-

Rhys was waiting for her when she got home, and was so busy pacing across the living room that he almost didn’t notice her arrival. Feyre’s smile was the one she reserved for her mate, and only her mate - her friend, her equal, who respected her enough to step back and let her do things by herself, but was always there to catch her if she fell.

“You’ll wear a hole into the carpet,” she commented, leaning against the doorframe. A frustrated noise escaped Rhys as his eyes caught sight of her, and he was in front of her before she could blink.

“What happened?” Feyre could hear the strain in Rhys’s voice as he tried to mask his worry, and reached up to cup his face in her hands. He covered her hands with his own and took a deep breath, shifting so that their foreheads touched.

“It was probably my exhaustion catching up with me. I’m sure Madja will have something to help,” Feyre said, then added, quietly, “I don’t like sleeping without you.”

The corners of Rhys’s mouth tugged up at that, but it was a testament to his concern when he failed to answer with an innuendo. “I assure you, the feeling is very mutual. Now off you go, Madja’s waiting upstairs.”

Feyre stood on her toes to kiss Rhys once, his hands sliding down to the small of her back and holding her there for a lingering moment before he turned her around and gently pushed her towards the stairs.

I’ll be here when you’re done.

Promise? Feyre smiled over her shoulder at her mate, his mere presence doing more to soothe her own anxieties than any reassurances she could have thought up herself.

Always.

-/-

Feyre stared at Madja in shock; if she hadn’t already been sitting on the bed she shared with Rhys, she would have fallen to her knees. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe or trust the healer, but she was having trouble comprehending what, exactly, had caused her to faint.

This hadn’t been planned. She hadn’t discussed it with Rhys; they hadn’t broached the topic for a few years now, with their entire inner circle spread out around Prythian and the continent, tying up loose ends and ensuring that the peace persisted. But as unexpected as the news was, Feyre couldn’t suppress her joy.

Rhys was going to be a wonderful father.

Feyre kept her shields carefully intact as Madja told her how far along she was and other instructions to ensure that she and the baby remained healthy. She wanted to see Rhys’s face when she told him that she was pregnant.

Madja left her with a wide smile. “Congratulations, to you and the High Lord both.”

“Thank you,” Feyre said, beaming.

As soon as Madja was gone, Rhys took her place, kneeling in front of Feyre. Feyre bit her lip to keep her grin from showing, her fingers sliding into Rhys’s hair as he stared at her, completely and utterly bemused. There was no doubt in her mind that he would be overjoyed, even if the pregnancy hadn’t been planned.

“We’ve been rather busy lately, haven’t we?” Feyre mused.

Rhys’s eyes narrowed as he caught on to Feyre’s game. “That we have,” he drawled.

“So busy that I can barely remember my own name when I finally drag myself to bed.”

“I think we’ve earned a long vacation,” Rhys agreed. He moved closer, nuzzling against her stomach, and for a moment, Feyre wondered if he could somehow smell that she was pregnant.

“We’ve been so busy, in fact, that I can’t remember what happened the last time I saw you. Do you think you can jog my memory?”

Feyre felt Rhys’s lazy smile against her skin, the thin material of her sweater doing little to separate them. “If I’m not mistaken, there was a wall involved. Several times, in fact.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Feyre said, as if recollecting the memory for the first time. “I’m pretty sure you exhausted me so thoroughly that I couldn’t bring myself to leave the bed the next morning.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Definitely not a bad thing. Although, our reunion was so unexpected and sudden that I don’t think I took the tonic before or after,” Feyre continued. “I think I forgot about it entirely.”

Rhys stilled, and when he looked up and saw Feyre’s playful grin, he said, slowly, “And you forgetting is...good?”

“It’s great.”

“Feyre, are you - are we - are you pregnant?”

Feyre nodded, laughing as Rhys scooped her up into his arms with a whoop of glee. She twined her arms around his neck as he twirled her around their room, peppering kisses into her hair when he finally set her down again.

“I love you,” Rhys breathed, a gentle hand against Feyre’s stomach as he processed the news.

“I love you, too.”

Rhys grinned and kissed Feyre. “I was actually talking to our baby, but it’s good to know that my mate and the mother of my child loves me.”

“Prick,” Feyre scolded, but she was smiling as she said it. She wondered if she would ever be able to stop smiling.

(It turned out that she wouldn’t, not really, and when Larissa was born eight months and ten days later, both Rhys and Feyre were beaming at each other through their tears.)

#my writing #feysand #acotar #feysand fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #bond tag #happy birthday <3 #feyre archeron #rhysand #acomaf #acowar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #feysand baby #feysand fluff #*writing

[starofvelaris]

Feysand Mate Reveal AU

So I’ve always wondered how it would have gone if Rhysand had gotten the chance to tell Feyre about him being her mate himself. So this slight AU takes place the day after the Inn scene and assumes they had never been shot down and the Suriel wasn’t in the picture. — Rhysand grasped me tightly in his arms as he aimed us towards his Velaris townhouse below. The city was a canvas of lavender and orange in the fading light, the lanterns lining the winding Sidra like a chain of stars.

As he held onto me, I tried not to notice the way his torso was pressed up against mine, every contour of that strong body matching up with every soft curve of mine, the way his muscles eased and stretched with every flap of his enormous velvety wings. 

I let my head lean in to the crook of his shoulder and jaw, resting there beneath. I could almost fall asleep, despite my usual terror at flying with the Illyrians. I was so comfortable in his arms. I let my eyes close for a moment, savoring the warmth between us.

My mind wandered, and maybe it was the closeness of our bodies, but my thoughts took me to the night before…remembering the way we had tangled and touched in that tiny bed at the Inn…the way he had felt propped up behind me as I yielded to him…the way he had run his hands over me…how much I had wanted him to just take me fully...it was enough to set me aflame right there in the sky.

I jerked my eyes back open and tried to focus on the leather detailing of the lapels of his Illyrian training jacket, anything to stem those traitorous thoughts. I counted the threads in the silver embroidering of his undershirt, counted the buttons below that, opened loosely over the russet skin of his tattooed chest. The chest that was broad and smooth with muscled strength…another wave of warmth ran down me, pooling at the core of me and I bit my lip hard, hoping he wouldn’t notice the strain across our bond. 

I edged a glance upwards at his face, wondering if perhaps he too was remembering our night…but his dark brows were furrowed, his eyes faraway and focused. I swallowed, wanting to say something, address this thing between us, whatever it was.

We had scarcely spoken the entire way home after those hours training in the Steppes. I could sense he had wanted to say…something. I had indeed caught him several times opening and closing his mouth as if starting to speak before thinking better of it. I had shrugged it off, busying myself instead with my own training. But I wouldn’t be able to ignore it much longer, especially now that we had permanently crossed some invisible line that had been drawn in the sand between us these past few months.

As we touched down on the Townhouse roof terrace, I let out a relieved sigh at the reliable feeling of a steady surface below us. He set me down gently and removed his hands from me quickly, as if he were afraid of repeating last night so soon.

He straightened up, adjusting his elegant leather jacket as I tried to rearrange the tussled strands of my windswept hair. I watched his deft and graceful hands button the places his shirt it had gone loose from our day of travel, wanting so much to feel those nimble fingers in me again… But no. I couldn’t let those thoughts in. I reinforced my mental walls of adamant, envisioning them wrapping in more vines of protection. Whether from his intruding thoughts or my own traitorous ones, I wasn’t sure. “Dinner,” was all Rhys murmured after a moment, gesturing to the stairwell to our right. His eyes did not meet mine as we quietly made our way down to the dining room, where I hoped to find Mor or Amren or…anyone really. Anyone to fill the heavy silence between us.

The corridor of the Townhouse was dark, the last bits of sunlight streaming in from the stained glass windows casting a low glow over the floorboards. I watched my boots as we descended each flight of stairs, marking each of his steps behind me, thinking about how much I wanted to just turn around and hide in one of the passing bedrooms.

When we finally reached the dining room, I was disappointed to find the large oak table spotless and empty, save for two steaming plates of chicken and vegetables flanked by a glass of wine each. “Cerridwen and Nuala,” Rhysand said in answer to my questioning look, pulling out a chair for me. “I sent a request directly to their minds an hour ago while we were flying. I assumed you would be too tired to go out,” Indeed he was right, and I tried to arrange my face into some semblance of graciousness as I took a seat. I jumped slightly as I felt his broad hands graze my shoulders, but he was only spreading the napkin out into my lap for me. 

