#Nesta: THREE HOURS AGO I WAS MAKING OUT WITH A HIGH LORD

[leviathanspain]

why didn’t i do it for you

cassian x reader

synopsis: you knew you weren’t his mate, but why did it hurt so much to realize that she was

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ever since feyre’s sisters were made, your life as a part of the inner circle was harder. an illyrian warrior like cas and azriel, you were given the task of babysitting the sisters like they were children. you had complained to rhysand to give you something worth your time, but the high lord had only rolled his eyes.

sitting with amren after a long night of playing nesta’s keeper, you shouldered a bottle of wine. amren was sitting across from you, drinking away at her cup of blood. you shrugged, “it’s not that i don’t like them-“

“you don’t like nesta.” she interjected, and you nodded, “i just wish rhys would stop seeing me as the weak illyrian girl from the mountains.”

you hadn’t been always on the easy path of life. your wings were destined to be cut, only to be saved from the sword last minute by rhysand, who had defended you, taking you away from your abuser to be safe. rhysand hadn’t known why he chose to save you, but as the years went by, you were considered a huge asset to him, and especially as part of his inner circle.

it was only luck that brought you to cassian and azriel, who treated you just like any other male warrior.

amren looked at you with those silver eyes and raised her eyebrows, “how’s cassian?” she changed topic and that made you even more upset. you took a huge swig of your wine and sighed, “being cassian.” you didn’t ever know how to respond to that question, “he’s been distant lately. making excuses to run off to the mountains. i would go with him but-“ amren nodded reassuringly, “it’s just hard because it’s been decades that we’ve been, ‘a thing’, but decades that i’ve never really known where we stand.”

you pondered off, “like, are we together? and if we aren’t, why did you get so upset when helion asked for me in the day court? or when i went out for drinks with azriel, as friends, but still decided to have a brawl with him?” you asked as if he was in the room with you and sighed, “it’s so hard, and i know you don’t care but i can’t tell mor, she’d tell me all the things that i want to hear and delusion is not what i need right now.” you closed your eyes.

amren sighed, “that’s true. i don’t care, but surprisingly, i care about you, warrior.” you opened your eyes to see amren gazing at you, “cassian has told you that you aren’t mates, the bond has never clicked in the last century so why would it ever? leave him.”

the ‘encouragement’ from amren only put you in a worse sour mood. leaving for the townhouse, you had made it without stumbling. only when you reached the door, did you nearly fall.

the door tore open and cassian was on the other side. he raised his eyebrows at you and shook his head, “where have you been? rhys said that your shift with nesta was over three hours ago!” 

you shoved past cassian and stumbled inside, “sorry general. i didn’t know that my lack of communication would get me into such trouble.” your sarcasm was one of the things cassian loved, when it wasn’t directed at him.

when it was, he was more than upset.

cassian grabbed your arm, “really? you come home drunk and don’t think i deserve to know why?”

you rolled your eyes, “don’t do this, not right now.” you tried to shuck him off but cassian was incredibly strong, and you weren’t sure why you acted like he wasn’t.

cassian looked at you with even more anger in his eyes. and that only set you towards the stairs, away from him.

cassian was relentless, and so he followed you.

the only good thing about the townhouse was that there was always extra rooms that you could sleep in. so you let yourself wander into one of the empty rooms and shut the door. you had barely made it to the bed when cassian slammed the door open.

“y/n. i asked you a question.” he was practically foaming at the mouth with rage, he was going to snap at your disrespect.

“it’s you! cassian, you are the reason why i feel like this! im sorry that you and i can’t share our problems so i drown them in drinks. and i’m sorry i ignore you because i’ll cry if i don’t.” you felt the tears well and you looked down, “please, just, leave me alone.”

cassian was speechless, and for once, he slowly stepped away, and closed the door.

you hadn’t left that room for days. at least, it felt like days. you had ignored every one of your friends.

even feyre had come to see you, and when she tried to ask what was wrong, you shook your head, “this isn’t a burden that’s yours to bear.” was all you could say as you shut out yet again, another person.

on a particularly bad day, you waited for rhys to make his round of begging for you to return to society.

“i want to leave.” as you said the words, you could only feel the shattering of rhysand as he looked at you.

“what?” the words didn’t even sound real as he heard them.

“i need to leave, rhys. i cant be here, with him, i-“ you shook your head, “im going back to the mountains.”

“no.” rhysand’s voice was full of anger as he said that, “anywhere but there. i will not let you go back there y/n.” he knew how much the illyrians had hurt you. wanting to return meant a genuine struggle.

you sighed, “the day court.” you looked down at your hands, “helion has been asking for me back, and you know he’ll take care of me.” rhysand nodded reluctantly, “are you sure? i can talk to cassian and-“

you held up a hand, “rhys. you are my brother, and i love you. but this is something that you can’t fix, not as rhysand and definitely not as a high lord.”

rhys nodded, holding out his arm, he smiled bitterly, “let’s go.”

months had passed since you ceased communication with the night court. it was for the best, you had told yourself. even when rhysand had begged you to change your mind, you had realized that you needed a change. you couldn’t be kept in velaris with cassian, always fighting and always arguing.

although you missed your home, you didn’t miss the suffocating feeling of knowing you weren’t his, and he wasn’t yours.

helion had healed your pain. he wasn’t your mate, hardly was he even more than just a fling, but he was a friend.

as you walked through one of the many libraries in the day court, you realized that you weren’t alone. a small shadow coasted the line of your back and you turned to see azriel fading in front of you.

you smiled at him, and azriel gave a small smirk, “still always on guard.” he whistled.

“always.” you remarked, “what brings the shadows to the day court?”

azriel looked down slightly before looking at you, “rhys asked for you back. he wants to have dinner, as a family.”

you looked at azriel with raised eyebrows.

clearly there was something else az wasn’t telling you. but as you landed on the roof of the house of wind, you didn’t even need to ask questions.

the smell, you could smell it as you flew above but it was driving you crazy, who was it? a smell between only mates, rhys and feyre reeked of it, but this was someone else.

as you walked inside, azriel just ahead of you, you realized with a deep sinking of your heart who it was.

before you could even react, mor ran up to you and engulfed you in a big hug. her squeal of happiness couldve rattled the house, “y/n! oh my warrior princess how i’ve missed you!” she looked you over and still smiled brightly, “the sun in the day court must be different. you look amazing.” you blushed at her compliment, “my, oh my, legendary mor falling in love with me. what an honor.” you joked and mor nudged you softly with a laugh.

rhysand was next to hug you, “i’m surprised you didn’t fight azriel on the way here. i had sent him with extra knives just in case.” he winked and you shoved him, “whatever rhys. why am i here?”

“y/n.” cassian walked into the dining area and it was then that it all clicked for you. he was different. he looked the same, he’s always looked the same. but his gaze towards you wasn’t the same anymore.

“cassian.” you looked him over and realized that he was the smell. newly mated, you realized with a pang.

rhys stepped away from you and the tension in the room was suddenly at an all time high just as nesta shuffled in.

the smell got stronger and your pain became more apparent.

“oh.” the words were lost on you as you stepped back slightly. mor, amren, feyre, they all looked at you with sympathy as you looked away.

cassian called your name but you couldn’t be there any longer.

you ran back to the roof and let your wings do the work as you threw yourself into the air.

the soft snowy base was the first thing you felt. you had been flying for what felt like hours. you had abandoned the dinner, it was as if your worst fear had manifested.

cassian and nesta?

the tears were hardly an expression to how you truly felt.

but it got worse as you heard the flapping of more wings.

cassian landed on the mountain just a bit aways from you and you took a deep inhale, “go away, cassian.” you said sternly, but realized with panic that you were getting teary.

cassian stalked over to you and shook his head, “i’m sorry.”

“how could you do this to me, cassian? why would you humiliate me in front of them? why couldn’t you have a written some bullshit letter about how it isn’t me it’s you?!” you sobbed now, finally letting the gates that held back your tears go, “i loved you! cassian, mother, how i loved you.”

cassian shook his head, “you left me! you ran away to the day court and thought i would wait for you? i told you, and we both knew we weren’t destined to be together, we aren’t good for each other!”

“but nesta archeron is? the woman you swore was so uptight and horrendous that i got stuck babysitting her?” you balled your hands up in fury, “that’s your mate?” your voice broke suddenly and you stepped back, “how long did you know?”

cassian shook his head.

“how long, cas?”

cassian looked at you, “the day she was made. the day she came out of that cauldron, i was hers.”

you nodded, “i hate you.”

cassian looked at you in disbelief. he knew you were hurt, but hurt enough to say you hated him?

he’s spent the better part of his life loving you, devoting himself to you, and you thought you were the only one who was hurt?

cassian sucked in a breath, “don’t you think that it hurt me too that you weren’t my mate? i denied myself her, i denied the bond, everything. i wanted you, i wanted to choose you.”

you shook your head, “don’t lie to me. it’s the one thing you promised not to do.”

cassian was at a loss for words, “why did you come here?” he looked at the mountain and realized that this was the first time since rhysand had saved you that you returned.

you shrugged, “the place where my life began, and where my life with you ends.” you looked at cassian and walked closer to him.

cassian smelled of her, and it was hard to even be near him. and the confusion crossed his face as you reached up just behind his ear. but you knew what you were looking for. and you grabbed a lock of his hair and yanked it.

cassian hissed and looked at you as you held the lock of your hair that he had knotted with his own, and threw it to the ground.

as you walked away, cassian pulled you back, “why do you care so much? you cant say you love me anymore, fate won’t let you.” you whispered, and cassian let you go, a broken heart displayed on his face as you flew away.

#cassian x reader #acotar #acotar imagines #rhysand x reader #azriel x reader #cassian x nesta #cassian smut #cassian fanfic #rhys acotar #acotar angst

[daevastanner]

Eventually

A Gwynriel Oneshot in which Azriel has a difficult conversation with Elain then contemplates his future in the company of Gwyneth Berdara while they babysit Nyx (an infant who is fictional so it doesn’t matter who he interacts with ✌️)

Stepping out of his brother’s office in the river house, Azriel ran straight into the last person he expected to see.

Gwyneth Berdara.

She stood just outside the High Lord’s study doors wearing her priestess robes and a surprised smile. “Good afternoon!”

Azriel shut the study door behind him, returning her grin. “When did you arrive, Berdara?”

“Oh, Morrigan winnowed me here about ten minutes ago.”

The shadowsinger arched a brow, assessing her. “This makes three times you’ve left the House in three months, Berdara.”

Beneath her freckles, Gwyn’s cheeks flushed pink, pride glinting in her teal eyes. Azriel couldn’t help but match the expression with an encouraging smile of his own. After the Blood Rite, Gwyn had left the House again the following month for Nesta and Cassian’s ceremony, a night where Azriel had spent an unexpected amount of time with the priestess. They’d sat together during the vows, Gwyn providing him with a handkerchief when he’d shed a tear. Afterwards, they’d sat together at the reception, Gwyn making unexpected jokes as each of their family gave increasingly flowery speeches. Azriel had even devised a drinking game to match the toasts and had gotten Gwyn properly wasted in under an hour.

Later, he’d asked her for a dance but Gwyn had declined, stating that she didn’t wish to humiliate herself. He took her outside instead where they each swayed separately to the muffled music, and Gwyn gave impassioned speeches about the merits of each song.

The night had closed with Azriel holding Gwyn’s hair as she threw up into the bushes by the Sidra, although her good nature didn’t falter. Throughout her sickness she bemoaned to Azriel that she was never drinking ever again and even humored him with a story of her and Catrin once splitting an entire bottle of commune wine in Sangravah only to be caught when one of the High Priestesses found red bile in the dining room’s vase.

Something had shifted between them that evening. Their private and public training sessions had always been littered with playful banter and teasing, but after the ceremony, Azriel had found himself completely disarmed by Gwyneth Berdara. No topics were off limits between them. Azriel had even told her a few details of his sordid childhood, and in return Gwyn had shared that the smutty books Nesta and Emerie had loaned the priestess were inspiring her to leave the library and find a romance of her own.

They were, in a word: friends.

Good friends, even.

Gwyneth Berdara had joined the small number of people that Azriel looked forward to speaking with.

Smiling conspiratorially, Gwyn whispered, “I got a missive from the High Lord. He has a business proposition for me.”

Azriel’s smile broadened. “What did I tell you? I said he would love your Blood Rite Report, didn’t I?”

Read the rest on ao3

#gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #gwynriel supremacy #gwyn and azriel #acotar fanfiction #gwynriel fic #gwynriel fanfiction #ao3

[thesistersarcheron]

Pairing: Feysand Word Count: ~2.8k Tags: AU - No Amarantha, Human Feyre Archeron x Fae Rhysand, Attempted Kidnapping, Dubious Consent - Dream Sex, Dreams and Nightmares Summary: Five times the High Lord of the Night Court tries to lure his human mate across the wall and the one time she hunts him instead. (Based on this prompt from deepwaterwritingprompts: Sometimes in the dead of night on the way to the kitchen for a glass of water, I see an extra door in the hallway, black and imposing.)

Read this fic on AO3!

It was hunger that woke her.

She became aware of it slowly—the low, rumbling growl of her belly, the dryness at the back of her throat, the acute emptiness that radiated upward from her gut until every limb ached with it. It was as if some ravenous beast had taken shelter in the vast pit of her belly and, unsatisfied with its sparse accommodations, took to shredding her insides in retaliation.

Brushing off the cobwebs of sleep from her mind, Feyre Archeron pushed back the threadbare quilt she huddled beneath and stood. She flinched away from the icy floorboards beneath her feet, stretching and yawning as she shuffled to the dresser at the foot of the bed for an extra pair of socks. 

Still, even as she straightened, rubbing a bit of warmth into her arms, the grogginess lingered.

She pressed a hand to her aching stomach and swallowed hard. 

The haze of hunger clouding her mind wasn’t a good sign. The pickled vegetables had run out weeks ago, and last night, her family had eaten the last of their bread and dried meat for dinner. The portions were pitiful, just a handful of bites each, and when Feyre went to count the coppers she kept tucked in her drawer to see if they might be able to afford another crust of bread from the village baker for breakfast, there had been none left.

A glance over her shoulder told her that both of her sisters slept undisturbed in the bed the three of them shared. Nesta’s puckered brow and the hand clutching the quilt over her stomach spoke to her own hunger, but sweet-tempered Elain simply sighed, curling deeper into the small pocket of warmth Feyre left behind.

Feyre meant to hunt in the morning. She needed to hunt, if they were to have any more meat for the table or hides to sell in the marketplace. Otherwise, they would starve. There were too many beggars in the village to compete for the rare coin thrown into their cups, and the other methods of earning some cash…

Well. Feyre wasn’t yet so desperate, and the men who could afford such a thing at this time of year were few and far between. She doubted they would take her up on it, anyway. Food may be scarce, but there were still plenty of women in the village whose ragged dresses strained at the bust and whose ribs couldn’t be counted as easily as hers.

But venturing into the frostbitten forest beyond their cottage would be too risky if she couldn’t fight back her hunger. If she didn’t fall asleep and lose fingers to the cold, then she would end up satisfying the appetite of the rangy pack of wolves she’d spotted stalking through her usual hunting grounds a week earlier. 

There would be no outrunning them, even if the bone-deep chill didn’t lull her to sleep and make her easy prey; they were just as hungry as she, just as desperate, and far, far more vicious now that the deer and rabbits they both hunted had pulled back into the heart of the forest for the winter.

She took a deep breath, shuffling out of the small bedroom on a hunter’s silent feet.

Water. That’s what she needed. A glass of water would dull the worst of the hunger pangs, and then she could get a few more hours of sleep, at the very least.

She moved on nimble feet, dodging a crumbling floorboard and slipping through the door. After eight years, she could navigate the Archerons’ small, two-room cottage with her eyes closed—and so she did, pinching the bridge of her nose as the hunger pains migrated to her skull like claws scraping against the boundaries of her mind.

In the hearth to her left, the low embers of a fire crackled. Her father would be on a small cot in front of it; his breathing was just as steady as her sisters’. To her right, the painted dining table and dented, rusting iron range that served as their kitchen. There would be a pail of water at the opposite end beneath the small window, hauled from the well a half-mile away.

Feyre stretched out a hand, blindly seeking the edge of the table. As she made contact with it, following the familiar grooves and contours to the opposite end, the scent of the dried meat and stale bread wafted up to greet her.

Agonizing hope pounded against her breast.

She blinked her eyes open, squinting against the dim light searing into them.

Had she missed a bite? Was there something left to fill her belly—a molded crust or too-tough strip of jerky that made her sisters turn up their noses?

Anything. She would take anything.

But even before she saw the empty table and the barren shelves above it, she knew that hope was futile. No, if there had been even a single morsel left, she and Nesta would have fought over it viciously at dinnertime. There was never any food left after meals like this, not even a single crumb.

The scent seemed to grow even stronger in the wake of that thought, but it wasn’t salted venison or watery rabbit stew perfuming the air.

Feyre took a deep, ravenous breath.

Hot, fresh bread—that’s what it was.

She could picture it clearly. Warm and sweet and yeasty, still steaming, its crust a shining, golden dome. So unlike the flat, heavy loaves she was used to, made with more sawdust and chalk than grain.

Woven into ribbons of sweetness wafting off of the bread was the savory scent of roast chicken stuffed with fragrant herbs and fresh, summery vegetables swimming in melted butter, creamy and smooth.

And there, beneath it all—clean, zesty citrus.

Feyre breathed and breathed and breathed in the scent of that phantom meal.

Simple, elegant fare. Luxurious, but only to those who knew the true worth of each component of the meal. 

She would have to sell a half-dozen hides to afford so much butter. Two dozen of her father’s whittled animals might equate to a small sack of flour for the bread. And how long would Nesta have to haggle down the price of a chicken in the marketplace before Elain swept in, blushing and batting her lashes, to all but steal it from beneath the butcher’s nose?

Feyre’s mouth watered, her tongue seeming to sting with the desire to eat. 

When was the last time she had chicken? Two summers ago, perhaps, when her attempt to raise a hen for the eggs ended abruptly as it started when an intrepid fox took a bite out of the squawking bird.

She had gotten good money for that fox. She’d shot an arrow right through its eye, and one of the wealthier ladies in town had exclaimed over its orange fur and purchased it right there in the street when she went to sell it at the market. After feasting on what was left of the chicken, it felt indulgent to spend a bit of that money on a piece of tart penny candy, but she had anyway.

And the citrus she could smell now… 

Lemon, perhaps. 

Feyre remembered it well. How many afternoons had she spent in her father’s office before the world she knew crumbled, examining crates of exotic fruits from the continent? How many lemons had she held to her nose, greedily breathing in their sweet, sharp scent and wondering where they came from—and what it must be like to be surrounded by a grove of lemon trees full of that scent? 

And how many times had her father caught her snooping and sliced open one of those lemons for her with a wink using the elegant penknife he always carried in his breast pocket, so she could dip one of the peppermint sticks he hid in the bottom drawer of his desk into it? How many sweltering afternoons were spent leaning out of a window of that seaside manor, savoring that cool, refreshing treat while her hair flew free in the salt wind?

Sea salt and citrus, forever the scent of perfect contentment.

She closed her eyes, breathing it in again as her heart stumbled. Sea salt and citrus and a fresh, warm meal…

It was a dream, all of it. It must be. She hadn’t felt such unblemished happiness since—

She couldn’t remember. That final summer before her mother died must have been ten years ago, maybe twelve. 

Still, her stomach rumbled dangerously. If she were dreaming, and the food was real enough in her mind…

She looked at the table. 

Empty, save for the fading flowers she had painted on its surface. The last of her hope gave way, crumbling.

But… Feyre bit her lip. Somehow, some way, chicken and vegetables and bread still scented the air, hanging heavy and delectable around her.

She turned, searching for its source.

And there, behind her: a door on an otherwise empty stretch of wall. 

A door that, in her waking hours, did not exist.

It was made of heavy, polished oak, carved simply enough. Warm. Inviting. The wood was golden, practically glowing, welcoming her inside. The brass knob glimmered in the dying firelight, and buttery sunshine spilled out from the crack beneath the door.

It was such a beautiful door that, for a moment, she hesitated.

She ought to be wary. Traveling peddlers brought stories—more and more, lately—of other border towns reduced to smoking rubble by the uncautious village girls who invited handsome, bloodthirsty faeries into their homes. Strange folk, tall and graceful and shrouded in mist and shadow, searching for something they would not find below the wall that separated the human world from their own and driven into devastating rages when they were left wanting.

But her dream beckoned as a fresh wave of pain clenched her empty stomach in its fist.

She reached for the knob.

And strong, warm fingers wrapped around her wrist.

Feyre couldn’t stop the shriek that tore from her throat. Not a dream, not a dream! 

That invisible hand pulled, dragging her to the threshold as the door swung open.

Feyre barely caught a glimpse of red stone and a long table as she skittered back, wrenching her wrist out of the shadows—shadows!—gripping it. They let go, disappearing as if they were nothing more than a wisp of steam curling off the platters she saw glistening beyond the doorway, and her hips clashed against the edge of her own table as she fell back with the full force of her panic.

Not a dream, not a dream, oh gods!

Her father’s soft snores cut off, replaced by grumbling.  “What in the seven…” His cot creaked dangerously, “Elain?”

Feyre was dimly aware that she was shaking, her face buried in her hands, having collapsed to the floor after hitting the table. And though humans no longer had gods to pray to, her thoughts were reduced to a desperate litany. 

Oh, gods. Oh, gods. Please no. No, no, no.

“Feyre?” Her father’s voice was louder, slurred with sleep.

“What?” In her ears, her own voice was shrill, terrified. Quavering. 

She glanced back at the wall and found—

A hysterical sound bubbled up from her chest.

A wall. 

Just a wall.

“Feyre?” Her father’s cane dragged against the floorboards, and the cot creaked again, louder this time. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing!” She scrambled to her feet, her attention locked on the wall. Not real, not real, please gods, no. She turned her head toward the hearth, but didn’t dare look away from the spot where the door had been. “Just a bad dream. I was getting a glass of water and tripped. Don’t get up.”

“Hmph.”

She listened to her father’s cane return to the floor beside the cot with a quiet clatter. His bedclothes shifted, and a low, pained groan rent the air as several stiff joints cracked and popped. 

“You should be more careful in the dark, Feyre. These floors’re uneven.” His words were muffled, distant, muttered by a man already half-asleep beneath his blankets. “...shouldn’t stay so late. Twilight’s not good for maidens.”

Feyre’s head whipped to him—already sound asleep, wholly undisturbed. “What did you say?”

A soft snore answered her.

It didn’t matter. She knew the answer already, that fractured bit of verse dredged up from the tired mind of a tired man. 

It was the sort of thing he might have said once with a conspiratorial grin. There had been so many nights when he’d caught Feyre up past her bedtime, slipping and sliding across the smooth, marble floors of their estate in her stocking feet in the pale moonlight. 

Some small part of her still expected him to rise from the cot and sneak up on her from behind, to pinch her side and chase her back to her room, singing that hair-raising chant until she shrieked with laughter and woke her sisters. For a long moment, she waited, watching, as if he might wake and do just that…

But he didn’t. He wouldn’t. The warning was a rote thing, nothing more than a playful bedtime chant turned to habit sometime during the too-short years of her childhood.

Her shoulders slumped, and she turned back to the wall. To her relief, it was still an empty stretch of wall. 

“Nevermind,” she murmured to herself. The word was bitter on her tongue. “Goodnight.”

She lifted a hand, testing the patchy wattle and daub wall beneath her fingers. Utterly normal, if one considered walls that crumbled under the slightest bit of pressure normal.

She heaved a sigh, squaring her shoulders. Her stomach protested against the movement with such force that Feyre ended up hunched in on herself for a moment, pressing a fist hard into the worst of the cramping in her middle.

Fear—real fear, deeper and more persistent than a split-second nightmare—clutched her, even as cool relief loosened her terror-stiff limbs. That’s all the door was. A hallucination brought on by hunger and exhaustion. 

No. Not hunger.

Starvation. 

The final, desperate act of the frenzied beast in her gut.   

Heavy lead filled the pit of her belly. She had watched as other villagers succumbed to hunger before—at least a handful every winter. It was always the same, and the village was always a pitiless, starved audience forced to witness it. 

First came the crying and begging brought on by the sheer pain and panic of that first, gut-shredding wave of hunger. Day by day, as she entered the marketplace to hawk her hides, Feyre noticed that the pleading slowed, melting into molasses-thick lethargy as round cheeks sunk and limbs withered. 

By that point, most tended to lay down anywhere they could without being trampled at that point. Most never got up.

But a fair few did. They rose, calling out to forgotten gods and long-dead mothers for mercy, and then, without fail, a hunter—one of the older ones, a grizzled old man with dull, brown eyes—was called to put them down.

It wasn’t safe, the rag-tag council of old men who made up the village’s leaders said. Who could know what foul, bloodthirsty manner of faerie might hear them beckoning from death’s threshold and descend on them all, if they were allowed to live?

A chill dragged insidious fingers up Feyre’s spine.

She hastened to get a glass of water, blindly grabbing one of the dented pewter cups from their place on the window’s ledge. She needed something, anything, to stave off the worst of the pain. More sleep, too, and perhaps she would wake refreshed for once, and the door and the hand and the food would be nothing more than a distant nightmare.

The draft seeping through the window’s crooked sashing slammed into her, and she wrapped her arms around herself, conserving what little heat she could in her thin shift. The cheap panes were cloudy, so scratched that only a few small slivers of the world peered back at Feyre as she sipped from her glass. 

Snow had fallen while she was asleep. A great, white blanket of it covered the barren earth of the small clearing beyond the cottage. The trees had long since shed their leaves, and they reached up into the sky like desperate penitents seeking mercy from the harsh cold that was bound to kill off several of their kin in the coming months. If not the cold, then the sheer weight of the snow would strangle and break them.

Feyre followed the line of those branches up and up and up, and there, high above her in the midnight sky, past that sparse canopy, two round clusters of stars twinkled down at her, looking for all the world like a pair of great, laughing eyes. 

She stuck her tongue out at them.

Thanks for reading! I have several chapters of this fic fully written and the rest is thoroughly outlined, so I’m planning to post ~once per week. 💕

#feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #a court of thorns and roses fic #my fics #atwfd #as the world falls down #please read the tags for content warnings!

[vulpes-fennec]

A Return to Autumn's Roots (1/3)

Summary: Eris Vanserra, the new High Lord of Autumn, has extended a Solstice ball invitation to Elain Archeron and Gwyn Berdara. Will a Court frozen in perpetual change break the stagnant mating bond between Elain and Lucien?

A lil @acotargiftexchange present for @sunbrightheart! I hope you enjoy this as much as I've enjoyed writing this for you! 🎄

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***Winter Solstice | Location: Velaris***

Elain managed to time Feyre’s cake perfectly, leaving at least an hour to get ready before the Solstice party started. It was chilling in the icebox as she took a hot bath in her suite. The warm water soothed her tired hands, hands that had been busy putting up finishing decorations and baking the last 24 hours. 

She washed her hair carefully with sweet-smelling soaps, and climbed out of the tub wrapped in a soft pink robe. As she waited for her curls to dry, Elain placed her presents in the basket for Rhys to hold onto. A sleek onyx fountain pen for Rhys, three pots of shimmering paint “dust” for Feyre, and a knitted cap with bear-shaped ears for Nyx’s first Solstice. An embroidered ribbon bookmark for Nesta, wool scarf for Cassian, a gold-embossed mystery classic for Emerie. Gold hooped earrings for Mor, perfume for Amren, special treats for Varian’s pet fish. Azriel would be receiving an exfoliating scrub for calluses, Gwyn a seasonal assorted chocolate basket. Elain hadn’t felt like giving Azriel a gift, and felt even more ill at ease when it came to choosing Gwyn’s.  

Elain had never given everybody presents before. Something curdled inside her when she looked at the final present. Buying everybody a present was the excuse for this particular gift. It was a fox plushie for Lucien, awkwardly wrapped because of its shape.