Ever the gentlemen, but it irked me for some reason. I shot him a mildly indignant look and snatched the napkin back. “I can handle that myself, thank you,” I curtly unfolded it myself. But Rhysand only smirked as he made his way around the table to the opposite side where his plate was set. Damn you, and your damn smirking.

Surprise flashed across his face as he took his seat, before being replaced by that feline amusement I was so used to. I felt a wave of relief at that. Maybe we wouldn’t have to acknowledge last night at all. Maybe we could continue on as normal, unchanged after all.

But something told me that wasn’t going to happen as my body thrilled at the sound of his deep voice in my head, replying,

But that winning smirk worked so well for me last night.

I felt a hot flush creep into my cheeks, but I refused to look at him. I gingerly began cutting my chicken, trying not to let my knife and fork tremble in my hands.

You’ll end up cutting yourself that way, Feyre darling.

I shot my eyes back up to meet the crinkled violet of his as his smirk deepened. I scowled and ignored him, carrying on with my tenuous cutting.

The clock on the mantel chimed half past eight, nearly causing me to jump out of my skin at the sudden noise. My eyes caught on Rhys’s movement across the table, it seeming to jar him as well.

“Is it really that late already?” I said, in a lame attempt at small talk. 

I watched his face, trying to read any reaction there. But it indecipherable was as he replied smoothly, “It’s been a long day, we should get some rest,” “Yes, I want another good night’s rest,” I slyly hoped he would catch my intention behind the words. I had slept more restfully last night than I had in months. The fact that it was due to being in his arms was a small matter I wasn’t sure I could handle. But he only cast his eyes down at my plate.

“Feyre, you’ve barely eaten anything,” he said, and I could see the veiled concern etched within his eyes. I looked glumly down at my barely-touched dinner, the food indeed more moved around on the plate than anything. “What is it to you?” I asked casually, putting down my utensils on the smooth wood varnish.

A muscle feathered in his jaw. “Are you hurt? Sick?” he asked softly. “No,” I replied, sitting back in my chair. “I’m fine,”

“Why aren’t you eating?” he asked, lying his hands flat on the table, as if ready to spring to my aid at a second’s notice. 

I resisted rolling my eyes as I said, “I’m just…not hungry. Really,” I hoped it would quay the emergent worry in his face. He relaxed, though I could tell he didn’t fully believe me.

“Well, then I suppose if I am just being a distraction,” he muttered curtly, swiftly standing and disappearing the plates with a wave of his hand. 

I felt an unwelcome pang at the word. Distraction. What I had asked for last night…not friendship, not a bond…not even love. I internally cringed and watched his dark silhouette disappear up the stairs.

I instantly wanted to run after him…to apologize or flirt more, I didn’t know. But my legs would not move, and any words died in my throat as I heard the distinct click of his bedroom door shutting upstairs. Ten minutes later, I found myself pacing outside his room, up and down the hallway, praying he couldn’t hear me, couldn’t see what a fool I was.

I nearly knocked once, but couldn’t bring myself to. Couldn’t think of what to say. I had too many questions for him. But I also felt a need to apologize. To explain. But the nerve never came. Not knowing what else to do with myself, I hid in my room the rest of the evening, holed up in bed with a book in my lap. But I read without really comprehending anything, my hands mechanically turning the pages as my mind wandered elsewhere. These months I’d spent here…how he had taken me in, given me clothes and money and food and shelter and everything else. It had begun as a bargain, yes, but now? I had had his tongue in my mouth and his fingers inside me last night. Yet I had stupidly told him it was just meaningless fun…but I knew, deep inside, that it wasn’t just fun. It wasn’t just a distraction. And that terrified me.

I sat there in bed, trying to find the right words to say to him until the clock on my cherrywood dresser tolled eleven. So, I gave up and dressed for bed, though sleep sounded as equally unappealing to my racing mind.

After slipping on my satin nightgown and silky robe, I crawled underneath the plush green duvet and switched off the lantern at my bedside. Instantly, the darkness sweeping across the room seeming to gloat at me, yet another reminder of the High Lord no doubt sleeping peacefully down the hall.

But as I drifted, my mind wandered back to that cramped room in the Inn…to the feel of his hands on my breasts, his fingers moving in me, his lips devouring my neck…how I had wanted so badly just to yield fully to him, to let him have me completely. How much that meant to me. How much that frightened me to my very core. I shivered and clamped my knees together, as if it could keep the wave of want at bay. My mind played the night over and over…the way he had spoken…the bits and pieces he had given me…Let me touch you…Because I was jealous and pissed off…She’s mine.

I stiffened. That was it.

I needed to know. Needed to know what it all meant. What I meant to him. I clenched my jaw, let out a sharp breath and sent one word down the bond;

Rhysand.

The seconds ticked on, and my heartbeat fluttered faster. Waiting. 

We have one awkward meal and you’re back to calling me Rhysand? I fought the tug of a smile that lifted my lips and I shot straight up in bed, though there was nothing in the darkness of my room. It was just his voice inside my head. Please. I want to talk to you. In person. 

A pause.

Might as well address me as High Lord, while you’re at it.

I rolled my eyes and just sent one word back down the bond: 

Please. For a few horrible moments, I thought he wouldn’t come. Perhaps he had decided I was too indecisive, too spiteful, too soiled for him. I put my hands over my face, feeling shame creep in, and slumped down against my pillow.

“Well I suppose if you say ‘please’…” I shot back up, throwing the covers off me as he appeared in the darkness, as if made from mist, silent and swift as the night. I clenched my bedsheets as I took him in; he was shirtless, loose silk sleeping pants the only thing covering his form, his velvet wings hanging unceremoniously behind him. 

With some effort, I fought to keep my eyes from tracing the contours of his torso, the way the pattern of his tattoos tapered off towards his lower abdomen…the corded muscles of his forearms leading to strong hands now dipping into his pockets as he leaned against my bedpost. “Feyre,” he said in a singsong voice, no doubt tracking where my eyes were. It snapped me from my observance and I flushed warmly. 

I could see the slight amusement in his eyes as I met his eyes again. 

“You wanted to see me?” I rose quickly and rather shakily from my bed, the hem of my satin robe hitting the floor and opening the front, revealing the simple albeit very short nightgown I had put on underneath. “Or perhaps you wanted another distraction,” he said as his eyes drank me in, not a question at all. I watched Rhys watch me, saw the panic and lust and unsureness cross his face as he took me in, from toes to eyebrows. Saw the silent restraint in his body, the body I had become so used to seeing over these months of training together. I took a slow step towards him. He stood unmoving, not taking his eyes from mine, though I could now see him grasping that bedpost like it was supporting him entirely. “Not a distraction,” I said firmly, trying to convey everything I felt in those few words. He did not hide his reaction to me as he again cast his eyes down my body. I tried to ignore the way my nightown rode up with each step, at the growing impulse to throw my legs around his waist right there and then. “I need to know…” I hesitated as I finally closed the gap between us. My shoulders tensing, I continued, “…what there is between us,” His face was unreadable and again he didn’t move, did not even flinch as he held steadfast onto that bedpost, as if one wrong move would send us spiraling into dangerous territory again. “I need to understand this, Rhys,” I gestured to the small space between us. I watched his face change again, into something hopeful, but hesitant. His hands finally let go of that post to grasp my arms, lightly running up and down them. It raised goosebumps in their path. 

Something drew me into him, something I couldn’t name. Like a tether, ever shortening as the minutes passed… “Feyre…” he voice was guttural as he angled his head to rest against mine. I heard him breath in. Breathe me in. I did the same, reveling in the citrus and sea that always hovered around him. “You said you just wanted fun,” I cringed, and swallowed thickly. “I know what I said, but that’s not what I want,” “Then why am I here, Feyre?” There was the question. His hands left my arms. My lower lip trembled as I took in his beautiful face. So devastatingly beautiful. “Rhys,” I steadied my voice, as I asked a question of my own, “Why do you bother?”

Confusion darkened his eyes.

“With…?” “With me,”

“I happen to find you quite attractive, Feyre,” His hands resumed their exploration, this time running slowly over the curve of my hips, gently tugging the fabric of my gown upwards. “As I have told you many times,”

“Evidently,” I breathed, pushing my pelvis against the new hardness of his, wishing we could just throw away all that had been said and submit fully to this feeling. He gave my thighs a long squeeze as his mouth met my cheekbone, trailing kisses down towards my earlobe. I could feel the cool air kiss my now exposed upper thighs. He bunched the fabric up more, his own hips moving ever so slightly in to crush gently against mine. I stifled a groan, tried to ignore the melting feeling soaring across my body.

“But why bring me here? To Velaris?” I whispered against his jaw as his mouth roamed to my ear, placing a restrained kiss upon its point. “I happen to find you quite interesting, darling,” Rhys breathed into my ear, but there was panic in his eyes as he straightened back around to face me. He couldn’t hide that, not from me. “But why bring me here to your home?” I broke from him, taking a step back, stemming this flow of warmth before it consumed us fully. “Why let me sleep in your private rooms? Why introduce me to your family, your court, your—” “I…care about you Feyre,” Rhys interjected, scanning my face. “Why?” My voice became strained.  “Is it just petty revenge against Tamlin, still?” “No,” Rhys hissed. “He has nothing to do with this, Feyre,” “Is it our bargain then? Are you not able to break it or–” “The bargain is nothing,” Rhys’ voice was flat as he placed both his broad hands on either side of my face. “Nothing,”

And I believed him, but still there was something missing. Something I couldn’t quite reconcile… “Then why am I here?” Tears escaped my eyes, tears I had kept at bay for too long, tears of frustration, tears of hopelessness. I still didn’t understand. Why he had gone through all these pains to give me a place to be happy. Even if he now felt as strongly for me as I did for him, in the beginning we had been barely more than strangers. It still didn’t add up. “What am I to you?” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Rhys struggled for a moment, his jaw set, his eyes furiously scanning my face again, as if trying to read something within it.

“Feyre, I have to tell you something,” His voice sounded almost shaky, his lips near trembling. “Something I should have told you sooner,” 

I had never seen him so…vulnerable. Not in this way. I waited for him to go on. But he didn’t say anything for a long moment before he gently backed us up until my rear met edge of the mattress. I reached behind me and grasped onto it, anything to keep me steady, to keep my hands from grasping onto him and never letting go.

He leaned in and laid a soft kiss on each side of my neck, before lifting his mouth to my tear-stained cheeks. He gently kissed away my tears, as he once had done Under the Mountain.

“You’re not just a distraction,” I whispered against his face. “You’re…more than that, Rhys,”

I locked eyes with him, and before I could decide against it, I swiftly brought my face to his and kissed him deeply. There was hunger and desperation in that kiss, a kiss we had not truly shared yet. 

His hands returned to my hips, running over the bend of them as I pressed myself fully into him, wanting to taste him and feel him and understand this pull between us. And from the way his lips drank mine in, the way his hands roamed my thighs, I knew he was trying desperately to understand, too.

“Rhys…” I said from behind his lips and broke us apart again.

He stood panting before me, eyes closed. His hands went slack at his sides, and he angled his body away again.

“Feyre, don’t…” he trailed off. “I don’t think I can handle it…not again,” My heart broke for him as I took his hand back in mine. “Rhys, I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “Just…tell me, please,” “Feyre…” He gave me another kiss, this time long and sweet, like it held all the words he was about to give me. “There is a story I need to tell you first,”

—-

I imagine after this, Feyre reacts very much the same as in the original, with her fleeing to Mor and demanding to be taken away to think. So you can assume the cabin scene plays out the same in my AU :) Hope you all enjoyed!

#feysand #feysand smut #fic #acotar #acotar fanfiction #fanfic #sovfic #sovwriting #feyre x rhysand #rhysand x feyre #sarah j maas #au #feysand au #my mate #sjm #ya

[thevixenfanfiction]

Chapter Eight

First of all, I owe you guys an apology for being late and not posting. I have been on hiatus for a bit and really struggling with chapter thirteen. That is still no excuse for not posting what I have written. I’m sorry y’all. I’ll do better!!

And I forgot to tag my wonderful beta, @court-0f-dreamers!!

Prologue  Chapter One  Chapter Two  Chapter Three  Chapter Four  Chapter Five  Chapter Six  Chapter Seven

Summary: This story follows the path of someone who turns pity into malice and revenge into a lifestyle. Someone who doesn't believe in love's power and strays from what little good she has in her heart. Myriad is a fae with the rare ability to leech magic from other face, leaving them husks of their former selves. Myriad worked for and was Amarantha's secret pet, spy and lover. After the Queen's death, Myriad leaves to live in solace. On her journey, she's captured by Hybern and set with a task to complete. Penetrate the workings of the Nightcourt and report to the King. During this time she falls in with the Inner Circle by a chance meeting with a male from her past. She must then gain their trust, in turn, discovering things about herself in the process, fighting the unbreakable command the King of Hybern gave her. (This follows the ending of A Court of Thorns and Roses thru to the end of the series. Slow burn Azriel/Myriad) (Roughly inspired by Disney's Maleficent.)

   I stared up at the clear blue sky, my back against the cold, hard ground of the training circle. My breath was puffing visibly in the cold air above me.    “That lasted even less than the last time.”     I drew my brows together and put my hand over my face. If I could actually hit Cassian, I would punch his perfect nose into his perfect face. I sat up, my bruised body protesting terribly.

  I watched Cassian as he removed his shirt and wiped his face on it then threw the shirt aside and grinned at me, cocking an eyebrow up. I snarled and brushed a stray curl from my eyes, swearing I’d just cut all my hair off next time I got the chance.

  “Maybe if you actually taught me, instead of just putting me on my ass in the first few seconds, I’d learn something and be more fun for you to beat up,” I snapped as I lurched to my feet, brushing my hands off on my pants.

   Cassian laughed lowly and flexed his arms, stretching his great wings. I rubbed my hand over my nose and watched Cassian move, trying to find any sort of weakness in him. I found none. He was a mass of rippling muscles, developed over the centuries of rigid training that I didn't have.

   I had nothing to boast. I was fit, sure, but I was small. Skinny, no weight to use in my favor.

   I shook out my hands and tilted my chin up. Cassian still wore his infernal smirk as he turned back to face me.

   “Ready to go again, Fox?” he taunted. I scowled at the name and crouched, my feet loosening slightly.

   “Shut up, you overgrown bat.”

   Cassian laughed and struck at the same time.

   He met nothing but air, stumbled, but collected himself quickly. He turned around and I grinned at him as I winnowed fully behind him. I couldn’t beat him by strength alone, so perhaps I could evade him.

   “You know that’s cheating,” Cassian drawled, casually walking forward. I backed up, giving him ground.    “I’d rather stay alive.”    “As much as I enjoy putting you on your ass, I’m not going to kill you. You need to learn how to fight, not just to evade it.”

   I shrugged and stood up straight, letting my hands drop to my side.

   “Maybe I won’t let myself get close enough for a fight.”    Cassian’s eyes dug into me harder than I found comfortable. I pulled up the collar of my shirt and shrugged my shoulders, looking past Cassian’s shoulder.

   “Or perhaps you’re scared you’ll keep losing them. Have you ever won a fight, Myriad?”

   I rubbed my nose again and met Cassian’s eyes.

   “You talk too much.”

   “You don’t talk enough. You want to be part of us, but you won’t let yourself become part of us.”

   I tossed my head and walked past Cassian.

   Cassian sneered. “Always walking away.”

   I felt a hand on my upper arm and Cassian stopped me. He pulled me back to him, his face inches from mine.

   “You’re not walking off this circle till you fight back,” he said lowly. I pulled my arm back and went to slam my knee into Cassian’s crotch but he caught my knee and crushed it in a tight grip.

    “Let go.”     Cassian let me wrench my knee back and I stumbled away from him.

    “Come back when you’re not holding yourself back,” Cassian said finally. He dusted his hands off and picked up his shirt from where he’d tossed it. “Tell Amren she can have her toy back.”

                                                                ***   ***   ***

         “I heard Cassian kicked you off the training grounds.”     I ignored the shadows that curled from the corner of the kitchen as I hungrily searched around for something to eat. I’d been skipping meals since the last one I had at the townhouse had me on the floor. I didn't want to repeat that.

    “He’s just frustrated that you didn't come out to play with him. Although I don’t see why he should complain, I’m a grand punching bag.”

     I heard a quiet snort and Azriel materialized by the table, bits of shadow still clinging to him. I felt my hair stand on end and I looked anywhere but at the shadowsinger, keeping my breathing calm, my body relaxed.