She picked it up and placed it into the basket. It was such a stupid present. Grown males had no need for stuffed animals. She barely knew Lucien, so it was difficult to think of something for him. 

Elain had mainly gotten the stuffed animal because it was something that could keep him company. Her note had said, “So you’re never truly alone.” She’d loved playing with dolls when she was young, would bring her stuffed bear into the garden and imbue it with its own personality to feel less lonely. 

Maybe she was making a mistake…Lucien was closely associated with foxes, but he’d been stuck with a fox mask for 49 years…perhaps he didn’t like foxes so much anymore. Drat. She couldn’t not give him anything now. Maybe she could replace the fox stuffed animal with something else in her room. Elain scanned the shelves, which were filled with small plants and trinkets. 

But the basket was gone. Rhys must have thought she was done and whisked it away. Elain sat down on her bed, fighting the urge to cry. Did Lucien feel this stressed when he was deciding which present to give her last year? And the year before that? If he didn’t like the fox, or worse, if he laughed at her, she’d truly cry. 

Glancing at the amount of time on the clock had her wiping the tears away. There were only thirty more minutes until the party, and crying would only make her eyes red and puffy. Elain sat at her vanity and carefully applied some color to her eyes, cheeks, and lips. She enjoyed using orange and reddish colors to bring out the different hues in her brown eyes, eyes that were more warmly colored compared to her sisters’ blue-gray. Though, looking at orange and red makeup only seemed to remind her of her mate’s home court. She sighed. 

After twenty minutes had passed, Elain was satisfied with how she looked. Her lilac-purple dress had flowers embroidered with silver threads, staying in-theme with the winter color palette. It hugged her bodice well, but flared out gracefully with long sleeves and a floor length. She’d purchased it two weeks ago specifically for Solstice. Her soft curls lightly cascaded down her back. Elain was always a little vain when it came to her hair; she liked it long and loose, and felt it looked best that way. Again, so different from Feyre and Nesta, who preferred to have their more golden locks up in braids or buns. 

Elain padded downstairs in her silver heels. Mor, Amren, and Varian were already in the large sitting room, drinking wine. “You look so pretty!” Mor exclaimed. Elain blushed. A compliment from the glamorous Morrigan always made her feel special. “Care to have some wine?” 

“No thank you, maybe later,” Elain declined. She sat down next to Mor, facing the doorway. The door opened, revealing Rhys with Nyx in his arms. 

“Feyre is still getting ready,” Rhys explained. There was a knock on the front door down the hall. Elain sat up a little straighter. If it was Lucien…

Her hopes were dashed when Cassian and Azriel bustled into the room, both Illyrian warriors wearing black. “Nyxie!” crowed Cassian as he ran towards Rhys, his arms outstretched. “Your favorite uncle is here!” 

Azriel only rolled his eyes as Nyx let out a burst of bubbling laughter at Cassian’s goofy expressions. Elain noted that the shadowsinger’s black shirt was cleanly pressed, his shoes polished clean. Interesting. And Azriel’s shadows, always wreathed around the top of his wings, were on full display tonight. They always unnerved Elain a bit, even as he offered the group on the couch a small smile. 

It was five minutes until 7 in the evening when the door knocked again. Elain snapped her head to the hall, holding her breath. But her Fae ears picked up three sets of feet walking towards the living room, and she tried not to appear too disappointed. 

The Valkyries. Nesta was wearing a holly red dress that matched Cassian’s red Siphons. She had her arm hooked around Gwyn and Emerie’s arms, as if to provide assurance, for it was Gwyneth’s first time meeting the Inner Circle.

Gwyneth’s coppery red hair shimmered in the warm faelight. It was long and straight, almost like Lucien’s…except Lucien’s hair was a more vibrant, ruby red. Two small braids framed her face, which was freckled and pale. The teal dress she wore almost matched the shade of her round, saucer-like eyes. Elain glanced at Azriel. He was standing across the room, holding Nyx, but looking at Gwyneth with admiration and a hint of pride. 

“Everybody, this is Gwyn,” Nesta announced. 

Varian politely shook Gwyn’s hand, and Amren gave the priestess a rare smile. Mor beamed, “Hello Gwyn, please call me Mor. I’ve heard so much about you!” 

Gwyn’s smile was charming. “I’ve heard so much about you as well, it’s nice to meet you.” Her slightly nervous gaze turned towards Elain. 

Elain struggled to find her words. “Hi,” she began lamely. “I’m Elain…Nesta’s younger sister.” She felt self-conscious. Did she have a judgemental look on her face? 

“Hello Elain. It’s good to meet you at last,” Gwyn replied with a shy smile. Elain returned the smile nervously, wondering how much Gwyn knew about last year’s tension between her and Azriel. 

Gwyn and Nesta moved on to talk to the Illyrian warriors. For once, Elain paid them no mind. Her stomach was making somersaults as she glanced at the clock. It was time for the party to start, and Lucien wasn’t one to be late. She tried to engage in the small talk with Amren, Varian, and Mor, but found it hard to concentrate on the topics at hand.

It was usually this way whenever she anticipated Lucien’s arrival. Elain would pretend not to know when he was coming, but would always closely track the time. The fated mates would glance at each other quickly, then avert their gazes. Thus began the dance of avoidance, where Elain and Lucien, acutely aware of each others’ positions in the room, would navigate to be furthest away from each other. The heavy awkwardness would drag on and on, until Elain or Lucien decided to take their leave. 

Tonight, however, she felt strangely giddy with anticipation.  

At ten past 7, Feyre breezed in, looking magnificent in a rich navy gown and tiara. “Sorry I’m late, darling,” she said, pressing a kiss to Rhys’s lips. 

“Happy birthday!” everybody exclaimed. Feyre’s eyes grew bright with emotion. 

“Thank you, thank you,” she said, clapping her hands. “I love each and every one of you all. Let us have some cake before dinner, shall we?” 

“Oh!” Elain blurted suddenly. Everybody in the room swiveled their heads to look at her. “I-I think we’re missing someone? Lucien?” 

“Elain, I’m so sorry I didn’t have a chance to tell you this earlier. Lucien sent a message saying he wasn’t coming,” Feyre looked at her apologetically. 

Elain was stunned. “Oh…Did he say why?” Feyre shook her head. “That’s alright. I just…I just wanted to make sure before we cut the cake. In case he didn’t want to miss out…” she felt herself rambling so she quickly closed her mouth. 

As everybody bustled into the dining room, Elain couldn’t help but feel hollow inside. And worried. Lucien wasn’t coming. Surely he was not in any grave danger if he could send Feyre a message…which meant he probably didn’t come because of…her. And Azriel. Though, judging by how closely Azriel drifted to the young priestess, there was nothing for Lucien to worry about. Nearly everybody in the room had found the people and place they’d belonged with…except for her. 

***One year later | Location: Forest House, Autumn Court***

“Oh!” Elain let out a small gasp as the door swung open to reveal a shirtless Lucien lounging on a bed. For a split second, he was a creature of myth: eyes half-closed with rest, molten-red hair, his angular face soft with the kind of rest that only privacy could bring. Lucien sat up immediately, his eyes wide. Elain quickly averted her eyes from the broad, dusty brown expanse of his bare chest, her heart galloping fast as a horse. 

“I-I’m sorry!” she stammered. “I forgot which room was mine and I was testing the spelled locks and I—” She stole a look at Lucien’s tight-lipped expression. “I didn’t mean to intrude,” she finished.

“No need to be sorry, my lady,” he said quietly, his voice low and stiff. Lucien quickly pulled a shirt over his head, and the sudden urge to pout at the loss of his sculpted body left Elain reeling. But how could she think such scandalous thoughts in the midst of this social blunder? 

She stepped back into the long hallway, unsure of how to extricate herself from the situation. It was her first time in the Forest House, first time in the Autumn Court, really. It was the Autumn Court’s first Winter Solstice under its new High Lord, and Eris Vanserra had invited both her and Gwyn Berdara for the Winter Solstice. Gwyn, because her grandfather hailed from Autumn. Elain, because she was Eris’s supposed sister-in-law. 

Eris had also invited Helion Spellcleaver. The revelation that he and the former Lady of Autumn were mates, and the fact that he was Lucien’s true father, sent shockwaves throughout all of Prythian. The gossip was still going strong after all these months—every time Elain went to the market, there was always someone chattering about it. Lucien Spellcleaver, Elain had whispered to herself whenever she was alone. Lucien Spellcleaver. Her mate’s true name. 

Lucien had arrived with Jurian and Queen Vassa in tow last night. Aside from a swift look and cordial “my lady” that sent Elain into a flushed mess, Lucien had not interacted with her since. And now, she had stumbled into his room. 

Lucien eyed Elain’s flushed cheeks warily. She was in a simple cotton dress of plain yellow, her brown curls pulled back with a sage green scarf, and yet she was still the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. 

Lucien had scoffed when Eris informed that he’d invited Elain Archeron to the Autumn Court’s Solstice Ball—his brother was being his usual meddling self. What shocked him more was that Elain had accepted the invitation. 

Now that he thought about it, she was much more present during his short visits to Velaris this past year, even going so far as to initiate small talk. And the way she’d openly stared at him last night seemed promising…but Lucien didn’t want to get his hopes up. 

He decided not to mention that this was not just some random room he’d been assigned; this was his old room in the Forest House. A room that he’d carefully spelled to allow only him through the threshold. It was likely that the wards recognized Elain as his mate, recognized the imprint of his soul on hers, and let her in unexpectedly. She’d likely have an aneurysm after hearing that, so he kept his mouth shut. 

“Would you like me to accompany you to your room, my lady?” he offered.

“It’s alright, I don’t want to impose…” she trailed off, biting her bottom lip subconsciously. Lucien glanced away quickly, fighting the urge to kiss her on the mouth and take that plush bottom lip between his teeth. Touch her, smell her, taste her, his instincts urged. 

“It’s not an imposition. I’m taking Helion on a short tour of the forest in ten minutes anyways.” Lucien hoped it didn’t sound like he was pressuring her into spending time with him. 

“Actually, I am supposed to meet your mother for tea in the Maple Room and I’m not too sure where it’s located,” Elain said softly. After a moment of hesitation, she added, “you may call me Elain.” 

“Do you dislike it when I say ‘my lady’?” Lucien asked. 

“No, no, I do!” She blinked rapidly, flustered at her admission. The tips of Elain’s pointed ears turned pink. Oh, she definitely likes it, Lucien thought to himself with a satisfied smirk. “I just feel it’s too formal.” 

“As you wish. I can take you to the Maple Room, it’s on the way to Helion’s guest quarters.” It was still hard to refer to Helion as “his father”, Lucien thought. Over the last few months, he’d become more familiar with Helion’s boisterous, joking side. And Helion’s affectionate side that came out with him and his mother, as if to make up for 400 years of lost time. But…father? No, that was a term more closely associated with Beron. 

Elain kept a measured distance from her mate as they walked down the Forest House’s corridor. Acorn-shaped glass sconces filled with faelight cast a golden light, the hall was padded with soft burgundy carpet, and the walls were tastefully decorated with wood carvings and oil-painted art. 

“How’s it going with your father?” she ventured after a few moments of silent walking. 

“What do you think of the Autumn Court?” Lucien asked at the same time. 

“No, you go first,” they both said in unison. Elain and Lucien glanced at each other, doe brown eyes meeting mismatched amber and gold, before chuckling softly. It eased some of the tension between them, softening the tightness in Elain’s chest and making the corners of Lucien’s eyes crinkle. 

“Ladies first.”

“So I get my question answered first,” Elain prompted with a small smile. 

Lucien sighed, with somewhat of a dramatic effect. “It’s going well,” he said. “Helion is…he makes my mother happy. And he’s been good to me, but of course the bar was always low with Beron in the first place.” 

“You just call him Helion? When you’re with him?” Elain was taken aback by how directly she was speaking to Lucien, given how short and tidy their previous exchanges were.

“No…I call him ‘Dad’ but it feels strange in my mouth.” Lucien shook his head. “I don’t know what a normal relationship between sons and fathers should be. To be honest, I don’t think any of us do.” Elain’s fists clenched, as if readying to fight a long-dead and buried High Lord for the pain he inflicted upon her mate. She trembled slightly, reminding herself to calm down and take some deep breaths. 

“It’s only been a few months,” Elain said softly. “Relationships take time.” Our relationship has been in a gray area for almost three years, she realized. Lucien must think I’m wretched for saying that to him.

If he thought there was an underlying meaning to her words, he did not show. “Well, what do you think of the Autumn Court?” he asked again, switching the subject. 

“It’s beautiful, I wish I had more time to explore the woods,” Elain replied. As much as she’d tried, she couldn’t keep Lucien out of her mind when taking in everything. She walked the halls imagining how his younger self would have roamed, touched the trees so similar to the ones he saw every day, savoring the constant chill he would have felt on his skin day in and day out. Did he jump into piles of leaves? Play hide and seek behind statues? “Everybody has been very kind. I was expecting…something worse. More stiff and traditional.” 

Lucien shrugged. “Eris has done a decent job of changing the atmosphere of the court with his leadership. How is Gwyn? She came here with you, right?” 

“Gwyn is off visiting her cousins…she’s very excited to meet them. She misses Azriel, but they talk every night through the scrying mirror.” Truth be told, Elain was a bit stressed that Gwyn had a full itinerary of plans during their visit. She’d grown close with the priestess, and was feeling overwhelmed at the prospect of interacting with Lucien’s family on her own.

“We’re here,” Lucien announced as they rounded the corner. A light brown door with a simple placard that said “Maple Room”. He knocked, and proceeded to open the door for Elain when Daphne Spellcleaver’s lilting voice beckoned them in. 

***

“Elain Archeron,” Daphne Spellcleaver greeted her warmly. The Maple Room, like all other rooms in the Forest House, was excessively grand. It was meant to be a sitting room, but the massive rugs, the vaulted glass ceiling, the literal maple trees growing in the corners of the room, and the plush furniture elevated it beyond just a sitting room. Unlike some of the other rooms, however, the Maple Room was filled with plenty of natural light. Two massive windows opened out onto one of the Forest House’s many gardens, filling the air with the smell of roses and dahlias.

“Lady Spellcleaver,” Elain murmured, dipping into a curtsy. It was her first time interacting with Lucien’s mother, the former Lady of Autumn. She had met Graysen’s parents before, but this felt different. 

“Oh Elain, no need for formalities. Please, call me Daphne.” Elain rose to see that Lucien had gone straight towards his mother for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “My sweet boy,” Daphne murmured, ruffling Lucien’s hair as if he were a youngling. “Shouldn’t you be meeting with your father at this time?” 

Lucien grinned wryly, making Elain’s heart flutter just slightly. His demeanor had switched instantly, becoming more easy-going around his mother, all loose shoulders and shining eyes. “I was escorting her to you,” he replied. “I’ll be on my way now.” He stepped back, dipping his head towards Elain. “My—I meant—Elain.” Shit. There went another skip of her heart when he said her name. 

That russet and gold gaze met hers briefly, before he turned and left swiftly. 

“Let’s have some tea. Although I am no longer Lady of Autumn, old habits of welcoming dignitaries are still difficult to break. Especially when we are hosting the High Lady of the Night Court’s sister.” 

A female well-versed in court maneuverings, Elain noted. By regarding her as Feyre’s sister, Daphne had indicated she wasn’t here to talk about Elain’s mating bond with Lucien. Despite this formal acknowledgement, the genuine kindness in Daphne’s russet eyes putting Elain immediately at ease. It was easy to pick out what traits Lucien inherited from his mother: her red hair, obviously, her russet eyes, those high cheekbones, and the easy grace. 

The maple-flavored tea and selection of desserts were delicious, and Elain found Daphne exceedingly easy to talk to. They had a shared love for baking and fine clothing, which made for easy conversation. Daphne asked Elain questions about her human life, how she was adjusting to being Fae, what Velaris was like, and if she had anything interesting planned for the upcoming year. 

Elain was dying to ask Daphne about Lucien, but since Daphne did not bring up a single thing about her son, Elain was hesitant. Since Elain and Lucien’s mate status was a fraught relationship, it was possible that Daphne did not want to make her feel uncomfortable. Still…there had to be a way to pivot the subject…

“What was Lucien like as a child?” 

The Lady of Day smiled fondly. “He was a mischievous and observant child,” she replied. “Always running around, playing little tricks. Asking a million questions, chattering with anybody who would give him a minute of their time.” 

Elain found herself smiling as well. Lucien seemed to be that precocious boy who would ruffle her feathers at the formal events her parents used to bring her to. “I’m sure those played a part in how he became a courtier.”

“Oh yes,” Daphne agreed knowingly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be talking about my son so much…”

“Oh no,” Elain reassured her. She smiled conspiratorially at the Lady of Day. “In fact, you should tell me about his most embarrassing incidents…”

Read Ch 2

#elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #acotar gift exchange #elucien fanfic #acotar

[dawneternal]

Take the World in Your Hands | Eris x Elain | One

Summary: Eris's brothers catch wind of his proposal to Nesta. They plan to find and deliver her to their father as a gift, surely winning his favor. Their plan takes a turn when they kidnap the wrong Archeron sister and Eris finds her in the Autumn Court dungeon.

all aboard the crack ship???

do I agree with the ethics of sleeping with your brother's mate? Not personally. Did I trigger my own morality OCD by writing this? Maybe a little. Was it worth it? Who knows.

Warnings: blood, wounds, eventual smut. 18+

Ao3 link / Masterlist

There was nowhere to go.

Elain turned around in a circle, one hand clutched to her chest as if it would calm her heartbeat. But the panic kept rising, numbing her fingers, freezing her feet to the ground.

The image had come into her mind not five minutes ago, the urgency with which it unfurled immediately set her heartbeat racing. Three flames danced toward her, traveling through the dark. There was something brutish and wicked about them. They were tracking her. She didn't know how, but she could feel it. They knew exactly where she was.

She had stood from her spot in the garden, thoughts whirling as she tried to figure out what to do. There was no one here. She was completely alone at the River House. She reached out in her mind to see if anyone would hear, but she felt nothing. No one.

Notging should be able to winnow to the River House, right? She had heard Feyre say so before? Perhaps she should go inside then, maybe search for a weapon. If only she could get her body to respond and move.

Time ran out. Three huge redheaded men appeared before her, grinning like wolves. The scent of decaying leaves and crisp air clung to them, stinging Elain's nose.

Even if she could have cleared her mind to make a decision, there was no time. One of them lunged and grabbed her, another pressing a cloth to her face as she struggled. She felt the familiar tug of winnowing, and then the entire world disappeared.

Footsteps echoed through the hall.

Elain pulled her knees up to her chest as they grew louder. She tucked her head into her folded arms and shivered. The brutes who had kidnapped her had returned several times to jeer at her, throwing bits of moldy bread as if she were a caged animal they wanted to rile. Every taunt held a promise of what was to come, their delight growing as the color drained from Elain's face. Apparently, she was to be a gift to the High Lord.

These footsteps were not as heavy as theirs had been, but the idea of a new bully was almost worse than those three returning. Perhaps it was the High Lord coming to claim his prize. The iron gate of her cell rattled as someone placed a hand on it and heaved a deep sigh.

"Did they hurt you?" A smooth voice met Elain's ears, but she did not look up.

Another sigh, and then, "You're the High Lady's other sister, yes?"

Elain lifts her head at this, brows furrowed. The face before her was similar to her captors. The same copper hair, cunning amber eyes, and smattering of freckles. But the curve of this man's jaw and the sweep of his cheekbones conveyed an elegance the others had not possessed. There was something delicate and cruel about his beauty, whereas the others had been simple brutes through and through.

Elain only stared at him, filling her red-rimmed eyes with as much ferocity as she could muster. She thought of her sister's steely silver gaze and attempted to channel it into her own. The man held her gaze and studied her, his expression unchanging.

"I'll return in a few hours," He said, when it became clear she was not going to speak, "I'll need to come up with some sort of diversion. If anyone comes to see you, do not tell them I was here."

Then he was gone, those echoing footsteps disappearing back down the dark stone hall. As the metal door shut behind him with a clang, she finally placed him.

It was Eris, the one who had danced with Nesta in the Court of Nightmares. His demeanor and dark clothing fit in well with the stone city, but his shimmering hair and flaming eyes were the brightest thing there. Too bright to belong. It had stuck in her memory.

So it was the Vanserra brothers who had kidnapped her. They had been the flames in the dark. Was it a cruel trick for Eris to visit and pretend to care?

Elain curled up on the cold floor, wrapping her arms around herself, and waited.

Elain heard nothing to indicate that Eris had returned. She was jolted from her sleep by metal rattling against the gate.

She jumped to her feet, barely making out the figure before her in the dim light. Eris was cursing under his breath, clutching his side.

"Take it," he snapped, thrusting his hand through the bars, "Hurry. I can't do it."

Elain stumbled forward and reached for it, shuddering as she found his dripping hand. He pressed a key into her palm, slick with blood.

Fingers cold and trembling, she stuck her hand through the bars and found the keyhole. A chorus of shouting began in the distance.

"Hurry," Eris hissed, followed by a grunt of pain. The blood made the key slippery and it took her a moment to get it to turn.

"I'm trying," Elain sobbed as the rabble became louder. Closer. The key clicked and turned.

As soon as the door had swung open wide enough for his arm to reach through, he grabbed her wrist and pulled.

And then they were falling through the world.

They landed in the snow, surrounded by darkness. Elain stood still for a moment, waiting for the world to stop spinning around her. Then she became aware of Eris kneeling beside her, still grasping her wrist as he stained the snow around him with crimson.

"The cabin," He rasped, releasing his grip.

Only then did Elain notice the cabin before them. Lush pine trees filled the space around it, branches heavy with snowdrifts. It was silent here, save for the wind howling above the trees and the heavy breathing of her rescuer.

She waded through the snow and found the door to the cabin unlocked. Eris crawled after her, letting out a grunt of pain, and collapsed just inside the door. Elain closed the door and bolted it, then kneeled beside him.

A fire was already roaring in the hearth, warming the room. She could finally see her companion fully, laying on his back, chest heaving. The light made visible all of the cuts and blooming bruises across his face and shoulders. His face was pale, a drop of blood trickling from his parted lips. Eyes closed tight as both hands clutched at the red spot at his side. His hands covered the bulk of the wound, but the rips and stains of his jacket poked out around his fingers.

"What happened?" She asked softly, brows furrowing.

"My brothers found me," He gritted out, "Ash Wood and faebane."

"Stay still and I'll help you, Eris," She pressed down on his shoulder in attempt to still his writhing.

"You know my name?" His eyes opened, resting on hers. Something fluttered in Elain's chest.

"I've seen you before," Elain looked away from his intense gaze, eyes sweeping through the cabin.

"And you trust me?" He grunted, then shut his eyes tight, mouth twisting in pain.

"You rescued me." Elain shrugged. She stood and began searching for supplies.

The furniture here was weathered and well used, and knick-knacks and decorations dotted the space. She found clean towels in the kitchen and a first aid kit in the wash room.

Returning with her supplies, she knelt beside him once more and began to lift his hands from the wound. He resisted, trying to keep his hands clutched there.

"Let me see, Eris," She said. He relaxed as she said his name, letting her lift his wrists and press a towel into his hands. He gripped it tight as she inspected the wound.

"Tell me your name," He said, the words strained.

"You don't know the names of the High Lady's sisters?" She teased, though her smile didn't reach her eyes. "I need to take off your jacket."

"I can't sit up," Every other breath was a gasp.

"I'll cut it then."

Elain grabbed the scissors from the first aid kit and cut away the thick jacket, beads scattering as the thread was severed. She peeled back the layers and cut away his shirt. The fabric was so soaked with blood it fell to the floor with a wet splat.

The wound, near his bottommost rib, still bled but it was not as deep as it could be. Whoever tried to stab him had not been successful. Though it did seem the tip of the knife had been twisted, tearing the flesh around it. Elain could not help but wonder what the attacker looked like after Eris had finished with them.

"I know Feyre and Nesta," Eris grunted as she applied pressure with a clean towel. Elain's eyes skimmed over the numerous scars across his muscled abdomen. Some were still pink and healing.

"And Elain," She murmured, "Your brothers did this?"

Eris did not answer. Silence settled between them as Elain packed his wound with gauze and secured a bandage over it. Then she scrubbed as much of the blood away as she could, gently taking his hands and wiping each one clean.

He looked at her again, briefly, then did a double take. His brows furrowed, jaw clenching, as he brought his fingers to the bruise on her cheekbone to examine its severity.

"Which one of them did this?" He growled.

"That was me," Elain said, cringing at the cold feel of blood on her skin. "I lost my balance trying to look through the cell door."

"Don't lie," He gritted out.

"I'm not," Elain pleaded, reaching for a new towel to press against his injury. Fresh blood seeped from it. "Please calm down."

Eris was searching her body for other injuries. He found the bruise around her bicep, yellow splotches where a strong hand had gripped her too tightly.

"Tell me which one of them did it," Eris snarled, though his vision was moving in and out of focus.

"The tallest one," Elain said to appease him, gathering new gauze and bandages with her other hand, keeping the pressure on his ribs. "Stop moving, Eris."

"I will kill all of them," He continued grumbling, trying to raise himself up on his elbows.

"Open," Elain commanded, pressing her thumb against his bottom lip, ignoring the smear of red she left. He glowered at her and tried to fight her touch, but he was weak and tired and Elain won out, dropping the pill into his mouth. Bitterness and the taste of his own blood covered his tongue and he scowled. Elain held his mouth closed with the back of her hand, keeping him from spitting out the medicine.

Immediately, sleep was pulling him away. He tried to fight that too, forcing his vision to focus on Elain as she worked over him. But he couldn't resist whatever she had given him and his consciousness fell away.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #fanfic #fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #eris fanfic #eris vanserra #pro eris vanserra #elain archeron #Elain #Elain x Eris #crack ship #acotar crack ship #crack fic #crackship

[autumnshighlady]

I’ve Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 10)

NESTA ARCHERON X ERIS VANSERRA X FEMALE!READER

summary: the Winter Solstice is finally here, and it’s now or never.

warnings: the usual IC slander, Cassian slander, Nesta calls Cassian out, Rhys is an ass, slight nsfw implications

word count: 8k

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: I AM SO EXCITED FOR YOU GUYS TO READ THIS YOU HAVE NO IDEA!!! It’s my biggest chapter yet and it’s only the start of a crazy journey. This fic is so special to me and I hope you enjoy x

feedback is appreciated, just no hate pls! these are just my opinions, i’m more curious to see how you all like the writing and characterization and storylines!

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7 // part 8 // part 9

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Weeks went by as the solstice preparations were in full swing. Nesta was constantly pulled aside for dress fittings and dancing practices, getting ready to, as Rhysand had apparently put it, seduce Eris Vanserra.

Training with Azriel was still part of your regular schedule, much to your dismay. Originally, you hadn’t minded the hours you spent with Azriel, working on everything from combat and stealth techniques to mind game exercises. But the news Eris had broken to you had ignited a feeling of dread that awoke every time you walked down the stairs to the training room.  

Azriel was willing to step back and let Rhysand send you to the continent to die. It would take years for you to be even remotely ready for such a mission, and the spymaster knew it. Yet he did nothing to try and stop it as the High Lord signed your death sentence. It wasn’t hard to figure out that he wanted you dead – you illegally served as his spy in another court, a crime that could have easily resulted in an act of war. But if you died, then that problem went away for him. It was almost too perfect, you had realized. That way, he got exactly what he wanted: you out of the picture, and Nesta isolated from the influence of someone who could turn her against him.

Every day you tried to think of a way to get out of it, racking your brain for hours on all the possibilities. So far nothing had come from it aside from letting yourself go to the continent and hope that your magical bond with Nesta would extend over such a distance, enough to tell her where you were so Eris could come get you. Eventually. It wasn’t a good plan, too much could go wrong – the limits to how far apart you could be from Nesta and have the mind-speaking still work was unknown. You could be snatched up at any moment and persecuted for being fae. You could get lost, or captured by the enemy and killed. None of it boded well for you, and every night you had nightmares about the possibilities.