    “Don’t let him fool you,” Azriel said and handed me a scone. I looked up at him and took it, sitting down to take a bite of it. I brushed the crumbs off my shirt and onto the floor.

    “How’s the work with Amren?”

    I rolled my eyes and swallowed.

    “You already know the answer.”

   “Maybe, but I’d like to hear it from you. You hardly ever join us for dinner, actually you never do. You seem to enjoy cloistering yourself up in your room with that...fiddle. It gets hard to sleep when you’re screeching away in the early hours of the morning.”

   I looked up at Azriel and pulled my brows together, setting my scone on the table.

   “First of all, I don’t screech,” I said just for clarification. “And maybe I don’t want to keep falling out of my seat every time I’m grilled for information about….about…”    I faltered again, my mind running a blank when I tried to speak about Hybern. It was frustrating. I knew something was wrong with me, I knew I had been a prisoner of Hybern for a reason but I could not think of why, or anything beyond escaping from the guardhouse.

   Azriel pulled out a chair and sat across from me. I relaxed and stiffened all in the same breath. Azriel smelled like...like pine and some sort of citrus I couldn’t place. His scent wafted over me in a gentle wave and I relished in my mate’s smell, wishing fervently that I could have that smell cling to me as well.

    “Hybern,” Azriel finished for me. I nodded.

    “Rhys said you had some sort of curse on you, blocking out a part of your mind.”

    “I don’t know, I can’t remember anything.”

     I looked up at Azriel and rubbed my calloused knuckles and picked at a few scabs that I hadn’t noticed before.

     “Azriel...are you and Mor…” I swallowed and looked back down at my knuckles. I don’t know why I was asking. It wasn’t my business if Azriel had a lover. Actually, nothing he did was any of my concern. I was jealous, territorial. I didn't want Mor to be anywhere near my mate. A mate I knew next to nothing about. “A thing? She seems to hate me for some reason. I think it’s because, well I don’t know why really. The other day, when I came back from the Autumn court she threatened me that if I hurt you…”

     Azriel was silent and I knew I had made a mistake bringing up the blond fae who held my mate’s attention so well. I had the feeling she strung Azriel along, and I hated her for it. She was always there in front of Azriel, either ignoring his looks or simply leading him on like he was an obedient hound. It made me seeth inside.

   “I’m sorry. It’s not my business,” I said and got up from the table. Azriel reached out and grabbed my wrist lightly, keeping me there. I felt my throat close up and I watched him stand up. He was taller by a few inches, yet he made me feel like I was the tiniest speck of dirt beneath him.

   Azriel unfurled his wings, his calm face looking down at me with what could have been compassion, I wasn’t sure.

   “Mor is...a friend,” he seemed to have to work to get the word out. “A very protective friend. We all are protective of each other. They don’t know you as well as I do, so they’re--Cassian and Mor that is, are having a hard time adjusting to you. You just have to stick with us for a bit, earn their trust.”

   I looked down at Azriel’s scarred hand, wanting to stroke the burns there, learn about who had hurt my mate.

   “Do you trust me?”

   Azriel’s mouth turned up in the barest of smiles and his shadows seemed to poke me and whisper in their master’s ears about what they found.

   “Yes, I do.”

    I sighed and set my hand over Azriel’s, squeezing it very lightly and I returned his smile with my own.

   “I suppose now I’m obligated to humor you and be nice to your beastly friends?” I said, a try at humor. Azriel snorted dryly.

   “We’re not so bad, Myriad.”

    He let go of my wrist, his hand lingering for a second. I put my hands in my pockets and shuffled my feet.    “Thank you Azriel.”

    “If you need to talk with someone,” Azriel said coolly, handing me the rest of my scone and another one. “Just look for me. I’ll find you. We can talk.”

     I felt my face heat and I took the offered food before I darted from the kitchen.

                                                               ***   ***   ***

   I joined the circle for dinner that night and it actually went rather smoothly, aside from the looks I got from Mor and Cassian. Either way, I listened to the conversation more than I was a part of any. Occasionally Feyre or Rhys would ask me questions, which I answered to be polite, but I kept to myself.

   Later, when I had retired to my room, I didn't play my fiddle, remembering what Azriel had said about the screeching. It made me laugh a little, come to think of it.

   I fell asleep swiftly, the day’s abuse catching up to me and I passed into a rather deep sleep.

                                                               ***   ***   ***

   It was a dream, as far as I knew. A bad dream.

   I was in Hybern, I knew the walls, the smell, the feel of the place. How could I forget it so soon?

   “That will be all.”

    I felt my body clench up when I heard that voice. The King of Hybern.

   “Myriad, how good of you to join us. You’re awake, open your eyes. I’m so sorry to have summoned you here at so late an hour.”

   I gasped and my eyes opened, instantly recoiling from the soft, bright glow of torches. I blinked rapidly, stepping back when I realized how close the King is to me. He smiled coldly and ran his black eyes over me, though there was nothing but bland interest in his gaze. I folded my arms over myself, hiding my body under my thin nightclothes.

   “How…?”

   “You flew out of the High Lord’s house then the Attor winnowed you once you were out of Night’s borders. Simple really.”

    I closed my mouth, my stomach threatening to empty. I busied myself by looking around at my surroundings. We were in a room, it looked to be within the castle. Two guards stood by the door I had just walked through. Their faces were impassive and showed no interest in me.

  There wasn’t any furnishing in the room at all except for…

   I paled and fought the urge to make a ward against evil on my skin.

   The Cauldron sat on a dias in the center of the room, large and looming.

   The Cauldron that Prythian was forged from, that the first Fae crawled from and the creatures that filled our world were made in.

   “Your new acquaintances are searching for this,” the King said, walking over to Cauldron. He didn't touch it, but looked at it with a hungry gleam in his eyes.   “They plan to fix the wall, don’t they?”

   I nodded and swallowed a few times. I had heard the talk. Though it wasn’t directly said, I did recognize the Book of Breathings that they were  searching for. Half of it anyway.

   “Yes. They’re looking for something that...that they need to use to wield the Cauldron,” I said, my mind not fully my own. The King cast me a glance and nodded.    “The book of Breathings, yes. I’m aware that they’re looking for it, though one doesn’t need it to use the Cauldron, as you’ll see tonight.”

  The King pulled a ring from his tunic and I felt my stomach roll when I realized it was Amarantha’s prize. Jurian’s eye encased in a ring she wore all the time. The brown eye whirled almost wildly inside the ring and it cast it’s gaze to me, then to the Cauldron as if it somehow knew what the King planned.

   Next the King pulled out a little finger bone, also one of Amarantha’s prizes and he placed it in his hand with the ring.    “Tonight, my dear, I’ve brought you to witness the Cauldron at work,” The King said. He smiled at me and extended a hand towards me, beckoning me to him. I walked over, my feet feeling like lead as I stood by the King.

   “How?” I asked, though I already had a good guess as to what the King was planning.

   The King looked at me and smiled, his plainly handsome face looking so frightening in that moment.    “Just watch.”

   So I watched. I watched as the King took the ring and the bone and dropped them in the Cauldron. They plopped quietly in whatever liquid was inside the massive Cauldron. The King walked around the Cauldron, his hand traced the rim of the Cauldron and I saw him whispering too quiet for me to hear. I felt my hair stand on end, like when lightning strikes nearby and there’s static in the air.

   The King stopped his circling and backed away from the Cauldron. There was a bubbling sound and I smelled….I smelled death.

   I took a step back, gooseflesh running over my arms. The smell was pungent, cold and it filled the room almost choking me. The King still wore his ghostly smile as he walked back to the Cauldron and he turned to me, beckoning me over.

   “Myriad, come.”    I obediently walked over, despite wanting to run as far away from the humming Cauldron as I possibly could.

    The guards by the door moved forward when the King nodded and the seized the Cauldron, pushing it over so that it spilled forth it’s liquid and a body along with it.

    The Cauldron rocked back and settled down. I looked down at the male on the floor, stepping away from him. He was naked and still, not a breath came from him. The King walked over to him and bent down in the wet, right next to the male.

    “Jurian, wake.”     The male took a shuddering breath and looked up, his brown eyes wide, searching in a wild manner. His brown hair clung to his face like a helmet and he raised his hand to his face, staring at it like it was something foreign.

    Gods. It was Jurian. The Jurian from the War. He was...alive. Resurrected by the Cauldron and whatever unearthly spell the King had uttered.