Eris had not been back to the Night Court either. Perhaps he had decided that Nesta was enough, and he could leave you to die in the human lands to eliminate the threat of you exposing his plans to kill his father.

You’re double crossing the Night Court for revenge, and trusting you’ll be able to get Eris Vanserra of all people to help you out? What makes you think he won’t just sell you back to them? He’s a cruel, sadistic bastard who shouldn’t be trusted. Tamlin’s words from weeks ago rang in your head. Realistically, he had a point, but part of you knew that you could trust Eris, not that you had another choice.

You missed the Spring Court, heart aching as you thought of those brief few weeks where you were blissfully able to return home. Frequently you wondered how the progress on the sanctuaries was going, if more and more citizens continued to arrive at them. You had not heard anything good or bad from the Spring Court, only Azriel’s occasional comment about Tamlin seemingly minding his own business for now.

In the days before the Solstice, you couldn’t help but feel uneasy. You were in your own head constantly, unable to escape the fear of what would happen. Emerie had knocked you down three times during training way easier than she should have been able to, to the point where Gwyn had asked if you’d hit your head and needed to see a healer. Azriel had glanced at your fumbles throughout the session, but not once brought it up.

Maybe this is good, You had thought to yourself as Gwyn knocked your wooden sword out of your hands. Maybe he’ll see I’m really not ready for this mission and finally convince Rhys to send someone else.

But the spymaster gave no indication of even having had a conversation with Rhys, let alone coming to a conclusion. The uneasiness killed you, gnawing away at you from the inside in a chasm of dread and anxiety.

*********************

You leaned against the edge of the table, rifling through the pages of an old, dusty book Gwyn had handed you. The priestess had invited you and Emerie to the library, wanting to catch Nesta after her dancing lesson with Mor. Both of you had eagerly obliged, and linked arms as you strode into the library. Admittedly, you were hoping to snag a book about the Valkyries, even though Gwyn had explained them to you. Even though you were only doing this training for the sake of getting out of here, the part of you that had bonded with Nesta’s two friends wanted to be a part of the Valkyrie training – to be part of a group of females that fought together against all odds.

“What are you doing here?” Came Nesta’s voice as she came down the stairs to the level where you, Gwyn, and Emerie were.

“I wanted to see where you two work,” Emerie said, tossing the book in her hand with a thump that made the priestess grimace.

“I was showing Emerie and (Y/N) the wonders of Merrill’s office while she’s off at a meeting,” Gwyn said. “I’ve got to go work, but I thought you could bring her around while you shelve.” Gwyn threw her a wry glance. “And dance.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. A few days ago, she had told you that she might have been caught practising her waltzes in the stacks once or twice. Or ten times.

Nesta nodded to Emerie. “Come on.”

But Gwyn said, “Actually, before you two go, I wanted to give you something. Since it’s probably the last time we’ll see each other until Winter Solstice is over.”

You and Nesta and Emerie all swapped confused looks. You asked, “You got us presents?”

Gwyn only said, “I’ll meet you down at your cart.” With that, she dashed into the gloom.

The remaining three of you aimed for Level Five, where Nesta had apparently left her cart. It had been replenished with books needing to be shelved. She explained what she did, but you were only half-listening.

“What?” Nesta asked, voice laced with concern as she noticed the colour leave your cheeks.

Your brows bunched, body shivering with an eerie chill. “I ... I must not have drunk enough water during training.” Everyone had tried out two new Valkyrie techniques that Gwyn had found the night before, and both had been particularly brutal, ordering them to use shields as springboards for launching a fellow Valkyrie into the skies, and to do their abdominal curls bearing the weights of those shields.

No one had managed to cut the ribbon, though Emerie had nicked an edge two days ago.

“What’s wrong?” Nesta pressed.

You felt your eyes glaze over as the memories you tried so hard to push away were screaming in your head. “It’s ... I swear, I can hear my mother screaming down here.” Your hands trembled as she lifted one to brush a strand of hair behind an ear. “I can hear the laughs of the Hybern soldiers as her blood splattered all over them, can hear Sapphyra’s head being ripped from her shoulders…”

Nesta whipped her head to the downward slope to their right. No darkness lurked there, but they were low enough ... “This place is ancient and strange,” she said, even as she processed what you had admitted.

“Let’s go up a level, where the darkness doesn’t whisper so loudly. I’m sure Gwyn will find us easily enough.” She linked her arm with yours, pressing her body close, letting some of her warmth leak into you. Emerie linked her arm into your free one, broken wing gently grazing your back as your friends lead you away from the creeping darkness.

Gwyn did find you, the priestess panting and flushed as she handed out three rectangular parcels, each roughly the size of a large, thin book. “One for each of you.”

Nesta opened the brown paper and beheld a stack of pages filled with writing. You tore into your own as well, letting the packaging fall to the floor as you opened the pages. At the top of the first page, it merely said, Chapter Twenty-One. You read the first few lines beneath it, then nearly dropped the pages.

“This —this is about us.” Nesta said, echoing your thoughts.

Gwyn beamed. “I convinced Merrill to add us into the penultimate chapter. She even let me write it—with her own annotations, of course. But it’s about the rebirth of the Valkyries. About what we’re doing.”

You had no words. Emerie’s hands were once more shaking as she leafed through the pages. “You had this much to say about us?” Emerie said, choking on a laugh.

Gwyn rubbed her hands together. “With more to come.”

You read a line at random on the fifth page. Whether the sun beat hot on their brows or freezing rain turned their bones to ice, Nesta, (Y/N), Emerie, and Gwyneth arrived at practice each morning, ready to …

The back of your throat ached; your eyes stung. “We’re in a book.”

Gwyn’s fingers slid into yours, squeezing tight. Nesta looked up as Emerie’s hand grabbed her own, and then yours. Gwyn smiled again as Nesta clasped onto Gwyn’s free hand, her eyes bright. “Our stories are worth telling.”

“Yes,” You said quietly. “Yes they are.”

Pride filled your chest at the pages written before you – even though you had not known Gwyn and Emerie as long as Nesta, they embraced you with open arms and included you in their training, activities, everything. For the first time since Hybern, you felt surrounded by a group of people who loved you truly.

*********************

You were eating your lunch in the kitchen, picking away at the remaining scraps of chicken sandwich on your plate. Nesta had gone to another dancing lesson, and Emerie was back at her shop while Gwyn worked. So you were left alone with your thoughts in the main level of the House of Wind, trying every mind stilling technique you could think of as anxiety made your stomach churn at the idea of tonight’s ball.

Heavy footsteps sounded from the hallway from someone who knew how to be quiet.

“Azriel,” You mumbled without even turning around. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

The shadowsinger stepped into your field of view, enormous wings blocking the sunlight that came through the large windows. He had bags under his eyes, as if he had not slept in days. But it was the only tell that something was off, for he remained as stoic as ever.

“You’re invited to the Solstice ball tonight at the Hewn City.” He said, pouring coffee into the mug in his hand.

You raised your eyebrows. “I am?”

Azriel turned to face you. “Yes.”

“What if I don’t want to go?” You did, but that's besides the point. It was funny to annoy the spymaster.

As predicted, he rolled those eyes before taking a sip of the steaming hot coffee. “Well I am not going to drag you down there kicking and screaming. But it would be polite to accept the invitation, as it is from the High Lady.”

Now that was a surprise. “It was?”

“Yes. Nesta is going as well, and she figured it would be easier on Nesta if she had a friend there with her.”

You snorted. “You mean Nesta will behave better if I’m there?”

Those hazel eyes met yours, unflinching. “Yes.”

Sighing, you pushed your plate away, deciding that if you ate another bite of food you’d throw up from nervousness.  “You know, if you talk about and treat Nesta like a feral animal, she’s going to bite like one.”

Azriel said nothing, huffing as he downed the rest of the caffeine. The rays of sun glowed around his tall frame, illuminating his high cheekbones. After a moment, he changed the subject. “A dress has been sent to your room for you to wear. Be ready on the balcony by 6.”

*********************

For about an hour, you had sat on your bed staring at the dress, wondering if you should do this. After a lot of back and forth, you swept some black liner across your eyes and braided half of your hair up before slipping into the dress. It was dark blue, the same colour as Azriel’s siphons, and covered in sparkles. The slightly darker skirt was loose, a V-shaped cluster of stars pulling it around your waist. Sparkles plunged down your navel, revealing at least a third of your breasts and sternum. You had uttered the words to vanish the tattoo, praying nothing weird would happen that would cause it to show up, for the plunging neckline revealed the skin where the very mark stood. Two crescent moons faced away from each other right in the centre above your sternum, brighter than the other jewels.

Silver stars and jewels continued along the off the shoulder neckline and the strap just above it that went across your collarones. Attached to where the sleeves would normally be was a long, mesh veil-like piece of stars and glitter that went along the floor and trailed behind you as you walked. While uncomfortable, you couldn’t deny it was beautiful.

You stood beside Azriel one one side of the foot of the black dias, trying not to shake as you stared at the crowd in front of you. Cassian took up the other side, a lethal glare across his features similar to Azriel’s. Morrigan was above you by the throne, representing Feyre and Rhysand until they arrived.

The entire throne room was bedecked in black candles, evergreen wreaths and garlands, and holly berries. The twin banquet tables flanking either side of the massive space overflowed with food, but it was forbidden to all until Feyre and Rhys allowed it. The towering doors to the throne room at last yawned open.

Dark power rumbled through the mountain, warning of their approach. The mountain sang with it. Everyone turned as the High Lord and High Lady appeared, crowned and garbed in black.

Rhys looked his usual self, but Feyre...

The room gasped.

As Azriel had informed you on the flight here, tonight also served another purpose: to tell the world of Feyre’s pregnancy.

She wore a dress of sparkling black panels, and it did nothing to hide her swelling belly. No, it showed off her pregnant womb, gleaming in the candlelight. Rhys’s face was a portrait of smug, male pride. You knew he’d shred anyone who so much as blinked wrong at Feyre into a million bloody ribbons. Indeed, cold violence rippled off Rhys as they walked toward the dais, Feyre’s baby-rich scent filling the air. He’d let everyone here smell it, further confirming that she was with child.

Her serene face was lovely, and her full red lips parted in a smile at Rhys as they aimed for their thrones. Keir looked torn between anger and shock; Eris’s face was carefully neutral. You hadn’t dared look at him until now.

Motion at the back of the room tugged your stare, and then—

Both Nesta and Elain wore black. Both walked behind Rhys and Feyre, a silent indicator that they were a part of the royal family. Had mighty powers of their own. They’d planned it that way apparently, wanting Eris to see for himself how valuable Nesta was.

Nesta in Night Court black threatened to bring you to your knees, and from the glance you snuck at Cassian, his expression said the same. She’d braided her hair over her head in her usual style, but atop it, a delicate tiara of glinting black stone rested, slender spikes jutting upward in a dark corona. Each spike was topped with a tiny sapphire, as if the spikes were so sharp they’d pierced the sky and drawn cobalt blood.

And the dress …

Silver thread embroidered the skintight velvet bodice, the straps so narrow they might as well have been nothing against her moon-white skin. The neckline plunged nearly to her navel, where the silver thread gathered to hold a small sapphire that matched the ones on her crown. The full skirts brushed the dark floor, rustling in the rippling silence. Nesta’s chin remained high, accentuating her long, lovely neck. Her red-painted lips cocked in a feline smirk as her kohl-lined eyes took in the room watching her every breath.

Nesta seemed to glow with the attention. Owned it. Commanded it. You could feel her presence, taste her on your tongue as she approached. It threatened to overwhelm you, but you held it together. You hadn’t seen Nesta before this, having been taken away from the House earlier by Azriel.

Feyre and Rhys took their thrones, and Nesta and Elain came to stand at the foot of the dais, between where you and Azriel were situated opposite of Cassian..

Feyre declared to the assembled crowd, “May the blessings of the Winter Solstice be upon you.”

Keir, whom Azriel had told you about a few hours ago with a disgusted look on his face, scuttled forward, bowing low. “Allow me to extend my congratulations.” It was obvious bullshit.

Eris stalked to his side, not glancing once at you as he passed.. “And allow me to extend mine as well, on behalf of my father and the entire Autumn Court.” He flashed Feyre a pretty, cultivated smile. “He shall be thrilled by this news.”

Rhys’s mouth curled in a cruel half smile, the stars winking out in his eyes. “I’m sure he will.”

You evened your breathing, heart racing at everything being on the line. Eris knew your plan, he could easily tell Rhys at this very moment what you were up to. Rhys, who had no idea how much you truly knew, would slaughter you instantly – especially bloodily given the audience in front of him.

The High Lord said to no one in particular, “Music.”

An orchestra hidden in a screened-in mezzanine began playing.

Feyre raised her voice and said, “Go—eat.” The crowd undulated as people aimed for the tables.

Only Eris and Keir remained before them. Neither spared Mor so much as a glance, though she smirked down at them, her red dress like a flame in the gloom of the hall.

Feyre commanded the crowd, her voice like thunder at midnight, “Dance.”

People paired off and fell seamlessly into the music. Keir went with them this time.

“Before you join the merriment, Eris,” Rhys drawled, a long black box appearing in his hands, “I’d like to present you with your Solstice gift.”

You kept your face neutral, but panicked. Was the gift Nesta? Surely not even Feyre would let him speak about her sister like that.

Rhys floated the box over to Eris on a night-kissed wind. Let enough of that wind remain, wrapping behind Eris, for you to know it blocked him from sight. From Keir’s sight, specifically.

Eris lifted his brows, flipping open the carved lid. He stiffened, voice going low. “What is this?”

“A present,” Rhys said, and you caught a glimpse of a hilt in the box.

The dagger Nesta had Made. You refrained from balking at the audacity of the High Lord and Lady to take a weapon that Nesta had Made and pass it to another as if it was theirs to give. They had taken Nesta’s apartment, her inheritance, her freedom, and now the one thing she made herself was also snatched away.

Eris sucked in a breath. Feyre said, “You can sense its power.”

“There’s flame in it,” Eris said, not touching the dagger. As if his own magic warned him. He shut the lid, face slightly pale. “Why give this to me?”

“You’re our ally,” Feyre said, a hand resting on her belly. “You face enemies that exist outside of the usual rules of magic. It seemed only fair to give you a weapon that operates outside those rules, too.”

“This is truly Made, then.”

You braced yourself for the truth, the damning, dangerous truth to be revealed about Nesta. But Rhys said, “From my personal collection. A family heirloom.”

“You possessed a Made item and kept it hidden all these years? During the war?”

“Don’t take our generosity for granted,” Feyre warned Eris quietly.

Eris stilled, but nodded. He extended the box back to Rhys. “I’ll leave it in your keeping while I dance, then.” He added with what you could have sworn was sincerity, “Thank you.”

Feyre nodded as Rhys took the box and set it beside his throne. “Use it well.” She smiled softly at Eris. “Ordinarily I would ask you to dance, but my condition has left me unwell enough that I worry about what so much spinning would do to my stomach.” You finally glanced over at Nesta, who just looked bored. Like they hadn’t just given away the dagger she’d Made.

Perhaps it was because Nesta’s eyes had drifted toward the dancing, shimmering throng. As if she couldn’t help herself when the music swelled. She seemed to be half-listening. Maybe music meant more to her than the dagger—more than magic and power.

Feyre noted the direction of Nesta’s stare. “My oldest sister shall take my place.”

Nesta barely glanced at Eris, who pulled his assessing gaze from Elain to stare at the eldest Archeron sister with a mix of wariness and intent as she began walking towards him.

Eris offered an arm, and Nesta took it, her face neutral, her chin high, each step gliding. They halted at the edge of the dance floor, pulling apart to face each other.

Others watched from the sidelines as the dance finished and the introductory strains of the next began, a harp strumming high and sweet. Eris extended a hand, a half smile on his mouth. You resisted the urge to squirm in anticipation at Eris’s upcoming proposal. The ball had only started – it would be hours before the time came to get Nesta out.

As if those harp strings wrapped around Nesta’s arm, she raised it, and placed her hand in his precisely as the last, swift pluck of the harp sounded.

Percussion and horns blasted; low stringed instruments started a rushing stroke of music. A summons to the dance in a countdown to movement. You reminded yourself to breathe as Eris slid his broad hand over Nesta’s waist, tucking her in close. She lifted her chin, looking up into his face as a deep-bellied drum thumped.

And as the violins began their sweeping song, a beckoning back-and- forth, Nesta moved as if her very breath were timed to the music. Eris went with her, and it was clear that he knew the dance’s nuances and exact notes, but Nesta …

She gathered her skirts in her other hand, and as Eris led her into the waltz’s opening movements, her body went loose and taut in so many different places you didn’t know where to look: she was bent and shaped and directed by the sound.

Even Eris’s eyes widened at it—the sheer skill and grace, each movement of her body precisely tuned to each note and flutter of music, from her fingertips to the extension of her neck as she turned, the arch of her back into a held note. You dared a glance at Feyre and Rhys and found even their normally composed faces had gone a bit slack.

The waltz progressed, and you watched with wide eyes as Nesta spun with one arm above her head twelve times as her and Eris moved across the dance floor. The Autumn prince’s eyes were blazing with feral delight, drinking in the elegance of her movements. As they continued to dance and spin you could see, you watched as Eris grew more and more enchanted by the female.

You wondered how much of it was real and how much was an act to justify the proposal he was about to bring forth. You couldn’t blame him for his enamourment, for you felt it too. Both you and Eris saw Nesta for who she truly was, not what the Inner Circle taught her to be. As the pair danced they looked like they were made for each other, unlike whatever she had with Cassian. From the gleam in Eris’s eyes you knew he saw Nesta’s potential, how she needed to be free to spread her wings, not cooped up like a soldier in a camp. It was a sentiment you shared with him, giving you comfort that even if you were never able to join them in Autumn, at least Eris would understand what Nesta needed better than the Night Court.

Eventually, you joined Azriel for a dance, and then Cassian. It was awkward, especially how Cassian took every chance to look over your shoulder in Nesta’s direction. As she spoke in low tones with Eris, Cassian’s grip on your waist tightened.

“That hurts.” You hissed at him, side hurting from the force of his large hand.

“Sorry.” Cassian murmured apologetically, but did not meet your gaze. As you danced with him, his movements got sloppy, distracted by trying to hear whatever Nesta and Eris were saying.

“Get it together,” You snapped under your breath, stepping on his toe deliberately to bring his gaze back to you. “You’re going to make a scene.”

He ignored you, letting go of you and storming over to where Eris and Nesta were dancing.

“Move.”

Cassian’s cold voice cracked through the spell of the music, halting her. He stood before them, amid the sea of people twirling around and around, and even though most wore black, his armour and blades made him seem ... different. It unnerved you.

Eris looked down his straight nose at Cassian. “I don’t take orders from brutes.”

Nesta only said coolly to Cassian, “Am I to understand that you would like to dance with me?”

“Yes.” He was facing away from you, but you didn’t have to see him to know that his eyes simmered with rage.

You clenched your fists, now awkwardly stranded on the dance floor. Cassian was being an asshole, acting like he was entitled to Nesta, like she was his possession that he didn’t like other people touching. It infuriated you – he hadn’t even stayed the night in her bed, yet he behaved as if she was his wife.

Eris bared his teeth at Cassian. “Go sit at your master’s feet, dog.”

“No one likes a selfish partner, Eris.” Nesta said quickly, not so much as looking at Cassian.  “Time to share.”

Eris threw her a mocking smile. “We’ll play later, Nesta Archeron.” He ignored Cassian as he fixed his gaze on you. “You look lonely over here, my dear. May I?”

You quickly glanced over at Azriel, who nodded despite his clenched jaw. Cassian had ruffled Eris’ feathers, despite still needing his allegiance. You could see the message in Azriel’s eyes: Do it and help fix this mess.

So you nodded, extending your hand for Eris to take. Everyone was staring at you, many smirking and sneering at how quickly Cassian had left you to fend for yourself. It felt like they were wolves closing in, predatory male eyes drinking in the plunging neckline of your dress, ready to pounce.

But as soon as Eris grabbed your hand and fixed them a stare, they scurried away. You nearly sighed in relief as many of the gazes retreated in fear of the Autumn princeling.

“Thank you.” You whispered under your breath as Eris pulled you in close for the next waltz.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” He chuckled lowly, his lips inches away from your ear. “Your spymaster looks like he’s debating storming over here and gutting me. Might ruin that pretty dress of yours.”

You snorted. “It’s not my dress.”

Eris looked down at you, green eyes gleaming as the thumb on your waist caressed you ever so slightly. “Either way, you look absolutely ravishing in it.” He purred.

You shuddered at the words, unable to contain your reaction to the sound of his velvety voice. He must have felt it, because an even wider smirk played at his lips. Letting him spin you around, you let your skirts fly around your ankles before twirling back into his arms. With a confidence you didn’t know you had, you ever so slightly gripped the fabric of his shirt on his chest and pulled him closer. “It’s a lovely dress,” You murmured seductively. “But do you want to know what I’d change about it?”

“And what might that be?” His voice was positively feline.

You brought your lips up to his ear, letting them graze the shell of them as you whispered, “I wish it was red.”

Ever so faintly, you noted the slight intake of breath at your words – red had always been Eris’ favourite colour, even though it was one of the main colours of his court. He chuckled, moving the hand on the waist to the small of your back and pulling you in closer. The scent of smoke and evergreens enveloped you at being so close to one of the most dangerous males in Prythian. You couldn’t help your beating heart as you felt your years-long crush on your best friend’s brother burn like wildfire.

“I couldn’t agree more.” Eris whispered, peeking over your shoulder towards where the Inner Circle stood, watching. “Although I must say the looks on your host court’s faces are priceless right now. Especially the spying brute, dare I say he is jealous?”

You laughed, unable to help yourself. “No, definitely not. I annoy the shit out of him every day on purpose, he’s quite glad to be rid of my presence for now.”

The music changed, yet Eris did not let you go, and neither did Cassian with Nesta. You glanced over quickly to see them – Nesta was expressionless, but Cassian looked pained. She let him pull her closer, but never for long. It was killing him to see her pull away from his touch, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel bad.

“Good girl.” Eris’s voice snapped you back to attention with such a force you were surprised you didn’t get whiplash. His words went straight to your core, and you prayed to the Mother that the various scents from the busy atmosphere were enough to hide your own. But Eris continued. “So he has not taken you to his bed then.”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” You managed to croak out, staring at the brooch on his tunic rather than his eyes. You knew if you looked into them again you’d melt into a puddle.

Eris cocked his head. “Oh come on, darling, indulge me. Rarely has the shadowsinger given that protective glare for anyone aside from dear Morrigan. Satisfy my curiosity.”

You coughed under your breath, trying not to seem bothered. “No. He has not. But considering he’s content with sending me to die I don’t think you have to worry about it.”

Eris’s grip on your hand tightened, and the smirk was gone from his face. He looked at you with seriousness, emerald eyes burning a hole into you. “I will not let that happen.” He promised with lethal calm.

“I hope so.”

You snuck a glance over at the Inner circle and regretted it immediately. Feyre looked confused, a tattooed hand over her belly as if protecting the child from Eris. Azriel, who had retreated to the dias, looked positively murderous. But it was Rhysand who caught your eye. He was watching you like a hawk, violet eyes simmering as you and Eris danced closer than you should have let happen. Your stomach dropped at that gaze, for you knew what kind of stare that was.

Rhysand was starting to get onto you.

And you were going to die for it.

Your heart began to race, and you felt your hands get clammy. Panic rose in your chest, tightening it like a belt.

Eris noticed and frowned at you. “What’s wrong?”

“He knows…” You gulped out, throat dry. “Rhysand… he’s watching. He’s suspicious, and I’ve seen that look before. I saw it when I insulted Feyre in front of him when we first met. He wants to kill me, Eris. He’s going to kill me.”

“Calm down, darling.” Eris said slowly, pulling you closer. “You’ve fooled him for this long, why would that change now?”

“Because he’s been watching us this whole time. I didn’t play my part, Eris. I let myself be drawn in….. he saw us dancing closer than the others and now he’s suspicious. Either way, he kills me tonight or he lets me die in the human lands. I need to get out of here.”

“Okay.” Eris stroked your lower back gently, glancing around at the crowd. “It’s okay. I will get you out of here. Pretend I just said something cruel. Then just follow my lead.”

You nodded, and Eris let go. He did not look back at you as he strode over to the main dining table and sat down, leaving you alone. You made an effort to look upset yet annoyed, scowling visible. A few moments later, you felt a hand on your arm, and looked to the side to see Nesta linking her arm through yours.

“Let’s get something to eat.” Nesta said, leading you over to the private table for the Inner Circle.

What’s going on? Her voice sounded in your head as the crowd parted for the both of you.

Rhys was watching me like a hawk. You replied, ignoring the male who openly sneered at you as you passed. I think he knows something’s going on between me and Eris. He was glaring at me with a promise, Nes. Eris told me to look disgusted and then follow his lead.

Nesta clutched your arm tighter, still holding you as you sat down. Cassian was in the chair next to Nesta, but she paid him no mind. Shit. We need to get out of here. Now. Eris better not fuck this up.

Your conversation with Nesta was broken by Azriel, who was seated across from you. His hazel eyes bore into you as he spoke, “What did Eris say?”

“Nothing pleasant.” You mumbled, filling your cup with wine and taking a large swig.

“Then why did you spend three dances with him?”

“If I’m supposed to be representing your court, would it not be rude of me to pull away from him?”

“If he made you uncomfortable it would be okay to do so.”

‘It’s fine, Azriel. I can handle it. He’s nothing but a snarky, prissy, bastard.”

Azriel’s expression was unreadable, but he did not press the issue. You did your best to dig into the food in front of you, but your churning stomach made it hard, as did the glances from the High Lord.

Luckily, dinner finished quickly, and servants came to clear the table. Eris got up from his seat a few metres away and strode over to Rhysand, sliding his hands into his pockets.

“All right,” He said, “You showed me what I can have, Rhysand. I’m intrigued enough to ask what you’d want in return.”

Nesta tensed beside you. This was the moment you had been waiting for for months.

But Rhys didn’t move from where he lounged at the head of the table. “What do you mean by that?”

Lust glazed Eris’s eyes. Covetous, calculating and lustful. “I mean that whatever you want, I’ll give it to you in exchange for Nesta. As my bride.” He jerked his chin to the box with the dagger at Rhys’s feet. “I’d rather have her than that.”

“You danced three dances with her!” Feyre squawked. Rhys’s lips seemed to be fighting a losing battle not to smile.

It wasn’t heard to tell that Cassian was pondering whether to strangle Eris’s throat or slit the skin wide open. Azriel’s syphons glowed, ready to step in.

“That’s not my decision,” Rhys said calmly to Eris. “And it seems foolish for you to offer me anything I want in exchange for her, anyway.”

His jaw tightened. “I have my reasons.”

From the shadows in his eyes, you could sense that both Cassian and Azriel knew something more lay beneath the rash offer. Something that even Az’s spies hadn’t picked up on at the Autumn Court. It wasn’t Nesta who Azriel looked to, but you.

You avoided his gaze.

Eris added, “It is a bonus, of course, that in doing so, I would be repaying Cassian for ruining my betrothal to Morrigan.”

Cassian’s hands curled into fists, but Mor’s fingers landed on his arm. You were as still as a board, not even sure if you were breathing. This was your chance, or Nesta’s at least.

Rhys said, “Anything I want, whether it be armies from the Autumn Court or your firstborn, you would grant me in exchange for Nesta Archeron as your wife?”

Cassian growled low in his throat, and Azriel visibly kicked him under the table. Nesta said nothing, despite being the potential bride in question. You both knew she was smart enough to know Eris would ask Rhys in the typical male-dominant traditions of his court.

Eris glared. “Not as far as the firstborn, but yes, Rhysand. You want armies against Briallyn and my father, you’ll have them.” His lips curved upward. “I couldn’t very well let my wife’s sister go into battle unaided, could I?”