   He looked at the King, then turned his head to look at me. I stepped back, wishing desperately to disappear. Jurian’s eyes followed and he looked at me, taking in my appearance. He coughed then, violently, his whole body going into the action as he vomited up liquid. The King clicked his tongue and swung a blanket over Jurian’s shoulders. I hadn’t even noticed the King had it.

   “Myriad, help him up,” he said to me. I obeyed and put my hands under Jurian’s arms and pulled on him to get him to stand. He was weak though and leaned almost fully on me. I staggered under his weight but stayed upright, looking to the King.     “Sir?”

   The King nodded to the door.

    “Follow me.”

   He led me down a hallway until we came to a room already prepared for Jurian it seemed. There was a bed and a male fae standing in the corner by a table with herbs and tools on it. He was a healer. I heaved Jurian onto the bed and stepped back. Jurian stared at me, his brown eyes wide as the took me in. I swallowed nervously and averted my gaze to the floor. I jumped when Jurian grabbed my wrist and I looked back at him, pulling my hand back. Jurian didn't let go, he was strong, strong for a human. Was he even human?

    “Who are you?”

   Jurian’s voice was a rasp, from years of disuse, I wouldn’t have expected it to be anything else.

   “Myriad,” I replied quietly and jerked my hand back. “Let go. You’re hurting me.”

   Jurian let go and his hand fell back, though he still watched me intently.

   “I don’t remember you,” was all he said before the healer came over and began to examine Jurian.

   The King took me by my elbow then and led me from the room.

   “So you see Myriad,” he said easily. “You don’t need that book to wield the Cauldron, though it is a good item to possess. If they do manage to find the book, I’d like to have it.”

    I nodded and looked up at the King.

   “The human queens? What about them?”

   The King laughed.

   “The Highlord’s shadowsinger has been sniffing around them and their courts but he can’t quite get in. Follow him, work with him and report back to me. Let him know about the Cauldron as well, I want them to know I have it. You’ll know what to do.”     I felt that black oil shift in my chest, planted there by the King himself, binding me to his will.

    “What about Jurian?”

    The King looked back to the door.

    “Rhysand has his human emissary, I have mine. Go now, Myriad. You’ll remember none of this but what I’ve told you to do.”

    I felt my mind begin to fog as before and my vision faded right as someone took my arms and winnowed me away.

@court-0f-dreamers @eternally-reading

#sarah j maas #acomaf #acowar #acotar #fanfiction

[illyriantremors]

ACOMAF Part 2.1 The House of Wind: Chapters 14-27 (Rhys POV)

Chapter 14: Feyre’s First Visit to the Townhouse Chapter 15: Rhys Shows Feyre Velaris & Flies Her to Dinner Chapter 16: Feyre’s Dinner with the Inner Circle Chapter 17: Feyre’s Nightmare Chapter 18: The Bone Carver Chapter 19: After the Bone Carver Chapters 20-21: The Weaver & the Memory of Ianthe Chapters 22-24: The First Visit to the Mortal Realms & Meeting Nesta and Elain Chapters 25-27: Feyre trains with Rhys & the Attor Attacks

AN: Chapters 14-27 of ACOMAF from Rhys’s POV! Chapter 14 is pasted below while the remaining chapters linked above go to AO3. I’ve started work on the next set, but don’t have much yet. Enjoy!

Thank you, as always, to @kitashiwrites, who is my rock, my spirit animal, and my grammar instructor who makes this so much easier. Thank you for always instilling confidence in me when I feel like such utter crap about writing these. Your enthusiasm never ceases to amaze me!

Chapter 14

Summary: Rhys brings Feyre to Velaris after saving her from Tamlin's prison in the Spring Court. His inner circle crashes their brief landing in Rhys's townhouse, sending Feyre upstairs. Downstairs, Rhys chats with his family and learns about another temple raid from Azriel.

You Are Safe Here

"Welcome to my home.”

It was a damned miracle to watch Feyre survey my townhouse, the most private space I occupied. And here she was suddenly inside it.

The moment was so surreal, that I had to lean against the oak threshold separating us from the sitting room to keep myself steady. Feyre, despite what I could tell was a decent amount of surprise at where she’d landed and a considerable amount of concern for what she might find beyond these walls, didn’t miss a single detail. From the plush fabrics lining the furniture to the woven carpets and open windows, to worn bookcases and soft sounds from outside, she saw it all.

And I wondered if some part of her registered that she was really seeing a glimpse of me.

The palace she had spent two weeks in miles and miles away was easily representative of one half of me - the calculating, regal half that delighted in luxury without apology. But that portion was also who I was as a diplomat, the High Lord.

Here, I was home.

And she was still apprehensive.

“What is this place?” she asked and she sounded almost disbelieving, like any moment she might wake up.

“This is my house. Well, I have two homes in the city. One is for more... official business, but this is only for me and my family.”

Feyre kept a sharp eye as her gaze flicked immediately away from me and stared down the hallway behind her questioning. The house replied with a warm, open silence - an invitation of sorts.

“Nuala and Cerridwen are here,” I said. “But other than that, it’ll just be the two of us.”

I waited for her to say something, but her biting commentary never came. Mercifully, it wasn’t the silence I’d come to expect that cried out hatred upon my back when I left the room or slashed at my soul with cuts and sneers to keep me out. Feyre was simply frozen in time and space as she stilled to look at the walls. I only hoped it was more from shock than any actual discomfort. Being here - I needed her to be okay with it, with even just this one small part of me, the most honest and normal portion there was. And also, the most human - the most like her.

Too long a stretch of silence passed. I took a careful step towards her, ready to explain further, when a shock of sound slammed into the fogged glass of the atrium door that led outside. I didn’t have to look to know who was behind it.

“Hurry up, you lazy ass,” Cassian barked behind the glass. Feyre’s head whizzed to the sound. She looked exhausted just by the very idea she might have another guest to deal with let alone two more. I knew for Cassian to be here this early, he wouldn’t be alone.

“Two things, Feyre darling,” I said, interrupted by another pounding.

“If you’re going to pick a fight with him, do it after breakfast.”

Azriel.

Feyre’s brow peaked as if she could feel the shadows that cocooned my brother day and night even with a door between them. Knowing Azriel, he was likely experiencing something similar himself thanks to his smokey friends.

“I wasn’t the one who hauled me out of bed just now to fly down here,” Cassian said tartly before sneering at Az, “Busybody.”

The exchange was so brief, and yet, when Feyre slid her gaze to me at the end of it, it was hard not to laugh - to smile. Even if only a little bit.

The reality of the moment hit me then in full force. Feyre was little more than a handful of steps away from my brothers, my family, my city - people and places I thought she would never see except maybe on a battlefield or in a court room with sentinels from an entirely different court at her side.

And yet, here we were. Cassian complaining about being dragged out of bed at an ungodly hour like I knew he would, Azriel dutifully pushing him here to do it. And Feyre hadn’t even met them yet but she was so close to seeing them, seeing it all.

The thought made me rather... giddy inside.

But she was tired. The hollows under her eyes were a deepening purple and her shoulders sagged at her sides so that her back and neck slumped. One would have thought she’d never slept a day in her life, never mind the hours she’d spent in bed only thirty minutes ago.

“One,” I said, making sure to shirk off the smile threatening to break free so she could understand that she needn’t worry here, “no one - no one - but Mor and I are able to winnow directly inside this house. It is warded, shielded, and then warded some more. Only those I wish - and you wish - may enter. You are safe here; and safe anywhere in this city, for that matter. Velaris’s walls are well protected and have not been breached in five thousand years. No one with ill intent enters this city unless I allow it. So go where you wish, do what you wish, and see who you wish.”

Another pounding sounded at the door and again, it was an effort not to give in to Cassian’s inexhaustible ability to dig at me.

“Those two in the antechamber,” I continued, ready for the snide remark sure to follow, “might not be on that list of people you should bother knowing, if they keep banging on the door like children.”

I didn’t bother lowering my voice so they wouldn’t hear me outside, but I hadn’t raised it either, and all the same, Cassian still pounded relentlessly on the door and added, “You know we can hear you, prick.”

A little thrill went up my spine that I stood solidly firm over to hide it. They were so close - both halves of my life. So, so unbearably close that the anticipation of it was just as much a nuisance to lock down as a happiness to feel.

“Secondly,” I said casually, with just enough emphasis to piss Cass off and with any luck earn a long suffering sigh from Azriel, “in regard to the two bastards at my door, it’s up to you whether you want to meet them now, or head upstairs like a wise person, take a nap since you’re still looking a little peaky, and then change into city-appropriate clothing while I beat the hell out of one of them for talking to his High Lord like that.”

Feyre looked at me in bewilderment. Her shields were in perfect tact. I didn’t want to rifle through her head for every little emotion and thought, not at the cost of her personal space. But I would have been lying if I’d said it would not have been nice for this to have been one of those beautiful moments where she let me in on her mind’s turbulent seas to understand her better. What I would have given to know what she was thinking just then and here I was too scared out of my mind to ask while I waited for a decision, even as the adrenaline begged me to...

Her face appeared easy at first, some of those muscles in her tired body relaxed as she surveyed my face in a way I’d never seen from her before. And then it fell, miserably low and I thought she might yawn or fall over on the spot.

“Just come get me when they’re gone,” she finally said. It was an effort not to let my disappointment show. Part of me wanted everyone I loved to meet then and there and be done with it, but her peace was more important.

Then again, that peace might never be possible if Feyre found my family wasn’t one she could be a part of, if she found them too -

“You Illyrians are worse than cats yowling to be let in the back door.” Amren’s razor thin voice cut the silence between Feyre and I sharply. I heard the handle of the door jingle harshly as she tried it. “Really, Rhysand? You locked us out?”

Whatever was in Amren’s tone today was not one Feyre was ready to face apparently because she immediately dismissed herself without another word and made for the stairs where I knew Nuala and Cerridwen would be waiting to intercept her. I listened for her footsteps, waiting until she was well out of the danger zone, before I opened the door and my entryway was flooded by my hulking brothers and the short, blunt woman who somehow outsized them both.

Cassian clapped me on the back, shaking the chill off of him as he strode past me towards the warmer air. “Welcome home, bastard,” he said by way of greeting. “I sensed you were back. Mor filled me in, but I-”

Amren stepped directly into my path, cutting Cassian off with an annoyed glare. “Send your dogs out in the yard to play, Rhysand. You and I have matters to discuss.”

But while her displeasure had been directed at Cassian, it was Azriel who replied with that cold, deadly insistence, the only one who dared go toe-to-toe with Amren for my attention. When it came to political matters, at least.

“As do I,” Azriel said and there was no mistaking his meaning. Amren didn’t so much as move.

“We were here first,” Cassian said, much more casually than Az. “Wait your turn, Tiny Ancient One.”

Okay, maybe Azriel wasn’t the only one willing to play with Amren. The snarl that ripped from between her sharp teeth was low, but perfectly clear.

Mor startled me when she rounded the corner from the kitchen, a steaming cup of tea between her hands and wearing a lazy set of loose pants and a sweater that said she could have just woken up. I wondered whether she’d stayed the night here after forewarning Azriel of the last day’s events or if she’d met him this morning and winnowed in without bothering to change.

“Why is everyone here so early?” She said, still sleepy. “I thought we were meeting tonight at the House.”

Everyone stared at me waiting and for a second, seeing my house full of people with nothing but complaint while Feyre went through her own mini-hell adjusting upstairs was tiresome. “Trust me, there’s no party. Only a massacre, if Cassian doesn’t shut his mouth.”

Cass blew me off. “We’re hungry. Feed us. Someone told me there’d be breakfast.”

Az’s lips gave a tug as he chose a plush backless seat to lean over, ready as ever to get straight to business.

“Pathetic,” Amren said. Never one to be outdone, she took her own seat across from the shadowsinger. “You idiots are pathetic.”

“We know that’s true. But is there food?” Mor flashed that insatiable grin of hers that won the hearts of men and women up and down Prythian, but Cass cut across her with a derisive snort.

“You’re the one who just came from the kitchen,” he said.

“That was for tea,” she said raising her mug and shaking it faintly in his direction. “And you know I don’t cook.”

“Can’t cook, you mean,” Azriel said. Their eyes met across the room and held some kind of quiet, teasing exchange the rest of us were never privy to.

When the shadows informed him that Mor’s eyes weren’t the only attention he held, Azriel cleared his throat and spoke in that cool stoicism of his. “So what’s the plan?”

“Hold on, hold on,” Cassian said. “I’d like to know what prompted these oncoming plans before we actually get in to them. Some of us don’t have shadows and personal secretaries to inform us of every little movement Rhys makes.” He gestured between Azriel and Mor. It was Mor who replied.

“Some of us,” she said, staring pointedly at Cassian, “need to learn the value of minding their own business and a little patience. And I thought we were eating first?”

“By the Cauldron,” I said, snapping my fingers. The coffee table filled with fruit and muffins. Mor squealed, reaching for her preferred chocolate muffins, Cassian not far behind taking a fat pomegranate, their conflict temporarily forgotten. Amren eyed the food with clear disdain.

“Miserable though this is,” Amren said, “I too would like a full account of recent events and the plans to follow.” Amren gave me half a heartbeat before her eyes lifted slowly to the ceiling above us where Feyre undoubtedly stayed, hopefully fast asleep between the fresh sheets of her new bed.

Everyone followed suit and I sank in to a chair, taking a nut muffin for myself with a few bites, and then let the incident in the Spring Court unfold.

“So she stays here from now on,” Azriel asked. I nodded. “And you’re content to trust her with the knowledge of this city - with Velaris?”

“Obviously,” I said. “She’s here, isn’t she.”

“You know what I mean, Rhys.”

“Azriel isn’t wrong,” Amren said. “This is a considerable step, Rhysand.”

“One that hasn’t been weighed without a great deal of consideration, Amren,” I replied and she eyed me stonily. I didn’t appreciate the full use of my name.

Though I’d only taken a handful of seconds before acquiescing to Feyre’s request to join me here, there had never been a doubt in my mind that she could handle keeping this secret or even that she would if she chose to assume the burden of it. I trusted my mate with that secret - and so much more, really.

“Feyre is now in a period of transition,” I went on. “She has survived a great deal in her return to the Spring Court alone and it has cost her almost everything. For that and because of certain... understandings with her, she is to be afforded the rights of this court until such a time comes where she chooses to no longer be apart of it. And even then, her word is good that she will not betray us.” Azriel’s shadows tightened tensely around his body as if searching for the validity of my statement. “None of you have reason to doubt me on this.”

I didn’t need to add that that was final. “And now?” Azriel asked.

“You’ll meet her tonight and have your fun, and then tomorrow we work. So long as Feyre resides in Velaris, we know she is safe. But if she should leave this city, Tamlin is bound to have every sentinel and guard in his court trying to find her whether she wants it or not. And not just Tamlin.”

Mor shuddered and swallowed the bite of fruit she’d been chewing. “You think others will be looking for her? Our enemies?”

“And Tamlin’s.”

“Because of-”

“Amarantha? Yes. Anyone who sided with her and managed to get out of that mountain alive will almost undoubtedly be looking for her.” My mind flicked through the suspects, from the Attor to creatures of a much darker sort. “If they’ve allied with Hybern, then it’s almost a guarantee. Tamlin might be foolish enough to think no one will suspect Feyre of being more than just another High Fae noble, but I am not.”

“You think she is more than what she appears?” Cassian asked, genuinely intrigued - enough to stop chewing, at least.

“I already know she is, and will discuss it another time. For now...” I looked at Azriel. He had information, but his eyes narrowed, the shadows flickering over his face in a haze that told me to wait. “For now, eat your food and make my life a living hell like you always do.”

Cassian huffed a laugh and swiped another piece of fruit off the table, this time an orange. He threw a blueberry that stuck in Mor’s hair and I thought she might light his leathers on fire.

They stayed for most of the morning. For the most part, we chatted about strategies for keeping Feyre safe from the enemies who might try and snatch her if the time came for her to leave while at the same time scheming how to use that to our advantage if it was Hybern or one of his cronies behind any attacks. And then there was general conversation about the war itself, the Illyrian war-bands constantly harping at me from the North, the temples, Tamlin...

It was exhausting. As excited as I’d been having them arrive and share the same roof as my mate, part of me would rather have joined Feyre upstairs and taken a good, long nap away from the endless chatter about subjects hell bent on killing me.

Amren pulled me aside onto the outdoor patio midway through the discussion to give her own private report. She left as soon as it was over and Azriel took her place.

“Any news yet?” I asked. Azriel didn’t have to ask what I meant as he eyed the balcony to Feyre’s room just above us.