Rhys silently laughed. His face remained stone-cold as he said, “I’ll consider it, and talk to Nesta. Keep the dagger, though. You might need it.”

It’s now or never. You said to Nesta. She squeezed your hand under the table.

“Wait a minute.” Nesta’s voice rang clear as day as she spoke up, grey eyes burning as she addressed Eris and the High Lord. “You are not my keeper, Rhysand. Nor am I an object, Eris. If you want me as your wife, you must ask me directly.”

Eris smirked. “I knew I liked you.” Before any of the shocked faces could say anything, Eris got down on one knee. The entire crowd was dead silent, eyes fixated on the scene near the dias. He bowed his head to Nesta like a knight to his king, then looked up at her with calculating eyes. “Nesta Archeron,” He continued. “I admire you greatly. You have a sharp mind and many talents. If you would do me the honour of being my bride, I vow that you will always have my protection, my heart, and the freedom to live your life how you see fit. Nesta, will you marry me?”

A pin dropping would have sounded like an earthquake in the silence of the room. Bewilderment was written across everyone’s face at the table, even Azriel’s. To them, Eris was simply making false, flowery promises. But you, and Nesta too, knew the meaning behind those words – a reminder of the actual promise he made you in the spring court. That he would help you get free.

Nesta spoke clearly after a few moments. “Yes.”

“What?” Feyre practically shrieked, standing up abruptly and then swaying slightly. “Are you insane?”

“Nesta…” Mor gasped. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying? Did you put a spell on her, you lying bastard?”

Wood splintered as Cassian’s grip on the edge of the table cracked it. He stood up, snarling and ready to lunge at Eris but Azriel was quicker. Within a heartbeat he winnowed across the table and restrained Cassian, who fought like a rabid dog.

“I cannot let you accept this offer, Nesta.” Rhysand growled viciously. Feyre had started to cry, weeping into her hands as her mate’s hand rubbed her back. You resisted the urge to snort at her level of distraught – was she really so blind as to how miserable Nesta was here?

Nesta shot him a fiery glare. “You said it was my choice, remember?” She spat. “And I am accepting Eris’ offer.”

“But why?” Rhys questioned, eyes narrowing.

Her chin was held high as she responded. “Because I do not wish to train to be a warrior. I do not want to have to ‘heal’ to fit a mould in order to be in your little circle. I will not be your caged beast, Rhysand.”

“If you think Eris can give you freedom, you are sorely mistaken.”

Silver fire rose in Nesta’s eyes. “We all know the Night Court does not suit me. If my sister wasn’t your mate, you’d have chucked me out into the streets and you know it.”

Rhys’ dark power filled the room slowly. “I will not let you hand yourself over to that monster.”

“I’d like to see you try and stop me.” Nesta’s silver fire continued to rise, matching Rhys’ magic. “It’s a little late to pretend you care, Rhysand.”

Eris finally spoke up, having risen to his feet again. “If I may,” He interjected. “You did say it was the lady’s choice, Rhysand.”

“Shut up, Eris.” The High Lord growled.

“I’ll fucking kill you, Eris!” Cassian snarled viciously. Sweat was pouring from Azriel’s brow as he continued to fight to hold his brother back.

Your blood chilled as a glint emerged in Rhysand’s violet eyes. From the smirk that formed at his lips, you knew it wasn’t good. He relaxed visibly, putting his hands in his pockets. Nesta glanced at you worriedly, sharing the same sentiment.

“After all, Nesta,” He purred, cocking his head. “Do you really want to abandon your mate?”  

The world went so silent, not even a breath was taken. Even Cassian had stopped his squirming, giving Azriel a break. It felt like you were falling for hours through an endless void, feeling nothing but everything all at once.

Nesta had a mate.

Cassian was Nesta’s mate.

“What did you just say?” Nesta’s voice was quiet, faraway. Your heart was beating so fast you weren’t even sure you could hear properly. Your hands shook under the table, and tears began to prick at your eyes. The female you had grown so close to, had made a magical ancient bond with… the female you loved had a mate.

It would explain Cassian’s behaviour towards Nesta, his possessiveness – it wasn’t just because they were fucking each other, it was his instincts. You wondered if Nesta knew, but you desperately wished that she hadn’t. It seemed that way, given her reaction, but the way she always avoided the topic of Cassian made you think.

“Surely after weeks of bedding each other you would have realized?” Rhysand’s violet gaze was simmering with smugness, like he had won already. “Cassian is your mate, Nesta. That is why I cannot let you accept Eris’ offer.”

Nesta was utterly and completely still. She glanced at Cassian, looking as if she had seen a ghost. You felt sick, watching them lock eyes. Nesta was impossible to read, but Cassian’s face gave his every thought away. He loved her.

“A mating bond does not shackle her to the brute,” Eris quipped, coming to stand beside Nesta and glare at the High Lord. “They should not be forced together because of it. Technically speaking, unless a mating ceremony is performed and the bond is accepted, Nesta is free to do as she wishes.”

Mor piped up, addressing Eris. “She would never be yours, Eris. She would always belong here, with her mate.”

With her mate. You were definitely going to throw up soon from the shock of everything. The glimmer of hope you had died out, fading like the last embers of a fire.

“Stop talking about me like I am not here.” Nesta hissed at the female, dragging her gaze from Cassian. “I do not wish to be Cassian’s mate. I do not wish to reside here. I do not want to be any part of this court. I will be accepting Eris’ offer, and choosing my own path. I still have a future, but it does not involve your little circle. I don’t care about some stupid bond, I am not bound here.”

Feyre spoke up, voice shaking through her tears. “I don’t think you quite understand what a mating bond really–”

“And I don’t want to.” Nesta’s voice was cold as those silver flames rose in her eyes. “I don’t care what it means. I will be leaving.”

She turned back to Cassian, not an ounce of mercy in her eyes. “I do not want you, Cassian. If you were a good mate, you would not have let me be locked up and trained against my will so I could become a version of myself that had to be worthy of being loved by you. A good mate would not have fucked me after I was attacked by the kelpie, nor would you have laughed at me as I fell down the stairs when I was clearly suffering. Whatever we had, it is over.”

A strangled noise emerged from Cassian’s throat, and Azriel tightened his grip on the general. “Nesta, please!” Cassian begged. “Stay. We can figure this out. We don’t have to do anything about it yet, just please stay here.”

“No. I have let you all take my choices from me for too long. This one is my own.”

Mor stood up, releasing her hand from Feyre’s back and gestured to Eris, whose eyes were wide with shock. “Is he making you do this? Tell us now, Nesta, and we can help you get out of it.”

Nesta simply ignored her, turning instead to you. You felt your heart break into a million pieces as her gaze met yours. That beautiful face stared down at you, softening as she held out her hand. “Come.” She said.

What are you doing? You asked her.

Getting you out of here with me. Nesta replied as you took her hand. You stood up shakily, coming to stand next to her. Out of the corner of your eye, you snuck a glance at Eris. He was looking at you, and blinked once – which you interpreted as a confirmation to keep playing along.

“Nesta, what are you doing?” Azriel questioned, puzzled. It was the first time you saw the spymaster confused, and if the situation weren’t so dire you would have laughed.

“Taking her with me.” Nesta said simply, squeezing your hand. “(Y/N) is my friend, and I would like her to join me in Autumn.”

Rhysand took a step towards Nesta, that smugness from a few minutes ago replaced with pure violence and authority. “I can’t allow that.”

“Why not?” Eris said, grabbing Nesta’s elbow. “It would be nice for Nesta to have a friend in the court with her. My father could certainly use a new courtier. Let her come with us and we shall consider it your wedding gift.”

“No.” Rhysand growled.

The room was the definition of tension, onlookers staring at their High Lord with wide eyes. Kier was practically salivating at the scene in front of him. Nesta’s posture was composed, but you could feel her panic beside you. There was no way he was going to let both of you go, it would make him seem weak in front of the Hewn City.

Before you could say anything, you saw a movement out of the corner of your eye. Azriel was no longer holding Cassian, and had disappeared entirely. You were about to beg Nesta to tell Eris to winnow you all away right that second, but a familiar scarred hand wrapped around your wrist and pulled, yanking your grip from Nesta’s hand.

“NO!” Was all you could shriek out as Azriel’s shadows engulfed you, winnowing you away from the Court of Nightmares. You had cast one last glance at Nesta, her and Eris’ features wide with shock as the spymaster ripped you away from them and into the cold darkness.

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#ialtpwf #nesta archeron #nesta archeron fic #nesta archeron x reader #nesta x eris #nesta archeron x eris vanserra #neris #neris x reader #eris acotar #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #acosf #acosf au #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #acosf rewrite #anti ic #anti inner circle #anti rhysand #anti feyre archeron #anti feyre #anti feysand #anti nessian #anti morrigan #ic slander #sjm #night court #Azriel #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger

[tswaney17]

My Son

As I write this, it saddens me to know that this is my last @elriel-month fic. This month went by so quickly, and there was such amazing content produced from it. I want to recognize all of the fantastic people who participated in Elriel Month, both in producing content and those who consistently like, comment, reblog, share, etc. the work that is produced. It's been such a fun month, and a huge thank you to all of those who put it on. A lot of time, effort, and work goes on behind the scenes to keep these appreciation months running. Y'all are amazing. 🌸🦇

Now on to the fic. This is part 2 of Little One. I've had this fic written for months and I'm super excited to share it with you. Please let me know your thoughts! 💙💜💚

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics​​​

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Trigger warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, some descriptions of canon-typical violence, very minor adult descriptions

Word Count: 4,127

Elain sat at their kitchen table, a gurgling Rosalie tucked in the crook of her arm, Kaden sat across from her munching on some freshly baked pastries, cured meats, and sipping on fruit juice. A cup of tea rested against her palm as she smiled down at her son who happily hummed while eating his breakfast, bare feet kicking under his chair. It was just the three of them this morning, Azriel having been called away by their High Lord for an urgent meeting at nearly the crack of dawn.

He apologized profusely for not only waking her so early but also for having to leave her, to which he made up for with his head between her legs as the sun broke the horizon, casting an orange glow into their bedroom.

“How do you like your pastries, Kaden?” she asked, readjusting her swaddled daughter who had started to fuss in her arms. Though thoroughly sated, once the shadowsinger left their bed this morning, Elain knew she wasn’t going back to sleep and decided to get up and try out a new pastry recipe for breakfast.

The little Illyrian flashed her a big, toothy grin. “I wuv them, momma!” he shouted excitedly, crumbs smeared on his pink lips.

Elain couldn’t help the way her heart swelled at being called momma by him. It had taken quite a while for Kaden to grow comfortable in his new home. He had been living with them for right around five months now and had only begun calling her “momma” a few weeks ago. He had yet to bless Azriel with a fatherly name, much to his dismay, but they both knew that with Kaden’s early childhood ordeal, his attachment to Illyrian males would be a slow one. It would come, he just needed to be patient she assured him.

They also took introducing Kaden to his new family slowly, only allowing them over one at a time so as to not overwhelm him. Meeting Elain’s sisters and Mor went easily enough, but that wasn’t where they were concerned. Though Rhys was the High Lord and half Illyrian, Kaden was clearly more intimidated by Cassian’s larger stature and permanent presence of wings. The general, hoping to bond with the little one, proceeded to sit on the floor with their son for an hour and played with the stuffed bear he brought with him. It wasn’t until Nesta showed up looking for her husband that Cassian departed, happily receiving a shy hug on his one leg before he left.

“I’m glad, sweetie. Maybe next time I make them, you can help momma? Would you like to do that?”

Little hands hit the table in excitement. “Yes! Yes, pwease momma, can we?”

She smiled down at him with so much love. “Of course, baby.” Elain propped Rosalie on her shoulder, running a soothing hand down her back as the terrace door opened and her husband entered. “Look, Kaden. Daddy’s home. Why don’t you go get dressed now so we can head out soon?”

Despite not calling Azriel “daddy” yet, both he and Elain had decided to refer to each other by paternal names in hopes that it would encourage him to make the connection as to who he was to them, and who they were to him.

He was their son.

And they were his parents.

No matter the blood or lineage, nothing would change that.

“Okay!” He wiggled from his chair and made a mad dash from the table to his bedroom as the shadowsinger approached, a soft smile on his face watching Kaden run from the kitchen.

Azriel dropped a kiss to her lips, and then one to the top of Rosalie’s head, his fingers brushing her rogue wisps of curls. “Good morning, my little love,” he whispered.

She couldn’t help but smile at their daughter’s coo of greeting. “What did Rhys need you for so early this morning?” Elain asked as they began clearing the table of the breakfast spread.

Hazel eyes met her gaze and something twisted in her stomach at the worry she saw there. “There’s been a scuffle at one of the Illyrian camps,” he stated, setting dishes in the sink.

Elain’s brows furrowed. “How bad?”

“Rhys, Cassian, and I are about to head there to handle the situation.”

The inflection of his voice told her that there was information left unsaid. “There’s something else.”

Azriel huffed, leaning back against the counter. His strong arms crossed over his broad chest. “It’s the camp that Kaden’s biological father is at.”

The thought of that awful male made Elain want to find her son, cradle him in her lap, and never let go. “Do you think we should be concerned?”

He ran a scarred hand through his inky locks. “He’s a camp Lord and we are within the twenty-four-hour window of the Blood Rite, which means he has magic and can winnow. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.” Those golden irises blazed in fury.

“Lorenzo didn’t want anything to do with him. Why would he be making a fuss now?” It didn’t make sense. That male lost any right to claim Kaden as his son when he dropped him off at that orphanage and didn’t come back. Elain had later learned that her son had been there going on a year now and the Lord hadn’t made a peep about his child. It was both heartbreak and rage that had warred within her at that knowledge.

The shadowsinger shrugged. “Maybe word got back to him that he was adopted?”

“He left him at an orphanage!” she hissed, patting Rosalie’s back when she started to squirm.

Azriel took a step closer to her, his hand touching the back of his daughter’s head. “I think it could be about who adopted him too,” he said a bit quietly.

Elain’s heart twisted. She knew what he was hinting at. That the camp Lord wouldn’t deem Az worthy enough to raise even a child he gave up. “If he believes you unworthy to love that boy then I’ll kill him myself.”

The corner of his lips turned up briefly. “I will never stop being grateful for your devotion to me, my love.” He brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “I know you don’t like to be sidelined and that you can protect yourself, but I think you and the kids should stay away from Illyria today. I just—” a frustrated hand ran through his hair. “I can help but worry that the scuffle at the camp is to pull me away from you three at the orphanage.”

“Az,” she breathed, reaching out to grip his forearm, thumb swiping soothing strokes over his tanned, tattooed skin. “You’re scared.” It wasn’t a question.

He ducked his head. “Of course, I’m scared. He’s my son. Our son. I will do anything to protect him, Rosalie, and you.”

Elain nodded in agreement. “We don’t take chances here, not when it comes to our children. If you think there’s a risk with the three of us going to the camps, no matter how small, we won’t go. I won’t put our babies in danger.”

Her husband let out a sigh of relief, tugging her and Rosalie into his arms. He kissed her softly, conveying all his love and emotion for her and their little family from his lips. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers. “Feyre said she has a morning class with some younger children at the studio today and that you’re more than welcome to bring Kaden by to paint.”

“I think he would like that. Maybe we’ll take a stroll through the Rainbow and the park by the Sidra, too.”

It was rare to see the Night Court spymaster drop all his masks and show his true self. A male so full of love, joy, and devotion. But since the birth of Rosalie, and the adoption of Kaden, Elain had seen it more and more on Azriel’s face. It was her favorite look on him, one he tended to wear when he fed and rocked his little girl to sleep, or when he’d peek in on his son as he slept, checking to make sure he was okay. It was the same look he wore now.  

“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea.”

Padded feet tore down the hallway and slid into the kitchen. Both parents turned to look at a disheveled Kaden.

“Azweel! Can you but-tin my wing slots, pweeze?”

A low chuckle rumbled from Azriel’s chest as he stepped out of her embrace. “Sure buddy, come here.”

Kaden’s undeveloped magic prevented him from being able to button the flaps of his shirt around his wings alone. He’d be able to eventually, but for now, either she or Az would have to help him, not that they minded.

“Wings up,” Azriel said, reaching underneath the membranes to snap the flaps together.

“Where are your shoes?” Elain asked, once his shirt was secured.

Little, tanned toes fluttered on the stone floor. “By the door, momma.”

Her husband helped Kaden tug on his shoes as Elain secured a now sleeping Rosalie to her chest, allowing both her arms to be free. It was a wrap that Feyre swore by when she had Nyx, and Elain was inclined to agree. Having both arms available while she ran errands was indeed a lifesaver.

After explaining the change of plans to Kaden, he reached up and took Azriel’s ring and pinky finger in his small hand. “Are you coming with us?”

Her husband knelt, “Sorry, buddy. Uncle Rhys needs daddy’s help right now.”

Kaden’s lower lip jutted out in a way that Elain knew Azriel struggled to say no to. Even now, she could see the war of his vow to his High Lord and the need to protect his son dance across his face with his desire to stay with them.

He cleared his throat. “Tell you what; as soon as I’m finished with your uncle, I’ll meet up with you guys and we’ll spend the rest of the day together. How does that sound?”

The little Illyrian brightened, and he shouted in glee.

Az tugged him to his chest, kissing him on the top of his black hair. “I’ll see you later, son. I love you.”

“I wuv you too, Azweel.”

He stood, turning back to her.

“Be safe,” Elain said lowly enough to not let Kaden overhear them.

Az nodded. “I will. I’ll come home as soon as I can.” He slid a hand to her jaw to kiss her, careful of their daughter between them, then pecked the top of Rosalie’s head. “I love you,” he whispered to them both, before vanishing into the shadows.

Elain’s stomach turned restlessly. Something about the whole situation still didn’t feel right, but she would stay strong for both her husband and her son. Swallowing her nerves, she took Kaden’s hand to make their way into the bustling streets of Velaris.

~~~

The three of them strolled through the park along the glittering waters of the Sidra River having finished their painting session earlier and a delicious lunch at a small café moments ago. Kaden’s painting was sitting at Feyre’s studio, which Elain was to go pick up in a few days once it was dry. It was mostly strokes of colors and handprints, but she still thought it was the most beautiful artwork, biased or not.

Warm rays of the sun beat down on them, bringing about a flush of color on her skin and the golden hues on both of her children’s darker complexions.

Kaden had taken off, chasing after a colorful butterfly.

Elain followed the sounds of his giggles. “Stay close, Kaden!” she called when he got a bit too far for her comfort.

Ever the good listener, he rounded back towards her, stopping to look at a small coping of rose bushes. “Look, momma! Woses!” he shouted, the r sound still coming out like a w. It was something they were working on with him.

“Yes, they are, good job!” she said back, stopping beneath a shaded tree for some much-needed cooling. Kaden had taken to her garden and she took the time to teach him the names of the various plants and flowers she was growing.

Elain placed a hand on the top of Rosalie’s head, feeling the warmth of it. It was an unusually balmy spring day, one that predicted the early onset of summer.

A blip on the horizon caught her eye. She watched it as it came closer, membranous wings flapping to send it hurtling through the sky towards her.

Elain’s head cocked as she studied the movement, so unlike her husband’s elegance, Cassian’s strong presence, or even Rhys’s regal grace. Brown eyes widened as she realized who, exactly, was flying towards her.

Towards her son.

She was moving then. “Kaden!” she screamed, “Kaden, come here, right now!”

At his mother’s distressed voice, he turned, running towards her.

With a hand holding onto the back of Rosalie, Elain cradled Kaden’s head and shoved him behind her just as the Illyrian male slammed into the ground in front of them. She felt the impact through her feet.

The park was fairly empty, but the few fae present took off at the sight of the unknown Illyrian, leaving her utterly alone with him.

Kaden’s fists gripped the skirts of her lilac dress, and though every instinct in her told her never to back down from a threat, she would not risk it with both of her children in the line of fire. Elain stepped back, moving her son with her.

The male, a version of what her son may one day have features of, savagely grinned down at her. A sharp jaw, high cheekbones with a long nose. His hair was worn similar to how Cassian kept his, but a shade or two lighter. He wasn’t as large as her husband, she realized. Az had him beat by several inches and his shoulders weren’t nearly as broad. But even with that knowledge, everything about the male in front of her screamed warrior.

Dangerous.

Threat.

Her magic rumbled in her chest in response. The siphon on her ring flared once, throwing up a thin barrier between them and him—Azriel’s magic sealed away for when she needed it. The shadow that adorned her finger as a wedding band vanished.

“So,” he drawled, sounding utterly bored. “I finally get to meet the pretty, little pet that has captured the heart of the bastard-born shadowsinger.”

Elain snarled at the taunt. “Watch your tongue, Lorenzo,” she snapped.

That malicious grin grew. “And you’ve heard of me. Perfect. Hand over my son, and I’ll be on my way.”

She angled herself, shielding Kaden further behind her. “He is not your son. Unless you have a death wish, I suggest you flap your way back to where you came from.”

The smirk faded and something far deadlier took its place. “My blood runs through his veins—”

“Blood doesn’t make you a father,” she spat, vehemently. “You lost your right to claim him when you left him at that orphanage. Kaden is mine and Azriel’s son. Now and forever.”

“If you think I’m going to let you and that pathetic excuse of an Illyrian raise—”

Her blood raged like a weathered storm. One that toppled the largest of ships and swept armies into the depths of the sea. Her magic responded in kind, light bursting out of her and shoving him back a step. His eyes widened at the surprise drop she got on him. “That pathetic excuse of an Illyrian is a thousand times more of a male than you could ever dream of being. And if you say one more thing like that about my husband, I will gut you here in this park.”

The red siphon flickered on his chest in response to her attack. “Do you have any idea who you’re speaking to?” he demanded, voice edging dangerously close to levels Elain knew meant he was about to lose his temper.

She curled the corner of her mouth up. “A low-level camp lord with a single siphon? Yes, I know exactly who I’m speaking to.” She threw as much disdain in her voice as she could muster. “I think the better question is, do you know who you’re speaking to?” At his silence, she grinned. “Cauldron-blessed Seer. The Mother reincarnated. And what are you here doing? Trying to take a child away from his mother. Believe me when I say I won’t let that happen.”

“I’ll end you and your brat if need be,” he countered, taking a step forward to try and intimidate her.

But Elain had felt another’s presence as he neared. Saw in her peripheral vision the dark swath of shadows above their heads. “You hurt me or my daughter, you take my son, and I can promise you that you won’t make it out of Velaris alive.”

Before he could respond, a solid mass of muscle and wings dropped from the sky, forcing Lorenzo to take a step back lest he wanted to be smashed beneath Azriel’s large frame. Her husband’s knees bent as he landed, absorbing the impact. As he stood to his full height, his wings stretched out, blocking her and their children from the other male’s view.

The ground shook from his landing, and Elain felt Kaden push himself further into her legs. She brushed her thumb over the back of his head, hoping to soothe him with her touch.

“Get back,” Azriel growled, voice colder than what he used as the Night Court spymaster. Shadows skittered out, flitting around her and the kids, searching for any signs of injury. When they finished their assessment, they turned their attention back on Lorenzo, swirling like shards of ice, pushing him back, back, back. “Stay away from my son.”

“He is not your son.”

"We adopted him. We took him into our home. We fed him, and clothed him, and loved him. He is as much our son as our daughter is and nobody is going to take that away from us.” He took several steps forward, forcing the male backward again.

With the added space between them, Elain felt the shield in front of her reinforce itself.

“Momma,” Kaden croaked through the plaits of her skirts. Large tears filled his hazel eyes.

Her hand swept through his hair. “It’s okay, Kaden. You’re safe.” She pulled him closer to her hip, letting her other hand come down to rest protectively on his cheek. Her thumb brushed away the tears that spilled over his dark lashes.

Kaden buried his face back into swaths of her dress.

Thunder cracked like two boulders crashing together.

Elain’s head snapped to the side to see Rhys step out of rolling darkness, decked in his full Illyrian leathers. His lack of normal attire told her he had come ready for bloodshed.

“Lorenzo,” the High Lord drawled. “You’re far from home.”

The other Illyrian, seeing he was now outnumbered, grew even more furious. “I came to take what was is mine,” he fumed, reaching back for the sword sheathed across his back.

“He is not some object for you to collect,” Az stated furiously.

“He is mine,” the Lord shot back.

Azriel tensed, glancing back at her and then looking down at Kaden who was peeking at them behind her skirts.

Elain saw his hand twitch for the legendary dagger strapped to his thigh, but he didn’t grab it.

He returned his gaze to Lorenzo. “I’m not going to end your life here, no matter that you deserve it. My son has already seen enough bloodshed in his short life because of you. I won’t add to that.”

The camp Lord just smiled, “Then you’re only going to make him as weak as you are.” And then he struck, the Illyrian metal singing as it aimed for a killing blow—decapitation.

Seven blue siphons flared. Lorenzo went flying backward, his sword ripped from his hand by shadows.

“Daddy!”

“Kaden!” Elain screamed, reaching out to try and stop the little Illyrian from running into the fray, but it was too late.

His little legs carried him fast over the ground and Azriel barely had a chance to whip around before a little body tackled him. “Daddy!” he cried again, clutching at his leathers with small fists.

A blue shield shot up, enclosing her husband and her son in a protective barrier. He wasted no time lifting Kaden into his arms, a scarred hand threading through his black tresses to hold him close.

Tiny arms went around his neck as Kaden pressed his damp face above the collar of his Illyrian leathers. “I don’t wanna go,” he whimpered into his shoulder.

Azriel moved his hand from the back of his head to between his wings, rubbing strokes like he would when his son would wake with nightmares. “You’re not going anywhere, Kaden. Nobody is taking you from us.” He kissed the side of his head, allowing a few minutes to comfort his son.

Elain’s heart ached, wanting to go to them, but also not wanting to let a second child get too close to Lorenzo’s unhinged state again.

Azriel nodded towards her, assuring her that their son was safe.

It sent a wave of relief rushing through her.

He turned, finding Rhys hauling Lorenzo to his feet.

The disgust on the Illyrian male’s face at her husband holding their son made her hackles rise, enough so that her magic rumbled in response. She dampened it, not wanting to wake her daughter that somehow had stayed asleep through everything so far.

The look of the spymaster replaced Az’s hardened features. “I granted you a chance to walk away. I want you to remember that when your High Lord winnows you back to the camp to face him and your general. But if you come after my family again, you even have thoughts about my son, your life is forfeited.” Azriel gave his brother a curt nod, watching as the High Lord and Lorenzo winnowed away.

Shields lowered and both parents were striding for each other. Tears pricked her eyes as her husband embraced her and Rosalie with one arm, still holding Kaden in his other. Scarred fingers found her jaw, tilting her head up to bring their mouths together in a desperate kiss, needing to feel her presence. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his eyes darting to check over their daughter.

“We’re fine,” she breathed, her hand reaching up to lay it on Kaden’s lower back, rubbing it. She glanced back up at her husband’s face, seeing a look of awe that had settled there.

He called me daddy, he mouthed at her, silver lining his eyes. He had been waiting for Kaden’s willingness to grace him with that name—had been getting antsy for it.

Elain let out a choked sound, gripping her husband’s wrist with her other hand. I know, she mouthed back.

Kaden twisted his head, propping his cheek on Azriel’s shoulder, his arms were still wrapped around his neck.

The shadowsinger dropped a kiss to his forehead as Elain let her nails scratch at his back. “I was going to suggest we go get a frozen treat after our walk,” she started, catching her son’s eyes. There was a far-off look that she didn’t like seeing. “Does that sound good to you, Kaden?”

The little Illyrian nodded, though he gave no vocal response.

It worried her, his unwillingness to speak. They had broken through so many barriers in getting him to open up after he came home with them—she hated the idea of this setting him back. “Do you want to see if daddy can join us?” she tried, seeing how he clung to his father, though she knew Az had no intentions of leaving them alone.

Not for a while.

She also knew Az was well aware of what she was trying to do too.

Kaden was silent for a moment, but both parents waited patiently, giving him the time to voice his thoughts. “Can you, daddy?” he finally whispered.

The shadowsinger visibly hugged him tighter, resting his cheek on the top of his head. “Of course, we can,” he choked out. The emotional vulnerability rang clear in his voice. Lifting Kaden higher up on his hip, Azriel took Elain’s hand in his scarred one and brushed a light kiss over her knuckles.

Her heart swelled. Resting a hand on the back of a still sleeping Rosalie, the family of four strolled through the park and spent the rest of the day enjoying treats and each other’s company.

~~~~~

Remember, sharing is caring! Please reblog if you liked the fic. It helps spread my work and I truly appreciate it. 💕

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#my son #little one #oh baby #elrielmonth #elrielmonth22 #elrielmonth2022 #elriel #pro elriel #tswaney17 #tswaney17fics #my writing #tay writes #elain x az #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #elain and azriel #azriel and elain #elriel fanfic #elriel fic #elriel fanfiction #the seer and the shadowsinger #death and the lovely fawn #elriel forever #elain #elain archeron #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #acomaf #acowar

[azrielsbitches]

hanna & azriel's first meeting pt. 2

A/N: I've tagged part one and my masterlist so you can read more about hanna & azriel :) requests are open!!

masterlist

hanna & azriel's first meeting pt. 1

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I had decided to sit next to Elain, who seemed the most fearful of the males joining us for dinner. Cassian sat beside me while Feyre sat across from Elain and next to Nesta, Rhys next to her and then Azriel, who was still staring at me curiously.

To be fair, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him either. Those wings… they were magnificent. But while staring at those wings, I noticed that he and Cassian were having trouble adjusting to the chairs.

“Would you prefer a stool?” I asked them shyly, but politely.

“It’s alright,” Azriel answered me and I blushed slightly at having him address me directly. “We’ll make do.”

I nodded and decided to focus on filling my plate. I wasn’t exactly hungry, but I knew Elain would insist I eat something. 

“Hanna,” Nesta said sharply, looking at my dress in disgust. “What is that on your dress?”

I glanced down and cringed. Cora, the woman I had helped give birth just an hour ago, had bled quite a bit. Birth was a messy ordeal and I hadn’t had the chance to change when I got home due to all the excitement. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I rushed out, glancing up at the High Lord, who sat directly across from me. “I helped one of the villagers give birth earlier… I’ll just go change.”

“It’s just a little blood,” Cassian chuckled. “We’ve seen worse.”

I glanced over at Nesta again and decided to listen to her, not wanting to hear anything about it later. 

“I’ll be right back,” I said and rushed out of the room, almost glad to be alone. The tension in that dining room was increasing by the second. 

When I returned moments later, having changed into a simple long sleeved navy dress, I could hear Feyre and Nesta arguing… about me.

“Why is she running around outside in the dead of winter, Nesta?” Feyre hissed at her.

“I can’t control everything she does,” Nesta shot back at her. “She’s an adult now.”

“Barely! She’s going to get sick again,” Feyre stated. “She gets weaker every time, Nesta… and she almost didn’t make it last time.”

“Last time we were dirt poor and had no money to see a healer,” I replied as I stepped back into the room. I flushed at having everyone’s attention on me. “I don’t want to live my life locked up in this house, Feyre… I’m sorry.”

“We can talk about this later,” she said after a moment of silence and I saw a look of understanding cross her face. 

I took my seat again and picked at the food on my plate, subtly glancing around at what everyone else was doing. I noticed that Feyre had taken a bite of the casserole and fought to hide her disgust. The other three didn’t seem to have the same problem she was having, Cassian and Azriel were digging in like they hadn’t eaten in months.

“Is there something wrong with our food?” Nesta asked Feyre flatly.

“No,” Feyre said as she hastily took another bite and followed it with a large drink of water. I tried to hide my smile from Nesta, laughing slightly at Feyre’s expression.

“So you can’t eat normal food anymore?” Nesta asked rudely. “Or are you too good for it?”

The High Lord dropped his fork on his plate with a clang and I flinched slightly. 

“I can eat, drink, fuck, and fight just as well as I did before,” Feyre responded. “Better, even.”

Cassian choked on his water and I had to cover my mouth to hide my smirk. Azriel shifted slightly in his seat. Nesta just let out a low laugh and I could see that Feyre was about to explode at her.

“If you ever come to Prythian, you’ll discover why your food tastes so different,” Rhysand said smoothly, trying to calm the situation. 

I hoped he was genuine in his invitation. Seeing Prythian, exploring, and learning from their Healers might be beneficial to the villagers here. And I could see Feyre more. Rhysand glanced over at me with a knowing twinkle in his eye that left me wondering if he could hear my thoughts. That small smile he gave me was wiped off his face quickly when Nesta interrupted again.

“I have little interest in ever setting foot in your land, so I’ll have to take your word on it,” she said, looking down her nose at him.

“Nesta, please,” Elain murmured to her.

Nesta shifted her attention to Cassian, who was sitting beside me and I shrunk back into my seat to get away from her glare.

“What are you looking at?” she challenged him.

“Someone who let her younger sister risk her life every day in the woods while she did nothing,” Cassian began. “Someone who let a fourteen-year-old child go out into that forest, so close to the wall. Your sister died–died to save my people. She is willing to do so again to protect you from war. So don’t expect me to sit here with my mouth shut while you sneer at her for a choice she did not get to make–and insult my people in the process.”

Nesta simply turned away from Cassian and the look of anger on his face was terrifying. 

“It… it is very hard, you understand, to… accept it,” Elain began. “We are raised this way. We hear stories of your kind crossing the wall to hurt us. Our own neighbor, Clare Beddor, was taken, her family murdered… Hanna was the one who found the bodies.”

I flinched at Clare’s name. I had been friends with her younger sister and I had been on my way to visit with Lilia when I came across her family butchered in their home. I glanced up with tears in my eyes to find Rhysand staring down at his plate and Feyre and Azriel staring at me.

“It’s just very disorienting,” I whispered to everyone.

“I can imagine,” Azriel responded with a small, but genuine smile on his face. I felt myself relax a bit at his attention.

“And as for Feyre’s hunting during those years,” Elain continued. “It was not Nesta’s neglect alone that is to blame. We were scared, and had received no training, and everything had been taken, and we failed her… and Hanna. Nesta and I both failed them.”

I bit my tongue, not wanting to make this any worse. But Nesta and Elain hadn’t helped much around that shack we called a home either. I had been the one to cook. I had been the one to clean. Not them.

“Can we just… start over?” Feyre pleaded with Nesta, gripping her arm.

“Fine,” Nesta hissed and went back to eating.

“Can you truly fly?” Elain asked Cassian and Azriel both. Azriel set down his fork, and blinked slowly as he stared down the table at Elain and I.

“Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind,” he answered.

“Is it not—frightening, though? To fly so high?” I asked him.

“It is sometimes,” he continued and Cassian nodded in agreement. “If you are caught in a storm, if the current drops away. But we are trained so thoroughly that the fear is gone before we’re out of swaddling.”

“I wish I could fly,” I gushed before I could stop myself.

“Perhaps one day,” he smiled at me. I could see Feyre and the High Lord glance at each other at Azriel’s response. I just blushed and sat back in my seat.

“Write your letter to the queens tonight,” Nesta announced. “Tomorrow, Elain and I will go to the village to dispatch it. If the queens do come here, I’d suggest bracing yourselves for prejudices far deeper than ours. And contemplating how you plan to get us all out of this mess should things go sour.”

“We’ll take that into account,” Rhysand said. 

“I assume you’ll want to stay the night.”

Rhysand looked to Feyre for her to decide. I looked at her too, wishing for her to stay just a little longer.

“If it's not too much trouble, then yes,” I grinned at her response. “We’ll leave after breakfast tomorrow.”

“I think there are a few bedrooms ready—”

“We’ll need two,” Rhysand interrupted. “Next to each other, with two beds each. Magic is different across the wall. So our shields, our senses, might not work right. I’m taking no chances. Especially in a house with a woman betrothed to a man who gave her an iron engagement ring.”

Elain flushed at that comment, but recovered quickly enough. “The—the bedrooms that have two beds aren’t next to each other,” she murmured.

“We’ll move things around. It’s fine. This one,” Feyre joked. “Is only cranky because he’s old and it’s past his bedtime.”

Old? Sure, he looked older than Feyre, but surely nothing terrible.

“If we’re done eating, then this meal is over,” Nesta said as she rose to her feet and left the dining room.

#azriel imagine #acotar #acotar series #acotar imagine #acotar x oc #acotar x reader #azriel #azriel x oc #azriel x you #acotar headcanon #writing

[flowerflamestars]

Shoreless Sea snippet

“You tried to get him out,” Nesta said, throat burning, “Before Rhysand put a sword in his hand and sent him off to fight a true immortal?”   Azriel, carding what looked like red-tinged gravel out of his thick hair, grimaced. “No.” “No?” “Nesta.” Annoyed at the depth of his tone and nonetheless grateful for it- Az, back in hated black armor she’d honestly thought he’d burned- Azriel, who knew exactly what she was feeling and was far too kind to say it aloud- Az, her friend, the only member of the Night Court who’d ever apologized to her.   Nesta breathed out, salt clinging to her own skin the smallest refuge in overwhelming copper.   “Bandage your fucking head,” Nesta grumbled, setting down the crystal bottle in favor of shoving medical supplies his way.    “I’m having dinner with your husband and I do not want to listen to him complain about this.” She pointed a vicious finger before he could open his mouth, “And salve your hands, you look like you tried to punch a boulder to death. Then, you can tell me what the hell happened.”   The spark caught.   Murderous coldness melting away until Azriel looked a little more like the breathing, laughing, happy man she’d grown to know. An uptick of his full mouth- not the absolutely shitheaded grin, but its tiny descendant.  “Needs stitches.”   She thought about getting Elain, whose needle proficiency put Nesta to shame.   Azriel had come straight to her- not Lucien. Waited bleeding before Nesta’s door with the knowledge unspoken she’d understand why, share the same aching frustration. There was nothing about either of them that Elain or Lucien didn’t love in different ways, but neither shared the inclination to keep pressing on a bruise until yellowed tenderness became a true and purple pain all over again.   Nesta stood. “Tell me it’s not a mess.”   Azriel shook his head, matted curls falling into his eyes. “Clean. Straight split on impact.”

Three nauseous silken loops pulled tight before he spoke again, grave. “Rhysand is getting impatient. Something is starting to go…wrong, in the Hewn City- he’s going to have to choose where to concentrate his forces.”   No point in asking how Azriel knew the feelings of the man who’d once owned him absolutely in loyalty. Wind and darkness spoke to the world’s sole shadowsinger wherever he was, Night’s north particularly prey to tenebrosity.     “He’s going to end it.” Nesta said, flat.

#one page of....27? #in part two we remember that there is sort of a plot #Nesta: THREE HOURS AGO I WAS MAKING OUT WITH A HIGH LORD #I DO NOT NEED THIS NOW #wherein we also remember that this IS the Daylight universe #with a apparently closer to canon Cas #Az is tired #he just wants to be a dad and stop dealing with this shit #Nesta thought he burned his armor and she was RIGHT (this is the shitty spare) #Nesta and Az: both feeling shitty that can't help a people #who would kill them for trying #watching in horror as Rhysand asks Cassian for exactly what will push him past a brink he cannot return from #Listen daylights sister fight is a favorite #but Az and Cas? trying to murder each other with their bare hands? #fighting about the meaning of hONOR AND LOVE? #offscreen but the most important #why yes Erebus is slowly rising #why yes the shadows in the Hewn City are eating people what of it

[bloodycassian]

A FEAST - Azriel x readder. Prompt - Reader is injured and knocked out for days. Cassian gets him to finally leave your side for one meal and Nyx brings a guest with him...

"The Dragons Song is the best one, hands down." Nesta argued, hacking through the brush.  "That one is full of the same scenes every time." You judged, pushing a branch out of the way. The jungle was a mess of twists and turns to work through, but thankfully one of the fishermen on the dock had sold you a compass at a descent price. "A little more right for a few more miles and we'll be there." You steered her on course.  "At least it dosent say 'honeydew' every scene." She made a fake gagging noise and you laughed. The sound was muffled in the crowded forest. She hacked her way through the brush, one vine at a time. Until you finally reached the clearing. It was hot in the direct sun, a few degrees different than what the shade of the forest had been. You paced the perimiter, meeting her at the other side. "You mean Cassian dosen't like honeydew?" You wiggled your eyebrows at her.  "Az does?" She challenged, earning a laugh from you. "The ones that you like are predictable beyond measure." You countered, earning a quick smile before your attention snapped across the meadow. To a giant hog serpent with venomous tusks that gleamed with their clear liquid. You swore and you and Nesta both drew swords at the same time.  + Nesta ended the hog, but not before it had the chance for those razor sharp tusks to marr your legs with deep wounds. The venom stung, flowing into your bloodstream and paralyzing you slowly. You gasped at the sheer blinding pain it brought. "Nes-" You choked out between sobs. "Tell Az... Tell Az I love him." You smiled to her, putting a hand on her cheek. "No, no way. You're gonna tell him yourself. Stay awake. We're on the way." She reached deep to that bond to Cassian, and a flare of alertness greeted her. Then, a thrill of fire. "On the way. Rhys will be there in a few. Are you okay?" "Fine, she's delirious. She needs a healer and a detox for the venom." She thought back, sighing when she felt Rhys' presence. "Wheres Az?" You managed out of your chattering teeth. You were losing the fight against the venom quickly. It would have you under in a few minutes if Rhys didn't hurry to a healer. He placed a hand on you and darkness surrounded.  "Cassian will-" He started to Nesta, "I know, get her safe." She rushed, urging him to winnow you already. When Cassian saw the amount of blood spilled, he cursed.  "Most of it was the beast." Nesta cleaned her sword on an overgrown leaf that jutted down into the meadow.  Her hands shook when she sheathed it. "Nes." He stopped her when she turned. "Nes..." He repeated, giving her a long look. She tried to hide her face, the terror there. "Lets go." He pulled her to his side and took off, holding her close to him. He said nothing about the tears that flowed to his shoulder. He just gripped her tighter.   + Azriel had nearly broken the door when he stormed in. And he hadn't left your side since. Nesta stayed when she could, letting Azriel relax enough to sleep now and again. He trusted her to wake him if anything changed in your status.  When he woke, he heard his brother's voice first. Quiet an hurried in tone, him and Nesta argued by the door. "He wont leave. You've already tried, just leave him alone." Nesta was scolding. Cassian gripped her hands, then whipped his head over to his brother when he saw him stretching on the bench.  "Hey Az-" Cassian smiled, bounding over to his brother like a puppy. "You remmeber Madja saying it may take up to a week, right? How about you come to dinner up at the house with us."  "I dont want to miss if she-" "Come on, Nyx will be there. Mor's coming back from the continent tonight too." Cassian tempted, poking at the old flame Azriel carried for the female. She was still incredible, and one of Azriels best friends, but he no longer felt that flame towards her. You had come along and crushed it with a bat of your eyelashes and a few quick witted insults at Cas. Nesta started pulling him away, giving you an apologetic smile. "It would be nice for you to be there is all he means." She began pushing him out the door, despite his protests.  "Think about it! She wouldn't want you to be mourning while she's alive!" Cassian shouted, earning a smack from Nesta. Azriel smiled despite the dark nature of the situation. He pulled a chair up beside your resting body. It had been three days. How would he know if you were awake or not? He tugged on that dark link you shared together, and came up with the same unresponsiveness as before. He sighed, but took your hand anyway, falling asleep again to the sound of your soft breathing. + He decided to stay for just an hour. He would spare his family that much. He kissed you goodbye and tried his best to ignore the guilt he felt for leaving you behind. But Cassian was right. He knew that when you woke up you'd be upset about him not going. So he put on his brave face and flew up to the house of wind, to the joy of everyone. They clapped upon his arrival, making his cheeks burn. Mor gave him a hug and promised to catch up. But she hovered around a fae you hadn't met yet. A female that she watched with wide sparkling eyes. Azriel's chest bloomed with pride at the sight of them being so close, so full of life for each other.  He looked away from the two, and sent his shadows out to Rhys. And found what he was seeking. He darted over to the end of the table where the high lord and lady sat across from each other. The head table was empty, and filthy. "That's a small monster if I've ever seen one." He bent and scooped Nyx up from under the table. He wriggled and laughed.  "No monster Azzy." Nyx babbled, pulling on his uncle's hair.  "No pulling hair!" Rhys scolded, making Nyx laugh even more. Feyre sighed. "You're just having fun. How about we go for a fly down to-" "Don't say it, Az." Rhy's tone went from scolding to pleading. Even though the baby couldn't fly yet, it was one of his favorite things to do. He could see how Rhys' son would be skilled at flying with just the way he angled his head when accompanying. Az poked at Nyx's belly and they fought like that for a few moments, Nyx eventually winnowing away with the joy only a child could have.  Azriel froze, looking to the high lord and lady for comfort. Having a baby disappear in your arms was strange, even for Fae babies. "When'd he start doing that?" "Four days ago." Feyre sighed. She looked utterly exhausted. "We've been having to take turns staying up with him." Rhys held her hand across the table, they shared a sweet look together then they both whipped their heads to Nyx in unison. "Dont-" Feyre warned, giving her son a stern look as he pulled at the tablecloth. Amren gave the boy a look of discouragement as well when he looked around for someone to be laughing with him. He stopped after those silver eyes met his.  Nesta gave Az a smile from across the room where she and Cassian welcomed the toddoling boy. "Let's start training, Nyxie. Come on, show me what you got." Cassian got on his knees to the floor and the two began wrestling together. Azriel took a seat beside Rhys, picking at the crackers and cheese platter before him.  "When were we planning on going back to the Island?" Rhys asked, voice low. Cassian rolled with Nyx on the ground, making Nesta laugh when the boy pulled at Cas' hair. "I'm not going until my mate is healed. Maybe you should send them, see how much trouble they can get in."  Az asked, trying to keep the hinting out of his voice. He wanted to go take care of it on his own. The mission on the Island was not complete and he didn't want to risk anyone again. He'd rather do it and make sure it was a finished job. He couldn't bare to see you be hurt over a fellow Valkyrie getting hurt either. "You know they would kill each other.... or themselves trying to protect the other." Feyre smiled despite herself. She knew it was the truth. Her sister being happy for once was a joy like no other.  "Mom and Dad need to eat, Az you too." Cassian ordered. He bounced the boy on his legs, making him pretend fly. Azriel picked at the plate that appeared before him. The warm meat and stew looked incredible, but he couldn't bring himself to eat. The guilt was the only thing that weighed in his stomach. "I should go check on-" He began to say, folding his napkin back on the table. "How is she?" Cassian interrupted from the floor. Nesta was playing with Nyx now, rattling a toy around for him. Azriel kept his calm mask on, trying to fight the urge to check on you. The black haired boy looked to her with upset eyes. "Auntie?" He said, voice a bit whiny.  "Auntie is napping, she'll be back in a little while." Nes assured. Azriel's heart squeezed at the love Nyx showed. Then, the boy was gone.  The parents were digging into their plates. It was likely the only meal they'd shared together in the four days of taking turns watching Nyx. "Rhys-" Az began, terror sweeping his gut. Nyx was no where in sight. Nesta and Cassian both shot to their feet when they didn't spot him.  Then, the plates in front of Azriel clattered and shot food everywhere. Mor and her date yelped and fled their chairs, mor pushing the other female behind her. Azriel's shadows coiled, siphons glared ready to fight.  And Rhys didnt move as he observed the waking fae before him. The tug on Azriel's bond went taut. "Auntie here!" Nyx celebrated, patting your chest. You groaned and cracked open your eyes to see Azriel's shadows swirling about you. "Are you okay?!" Azriel gripped your shoulders,  his warm hands seeping into your thin shirt. The sweats you wore were now stained with whatever food had been on the table. Rhys put down his fork slowly. "I wasn't expecting to be this kind of snack Az..." You said softly. Rhy's cheeks went red. Mor laughed first, her date looked to her with bewilderment and worry. Cassian rushed over and picked Nyx up from your stomach. "I think there's a fork in my back." You said, voice gruff.  A hysterical laugh bubbled from Azriel, then the rest of them were cracking up. "Nyx... Thanks." Azriel breathed, and the boy began clapping.  + Once you were back on your feet and Madja had given you the go ahead to take it easy, you asked Azriel to go on a walk with you. The stretch of your legs was sore, but the good kind of sore that left you feeling better and better with each step. The cool wind from the Sidra whipped around you. He wrapped a wing around both of you as you reached the apex of a bridge.  "I owe that baby everything." He laughed, squeezing your hand tighter. The city was quiet, only soft music coming from the Rainbow and the calm trickle of the Sidra sounding out. "Nyx the Valkyrie deliverer."  You laughed together, leaning against the railing on the bridge. The streetlights above cast a wonderful color over you, illuminating you both in a silvery shade that matched the moonlight. "I love you." You said, resting your head against his shoulder. It had been a long night, and who knew how long of sleeping... but you were tired.  "Love you." He nudged you away so he could hook his finger under your chin and angle you up to kiss him. You wrapped your arms around him and compiled, letting the bond hum through you like a song.

#azriel x reader #acotar fic #azriel #perfect-peach-bouquet

[ulalumewitch]

I’ve had this Elucien fic rolling around my brain for a while and decided to put it out there. No warnings with this one. Just angst and bits of hope for possible futures (I swear I write things other than angst all the time - haha).

Happy Sunday everyone!

Word count: 2,807

Themes: Angst/Hope

Choices

Lucien couldn’t believe it. He could not believe that another Winter Solstice ended in utter ruins because of his mate. Because of his godsdamned mate and he’d had enough. He would end it, and end it now.

“Elain!” He shouted at her retreating figure.

But she pulled the ruby red cloak tighter around her shoulders and quickened her steps. Fresh snow remained mostly untouched on small front lawns and sidewalks of Velaris as he ran from the front door of the Riverside Estate after Elain. Most families and friends likely hunkered down in their homes enjoying fires and brandies and gifts and laughter with no cause to go out walking as the last hours of Solstice crept by entering the darkest hours of night before the dawn.

The longest night of the year. The longest three years of his life. Three years of being both rejected and not rejected by his mate. And he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Would you stop,” he growled as they reached the gate, “You owe me one conversation.”

Elain stopped. Her spine snapped straight. She turned and glared at him, her eyes molten with pure hatred.

Lucien had chosen his words carefully. Tempers he could handle, he’d had enough practice over the centuries with a hot headed High Lord. He could handle master manipulators and sweet talkers. He could handle battle worn generals and courtiers of the most delicate constitution. He could handle gossipers and those genuinely interested in friendship.

But what he could not handle was nothing. He could not handle the looks that went right through him. The unanswered questions. The blank stares. The Solstice presents delicately placed to the side and left alone as if they didn’t exist at all.

“I owe you nothing. Leave me alone.”

“I won’t. You are my mate -“

“I don’t want to be your mate!”

“Then reject me and reject he bond!” Lucien yelled, his voice echoing through the silent night.

The stars glittered in the black sky, now completely clear after the fast moving snow clouds from earlier in the evening had dissipated. It brought just enough snow to coat the city white before moving on. As if the Mother heard every prayer from the younglings of Night Court for a white Solstice, and then granted their wish.

Elain’s nostrils flared and for a moment, the briefest moment, her eyes flashed an emotion he couldn’t quite place but had seen before. And it hit him. She’d possessed the same look of bewilderment when she’d still been sopping wet from the Cauldron’s waters, Nesta clawing at her sobbing. The look of knowing but not knowing.

“Reject it,” he rasped, the fight and fire receding slightly, “Reject it so that I can move on. You think I enjoy this? You think that any of this has made me feel good over the last three years?”

“I didn’t choose you. I didn’t choose any of this. I didn’t want any of this,” she cried.

Lucien took a breath. It was rare he lost control like this. He’d spent centuries honing his reactions and temperament to be the Fox and mold his features and behaviors into whatever he’d needed in order to ferret out information, or to keep his own secrets safe. But he couldn’t do that around her, his mate.

“I didn’t choose you either,” Lucien said.

She flinched, and looked away down the street. She crossed her arms and shivered. Her cheeks flushed a pink as if kissed by two rose petals and once again her beauty struck him like a slap across the face.

“I know you were in love with another male -“

“Stop it -“

“I know you hate being Fae. I know what you did to try and turn yourself human again -“

“I said stop it,” Elain growled through clenched teeth, “Stop it. Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can’t take it anymore,” Lucien stated, willing himself to be calm, to stop shouting.

He needed this conversation. They both did.

“You wouldn’t know this because you refuse to ever speak to me but I was in love once too,” Lucien said and took a step closer to her, “I was in love with a female and planned to marry her. And my - And the High Lord of Autumn had her killed in front of me and I couldn’t save her.”

Elain’s lips parted in a silent gasp. Her brow furrowed. For a moment he thought she might ask a question, but instead she closed her lips and looked down at he ground.

“I didn’t choose to live without her. I didn’t choose to run away to another Court and make a home there. I didn’t choose a life of intelligence work, books, sparring, warring, and everything in between. But we don’t always get a choice, Elain. What we can choose is what we do with the things that happen to us.”

Lucien paused but she remained silent. Because of course she would stay silent. Fine. Maybe it would be easier this way.

“I chose to deepen my friendship with Tamlin and to truly be a part of his Court and I made the best of it. I chose to continue my education of Courts and history and everything in between so that I could help keep the peace as much as possible. I chose to become trained as a warrior so that I could be as strong and prepared as possible for any situation. I chose those things to make the best of my life. I chose not to wallow in the what-could-have-beens for centuries because no one can survive that way.”

Lucien took another step towards her so that they were only a few inches apart. He could see Elain’s breathing had increased slightly. Her arms tightened across her chest. But she did not move away.

“I did not choose to be your mate, no one gets that choice,” Lucien whispered, “But we can choose, together, whether we want to reject this mating bond to try to lessen its effects as much as possible. It will never go away completely, but if we officially reject it then we can at least bury it and move on separately and away from each other.”

“Is that what you want?” Elain whispered, and she glanced up at him, her eyes somehow still sparkling as if the sun reflected in them.

Lucien’s heart ached. It was the first question she’d asked him since asking if he could hear her beat those years ago. And she’d been so broken then, he could barely breathe around the memory of seeing her in such a state. So he told her the truth.

“What I want is for you to talk with me and be honest with me,” he began carefully, “I want to know why the Cauldron and Mother saw fit to pair us together. Do you know that mates are equally matched and often so is their magic, their power?”

Elain glanced away and nodded. She shifted on her feet slightly.

“I’ve done some research on it.”

Lucien leaned closer to her and clasped his hands behind his back. He didn’t need her or those obnoxious bats, whom he knew lurked in the shadows, to think he would touch her. Overbearing babysitters the lot of them, even if their hearts were in the right place.

“No one knows what I’m about to tell you Elain. You could use the information against me and spread it to the Inner Circle, or anyone who might wish me harm, or you could tuck it away for private reflection. But I have much more magic and power than anyone thinks. I only let a very little bit show in the company of others. And since we are mates, I have a theory that you are the same. You only show a small bit of what you are actually capable of and have hidden the rest away. Your sisters are powerful, Elain, and I find it very hard to believe that you would be different. I also think that one of the reasons you are so unhappy is because it scares you. I could help you discover what you’re capable of - learn about it, grow with it, strengthen it, control it, and use it. You were not given a choice to become Fae and I am sorry that neither Tamlin nor I realized what was happening until it was too late. You have no idea how sorry I am. And I am sorry that you lost the love of your life in the process. I’m sorry.”

Elain stared at him. Stared and stared.

Lucien could scarcely breathe. His heart lurched forward in his chest, begging him to tug on the bond, to bring her nearer. To touch her. Kiss her. Love her.