“Nothing,” he said. “Tamlin put the entire court on lock down almost as soon as he realized Feyre was missing. The gap was open for a short time and likely only because he wasn’t home when Mor got her out. I’m not sure he realized right away what had happened.”

“His wards are weak - even for him.” Something that was deeply unsettling. For a High Lord intent on protecting what was owed to him, he sure missed one hell of a show from Feyre for all her trouble should have alerted him to what was happening in his own home. An explosion like that... he should have met Mor and I at the gates.

“Keep an eye on the court,” I said. “Go back tomorrow yourself and see if you can’t get anything out of it. She’s only been here a day and Tamlin’s not going to let this go even if Feyre shows up and puts a knife in his heart herself.”

Azriel nodded. A cruel shadow twisted off his lips as if it spoke the order itself to whatever eyes and ears awaited him tomorrow in the Spring Court - that they should be watching. Azriel didn’t move.

“Spit it out,” I said.

“It’s happened again,” he said with that cold, unyielding blade of a voice he had.

I sighed. “Tell me.”

And I already knew what was coming.

His face cracked just the slightest, knowing the blow he was about to deal.

“There’s been another attack. Same as the rest - priestesses slain, the place ransacked, and something missing even if it’s not apparent what.”

Relentless, icy rage glittered in my veins. Had I not wanted to leave Feyre to possibly meet my little entourage for the first time alone, I would have shot straight up into the skies and flown until sundown.

“Where?” I asked instead.

But just as before, I already knew the answer. Knew the doom it spelt. Knew that another clue to the riddle I suspected I’d already solved was coming.

Azriel’s lips tightened into a hard line before he answered, his eyes cold and screaming with the same rage I felt.

“The Temple at Sangravah.”

Cesere...

Sangravah...

And countless others.

My mind flashed to the war room I’d shown Feyre, and the maps strewn with marks and figures.

War was coming.

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[togreblog]

ACOWAR when Nesta and Cassian admit their feelings.

Sooooooo…..

I saw this post a while ago by @modernacotar asking how people thought Nesta and Cassian admitting their feeling for each other would go aaaand being me, I got totally swept up with this idea and so here it is… my 3395 word summary of how Nesta and Cassian admit that they love each other (are mates).

UPDATE: link to my mood board for Nesta’s outfit is here now, but despite spending way too long on it, I couldn’t find THE dress so I just put together the different elements as I visualise it.

Nesta POV

The war was over, my sister was back and this celebration was well deserved. Feyre told me not to dress up to fancy and to wear practical footwear.

We were going to a place called Rita’s. Feyre, who seemed surprisingly unfazed by the fact that she had just returned from her creepy ex-fiancés court, had told me about it. Apparently, it was their usually place as it catered to Amren’s taste, I didn’t know what that meant as she never ate with us, always leaving just before the meal. Rita’s also had a spacious dining area, I knew that that was to cater to Az and even Cass’s wings, which were almost fully healed, though still damaged enough that he kept them tucked close, away from what he deemed to be “judging eyes.”

I found it hard to believe that they were all inclined to celebrate so soon after Feyre’s return. Even without him kidnapping her, to seduce her and break a 49-year-old curse, it had to have been awkward between her and Tamlin back at the Spring Court since she broke off the engagement and was secretly mated with another High Lord.

I heard Elain going downstairs past my bedroom door and allowed myself one final look in the mirror. Night Court fashion was… revealing, to say the least. When I had first arrived, I had hated the way it showed off my new body, even after moving back to our manor, I never managed to gain back the weight lost during harsh winters in the cottage. With this new, taller, fae body, I had looked even more bony and starved. Now, though, I filled the lean frame perfectly and the flowing chiffon night court attire flattered me. I had allowed Nuala and Cerridwen to help me shop for a new wardrobe, not knowing my way around Velaris made it hard to find the best shops, I had even allowed them to help pick out the specific dress and accessories I was wearing tonight, but I had absolutely refused to allow them to dress me and fuss around with hair and makeup. This body wasn’t so different from my old one, I still knew which colours of eye shadow brought out the bright blue undertone in my otherwise stormy blue-grey iris’ and what shape the contours and eyeliner should be to draw attention to my best features and diminish those less beautiful.

The dress we had chosen certainly didn’t suggest a casual night out with friends (even if they were not my friends, they were the closest thing I had), but I enjoyed attending balls with mother when I was younger, since living in a hut didn’t exactly warrant parties, then father had been away tending to his reinstated business and once in Pyrithian the war had taken precedence, there had not been reason to dress up in a long time, and I did not intend to waste this one, besides all of my more casual dresses were also more conservative and after spending so much time with certain members of the inner circle, I was starting to have a reason for wanting to dress more… temptingly. Feyre had also advised against heels in the certainty that Mor would talk us into going dancing and heels would give me blisters. She had been spared the social training from our mother because I was already trained to dress and parade like a pageant child in front of her friends. This upbringing, however, meant that I was no stranger to heels and actually found them quite comfortable now, so I had donned a strappy pair of heeled sandals.

It was then that I realised that my ‘one last look’ had turned into one last minute of gazing, glassy-eyed in the general direction of the mirror. Not wanting to hold everyone up, I hurriedly sprayed on a little bit of perfume and turned towards the door. Moments later I began to descend the stairway. Cauldron, I liked Rhys’s townhouse, if only for the fact that the entryway at the bottom of the staircase allowed for grand entrances and the wide steps lent themselves to a graceful descent, even in stilettos. I could tell that my look had the desired effect as I reached the landing half way down, where the stairs turned to face the bottom, I paused so that they had a minute to appreciate my dress, just as I had as a child, always the perfect distance behind my mother and a little out to the side so that her friends could appreciate her perfectly preened child. I was well versed in this scene, silence fell just as I had anticipated and no one spoke until I continued to walk. With no small amount of satisfaction, I noticed the attention of Cassian, and even though I had spent a lot of time on my hair and makeup, I didn’t exactly mind that my low-cut dress was drawing his attention elsewhere. I thought he was going to step forward and take my arm, but I also knew that looking like this… I had him frozen to the spot. Mor and Amren stepped forward instead and the three of us curtsied to one another as I reached the bottom step, before simultaneously breaking out into smiles, well Amren’s was more of a smirk, probably to do with the effect I had on Cassian, but it was there none-the-less. Linking arms we began to cross the entrance hall, Mor and Amren turning from where they had come to greet me at the stairs, complimenting each other as we went. We reached the door and I let Amren and Mor go ahead of me, filing through one-by-one. I looked back, Cassian had begun a conversation with Elain and Azriel, but I had no doubt that he had been appreciating the back of the dress as I left,

“are you guys coming? I thought we were going out to celebrate?” I called over my shoulder. I was met with a flurry of movement and a few whoops of delight.

The meal was interesting. Mainly, because I learned why Amren didn’t eat with us, but also because this was the first time I had seen Cassian, Azriel, Rhys, Mor and my fae sisters. Not the army commander, the Shadow Singer, the High Lord, the Third in command, the High Lady and Elain, my dear Elain who was strong and powerful and didn’t need me in the way she used to. No, here they were as a family and I was a part of it. I didn’t know much about any of them and I soon realised that even when you think you know a lot about an immortal being, they probably have several hundred more years’ worths of stories to tell. I tried to retain as much information as I could. And learnt that Amren was not always fae, but like my sisters and I, had been made, but not only humans could be made into fae. Az and Cassian were bastard born Illyrians. Cass and Mor had been together to make her a less desirable match to other high lords, but the mention of anything more made everyone extremely uncomfortable, myself included. Az and Mor were not brought up and I could tell that it never would be, the nervous looks contrasted by subtle smiles and laughs spoke volumes. Rhys and Mor were cousins, but even that wasn’t simple because Mor’s dad wasn’t exactly nice to Rhys and begrudged him his position and power, so Mor was basically forsaking her close family by acknowledging her cousin.

After dinner, Mor proclaimed that none of us were going home just yet and, as Feyre had predicted, dragged us to a dance bar.