But he forced the instinct down. Even though every beat of his heart echoed, my mate, he shut all of it down.

“There are options other than rejection,” he began slowly, “If you would like, Elain, we could discuss it, but it can’t only be me talking. And if I’m being honest, it kills me that I don’t know you. Feyre used to talk about you all the time at Spring Court when she lived there. And over the past three years I’ve gotten bits from her and Nesta, on the rare occasion I speak with her. But those are their perspectives. I would like to know first hand, about you.”

Elain looked away and cleared her throat, “What is it you want to know?”

Hope sparked in Lucien’s chest. He tightened his hands behind his back. Carefully. He had to tread so, so carefully.

“Well, for starters, I’ve always wondered if there is anything other than gardening you enjoy? What do you like? What are your passions? Your dreams? What makes you happy? Upset? Do you have any religious or spiritual beliefs? Do you enjoy sports? Do you have a favorite season? Hobbies? Preferred genre of music? Books? I want to know about you, Elain, and not from anyone else. I want to experience you. I want to know why the godsdamned universe decided why you and I should be together.”

Elain let out a breath that could have been a laugh or a huff of annoyance. He wasn’t sure which, and it killed him that he didn’t know his mate well enough to know which it was.

“I hate winter,” she whispered and looked up at the sky, “I hate the cold. I never want to be cold again. I’ve had enough of it after living in that godforsaken hovel all those years. Spring has always been my favorite season. Is … how is it there?”

Lucien frowned slightly, “Improving at a glacial pace.”

“I remember the night Azriel and Feyre came to rescue me at Hybern’s camp,” she whispered, her arms tightening around her, “And I remember Azriel holding on to me as I held on to that poor girl and watching in horror as those beast things closed in on my sister. I thought she was dead. And then Tamlin came out of no where and saved her. Saved us. I think of that quite a bit actually.”

Lucien stared at her. What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

“If he needs assistance with his gardens, I could help. I’m bored to tears in winter here and I don’t think the High Lord of Spring should have flagging gardens, do you?” Elain asked and met his eyes then.

Strength shone in them. Her chin tipped up slightly and Lucien lost his breath. A shiver ran along his spine as he realized his assumption on her untapped and hidden power had likely been correct. He did not stare into the eyes of a doe but a Wolf. Of course a godsdamned Wolf would would lurk under her skin. She was an Archeron sister after all.

“No, I don’t think so either. It might help Tam, to have his estate restored a bit,” Lucien suggested carefully, “If you ever wanted to get away from the cold of Velaris during winter, I could arrange it.”

Elain looked away again and whispered, “I’ve been so lonely. I don’t know what to do.”

Lucien frowned as pain wrapped around his heart, and realized with utter horror, it was not his pain but hers. Gods, had she been living with this?

“Elain,” Lucien murmured, “All I’m asking for is to share one meal. One conversation. I’m not suggesting we get mated or married or any of it. Hell, I’m not even asking for a date. I’m only asking for one conversation so that we can both maybe decide if rejecting the bond really is the best thing or if maybe, maybe, there might be something here worth exploring, growing, tending like one of your gardens. No expectations. Just …”

“Just time to decide what kind of choice we want to make with what the Cauldron gave us?” Elain offered quietly.

A breath he didn’t know he’d been holding rasped through his lips. His gold eye whirred. He blinked and golden light swirled around Elain hedged with blush pink and warm vermillion. She looked like a goddess inside the sun, and gods did he want to worship her. But was she worth worshiping? He desperately wanted to find out.

He blinked and his eye showed her as any one would see her once again. Lucien nodded his agreement.

Elain cleared her throat and looked down the street, “I didn’t eat. Did you?”

“Not much, those fools love their drink on holidays,” Lucien offered with a small laugh, “They’re a happy lot though aren’t they?”

Elain shrugged, “I suppose. Are you hungry?”

Warmth spread through his chest. Lucien allowed a smile to touch his lips.

“I could eat.”

“Do you think any of the restaurants are open?” Elain asked.

“You want to have this conversation now?” Lucien asked incredulously.

A smile bloomed across her face. Her rosy cheeks pinked further and he’d never wanted to kiss anyone so badly in his life before.

Elain released her arms and crooked an elbow to him. He stared at the offered arm. Was he dreaming?

“Well, Fox?” Elain asked, “Shall we?”

Lucien’s heart leapt in his chest. He closed the last few inches between them and looped his arm through hers. Suddenly, the weight of a thousand stones of grief and dejection lifted from his shoulders. His heart felt so light he could have wept.

“I know of one restaurant that will be open. It’s not the best, but it’s decent and within walking distance,” Lucien began, “And after this conversation, if you would like to have another - if we would both like to have another - then I can take you to my favorite restaurant. It is in the middle of the largest botanical gardens in all of Prythian.”

Elain raised an eyebrow, “In the middle of winter?”

Lucien grinned at her and winked, “It’s in Summer Court.”

She nodded, “I would like that, if,” and softly cleared her throat, “If we both decide we would like another conversation after tonight that is.”

Lucien nodded, “Very well, Lady Light. Are you cold?”

A small smile. An even smaller snicker.

“A little.”

“Give me your hand,” Lucien offered his free hand to her, palm up.

Elain stared at his open palm. Lucien felt a small lick of pride at how still she became, like a true Immortal creature, she’d mastered the art of preternatural stillness.

Then, she lightly rested her hand against his. Lucien maintained eye contact with her as he closed his fingers around her hand and touched the spark of fire within him. Elain gasped and her eyes widened.

“How did you do that?” She murmured, and a small laugh escaped her, “I’m positively toasty.”

Lucien’s heart fluttered but kept his tone airy, almost bored, “A small bit of magic for me. It’s a gift not everyone possesses. Not many know I can do it. Shall we eat? I’m rather hungry myself.”

Elain nodded, “I would like that, thank you.”

Lucien nodded and let go of her hand but tightened his arm still hooked around hers slightly. He didn’t bother to hide the widening of his smile as she gently squeezed back.

He sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Mother as they walked arm in arm down the street, their tracks the only pair as they made their way away from the High Lord and Lady’s Riverside estate and into Velaris.

Lucien didn’t know what choice she would make in the end. He didn’t know what choice he would make in the end. But at least, for now, there was a sun dawning to end the longest night of the year. And he’d never been happier to see its light.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

#elucien #acotar fanfiction #elain archeron #lucien #angst #possibility

[unhealthyfanobsession]

More jealous Cassian please😭 I loved the last one with tarquin, so it does not necessarily have to be jealous Cassian, maybe just Nesta and tarquin friendship and their shenanigans (with Feyre ofc)

Alright everyone here it is! Pt 2 of Nesta taking herself a damn vacation in the summer court (aka me writing the fantasy life I personally would be living if I was made Fae… hot take but Summer > Night for me I just love the water and sun!!)

Nesta might never go back to the Night Court, she decided. She decided this laying on the top deck of Sunchaser, Tarquin’s sleek and luxurious personal yacht. It was considerably smaller than the massive party barge he usually took guests out on, but faster and infinitely more comfortable.

She thought about never returning to the imperially beautiful city of Velaris as drops of turquoise water skidded off of her body and were absorbed by the plush royal blue towel she’d draped over her lounge chair. Soft as cashmere but insanely absorbent. Some special fabric Summer inventors had woven into existence. She’d already stolen countless robes made out of the material, and yet, every time she came to visit there was a fresh one laid out in her chambers.

Not so long ago Nesta had thought she was too dark and twisted and broken to exist in any court, even the one her sister ran. And now she had dedicated rooms in three different courts.

“I think this is my favorite court, Quin.” Nesta sighed as the High Lord of Summer waved a hand and her glass refilled. She took another sip of the slushy beverage that tasted like salt and lime and summer sun.

“You’re only saying that because I pamper you when you come.” It was true, in the years that Nesta had been using Summer as an escape, she and Tarquin had struck up a somewhat unlikely friendship. He’d remembered her speech in the High Lord’s meeting during the war. She remembered that he’d been one of the only people in the room who seemed to genuinely care about the humans. They could spend hours in the sun or with a bottle of wine well past dark discussing the best ways to shake up the entrenched systems of inequality that ran rampant through Prythian.

Tarquin wanted to change tbings. And he had already started in his own Court. He didn’t just talk. He acted. Nesta admired that.

He did go on about how complicated equality could be or the many reasons why certain citizens were living a better life in his court than others. He identified the problem, talked through a solution, and implemented change. It was refreshing.

“Helion pampers me too,” Nesta commented breezily in response.

“That’s because he wants to sleep with you. I merely ask for access to your brain in return for a place to escape.”

“Hmm,” Nesta hummed, “You ask for more. My brain is worth far more than my body.”

Tarquin nodded, “why do you think I pay you so handsomely with private tours of Dolphin Cove?”

“I believe last time I came, when I helped with the new tax system, I was promised I’d get to see a mermaid.”

Tarquin smiled, white teeth glittering in the sun. “Before you leave we will find one, I promise. They are such elusive, private creatures. Some put on diving gear and chase them beneath the waves, but I prefer to wait for them to surface. To see them when they wish to be seen.”

“You are a prince among swine, Quin.” Nesta swallowed, thinking about the males and men who cared not whether beautiful things wanted to be seen or touched when they reached for them.

“I do try. When is Cassian back from Illyria?”

Nesta smirked, “last night.”

“What a terrible mate you are, not being there to greet him.” Tarquin’s voice lilted up in a mock outraged tone that sounded a bit too much like Nesta’s youngest sister.

“I’m sure he will find a snowball fight or something to entertain himself.”

“You love that he’s in agony right now,” Tarquin laughed, stepping back behind the boat’s wheel to begin moving them towards shore. “You love making him jealous.”

“I love reminding him what he has and making sure he doesn’t take it for granted.”

“He doesn’t,” Tarquin smiled softly, just the tiniest fleck of pain shooting through his eyes. “He looks at you like the stars are caught in your eyes.”

“How very Night Court of you,” Nesta teased.

“It seemed apt.”

As the little boat pulled into the harbour, Nesta wrapped herself in the linen dress she’d been wearing before she jumped into the water

And accepted Tarquin’s hand to help her into the dock.

“High Lord! High Lord!” A paunchy little man that Nesta recognized as the most panicky of Tarquin’s advisors rushed up the gangway and came to a huffing, puffing, halt in front of them. “There has been a security breach!”

Nesta and Tarquin locked eyes, and Nesta’s hand was reaching for Tarquin’s once again before he could even set it to his side. Winnowing them both back to the Summer Palace.

“Where is the-”

“Cornelius was being dramatic as per usual,” Varian sighed, waving his hand. “Security breach is a bit of a strong word. I’d say… unwanted guest.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, “Cassian you are banned from this court!” She yelled even though she couldn’t see her mate. She knew it was him.

“About that,” Cassian sauntered into the room from behind a billowing curtain. “I’ve decided that since this city would be sunk into the ocean without me I am no longer banned from it.”

Nesta stared. Tarquin gaped. Varian laughed.

“You are still banned.” Tarquin said in his best High Lord voice.

“Cassian what game are you playing here?”

“Me?!” Cassian flung his arms out dramatically “I’m the one playing games? Listen, it’s one thing when you’re pissed at me and come here to punish me. Fine. I can take that. But when I come home after a whole week in Illyria and you’d rather be jumping into tidal waves with Mermaid man and Barnacle boy,” Cassian waved a hand to Tarquin and Varian, “that’s where I draw the line.”

Nesta put her hand on her hip. “You draw the line? As if my actions, where I go, who I spend my time with, are a decision for you to make?”

“Never said that. Just said that I’ll be there too.”

Nesta rolled her eyes.

“I missed you,” Cassian used the broad side of his wing to shove Tarquin out of the way and circled his arms around Nesta’s waist. “Come home, please?”

Nesta sighed, let herself get caught up in his puppy dog eyes and lean her head on his broad chest. She let him wrap a wing around her and waited until she felt him smirking against her hair to whisper, gently into his chest, “No.”

“Cruel!” Cassian accused.

“Go take a steam with Azriel,” Nesta snickered.

“That where your mind’s at, huh Nes? Come home with me and we can-”

“Banned!” Nesta pointed at her mate, a smile tugging on her lips. “You are banned, Cassian.”

“Banned from being happy, apparently,” he muttered like a kicked dog.

“Oh let him stay, Tarquin waved a hand. Cassian perked up, grinning madly.

“Traitor!” Nesta accused.

“What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic.”

#nessian #drabbles open #nesta archeron #nessian fanfiction #tarquin #cassian #nesta and cassian #a court of thorns and roses #sarah j maas #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #acosf #acotar

[kingandfireheart]

YOUR MATING BOND IS SHOWING: Some underrated Nessian scenes pre-ACOFAS

alternatively titled: how did no one in the Inner Circle accidentally tell Nesta?

I didn't include the big moments (the Cauldron, the Bone Carver, Next Time, Emissary, I'll Come Say Hello, CASSIAN, and Hybern) because they are longer scenes, but these are some small and medium sized moments.

When Cassian can't stop staring at Human Nesta:

Cassian was sizing up Nesta, a gleam in his eyes that I could only interpret as a warrior finding himself faced with a new, interesting opponent.

...

Nesta didn’t bat an eyelash as she studied the handsome features, the muscled torso. Then turned to me. Dismissing him entirely.

Cassian’s face went almost feral. A wolf who had been circling a doe … only to find a mountain cat wearing its hide instead.

...

Rhys gave me a warning look. I gripped Nesta’s arm, drawing her attention to me. “Can we just … start over?”

I could almost taste her pride roiling in her veins, barking to not back down.

Cassian, damn him, gave her a taunting grin.

But Nesta merely hissed, “Fine.” And went back to eating.

Cassian watched every bite she took, every bob of her throat as she swallowed.

...

“That’s very beautiful,” she said. “Is it not—frightening, though? To fly so high?”

“It is sometimes,” Azriel said. Cassian tore his relentless attention from Nesta long enough to nod his agreement.

When Nesta gives Cassian the finger:

He’d given Nesta a mocking bow, and she’d given him a vulgar gesture I hadn’t realized she knew how to make.

Cassian had merely laughed, his eyes snaking over Nesta’s ice-blue gown with a predatory intent that, given her hiss of rage, he knew would set her spitting. Then he was gone, leaving my sister on the broad doorstep, her brown-gold hair ruffled by the chill wind stirred by his mighty wings.

When Cassian comes back from Wings & Embers:

I assumed seeing Nesta went about as poorly as could be imagined, because my lesson the following morning was longer and harder than it’d been in previous days. I’d asked what, exactly, Nesta had said to him to get under his skin so easily. But Cassian had only snarled and told me to mind my own business, and that my family was full of bossy, know-it-all females.

When Cassian declares he'll defend the humans (ACOMAF version)

His voice was rough as he said, “Five hundred years ago, I fought on battlefields not far from this house. I fought beside human and faerie alike, bled beside them. I will stand on that battlefield again, Nesta Archeron, to protect this house—your people. I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most.”

I watched a tear slide down Nesta’s cheek. And I watched as Cassian reached up a hand to wipe it away. She did not flinch from his touch.

When Feyre notices the mating bond:

When I looked ahead, I found Cassian staring back at Nesta as well.

I wondered why no one had yet mentioned what now shone in Cassian’s eyes as he gazed at my sister.

The sorrow. And the longing.

When Cassian tells Nesta exactly what is going to happen to Briallyn:

“You come between a male and his mate, Nesta Archeron, and you’re going to learn about the consequences the hard way.”

When Cassian speaks of his own intentions:

I blew out a breath. “Who else thinks it’s a terrible idea to leave the three of them up at the House of Wind?”

Cassian raised his hand as Rhys and Mor chuckled. The High Lord’s general said, “I give him an hour before he tries to see her.”

...

Cassian’s hazel eyes shuttered as he crossed a booted ankle over another, stretching his muscled legs before him. “I go up there every other day. It’s good exercise for my wings.” Those wings shifted in emphasis. Not a scratch marred them.

When Cassian wants revenge:

Mor’s lips pressed into a thin line, as if she was trying her best not to say anything. Azriel was trying his best to shoot a warning stare at Mor to remind her to indeed keep her mouth shut. As if they’d already discussed this. Many times.

“I don’t blame her,” Cassian said, shrugging despite his words. “She was—violated. Her body stopped belonging wholly to her.” His jaw clenched. Even Amren didn’t dare say anything. “And I am going to peel the King of Hybern’s skin off his bones the next time I see him.”

His Siphons flickered in answer.

Rhys said casually, “I’m sure the king will thoroughly enjoy the experience.”

Cassian glowered. “I mean it.”

When Cassian realizes how beautiful his mate is:

Yes, devastating was a good word for how lovely she’d become as High Fae. And in a long-sleeved, dark blue gown that clung to her curves before falling gracefully to the ground in a spill of fabric …

Cassian looked like someone had punched him in the gut.

When Cassian got out of an uncomfortable situation:

Mor blinked, but confided to me with a wince, “I think we’re going to need a lot more wine.”

Nesta’s spine stiffened. But she said nothing.

“I’ll raid the collection,” Cassian offered, disappearing through the inner hall doors too quickly to be casual.

Nesta stiffened a bit more.

When Nesta wants revenge

“Were they made immortal?” This question went to Azriel.

Azriel’s Siphons smoldered. “Reports have been murky and inconsistent. Some say yes, others say no.”

Nesta examined her wineglass.

Cassian braced his forearms on the table. “Why?”

Nesta’s eyes shot right to his face. She spoke quietly to me, to all of us, even as she held Cassian’s gaze as if he were the only one in the room. “By the end of this war, I want them dead. The king, the queens—all of them. Promise me you’ll kill them all, and I’ll help you patch up the wall. I’ll train with her”—a jerk of her chin to Amren—“I’ll go to the Hewn City or whatever it is … I’ll do it. But only if you promise me that.”

When Cassian is mad at Feyre and lies:

I studied him, the wings tucked in tight, the shoulder-length dark hair. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He stalked past me to the ring.

“Is it Nesta?”

“Not everything in my life is about your sister, you know.”

I kept my mouth shut on that front.

When Nesta shows up to training:

Something drew Cassian’s attention behind me. And even as his body remained casual, a predatory gleam flickered in his eyes.

I didn’t need to turn to know who was standing there.

“Care to join?” Cassian purred.

Nesta said, “It doesn’t look like you’re exercising anything other than your mouths.”

I looked over my shoulder. My sister was in a dress of pale blue that turned her skin golden, her hair swept up, her back a stiff column. I scrambled to say something, to apologize, but … not in front of him. She wouldn’t want this conversation in front of Cassian.

Cassian extended a wrapped hand, his fingers curling in a come-hither motion. “Scared?”

I wisely kept my mouth shut as Nesta stepped from the open doorway into the blinding light of the courtyard. “Why should I be scared of an oversized bat who likes to throw temper tantrums?”

...

Cassian was saying to Nesta, “Seems like you’re a little on edge, Nesta. And you left so abruptly last night … Any way I can help ease that tension?”

When Cassian has manners: (and realizes his mate may never fly)

Mercifully, or perhaps not, Nesta’s retching filled the silence. Cassian gaped at Rhys. “What did you do?”

“I asked him the same thing,” I said, crossing my arms. “He said he ‘went fast.’ ”

Nesta vomited again—then silence.

Cassian sighed at the ceiling. “She’ll never fly again.”

The doorknob twisted, and we tried—or at least Cassian and I did—not to seem like we’d been listening to her. Nesta’s face was still greenish-pale, but … Her eyes burned.

When Cassian helps her calm down:

There was no way of describing that burning—and even painting it might have failed.

Her eyes remained the same blue-gray as my own. And yet … Molten ore was all I could think of. Quicksilver set aflame.

She advanced a step toward us. All her attention fixed on Rhys.

Cassian casually stepped in her path, wings folded in tight. Feet braced apart on the carpet. A fighting stance—casual, but … his Siphons glimmered.

“Do you know,” Cassian drawled to her, “that the last time I got into a brawl in this house, I was kicked out for a month?”

Nesta’s burning gaze slid to him, still outraged—but hinted with incredulity.

He just went on, “It was Amren’s fault, of course, but no one believed me. And no one dared banish her.”

She blinked slowly.

But the burning, molten gaze became mortal. Or as mortal as one of us could be.

When he calls her "Nes" for the first time:

Both males went a bit still. But Azriel sketched a bow—while Cassian stalked for the dining table, reached right over Nesta’s shoulder, and grabbed a muffin from its little basket. “Morning, Nesta,” he said around a mouth of blueberry-lemon. “Elain.”

---

Cassian finished the muffin, licking his fingers. I could have sworn Nesta watched the entire thing with a sidelong glance. He grinned at her as if he knew it, too. “Ready for some flying, Nes?”

“Don’t call me that.”

The wrong thing to say, from the way Cassian’s eyes lit up.

When she flies with him for the first time:

My sister’s face was wind-flushed as Cassian gently set her down. Then she strode for the glass doors without a single look back.

“You’re welcome,” Cassian called after her, more than a bite to his voice. His hands clenched and slackened at his sides—as if he were trying to loosen the feel of her from his palms.

When he rescues her and can't hide his disappointment the she didn't hug him:

He said nothing as Nesta launched herself toward him, her dress filthy and disheveled, her arms stretching for him. He opened his own for her, unable to stop his approach, his reaching— She gripped his leathers instead.

...

Cassian only stretched out an arm for her. As if in a trance, she walked right to his side. His arms tightened around both of us, Siphons flaring, gilding the darkness with bloodred light.

When Nesta is recovering from the library attack and he's an attentive mate:

Nesta looked like she was going to be sick. Cassian wordlessly refilled her glass.

When he's protective and we find out about their height difference

Cassian was staring at Nesta—hard enough that my sister at last twisted toward him. Met his gaze. His head tilted—slightly. A silent order.

Nesta, to my shock, obeyed. Drifted over to Cassian’s side as Amren replied to Rhys, “No.”

...

Cassian casually slid Nesta behind him, his fingers snagging in the skirts of her black gown. As if to reassure himself that she wasn’t in Amren’s direct path. Nesta only rose onto her toes to peer over his shoulder.

When Cassian still isn't back from Adriata:

Nesta was waiting at the breakfast table the next morning. Not for me, I realized as her gaze slipped over me as if I were no more than a servant. But for someone else. I kept my mouth shut, not bothering to tell her Cassian was still up at the war-camps. If she wouldn’t ask … I wasn’t getting in the middle of it.

When Cassian is proud of Nesta:

“I would.” Nesta surveyed us all, her gaze jumping past Cassian. Not to slight him, but … avoid answering the look he was giving her. Approval—more. “It was some distant thing,” she said. “War. Battle. It … it’s not anymore. I will help, if I can. If it means … telling them what happened.”

When Nesta defends Cassian for the first time:

Beron only sneered. “I don’t take orders from the bastards of lesser fae whores.”

...

“That bastard,” Nesta said with utter coolness, though her eyes began to burn, “may wind up being the only person standing in the way of Hybern’s forces and your people.”

She didn’t so much as look at Cassian as she said it. But he stared at her—as if he’d never seen her before.

When Feyre dismissed Nesta but Cassian doesn't:

The door opened, and Cassian stalked in, face grave. The sight of the wings, the Illyrian armor in this opulent, pink-filled room planted itself in my mind, the painting already taking form, as he said, “What’s wrong.”

He studied every inch of her. As if there were nothing and no one else here, anywhere.

But I said, “She senses something is off—says we need to leave right away.”

I waited for the dismissal, but Cassian angled his head. “What, precisely, feels wrong?”

When the Cauldron made Nesta barf and Cassian is an attentive mate

“What’s wrong?” Mor demanded, holding my sister upright as her face contorted in what looked to be—pain. Confusion and pain.

Sweat beaded on Nesta’s brow, though her face went deathly pale. “Something …” The word was cut off by a low groan. She sagged, and Mor caught her fully, scanning Nesta’s face. Cassian was instantly there, his hand at her back, teeth bared at the invisible threat.

“Nesta,” I said, reaching for her.

Nesta seized—then twisted past Cassian to empty her stomach into the reflection pool.

When he touches her forehead:

Cassian stepped in Nesta’s path when she tried to walk past him. Put a tan, callused hand on her forehead. She shook off the touch, but he gripped her wrist, forcing her to meet his stare. “Any one of those human pricks makes a move to hurt you,” he breathed, “and you kill them.”

He wouldn’t be coming—no, he’d be mustering the full might of the Illyrian legions. Azriel would be joining us, though.

Cassian pressed one of his knives into Nesta’s hand. “Ash can kill you now,” he said with lethal quiet as she stared down at the blade. “A scratch can make you queasy enough to be vulnerable. Remember where the exits are in every room, every fence and courtyard—mark them when you go in, and mark how many men are around you. Mark where Rhys and the others are. Don’t forget that you’re stronger and faster. Aim for the soft parts,” he added, folding her fingers around the hilt. “And if someone gets you into a hold …” My sister said nothing as Cassian showed her the sensitive areas on a man. Not just the groin, but the inside of the foot, pinching the thigh, using her elbow like a weapon. When he finished, he stepped back, his hazel eyes churning with some emotion I couldn’t place.

When Nesta watches Cassian in Battle:

Only Nesta strode toward the edge of the tents to watch the battle on the valley floor below. Mor joined her, then me.

Nesta did not flinch at the clash and din of battle. She only stared toward one black-armored figure, leading the lines, his occasional order to push or to hold that flank barking across the battle

...

Cassian was trying. Azriel had lunged into the fray, nothing more than shadows edged in blue light, battling his way toward where Cassian fought, utterly surrounded.

“Mother above,” Nesta said softly. Not in awe. No—no, that was dread in her voice.

...

By the time I strode away, Nesta had already faced the battle once more, rain plastering her hair to her head. Resuming her unending vigil of the general battling on the valley floor below.

When she wraps up his wrist (and when he's an idiot and focuses on Mor)

But Nesta had jolted to her feet, staring at Cassian....But she surveyed his seven Siphons, the dim red stones. And then she said, “You’re hurt.”

Cassian’s face was grim—his eyes glassy. “It’s fine.” Even the words were laced with exhaustion.

But she reached for his arm—his shield arm.

Cassian seemed to hesitate, but offered it to her, tapping the Siphon atop his palm. The armor slid back a fraction over his forearm, revealing—

“You know better than to walk around with an injury,” Rhys said a bit tensely.

“I was busy,” Cassian said, not taking his focus off Nesta as she studied the swollen wrist. How she’d detected it through the armor … She must have read it in his eyes, his stance.

I hadn’t realized she’d been observing the Illyrian general enough to notice his tells.

“And it’ll be fixed by morning,” Cassian added, daring Rhys to say otherwise.

But Nesta’s pale fingers gently probed his golden-brown skin, and he hissed through his teeth.

“How do I fix it?” she asked ...

Cassian slowly sat on the log where she’d been perched a moment before, groaning softly—as if even that movement taxed him. “Icing it usually helps, but wrapping it will just lock it in place long enough for the sprain to repair itself—”

She reached for the basket of bandages she’d been preparing, then for the pitcher at her feet.

I was too tired to do anything other than watch as she washed his wrist, his hand, her own fingers gentle... Cassian seemed too weary to speak as well while she wrapped bandages around his wrist, only grunting to confirm if it was too tight or too loose, if it helped at all. But he watched her—didn’t take his eyes off her face, the brows bunched and lips pursed in concentration.

And when she’d tied it neatly, his wrist wrapped in white, when Nesta made to pull back, Cassian gripped her fingers in his good hand. She lifted her gaze to his. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely.

Nesta did not yank her hand away. Did not open her mouth for some barbed retort.

She only stared and stared at him, at the breadth of his shoulders, even more powerful in that beautiful black armor, at the strong column of his tan neck above it, his wings. And then at his hazel eyes, still riveted to her face.

Cassian brushed a thumb down the back of her hand. Nesta opened her mouth at last, and I braced myself—

“You’re hurt?”

At the sound of Mor’s voice, Cassian snatched his hand back and pivoted toward Mor with a lazy smile. “Nothing for you to cry over, don’t worry.”