Being the Night Court, it was unsurprising that the bar was full of people dressed in navy and black, with Glitter, diamante and jewellery accenting the dark skies of the women’s dresses. No one’s jewels could quite compare to Amren’s, but even so, it seemed like the jewellers of the night court had captured stars to make each and every piece, in a way that I had never imagined possible. It had taken me a while to find this evening gown. Whereas Elain had found that the style of the night court clothes didn’t suit her and had decided upon making her own, which were much more practical and conservative, I liked the style but hated the constant dark navy and black, which suited most born of the night court. Unfortunately, each shop seemed to only sell one or two dresses in light colours, leaving me with little choice of style. I had spent many days learning my way around Velaris with Nuala and Cerridwen, by visiting every single dress shop, I had been overjoyed to find this dress, the colour, the style, the sway of the fabric. It made me feel so beautiful in my new body. Of course, I bought it immediately and had been waiting for an opportunity to wear it ever since. Now standing in a crowd of navy and black, my dusky purple gown was light enough that I looked like a single bright star in a deep endless night. The dress had a halter neck which draped low at the front, the fabric underneath pulled back tightly on either side to join in a low V-shape near the waistband at the back, but the lack of fabric forming the revealing top was more than compensated by the long flowing skirts of layered fabric, which fell from the dress’s drop waist. The skirts finished slightly higher at the front than at the back, which billowed slightly, behind me, when I moved, but hung just above my ankles when I stopped. Not only was the higher front more practical for walking and dancing, it also accentuated my long legs and showed off the heels I had chosen to wear, a pair of nude stilettos with pointed toes and ties which wound elegantly around my ankles. I felt people’s stares on me as I strutted to the bar with Mor, the only other person who had dressed up as much as I had and was as enthusiastic about continuing this night out. Even though I knew it was probably just because I stood out, I enjoyed the attention none-the-less.

Elain, Feyre and I quickly fell back into our old rhythm dancing in sync with each other, even to the unfamiliar music. Having spent a long time talking over dinner, it was late when we began dancing and it didn’t take long before the tone of the music slid between the upbeat dance music of the revellers and clubbers and the slower, more romantic music for those planning to take someone home. At that point, Rhys politely swept Feyre away. Amren had decided that at that point she was going to head home and Elain asked, in her sweetest voice that if, and only if, it wouldn’t be too much trouble, would Amren please drop her home on the way. Amren threw some sarcastic remark at us all that, of course, she would leave Elain to suffer the smooch fest. Having consumed just enough alcohol not to care, the rest of us brushed her off, but Elain blushed deeply and looked embarrassed on all of our tipsy behalves. That left four of us sat around the table, Mor stood up the minute the first slower song ended and in the quiet lull, demanded that she have a partner for the next dance. I stood up agreeing that the night wasn’t over yet. Cassian raised an eyebrow at us suggestively, but his look quickly turned to that of disdain when Mor and I reached for his and Azriel’s hands. Mor pulled Azriel up, leaving me to trail behind them, dragging Cassian out onto the floor. For all their protesting, both were surprisingly good dancers and soon fell into the rhythm. Since everyone was out celebrating the liberation of Prythian, they were playing some, more traditional music, which dictated that dancers swap partners, but Cassian and I seemed to gravitate towards each other, and sure enough I spent every other verse in his arms and every other one in the arms of strangers. When the song ended, we were back together and since the next song was a rather more romantic one, there was no changing of partners and half an hour later, I found that Cassian and I were still dancing, my head against his shoulder, moving slowly in time to the music. As if some mental thread between us was tugged from the middle, I turned to look up at him at the same time as he moved to glance down at me. Our lips crashed into each other. Caught unawares and held against his body from dancing, I couldn’t pull back, by the time I realised I should, I also realised that he hadn’t pulled back either. I smiled to myself as I allowed my body to melt into his. The kiss was too short and when we broke apart, I feared what he might say, there hadn’t ever been anything romantic between us and after his fiasco with Mor, I doubted this was ever going to be a casual thing, not that I wanted that. Scared of rejection, I simply nuzzled into his neck and continued swaying slowly. I didn’t want to talk, I wanted to stay in this moment, maybe forever, but he hesitated and I couldn’t help the breath I drew as I wondered if he would push me away. When he didn’t, I released the breath I had held and felt him rest his cheek against my head, drawing me closer and adjusting his arms, his hands moving, one from my back and the other from where it had been clutching my hand against his chest, to drape my arms around his neck and before resting them around my waist.

After a further three songs, I pulled away from him to look up at his face. He smiled at me, a soft, genuine smile, and leant down towards me. I felt his hot breath against my ear and wanted to melt against him once more, but his words stopped me.

“Shall we get out of here?” He breathed. Wordlessly, I nodded once and slipped my hands from his neck, he brought his hands up to catch one of mine. Suddenly remembering my sister, I turned to look for Feyre, I couldn’t find her, I noticed that our booth was empty too, as if sensing my confusion, he whispered once more, “they were having trouble keeping their hands off each other so they left, Mor got a bit drunk so Azriel took her home, you don’t need to worry about them.” Realising what he meant, I allowed him to begin leading me through the crowds. As we burst out into the fresh night air, it struck me just how stuffy it had been inside and just how tired I was. Without any prompt from me, Cassian swept my legs out from under me. I had learned to shift using Spring Court magic and could create Illyrian wings having studied the ones Feyre could produce by the same power and Rhys’s and Azriel’s, but I couldn’t fly far on my own. Besides I felt safe knowing it was with Cassian and as he shot up into the air, I curled up against him and closed my eyes against the wind that threatened to draw tears, whilst trying to steal some warmth. After 20 minutes of flying, I realised we should have been home, I opened my weary eyes to see mountains far below us. I looked up at Cassian, the movement causing him to look down at me.

“Where the hell are we?”

“I’ll explain when we get there, don’t worry.”

I never worried when I was with Cassian, not now that he had his wings back and was strong again, but I still gave him a questioning look, he grinned in return and I rolled my eyes before closing them again and leaning into him further. 

About 5 minutes later, we dropped down into a snowy field, lined with trees. He set me down on to wobbling legs. As they threatened to give way, he held my shoulders and turned me around to face the little cabin behind us. He prompted me to walk inside and as we approached, the door swung open.

“This cabin has become somewhat of a tradition for newly mated couples within the inner circle.”

I froze in shock at that, but he didn’t seem to notice and kept talking.

“If you want time to think, you may do it here, but if you are of the same mind as me, then we may spend the time here… together. The cabin is magically equipped to take care of anything you want or need, apparently when your sister was here thinking, she wanted paints.” He was glancing around the room and Feyre’s paintings and only when I hadn’t said anything for a couple of minutes did her turn to look at me with a concerned look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“What did you say about this being a tradition?” Making my voice as strong as I could muster.

“Well, this is where Mor brought Feyre when she needed time to think after she found out she and Rhys were mated from that suriel and where she, in turn, brought Elain to allow her to think about Lucien when you were training with me after Hybern.”

“You mean we’re …” I trailed off, unable to continue the thought. Part of me knew it made sense, the other, human, part of me had never thought I would have a mate, even if Feyre did.

The look on Cassian’s face was one of pure shock, he clearly hadn’t meant to tell me that.

“Oh my goodness, you didn’t feel it did you? Oh, I should have known, I mean you have only just been made, how would you know?” He was babbling and when he turned to look at me, I could tell he was mortified. Speaking slowly, but without stumbling nearly as much, he explained: “Just before we kissed, there was a tug on my heart sort of, it was what made me turn around, that was the mating bond falling into place.”

“Oh,” I frowned, “well I felt that,” I paused, “is that the mating bond? Is that it?”

He laughed nervously at that, “no, not by a long shot. When you accept it, if I mean… you don’t have to accept it of course, but if you were to do that, then it becomes like an iron bridge between our souls so that we can reach for each other’s minds even when we are not near each other. Or so I’ve been told, I have never had a mate before, well obviously not, you only get one and they are very rare.”

“Cass, you’re babbling” I cut him off, stepping forward and taking his hands, looking at them as I spoke. “I think that I have been in love with you for longer than I care to admit. I think that as much as I didn’t want to believe it, I knew I wore this dress for you tonight. I need time here, but not entirely alone. I need you, I want to be here, alone, with you.” Those last few words were slow and with shaking breath, as I uttered the last word, putting extra emphasis on it, I dared lift my eyes from our hands to try and read the look in his eyes, we held eye contact, but the love we each saw meant it lasted only a moment before he gave way to his primal instincts and we kissed fiercely and passionately. He hesitated when I dropped his hands, but I grabbed his shirt pulling him closer, urging him to wrap me in his arms and in his scent, because I had loved him for a long time and now he was mine and I was delighted to be his.

We didn’t leave for a week. No one came to find us, but I had a feeling it was because they already knew what was between us.

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