Nesta dragged her stare from his face—down to her now-empty hand, her fingers still curled as if his palm lay there. Cassian didn’t look at Nesta as she rose, snatching up the pitcher, and muttered something about getting more water from inside the tent.

Cassian and Mor fell into their banter, laughing and taunting each other about the battle and the ones ahead.

Nesta didn’t come back out again for some time.

When Cassian almost dies, and she's worried sick, and then she looks him over to make sure he's okay:

Nesta stood by the nearest tent, an empty water bucket between her feet. Her hair a damp mess atop her mud-flecked head. Watching us emerge, grim-faced—

“He’s fine. Healed and awake,” I said quickly.

Nesta’s shoulders sagged a bit.

...

Still coated in mud up to her shins, my sister paused on the other side—away from where Cassian now sat. Looked him over. Her face revealed nothing, yet her hands … I could have sworn a faint tremor rippled through her fingers before she balled them into fists and faced Amren. Cassian watched her for a moment longer before turning his head toward Amren as well.

...

Your sister came immediately when I explained what we needed, Rhys said. I think seeing Cassian hurt convinced her not to pick a fight today.

Or convinced my sister to pick a fight with someone else entirely.

When Nesta Scries: No harm no harm no harm

Nesta still didn’t move. She could not use the bathtub, she’d told me. Because the memories it dragged up—

Cassian said to her, “Nothing can harm you here.” He sucked in a breath, groaning softly, and rose to his feet. Azriel tried to stop him, but Cassian brushed him off and strode for my sister’s side. He braced a hand on the desk when he at last stopped. “Nothing can harm you,” he repeated.

Nesta was still looking at him when she finally shut her eyes. I shifted, and the angle allowed me to see what I hadn’t detected before.

Nesta stood before the map, a fist of bones and stones clenched over it. Cassian remained at her side—his other hand on her lower back.

...

With a gasp, Nesta’s fingers splayed wide, scattering stones and bones over the map. Cassian caught her with an arm around the waist as she swayed. He hissed in pain at the movement. “What the hell—”

When Cassian makes an offer most women would not refuse:

“Eat or bed?” Cassian had asked Nesta, and I honestly couldn’t tell if he’d meant it as some invitation. I debated telling him he was in no shape.

Nesta only said, “Bed.” And there was certainly no invitation in the exhausted reply.

When Elain is taken:

“We’ll get her back,” Cassian rasped from where he perched on the rolled arm of the chaise longue across the small sitting area, watching her carefully...

Nesta lowered her hands, lifting her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed, lips thin. “No, you will not.” She pointed to the map on the table. “I saw that army. Its size, who is in it. I saw it, and there is no chance of any of you getting into its heart. Even you,” she added when Cassian opened his mouth again. “Especially not when you’re injured.”

When Cassian declares he'll defend the humans, pt. 2 (ACOWAR)

“Good,” Cassian said, glancing at Nesta. “If I end my life defending those who need it most, then I will consider it a death well spent.

When Cassian was going to say something before the last battle:

Rhys only asked, “How long do you think we have?”

Cassian clenched his jaw, glancing at my sisters. Nesta was watching him keenly; Elain monitored the army from our minor elevation, face white with dread....

Cassian took a step away, but looked back at Nesta. Her face was hard as granite. He opened his mouth, but seemed to decide against whatever he was about to say. My sister said nothing as Cassian shot into the sky with a powerful thrust of his wings. Yet she tracked his flight until he was hardly more than a dark speck.

When they decide to lure away Hybern:

Nesta stared toward that armada, toward our father fighting in it. “Use me. As bait.”

I blinked at the same moment Cassian said, “No.”

...

“He will kill you,” Cassian snarled.

Her hand clenched on his arm. “That’s—that’s where you come in.”

To guard her. Protect her. To lay a trap for the king.

...

Cassian said steadily, “It’s the only shot we have of a diversion. Luring him away from that Cauldron.” His hands tightened on Nesta.

...

But Cassian asked Nesta, “Do you have what you need?”

Nesta nodded. “Amren showed me enough. What to do to rally the power to me.”

And if Amren and I could control the Cauldron between us … That distraction they’d offer …

Nesta looked down to Elain—our sister monitoring the bloodbath ahead. Then to me. She said quietly, “Tell Father—thank you.”

She wrapped her arms tightly around Cassian, those gray-blue eyes bright, then they were gone.

#ACOWAR was FULL of ACOSF crumbs #nesta and cassian examining eachother for injuries is huge #how did the busybodies not say anything about them being mates for TWO YEARS #I love these two #Nessian #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #kp analysis #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar series #mtp

[capituloperdido1]

Traitor Pt 3 (Final)

Hello everyone!

So happy that you guys liked my little story, i am hoping to write much more in the future. So please let me know if there is anything in particular you would like to read. Here is pt3 and last part of the Traitor fic. There is a 'prequel' and it is very angsty, if you guys want that as well let me know.

Enjoy!

It had been three days, three days without seeing Azriel. He didn't show to practice, neither he looked for her in the library.

Coward, coward, coward

She was so mad, how was saying sorry so hard for him?

Or was he embarrassed that he lost to her? no, Azriel would never be embarrassed about that. He was just too afraid to face her.

Or maybe he didn't care, maybe he wanted to fix things with Elain and not her.

Yeah, that might be the answer.

That afternoon Nesta had asked her to come over to the house of wind and stay over with her while Cassian was away in a mission. She climbed the stairs of the library, while preparing to be in the same house as Azriel.

He was not talking to her, fine, she would not talk to him.

Nesta was waiting for her at the door, "please don't kill me, please, please". She said while grabbing Gwyns bags, "my sisters came over for dinner and have not left, i can kick them out but we have to wait a bit for Rhysand to leave Nyx at Amren's"

She smiled

Perfect this night has started perfectly.

"Of course, yeah no problem."

They arrived at the room, and Gwyn felt panic rising to her throat at the sight of the middle Archeron sister. She was probably pissed at Gwyn for all that had happened, she probably hated Gwyn because of it.

"Hi Gwyn!" said Feyre.

"Feyre" she bowed, "thank you for having me".

Elain looked at her, smiled, and kept talking to Feyre.

Well, that's better than the slap she had expected.

She sat besides Nesta and prayed that her High Lord would come soon.

------

An hour past, and the four women were tangled in a conversation about wine when a knock came at the door.

Gwyn felt a tug at her chest; he is here it seemed to say.

Fuck.

"Im sorry to interrupt ladies" a breathy voice said, " i am here for my high lady and her sister". She turned around and faced the male speaking, he wore rather casual clothing compared to the illyrian leathers. His black tight shirt and cargo black pants accentuated his muscles, and his hair was messier than usual.

His eyes landed on hers, and his slight smirk fell.

Oh, great. I'm not happy to see you either, she thought.

Elain stood and quickly walked towards Azriel, but he did not break Gwyns stare; not even while he grabbed the arms of both women and they said bye to Nesta and her.

He looked at Nesta, "is this... a sleep over?" he said softly.

"yes, and you are very much not invited" Nesta responded.

He smirked, "ill be back" he looked at Gwyn.

"Don't leave" he said.

She looked away.

"Please" he said to her, his voice pained and desperate.

And with that, he left.

Nesta smiled and crossed her arms. "You planned this didn't you?" Gwyn asked her sister, "mhm, he helped me get a mate i help him find the balls to talk to you" she answered.

-----------

Gwyn was not one for drinking, but waiting for Azriel to come had made her so anxious that she had considered asking the house for Cassian's oldest bottle of Whiskey to drink it all by herself. Instead, she had been served a big, fat piece of chocolate cake; accompanied by water.

Nesta was in front of her, watching with admiration as Gwyn devoured the cake.

Mother, she loved chocolate.

The tug at her heart began once more, the feeling of comfort and hurt that Azriel brought upon her growing as the seconds flew by.

"He is here" she whispered to Nesta, "I am not ready to face him".

"He is not ready to face you" she answered.

A soft knock came at the door, and the creak of the wooden door was the most terrifying thing Gwyn had ever heard.

"Shadowsinger" Nesta said, "you are just on time". Nesta stood, grabbed Gwyns hand and squeezed it softly, "i need to go fix some paperwork for Cassian, could you please stay with Gwyn while i come back?"

Really Nesta? Thanks.

"Sure, thank you" he answered.

-----------

She did not feel Nesta leaving, neither she looked up to see where Azriel stood in the room. Her hands had become the most entertaining thing in the world at that moment, and nothing would change that.

"Gwyn" he called.

She felt him getting closer, and it took all her will not to jump to his arms.

He stopped, "please, look at me".

"No" she said, "you don't get to demand for me to stay, for me to talk to you, for me to look at you".

Cauldron was he clueless, did he not have a sense of communication?

He is trying, the voice of her heart seemed to say.

"I know that, but... I need... I need to see your eyes" Azriel said. Slowly, she felt him kneel in front of her; not too close as to startle her, but close enough that she could feel the smell of night-chilled mist and cedar filling her nose.

"May i touch you?" He said, stretching his hand towards her.

Yes, please

She only nodded softly.

His hands grabbed her chin and lifted it to face him. "There you are" he smiled, "there they are". His eyes looked deeply into hers, as if he was trying to memorize each feature in them; he seemed... desperate to memorize her. As if what he was about to say would make her disappear from his side forever.

" I have a whole speech prepared" Azriel said, "but i don't think you're the type to want to hear rehearsed words, so let me give it a try..."

Quieter than she had ever heard him, Azriel began " I have always been alone, the shadows and the dark being my best friends..."

"I only knew friendship and love when Rhys opened his home to me; but even as my brothers and i grew, i still felt alone.... empty. I longed for something that would be entirely mine, something that no one else would share, something i would never have to part with." His voice breaking, Azriel inhaled and tucked his hands in his pockets.

"I met Mor when she was very young, she was such a happy girl; always teasing and playing, always happy even with the shitty family she was born into. She lightened my days, she gave me a reason to wake up in the morning; i began to love her before i expected" his voice filled with pain he said, "and i loved her for five hundred years..."

"I thought she had to be my mate, because no one else would make me as happy as her; and i waited for five hundred years for the mating bond to click. Disregarding her feelings, her insecurities and fears; i pushed my feelings down her throat, hoping she would pity me enough to give me a chance".

His confession broke her. What kind of thoughts went through the mind of this beautiful man to say anything like that?

"Meeting Elain was different, i was finally able to help someone as broken as me. I had a purpose beyond violence. I looked forward to sharing time with her, i wanted push her to be better, to forget about that undeserving human boy" He continued, "once she began to get better, i realized that i was not the only thing grounding her. Her sisters, the wraiths, gardening, and even her mate gave her courage to keep going. And i am so selfish, selfish enough to begin loving her; demanding from her what she is not ready to give".

"The winter solstice that i tried to give her the necklace, i did it out of a desire for her to be mine. My thoughts were never about how much i loved and admired her, but rather that i deserved Elain, that three brothers and three sisters made more sense than what the cauldron had chosen".

Gwyn shuttered, her heart squeezing lightly at the words coming from his mouth.

"But i realized long ago, that Elain deserves to choose her own path; neither Lucien nor me are entitled to her, she should be master of her own destiny" He said, no pain noticeable in his voice. "I had to let go, for my sake, my court's sake; but most importantly, for her".

"I could tell you more about my mistakes, and i will, but i have to explain why i gave that necklace to you." He moved closer to her, their knees touching. "That night, Gwyn, the conversation we had made my heart sing; you changed my mood so quickly, and you didn't even know it. You looked, so free, so competitive, so happy".

"Then, after i left that night, i realized that i wanted to see your smile again; so i left the necklace to Clotho and asked her to bring you some joy in that lonely solstice night. And my mind pictured your smile once you received that necklace. The selfish being that i am, has kept that memory in my heart; selfishly locked away so that no one will steal it from me" He smiled and looked into her eyes, "and then you kept showing me so many surprising sides of you. No one challenges me to better as you do, no one wants to see me bite dust as you do. No one is interested in what i think about coffee, or what my favorite mystery novel is. You have heard my voice more time than anyone before."

"You have showed me many times that you're my only match Gwyn".

He paused, as if the words weighted on his heart as much as they weighted on hers.

"You are my best friend, the person i admire the most in the world. I admire your courage, your patience, your perseverance, your happiness. I love the way you show love to your friends. I love how much of a fierce warrior you are. And even though i made a mistake by re-gifting the necklace, i could not think of anyone that deserves to be pampered and loved as much as you"

He stopped, inhaled and touched the top of her hands.

The happiest feeling crept into her heart, her feelings were not one sided.

He saw her.

She saw him.

But his eyes did not show the happiness she expected, not did they show the same desire that burned deep in her.

They showed fear, sadness, longing.

"But with all that i have said, i know i don't deserve you. I have hurt everyone I've ever loved, i have always been so selfish. I have been looking for a bond so desperately that i was blind to what i had right in front of me..."-"I have avoided confronting my fears of being alone, of facing my nightmares and acknowledging how much of a monster i can be. When i look at you, how much you have given me; i regret every moment i have not spent loving you".

He moved his hands away from hers, looked at them and shuttered.

She realized then, unlike her, his biggest fears and insecurities were visible for everyone to see. He hated his hands, he believed them to be the proof of his monstrosity.

He did not know how wrong he was.

Finally, after what felt like eternity he said, " i am sorry Gwyn, i have not been the man you deserve; and i will forever regret that i lost you before i ever had you."

Tears falling down her cheeks, Gwyn grabbed his hands and placed them in her face. How much courage had those words taken? How much courage had even touching her taken?

"Az... you're so blind" she responded with a sob. She turned her face to his hands and placed a slight kiss inside of his hands, "these hands saved me, they are so precious... you are so precious to me"

She looked into his eyes, "i was hurt because i wanted.... i wanted you to be honest with me"

"I thought the necklace had meant that you thought of me" she smiled sadly, "for the first in my life i thought someone had chosen me, someone had thought of me first".

He looked away sadly, "i know that, and i am sorry".

She interrupted him, " I lied when i said i never wore it, i wore it every day, every hour" she laughed softly and grabbed the empty space in her neck that once held her necklace, "i even bathed with it".

He smiled. And damn if she wanted to kiss him now even more than ever.

"Once i found out it had been you who had gifted it to me, i ... finally was able to confirm my feelings towards you" Gwyn confessed. "I knew i fell in love with you the moment in the training ring when you admitted you had given the necklace to me."

Was she really saying this?

Yes

She closed her eyes and talked before her courage disappeared.

"Azriel i am in love with you" she breathed, "i fell in love with the man saw the darkness in me, and did not run away. The one that taught me to fight my nightmares way. The one that listened to me ramble about the silliest things. The one that made an effort to open his heart to me, and answered every question i asked him" she laughed. "After the first night on the training ring; i knew you would be my best friend, my confidant. Once i shared more and more nights with you, i couldn't stay away... i can't stay away from you"

Placing his hands in her chest she said, "i love you, all of you; the spy, the friend, the brother, the shadowsinger"

She didn't dare to look deeply into his eyes, afraid of what feelings laid beneath them.

"You are my center, you are my hope, my ladder to keep climbing up the pit of darkness my mind is. I will never be enough for you; for the pure and innocent heart you have. But if you give me a chance, i will treasure you for eternity". Tears scrolled down her face as she spoke, "I am not you mate, nor i am what you were looking for. But i will fight beside you every step of the way, because you more than anyone deserves happiness".

There. I said it.

She took her hands away from his, looked down and waited.... Waited for him to stand and leave, to laugh and mock her.

But he didn't.

He kneeled there, in front of her.

Shocked

Happy

.... Happy

He was happy; in fact, he seemed joyous.

A grin emerged in the male's face, bigger and brighter than she had never seen before.

Grabbing her hand, he pulled them up.

There they were, facing each other; looking deeply into each other's eyes when Azriel said: "the one that does not deserve you is me". He came closer to her, grabbed her waist and pulled her body towards his "my best friend, my love. I want you to be my entire world Gwyn".

He smiled and pulled a strand of hair behind her ear. His face coming even closer to hers, "i am not worthy of your confession, your heart, much less your body". His nose touched hers, "but give me a chance, i will treasure you until the end of times".

She smiled, nodded and closed her eyes.

Warmth filled her body as Azriel's lips closed upon hers. Soft, warm and gentle. Moving in a pace that would not startle her, he grabbed her neck to pull her even closer to him. He took his time to explore her mouth, kissing every corner. "Thank you Gwyn, for choosing me" he said, "i have found my light where i never thought looking". He kissed her nose, her forehead and her lips. "Now that i have you" he said, not leaving an inch of space between their mouths, "i will never leave you".

-------

As they kissed, something golden and long appeared in Gwyns mind, her chest seemed to swollen at the sight of it. The golden string settling in front of her and pulling her to reality.

She flinched at the same time Azriel did.

Their eyes meeting once again.

And right there, she knew...

"Mate" they said.

#gwyn acotar #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel #azriel fanfic #fanfic #acotar #post acosf #nesta archeron #nesta and gwyn #acotar fanfiction

[bisexualdaemon]

mad woman: iii (nessian)

a/n: *taps mic* does this thing still work? OH hey! hello! yes, this fic is properly old now and probably everyone thought I abandoned it but joke is on everyone including myself lmao...turns out I love these two..and after acosf well I would 10/10 die for them. so here we go! a ride to be sure! people do be getting naked!

warnings: 4.8k of smut (like woah). language. guilt. 

Nesta wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing.

It had seemed like a good idea. Everyone in certain social circles knew the truth about Hewn City. Knew the dance club for the front it was for the shadowy bowels beneath. Here, she had thought yesterday morning, here she could be on even ground with him.

Him.

Cassian's hand was still in hers as she led them both down the long hallway toward room 3B. His words before hadn’t completely hidden his reactions to her clothes, her face, her body. She smiled to herself remembering the slight widening of his eyes. He probably thought he hadn’t reacted, but she knew. All men are weak. Just put on a dress and show some thigh and she knew she’d get his attention. Even if it was probably all for show. Cassian was a fine actor.

She thought back to four days ago. Or was it five, she thought. They had started to bleed together after the bender she’d gone on after wishing Cassian death on the phone with Amren.

Feyre was in her apartment for the second time in a week. An unprecedented occurrence. If the judgment in her eyes was any indication, she had come to check on things. Baby sister coming to her rescue. How rich. She stood on the carpet again, with her perfect heeled sandals and her tidy camel trench coat. Thankfully, she’d left the hat at home this time. Her arms were crossed tight against her chest as she surveyed the room.

“I see you’ve already made yourself at home again,” she observed, picking up a half-empty bottle of gin, “I’ll send Alis this afternoon.”

“I don’t want anyone else in my fucking apartment, Feyre,” Nesta cringed at the lingering slur in her voice.

“So you can drown yourself in this shit alone?” She held up an empty bottle of vodka in her other hand. “Nesta, it’s only been a few days since I was here the last time. Can you even stand right now?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Nesta sneered, settling back into the couch cushions. She couldn’t, but Feyre was a bitch for even asking, so she spat back, “At least I cope with my problems legally, High Lady.” In a fantasy world, smoke would have curled from her lips when she exhaled those last words.

Feyre stilled, breathing evenly. Nesta wasn’t sure if she was containing her rage or accepting the shame she had to be feeling.

“I see you gave Amren a call.”

“She didn’t tell you?” Nesta was surprised. Amren had seemed like one of Feyre’s inner circle, no matter how much money the High Lord and Lady may have given her.

“No, I told Amren that what you did with her number was your business,” she wrung her hands. She was….nervous. How odd. Feyre Archeron was a lot of things, but nervous was rarely one of them.

“Well,” Nesta exhaled, the anger fleeting like wind taken out of her sails, “yes, I called. Everything was very cryptic until someone showed up here who was not a therapist and started taking his clothes off. Honestly, what were you thinking, Feyre?!”

“I…” she hesitated, sinking down on the other end of the couch with Nesta, bracing her elbows on her knees, “I don’t know. I was desperate. I just want you to feel something again, Nes.” She hadn’t called her that since they were children. Nesta felt a little pang in her chest. I need another drink. “I know it’s...unconventional, but it really does help. Rhys and I...well, you know there’s a lot of stress involved in our lives.”

“So you fuck it out with strangers that you pay to keep silent??” Nesta asked incredulously.

“When you put it like that it sounds a lot seedier than it actually is, but,” she huffed, swallowing back some kind of emotion, “yes. There’s a lot of….relief, if you just give into it. Amren knows what she’s doing.”

“Are you and Rhys having problems?” It was the only explanation Nesta could understand for this. I mean it was one thing to hire a hooker if you weren’t getting any, but from the forced lunches and “sister dates” that Elain made the three of them go on, Feyre had always seemed to have a very active sex life.

“Oh, God, no,” Feyre visibly relaxed, caught off guard by even the implication. That made Nesta’s stomach relax. She hadn’t even realized she cared. “Rhys and I are fine, stronger even. There is power in giving up power, especially when you grapple with it on a daily basis. But this isn’t about me or Rhys.” Feyre leaned over and reached out to take Nesta’s hands, but stopped when Nesta visibly tensed at the mere idea of contact. “I’m really not lying when I say I think a little relief would help you.”

“Why do you insist I need help?” Nesta ground out through her teeth.

Feyre sighed and stood. There was something settling over her face, deep in her eyes. Sadness. “Suit yourself, sister.” She stood and, to Nesta’s surprise, took a swig from the half-empty gin bottle she’d pushed in Nesta’s face earlier. Her face screwed up in a grimace, “Jesus, how do you drink that shit?”

“I don’t even taste it anymore.” Nesta looked off, toward the window. Toward the empty corner where the wedding dress had hung for months. She’d taken it down that night after he had left.

That bone-deep sadness returned to Feyre’s eyes, “Alis will be here this afternoon.”

She left without another word.

Nesta sighed, catching Cassian’s attention, but she said nothing. She kept a steady flow of booze in her veins after Feyre left for three more days, sometimes just laying in bed for hours while the world spun. She saw Tomas, saw Elain, but most often she saw hazel eyes and bold, dark lines inked across a broad, tanned chest. Those were the torturous hours, when the desire would rise in her, when she would feel something just like Feyre said. Even if it made her soul burn. He was haunting her. He’d left her alone, angry and wet, for what? Because she refused to accept his “help”? Wasn’t this all just fucking anyway? What difference did it make how she responded?

The frustration had overwhelmed her until she finally realized that it didn’t matter how much she drank, he wouldn’t go away. She couldn’t chase him into a whiskey-soaked oblivion like she could the memories of her fiancé and her sister. He was real. He was still breathing. He was making her life a living hell.

He was going to pay for it.

So, she’d called Amren back. Had made him meet her here of all places. Had put on a dress and a pair of heels and more makeup than she’d been planning to wear at her own wedding. A costume. A mask. If he was going to “help” her, at least it wouldn’t seem like her that he was helping. She’d fuck him out of her life on her terms. Just once wouldn’t damn her to hell, right?

Nesta had never been to Hewn City before. Clubbing had never been her style. She was more of a library, bookworm kind of girl. But now that she was here, she kind of liked the secrecy of it all, the discretion everyone had whispered about. It made her feel like a character in one of her books, a different kind of escape than booze offered, with the rouge-tinted lights and shadowy, padded hallways. She could be anyone here. She would be anyone here. Anyone but herself.

“I think this is it,” Cassian’s deep rumble sounded behind her. They stopped in front of a painted black door, the marker flickering “3B” in the light of the candle sconce behind them. Nesta fit the key into the lock and turned it.

The room was cooler than the hall, but she wasn’t sure the temperature was what made her break out in gooseflesh. There was a massive four-poster bed in the center of the room covered in black satin sheets drawn back against a deep crimson comforter. Only a handful of hanging exposed bulbs lit the space, giving the boudoir decoration some industrial finishes. It was like a scene out of some vampire film noir. The light reflecting off heavy restraint cuffs at each corner of the bed only heightened the effect. A dark armoire loomed in the corner. Nesta was sure that if she opened it, she would find any number of instruments with which to tease and taunt Cassian with. This place was a sex dungeon and she had paid to be a mistress tonight.

Cassian’s mistress.

Nesta took a deep breath and settled into this new character, some confident woman who knew exactly what she wanted and knew exactly how to take it from a willing participant. She sauntered over to the foot of the bed and leaned back against it to look at him. He was so quiet tonight, looking around the room like she had, taking it all in.

“Cat got your tongue?” Nesta proded.

“No,” he hesitated, stuffing his hands into his front pockets like an embarrassed school boy rocking forward on his toes. It only lasted for a second before he hid it behind a smirk, “no, just a little….confused?”

“About what?” She crossed her feet at the ankle and let the deep slit on her dress fall open, revealing almost every inch of her long legs. His eyes widened momentarily before he cleared his throat. Was he….nervous?

“Well, uhh,” he was stammering now, the false bravado unable to keep up with the situation unfolding in front of him, “if I’m being honest, I’m not sure what to do.”

“You mean, Cassian, self-proclaimed sex therapist, doesn’t know what to do?” The teasing in her voice blushed his cheeks pink, “well, color me surprised. I thought it would have been clear by now.”

“It’s not that it’s...you’re…” he cocked his head, “different.” His eyes followed every inch of bare skin from her painted toe to the top of the slit an inch below her hip. “Something changed.”

Why does he make this so damn difficult?

“Yes, well,” she replied, biting her bottom lip for effect, “I decided that I want you to help me.” His head straightened.

“Do you?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, emphasizing the size of his biceps. His nervous energy cooled in seconds, giving way to something else, something that had been simmering beneath the ice.

“I do,” she slipped back a little farther onto her palms, tilting her head back. She was a predator, setting a pretty, needy trap for him. If he got off on a savior complex, she’d play the part until she got what she wanted. “I just want to feel normal again.” She smiled internally as she watched her words wash over him. Watched him take a few deep breaths, watched him move for the first time since they walked in the room.

He kept his body closed, his arms a barrier between the two of them, as he stalked forward. Nesta stopped breathing, feeling his gaze shift from confusion and questions to calculated assessment. He paused in front of her and bent down, his hands sinking into the mattress on either side of her slim waist. The space between them was thinner than the air atop the mountains in Illyria.

“I think…” he looked her in the eye, no blinking, no touching, just a wisp of mint from his mouth, “that’s a load of bullshit.”

A rush of fury, so white hot it blinded her, licked down her arm. She raised her open hand and ripped it through the air.

Only to be caught in an iron grip.

“Ah, ah, dear Nesta,” his lips curled up on one side, “I like a little pain with my pleasure, but not without my consent.”

All she could do was stare him down as she huffed, imagining the breath leaving her nostrils in puffs of hot smoke. A caged dragon in pretty clothes begging to get out. But hell would freeze over before she moved first. She could feel the tension between them, feel the electricity pulsing through him where his fist gripped her wrist. Maybe it was her pheromone-laced delusion but she thought he might want this as much as she did. He wanted her challenge, her adamant wall. He wanted to break her, remake her. Little did he know that you can’t break what’s already broken.

Just a character, just a role to play...

“Oh, come on, Cassian,” she tried to free her hand but he remained hard as stone around her wrist. He hadn’t pinned her legs though. She slid one bare leg up the inside seam of his jeans. The muscles flexed and contracted underneath the well-fit fabric, higher and higher, until she reached the apex. He hissed. A feline smile spread across her face when she felt it, felt him, hard and begging for her. “I think you want this a little more than you’re willing to admit, more than you’re allowed to admit.”

His nostrils flared, barely imperceptible, but even the smallest changes in him drew her notice. Why? It was a question she didn’t want to even ask herself, but it kept coming, night and day. Why did this night feel like the edge of a dangerous cliff? Why did his agreement to come tonight feel like more than just a business arrangement? Why did the tension between them feel like her only anchor to this life? She pressed harder into him, needing to move, to get this over with, to fuck him right out of her head.

“Nesta.” His voice brought her back from those questions that haunted her like the inked lines hidden underneath his t-shirt. So close now, so close to her fingers, her mouth. She looked up at him, aware of her knee still cradled between his legs.

“Cassian.” Her voice practically sang. The song of his own personal siren.  

He was so still. If he hadn’t said her name she wouldn’t have been sure he was even breathing. He placed his hand between his groin and her knee and stepped backward. His pupils were wide, endless pools, black as tar and eating at the hazel surrounding them. He was drunk on the lust, drowning in it just like she was.

“Take off that dress before I rip it off.”

A bone-deep shiver ran from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes at the command, reaching back up to settle between her thighs. She flushed from the heat of his gaze on her skin as she stood, reaching behind her neck to loose the three pearl buttons between her pride and her desire. Fuck it. The dress pooled at her feet.

The corner of her lip tugged upward when she heard his breath catch. She wasn’t wearing anything under the dress. Lingerie had felt like too much and her regular cotton cheekies would have been too conspicuous beneath her close-fitting dress, so nothing had been the only choice. The right choice if Cassian’s jeans had anything to say about it, clearly growing tighter by the second.

Nesta backed herself onto the bed again, digging in with her heels to push herself toward the headboard as gracefully as she could while burning alive. And she was burning under his gaze. Every flick of his dilated pupils, from her bare legs, to her full breasts, to her smooth stomach, to her glistening cunt, she burned. When her head thudded against the carved cherry wood headboard, his eyes finally met hers. A low growl sounded in the back of his throat.

“See something you want, Cassian?” she asked, struggling to keep her tone innocent, indifferent.

“Depends, Nes.” She ignored the heat that pooled at the nickname, especially when he said, “what are you offering?”

She bit her lip at his words. And spread her knees open for him. Now, come and take it.

He went wholly still as pink creeped into his tan cheeks. He was fucking blushing at her cunt on display for him. A filthy thought entered her head and before she could shut it down, she reached between her legs and traced a finger over her slit. The low lights flickered in the reflection off the wetness laced there before her finger disappeared….

Right between Nesta’s wine-colored lips.

His eyes tracked that finger in and out of her mouth as she sucked and swirled her tongue around it, moaning at the taste of her arousal, the eroticism of the gesture. She released her finger with a pop and smiled wickedly at him.

“Want to taste?”

Cassian moved swift as a thunderclap, as if her words were paddles jumpstarting his heart into quick, heavy beats. He pulled off his shirt. Those thick, black lines of ink that haunted her dreams were on full display, curling around his biceps and across his broad shoulders. She wanted to trace them with her tongue, taste the salt on his skin. He didn’t bother with some cliché striptease. His fingers fumbled with his belt, fumbled with the top button and zipper of those tight jeans. He tripped out of them, splaying his hands across the rumpled comforter as he kicked his pants somewhere across the room, losing his shoes and socks at some point between.

She would have smirked at the clumsiness, questioned his self-proclaimed prowess as a sex therapist, if her throat hadn’t gone completely dry at the size of him. Even through his underwear there was no mistaking it—massive, just like every inch of the rest of his body. Of course, he had a cock to match.

He grinned, following her eyes, guessing her train of thought. The bed dipped as he crawled toward her, full prince of cats on display again. A man who knew what people saw when they looked at him and enjoyed that power, that raw sexual energy dripping from his every pore. With that glint in his eye, she was happy to play along—for now.

Every thread in the expensive duvet cover beneath her set a thousand sparks rocketing across her skin. His movements were measured, purposefully kept from touching her skin. He was so close she could feel the warmth radiating off of him with every inch forward, every inch toward where she wanted him. All of him. His fingers, his mouth, his cock. Nesta started to fidget with anticipation, ready for him to spread her open and take, take, take, but she wouldn’t beg. Wouldn’t reach or claw or whimper, no matter how much she wanted to.

Feyre might be paying, but she would own him before the end. Even if she had to sacrifice her soul to do it.

When his mouth finally made contact with her skin, a whisper of a kiss along the inside of her thigh, it was a struggle not to moan. Loud. She was strung tighter than a bowstring and he knew. Her traitor body was going to beg for him with or without words, so she opened her mouth instead.

“Gonna fuck me senseless, Cassian?”

His head jerked up from between her thighs, that feline smile turning her molten. “You know, Nesta. I think I’ll shut you up instead.”

Someone as big as he was shouldn’t have been able to move that fast. Shouldn’t have been able to cover her entire body with his and claim her mouth between one second and the next. His hands curled behind her neck to pull her firmly to him and devoured her. Their tongues clashed, dancing together, as she moaned into his mouth. Whether it was surprise or pleasure or both that pulled it from her, she wasn’t sure. The mint and adrenaline still laced his tongue, this time with a natural smokiness that she hadn’t noticed before. He licked at her, sucked at her lower lip. She nipped at him, teeth as much a weapon as her words, her hands. She dragged her nails down his naked back and drew a hiss from him, maybe some blood too if the tang of iron was any indication.

It only spurred him.

“You know these lips taste better when they’re not liquor-stained,” he panted. He studied her face, she knew it must be flushed from his kiss, and slowly ground his hips into hers, with the same bruising intensity he claimed her mouth, drenching himself in her through the thin fabric of his underwear. Those really need to disappear. Her fingers continued their violent path down his back to the waistband of his boxer briefs, the only barrier left between everything she wanted. Wanted, never needed. They danced around to the front of him and sought purchase.

Another moan, loud and throaty filled the space between them.

My God.

“Off, off, off, off,” she was chanting when he finally released her mouth to move down to her neck, surely to mark her like she’d marked his back. It was going to be tit for tat with him. “OFF,” she clawed at his hips. He raised up and smirked at her.

“You just have to ask, Nes.” His lips curled to the side, “maybe say please.”

She held his gaze. Please. It was a chant in her head but she couldn’t say it. He saw it there, the challenge, the struggle, but this was a battle of wills. And Cassian was a seasoned general.

He ducked his head and nosed at her jaw, along her throat, peppering her skin with close-mouthed kisses. “Just say the word,” he ground into her again, not nearly the friction she wanted. His hands found her peaked breasts and traced her nipples, slow circles at first, then quick pinches accented by his teeth at her throat. There was no pattern, no guessing, no preparation. Every nerve ending was a live wire, screaming for his touch.

Nesta Archeron was going to die here. The flames in her belly were going to consume her and she was going to die at a high-priced sex club. And maybe she should. It might be worth it. Rhysand would never live it down. She wouldn’t sacrifice her pride for an orgasm. But, as his hips did another slow roll against hers and he scraped at her neck with his teeth, her resolve imploded.

“Please,” she croaked. She felt his smile against her skin.

“What was that?”

“Please,” she said a little louder, still barely a whisper.

“That’s awfully quiet, Nesta,” he licked at her collarbone and made her eyes roll back into her head. “Makes me think you don’t really want it.”

“Please,” she repeated, her head thrashing, “please, PLEASE.”

“Okay, okay,” he pushed up to lean back on his heels above her. “No need to shout.” The tease in his voice forced an impatient growl from her. He cocked an eyebrow as he toyed with the elastic waistband on his underwear, slowly pulling it down below the defined V set low on his abdomen, revealing inch after inch of smooth, tanned skin, until finally they were gone and there was nothing left between them but sexual tension and a promise of release.

Her eyes raked down his muscled body, unable to keep her hand from reaching to touch the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, reaching lower. His fingers wrapped around her wrist.

“Uh, uh, princess,” her cheeks flamed as he lifted her hand to his lips and left a tender kiss on her palm, “it’s my turn.”

She blinked and his mouth was on her. His hair, tufted at the back of his head, bobbed between her legs as he lapped up the wetness that had been pooling since they started their games tonight. Since he first leaned against her door frame, if she was being honest with herself. His lips wrapped around her clit and when he moaned around her, she saw stars. Her toes curled. Her fingers buried themselves in his hair. Her knees bent to capture his head forever between her thighs but he caught them before she could crush him with the force of her pleasure.

It might have been hours, days. He held her spread open and licked and suckled and fucked her entrance with his tongue. Careful, slow strokes to stoke the fire ripping through her veins but not enough to send her to her peak. Her thighs began shaking; her fingers knotted into his hair and held his mouth against her. His name was a holy chant in this unholy place.

“Cassian,” she sobbed as a tear rolled down her temple and into her sweat-soaked hair.

He groaned and release ripped through her. Waves of pleasure locked her body in a silent scream, her head tilted back and her mouth wide open. He kept stroking her through it, his tongue undulating against her clit over and over as her body jerked involuntarily once, twice before relaxing completely, melting into a warm, soft puddle of flesh.

There were no words. No thoughts. Nothing inside her head except for the truth of it. No one has ever made her feel like that, forced that kind of pleasure from her. Her harsh breaths were the only sound in the room as Cassian traced patterns on her inner thigh. She blinked furiously, clearing her eyes of any emotions that might betray her. Looking down, she caught his eye and his answering smile made her forget her own name.

He was looking up at her, his cheeks pink from the heat and pressure between her thighs. His hair was a fucked out mess. He looked...content. As if her orgasm was all he wanted, like he could do it again and again and not care if she ever touched his cock even though she’d never wanted anything more in her life.

But...what if he doesn't want that?

She tensed suddenly. He was an escort after all. This wasn’t his choice. What if all of this is just an act? She knew she shouldn’t care. She was a paying customer and shouldn’t care what he wanted. What his desires were. She should just take her pleasure, satiate her own desire, and leave. That had been the plan when she came here. Hell, she had just been acting when this all started.

Until he gave her the best orgasm of her entire fucking life. Until he called her on her bullshit, got naked, and got on his knees for her. Until he made her gasp his name and fucking cry for the privilege.

This was wrong. She shouldn’t—couldn’t—

I don’t deserve this.

Her breath caught in her throat. I need to get out of here.

She sat up so quickly her head spun. Her fingers caught on the restraints attached to the headboard and she recoiled. What am I doing? Why did I think this was a good idea? Cassian jerked up from between her legs at the motion, the perfect window for her to rip her legs from his vicinity and swing them to the floor.

“Nesta, what’s wrong?”

She heard him, confused, still panting, but she couldn’t find the words to answer him. The panic was bitter, the taste in stark relief to Cassian’s tongue. Stop! Where is my fucking dress? Her head swiveled frantically. A slip of navy stuck out from under the armoire in the corner. She lurched forward, grabbing and pulling on the dress that barely covered her ass, left nothing to the imagination. What have I done?

“Nesta, what is happening?” Cassian was louder this time. Loud enough to draw her eyes. He was leaning on one elbow, wide-eyed and still painfully hard. At this angle, she could see the angry red marks across his shoulder, darkening with dried blood in some places. A damning souvenir for what she had done. A claiming.

She couldn’t ignore the voice in her head. A betrayal.

“Was—” he sat up and leaned on his knees, “was it not good?” Some unfamiliar emotion danced across his eyes as he waited. She stared and stared and stared. “Did I—“ he kept hesitating, “did I not make you feel good?”

It was the doubt, thick and traitorous, in his voice that made her silently turn around and walk out the door.

------ *runs away*

tags: @sleeping-and-books @greerlunna @sjmships @cupcakey00 @queenestarcheron @awesomelena555 @mysticalunicole​ @lordof-bloodshed​ @courtofjurdan​

#acotar #acosf #acotar fic #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #sjm #sarah j maas #nessian #nessian fic #nessian au #acotar au #acotar smut #my writing

[emilia3546]

Shadowsinger Part 14 - Gwynriel

ACOSF Spoilers! Do Not read this unless you have finished ACOSF and the Azriel bonus chapter

*

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

*****

Azriel shot a glare at Cassian as his brother raised an eyebrow and smirked at Azriel's arm around Gwyn's waist.

Drop it.

He put as much meaning into the glare as possible, Cassian relented, and Azriel rolled his eyes, but a part of him leapt for joy to see the color filling his face again, the light in his eyes, the fluidity of his movements. He couldn't help the half-smile when Cassian turned to the doorway behind him, and grinned, alive, he looked alive now.

Azriel followed Cassian's gaze to the doorway, ignoring the way his shadows were still dancing around Gwyn's feet, they hadn't stopped since they'd woken this morning, and with no sign of them ever stopping, Azriel had given up complaining. Feyre was grinning at him, with Rhys standing behind her, and Azriel raised an eyebrow,

"Nyx is asleep, and with Nuala." Rhys offered as an explanation, before dropping into the chair beside Azriel, with Feyre claiming the seat across from him, between Nesta and Emerie. Gwyn kept holding on to his hand even as the House provided breakfast, but he was forced to let go to eat, keeping half an eye on her even as he devoured the food in front of him, immediately clasping her hand again once he'd finished. Rhys glanced questioningly across at him, but there was nothing about Gwyn in his eyes, just the worry that had kept him, kept them all alive over the years. Azriel nodded, and rolled his shoulders, he was fine, hardly any pain at all, Madja's magic had all but done its work now. Rhys raised an eyebrow, but didn't object, passing his attention to Cassian, with a smile at Gwyn, which she gladly returned, and Azriel found himself mirroring her.

Still, that calmness that had crept over Gwyn faded the moment Emerie explained why she had really been so late to visit. Every rebel sympathizer in Windhaven had vanished, every last one. Even with Mor having sent his spies to confirm it before returning to the continent, Azriel winced visibly for not knowing, and Emerie shot him an apologetic look,

"When?"

"Three days ago." Three days, if he'd been here, if he'd been doing his damn job, they'd have known, would have been able to respond,

It's nothing we didn't expect, Rhys said into his mind at the same time that Gwyn squeezed his hand, And it's nothing that we weren't prepared for. His brother offered him a smile while Azriel grappled with the guilt threatening to rise again. He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, no, he was here, and he would raise hell against anyone who threatened his family. When he opened his eyes, Rhys' smirk confirmed that there was nothing of the fear left in them, only the determination, the anger.

Whilst Emerie was explaining exactly what had happened, Cerridwen pushed open the door, and made her way silently across to him, handing him a report, from Illyria by the look of it. Azriel thanked her, and she vanished again, he skimmed the overview while the room fell silent, watching, waiting, and he sighed as he spoke,

"She's right. And it's not just Windhaven, it's all of Illyria. Just over a third of the males have disappeared, some of their families with them, some alone, but no idea where." That was his next move, to find them, wherever they had gone, gone or been taken, whichever it was. He hardly noticed his shadows stopping their dancing as he spoke, leaving his side entirely to hover around Gwyn, shrouding her in darkness, in safety. "I'm going to meet with some of my spies in a few hours, find out everything we know, and," he hesitated, preparing for the resistance to his next request, "It'd put my mind at ease if you'd get Gwyn a room in the River House, Rhys." Gwyn shot him a glare, but relented at the pleading look he offered, and Rhys nodded,

"If she wants it." Gwyn sighed, and nodded,

"It makes sense, it'll be easier to manage everything if we're all close together." Azriel hadn't realized how worried he'd been that she might refuse until she agreed, and he almost laughed at the joy that swept through him as she said 'we', she wanted to be a part of his family, she wouldn't shy away from that part of him. He planted a kiss on top of her head as he slipped away to head out to the meeting, not caring who might be watching, and left his shadows behind with her, all of them.

*****

Gwyn stared after Azriel even after he'd disappeared from view, hardly noticing the rest of the conversation until Nesta reached across the table to grasp Gwyn's hand,

"He'll be okay"

"I know. I just, I don't know," she shrugged, "I can't help it," Nesta chuckled softly,

"Tell me about it, that's the problem with these idiots isn't it?" Despite herself, Gwyn snorted, then burst out laughing at Rhysand's feigned offense when Feyre agreed. She couldn't completely banish her worry, but with her sisters there, with her friends there, she could push it aside, at least for now.

It didn't take long for Gwyn to be ready to move down to the River House, and she closed her eyes as Rhysand gently took her hand, preparing herself for the rush of wind as he winnowed them across Velaris. It didn't matter that she'd done it before, she still stumbled when they appeared in the garden, but caught herself before she could fall flat on her face,

"Alright?" She nodded, and made to speak, but the words died on her tongue when she locked eyes with someone else across the garden. It was a conscious effort not to reach for the missing necklace as Elain looked at her. Gwyn made to turn away, and thanked Rhysand for bringing her, but Elain shouted across the garden,

"Gwyneth! Wait!" Gwyn paused, and turned to face Elain, carefully controlling her gaze to avoid the glare that she wanted to fix her with, "I - I just wanted to apologize, I don't know what came over me, I just," she broke off, and reached for Gwyn's hands, gently squeezing them as she continued, "Seeing him with you, the way he was looking at you, I was jealous, it was stupid, and I had no right to be jealous, we never even had anything. It was just the way he was laughing and smiling with you, Cauldron, even his shadows love you, it just reminded me that I don't have that. I should never have taken it out on you. I regretted it instantly, I'm sorry, I wanted to apologize, but you'd already gone, then Az ran after you, and I just panicked. Nesta shouted at me afterwards, and I tried to find you, but by the time I got back you'd both gone, and I know we haven't really spoken much, but I don't want to leave it like this. I'm glad he has you, that you have him, and, if you can forgive me, I'd like to be your friend." Gwyn offered her a little smile,

"I'd like that." Elain beamed at her, and made to hug her, but froze, and Gwyn stepped towards her, "That's okay, I'm not fragile, I won't break."

"Oh, it's not that, I just wasn't sure if you would want me to touch you." Gwyn smiled again, and shook her head,

"Don't walk on eggshells around me, I don't want pity." Elain froze for a moment, then smiled, and laughed,

"Gods, no wonder you and Nesta get along so well. Thank you, for giving me a second chance."

"You made a mistake, just don't make the same one twice."

Rhysand was standing just inside, pretending he hadn't been listening, and Gwyn choked on a laugh,

"I spoke to Elain."

"Oh really?" He laughed, "I had no idea." Gwyn chuckled again,

"I assume there's a reason you're waiting for me?"

"Well I couldn't just leave you to wander around until you happened upon you room could I?" He gestured up the stairs, "Second on the left, and I don't want to leave you alone, there's nothing I can be doing until Az gets back, so if you don't want to be alone," he broke off when he noticed Gwyn staring into space, "Gwyn?" She started, and looked back across to him, "He's fine, I promise, not even I know where his meeting spots are." She nodded, then shook her head and laughed,

"I'll hold you to that, High Lord."

"High Lord? Oooof, that usually means I've royally fucked up."

"Not just yet." Gwyn chuckled and followed Rhys into a living room,

"While you're here, I wanted to ask you something." Gwyn nodded, "Azriel, is he actually okay? He regularly lies to me about his recovery from any injuries, and I assume you know?" Gwyn paused, trying to decide exactly what to tell him,

"He's not in much pain anymore, but, and I don't think he knows that I noticed, he still avoids twisting around, I think his ribs are a bit sore, but he is mostly alright." Rhys visibly relaxed,

"Thank you. I worry about him, we all do, I'm glad you found him."

"Found him?"

"I'm not blind, Gwyn." She shuffled on her chair, "He's happier than I've seen him in years, because of you."

"I'm not sure it's me,"

"It is you. And I don't want you, either of you, to think that you have to hide it from us, any of us, we won't push anything, but please, don't think you have to hide." Gwyn smiled, and pursed her lips,

"It's not that I'm worried about what you all might think, it's that I'm worried he might not want to be open about anything yet, it's only been a few days."

"A few days? Maybe since you admitted it, but it's been much longer than that." Longer? Perhaps it had been, she'd certainly been wanting to spend as much time as possible with him for a while now, and he'd never once complained, never shrunk away from her,

"He just understands me, that's all." Rhys chuckled again,

"He's never allowed any of us to know who he's been with before, I don't even know if he only likes females, or if he's also been with males." Gwyn chuckled,

"You have no idea?"

"None. But he never hid his feelings for you, he quite obviously made sure you were protected this morning, and I'll just say that he doesn't kiss me to say goodbye." Gwyn snorted with laughter at the image that sprung up in her mind,

"I'd say not." Gwyn's attention snapped across to the doorway, to a grinning Nesta,

"We're moving in too, makes life easier if we're close together at the moment."

*****

It took all of Azriel's self control not to fly back to Velaris at the first report, then even more at the second, and the third. Gone, the rebels were completely gone, not just from their camps, but from Illyria entirely. Velaris was safe, Velaris was safe, Rhys was actually there, there was no way the wards would fail whilst he was there. But Gwyn was there too, and she could be in danger, if an army of rebel Illyrians showed up even Gwyn would be at risk. He didn't need to rush back yet, not until he'd spoken to everyone.

Still, with each passing second, he found himself more and more tempted to gaze West, even if he couldn't see the city, let alone Gwyn from here, just to reassure himself that she wan't about to be attacked, to see that there was no airborne army heading fro the city. A familiar face appeared in the forest in front of him,

"The stars are bright tonight." She said, keeping her distance,

"They shine with the moon." She smiled the moment he finished speaking,

"I was worried that something had happened to you when Morrigan called us to meet,"

"It's a good job she doesn't know how the message system works, or she'd have tried to speak to you all individually." The female stepped towards him, and raised an eyebrow,

"Azriel."

"I'm fine, I was just, indisposed."

"That's a funny way of saying imprisoned by your asshole brother."

"It doesn't matter, you're here to tell me what everyone else could not."

"Keir has no idea that there's even been whisperings of rebellion in the mountains, if he had, you'd have the Darkbringers to contend with as well. As for where these 'rebels' might have gone, I'm afraid I have nothing, although it would be worthwhile to call reports from Hybern and the continent, perhaps they have gone there, or another Court."

"They're very unlikely to be at another Court, Helion would never allow it, nor would Thesan, Tarquin or Kallias, Beron might, but he sees Illyrians as lesser faeries, so I doubt it, and not even Tamlin is stupid enough to get involved in a war against us. Rhys is still mad at him for everything he did to Feyre, I don't think even she would be able to stop him if Tamlin ended up on the other side of a battlefield. But I will ask."

"You seem stressed."

"Oh really? What a surprise."

"You know what I mean. More than I would have expected, doesn't have anything to do with the priestess does it?"

"Don't you get involved too," Azriel groaned, "I already have Cassian grinning at me every time she and I are in the same room, and Rhys has caught on now, so Cauldron spare me if they get a chance to talk to her about whatever is between us."

"Can we expect to meet her at some point? I heard she helped you escape,"

"Helped is an understatement, she saved my life. Anyone she wants to meet will be up to her, but she may need to help me if this war kicks off like I'm expecting." Azriel tried to ignore the knowing smile, "I'm serious, Madelyn, don't get involved." Maddy snorted at his tone,

"Oh dear gods, you sound my father when I got home after my curfew." Azriel stiffened at the mention of Maddy's father, "Oh, stop it, go back to worrying about your girlfriend, and leave my miserable childhood out of it, although I must admit, it would be amusing to see his reaction to my life now, seventy-five, no husband, no children, I mean," she absentmindedly rubbed the ring on her left hand, "I suppose he ought to be pleased that I am married." Azriel smiled,

"Tell Josie I said hello, will you? And look after yourselves until I figure out exactly what our next move is." Maddy nodded, and waved before winnowing away. Azriel sighed as he noted the sun's position, just one more meeting, then he could get home.

*****

Gwyn closed her book with a sigh, the silence around her was broken only by her own breaths, and the sound of Azriel's shadows rootling through the bookshelves. She laughed out loud when they found a book and floated it across the air, dropping it into her lap before retreating to her shoulders to watch her read the title. Gwyn could have sworn that she sensed some sort of satisfaction, and amusement, but it wasn't fae, wasn't quite sentient either, it just sort of existed, a whisper next to her ear, but she couldn't quite make out the words,

"Is that you?" She demanded, reaching out for the shadows, and chuckled when they all shot for her left hand, "You remember that, huh? Don't scare me like that."

Or what?

Gwyn started at the distinct whisper, barely audible, but smirked at the offending shadow,

"Or I'll tell Azriel on you." She said, opening the book they'd brought her, ignoring the offended gasps from the shadows, at least until they took the book away from her, "Hey! I liked that book!" She couldn't make out their response, but from what she knew of them, it was probably for the best. She was still trying to get the book back when the front door opened, although she only noticed when Rhys called her name,

"Gwyn," he chuckled when she grabbed onto the book, immediately losing it as she lost concentration,

"That was your fault!"

"I'm sure, I thought you might like to meet Altheia, since you're here," Gwyn smiled softly at the Illyrian female stood behind Rhys, and her face lit up into a grin the moment Gwyn met her eyes. Gwyn had never met her before, but there was something familiar in her eyes, her smile,

"Just Theia, please, you're just as bad as the other two, Rhysie," Gwyn snorted at the nickname, and Theia smiled again, shoving Rhys out of the way, "I hear you've been looking after my Azzy, thank you." Her Azzy? Gwyn struggled for words, but Theia continued, "You're even more beautiful than his letters said."

"You're his Mom?" Theia nodded, and grinned,

"He wouldn't tell me much, but Rhysie mentioned a few things when he came to fetch me, apparently it's not safe any more, so thank you for looking after him, Cauldron knows he needs it sometimes."

"You're telling me," Gwyn muttered, and laughed when Theia collapsed into an armchair, twisting her wings carefully to avoiding sitting on them, "it's like he's trying to get himself killed sometimes."

"No matter what you or I say, he'll still be the idiot he's always been. Rhysie says that you've been training with Azzy and Cass, you revived the Valkyries?"

"Yes, and Nesta, Feyre's sister, Cassian's mate, she and Cass have moved down here as well, so I'm sure you'll meet her soon, and Emerie, from Windhaven. Nesta began training first, then she got us to join her, and we're starting to try to rebuild a proper Valkyrie unit. We're by no means experts, but we've done as much research as possible, and Cass actually fought alongside them! He's been helping us to replicate old Valkyrie training as best as possible, and Az has been teaching me how to move and fight silently, and-" Gwyn broke off as a book landed in her lap, the same book that the shadows had stolen earlier, "And these pains in the ass have adopted me." She froze as she realized that she'd been rambling, "Sorry, I talk a lot when I'm nervous,"

"You have no reason to be nervous, I'm thrilled to finally meet you. It's not every female that will will really see my son, and not be frightened off, I don't think he could frighten you off, I think you see beneath the frightening front he puts on."

"It's difficult not to when you've seen him in the morning. A while ago, there was some magic with the library that went wrong and attacked me, and he slept in a chair next to me all night. When I woke up in the morning, he was still there, and gods, his hair was ridiculous, I don't know what he did to deal with it, 'cause I failed miserably!" Theia nodded, and chuckled,

"You should see it every time he comes to visit me, even after he's tried to tidy it from the flight, it's always messy."

*****

Azriel sighed as he trudged up the steps to the River House, desperate to bathe and check that everyone was still alive, especially Gwyn. He froze when he heard her laugh floating down the corridor, and another's, that wasn't possible, she wasn't here. Azriel followed the sound, and almost laughed with joy at the sight of his mother sitting across from Gwyn, laughing about anything and everything,

"Hi, Mom."

"Azzy!" Theia shot to her feet, immediately throwing her arms around him, and tutted at the sight of his hair, trying to flatten it back down,

"Mom! I've been flying, it's fine." Gwyn just giggled,

"Dreadful, isn't he?"

"You just wait, sweetheart," wait for what? What were they planning? "Oh don't look so frightened, Azzy, we don't have any evil master plans. Yet," she added, grinning at Gwyn, but made to leave them to talk, lingering long enough to see Azriel pull Gwyn to her feet and embrace her,

"Nothing helpful." He muttered, letting out a sigh,

"At least we know where to start looking, there can't be any immediate threat, right?"

"Probably not, but it would be just my luck that there's a sneak attack on the city while i'm not here to watch your back." Gwyn pulled back just enough to meet his eyes,

"How would they manage that? In case you didn't notice, Rhys is in the city, those wards are not breaking."

"I know, I know, I just worry." Azriel's head snapped back to the door when Rhys appeared there, Cassian and Nesta on his heels,

"What is the big deal, Rhysand?" Nesta snapped, "We were about to go to bed, there'd better be a good reason you're keeping me from sleeping."

"Oh, there is. The mortal queens have declared war on the  Night Court."

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