#Acotar fan fiction
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Spin the bottle
Jealous Azriel x Reader. Angst/fluff (the usuaaallll)
Summary: A drunken game of spin the bottle with the rest of the IC makes Azriel a grumpy boy. (But it’s actually pretty romantic).
Word count: 2.1k
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This was stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.
You looked up from where the bottle had finally stopped spinning. Flecks of red wine having splattered on the floorboards from what little remained in the deep green bottle, it’s long neck now pointed directly at your High Lord.
It was the eighth bottle of the night, or perhaps the ninth? It hardly mattered, you and your friends were stupidly drunk, so much so that when Cassian had suggested a childish game of spin the bottle with a wiggle of his eyebrows, you had snorted and excitedly agreed.
It had taken a variation of tactics to get the rest of the Inner Circle to play along.
Feyre had giggled, whispering something to her mate who merely winked back at her as they both took a place by the fire.
Mor had clapped in delight, poking fun at Amren who clung to Varian, but when her partner agreed, so had she.
Nesta rolled her eyes at Cassian, but a smirk was set at her lips as he hauled her over his shoulder to the circle that was beginning to form. Even Elain hadn’t given much fight, blushing as she shrugged “If it’s only a kiss.” You had pecked her hands and gave a squeal of delight, pulling her to sit by your side.
That only left the amused, yet still brooding Shadowsinger.
Azriel kept his arms crossed, shaking his head with a stubborn smirk as each of you tried your own way to convince him to play, Some begged, some insulted, and some bargained with unfulfillable promise – all of which rendered useless against the Spymaster.
He leaned against the arm of the chase, dark hair falling in front of his honey-brown eyes. Despite his stubborn front, his wings were slouched and relaxed, Azriel’s tell-sign he was just as tipsy as the rest of you.
“C’mon Az,” you drawled, uncaring that you spoke with a slight slur. “You’ll be the only one not playing.” Dark shadows began to curl in your lap.
Azriel smiled tightly. “You’re all drunk.”
“Oh, and you’re not?”
Calling the shadows back from the distance they had gained towards you, Azriel’s eyes narrowed on you playfully. His smile grew, yet he remained unmoved.
“Leave him be,” Cassian spoke, a hand covering one side of his mouth as if to tell you a secret, but with a volume high enough to ensure everyone would hear. “He’s just brooding because he lost the snowball fight yesterday.”
Azriel stiffened immediately, and spoke with lethal cool. “I did not lose.”
Rhysand grinned, chiming in. “You certainly did.”
“I only lost to a pair of cheats. You’re not supposed to work as a team.”
“Why not give me a big smooch and prove you’re not a loser at this game too, then?” Cassian boasted, arms wide and beckoning, his lips comically puckered.
The rest of you howled in unison, tears forming in your own eyes as you wiped them away. Azriel finally took a place in between you and Feyre, and as far away from Cassian as he could get.
The rules were simple – spin the bottle and kiss whoever it pointed at. If the bottle was to land on a relative, it would automatically direct to the first on their right.
And so the game began. Cassian declared the first round his, the bottle landing swiftly on Varian who merely chuckled. Cassian had grabbed both sides of his face, planting an enthusiastic kiss on his mouth that sounded with a smack of his lips.
“Mmm, tastes like blood,” he teased at Amren, who merely scowled back. The rest of you were in hysterics, and you had to clutch at your stomach to stop it from hurting.
Mor was up next, the bottle reeling to a quick stop on Elain. The kiss was swift, but gentle, and had Elain thanking her with an shy giggle. Mor winked back at the blushing Archeron before returning to her spot.
Feyre had spun the bottle enthusiastically, and tipped her head back and laughed when it landed directly on her mate.
“C’mere darling,” he said smoothly, moving to dip her head back and plant a sensual kiss on her neck before slipping his tongue into her mouth. The group whooped and cheered, before Nesta declared she was to be sick and the couple finally broke their kiss.
Azriel was up next, and Cassian had roared with a cheer as the bottle landed in his direction. ‘Come here big guy!” Azriel had let him kiss him for all of two seconds, and kept a firm hand planted on his brother’s chest to ensure some distance was kept. You were sure you had never laughed harder in your life.
And so it was your turn. You were yet to be kissed, and felt a silly flutter of nerves as you crawled towards the bottle. It slowed to a stop. It’s long neck pointed directly at your High Lord.
“Well well,” Rhys mused, his violet eyes sparkling as a feline grin grew. “Try not to be too jealous, Feyre darling,” he winked at his mate. Feyre laughed, raising her hands in surrender. “I’m only glad it’s not Cassian,” she joked, earning a shove from the General.
Rhys was crouched in front of you now, his face relaxed yet playful. There was no denying his handsomeness – you certainly weren’t unhappy to be kissing him.
Rhys reached to cup your face, and as his long fingers found where your jaw meets your neck, you heard a sharp breath being sucked in from beside you.
Flicking your eyes over to Azriel, you saw his brow pulled in fury, his body completely stiffened and shadows nowhere to be seen. You hadn’t a second to process before Rhys’s lips found yours in a gentle kiss.
A kiss that lasted a mere second, before a cold, harsh voice spoke.
“Stop that.”
You and Rhys both broke away from the kiss. His hands were still on your face as you looked up at Azriel who now stood towering over the two of you, wings spread and chest fuming.
You couldn’t help but gawk at his erratic behaviour. “Azriel, what–?”
“Let go of her.” Azriel was practically growling at his High Lord.
Rhysand didn’t question him, instead he dropped his hands from your face immediately. “I’m sorry,” he said with a hushed voice. “I had no idea.”
The rest of the circle fell silent, each of you stunned by the Shadowinger’s outburst.
With a final fume from his chest and flare of his nostrils, Azriel folded to a winnow, vanishing from the room entirely.
“Well that was unexpected,” Mor spoke with a pull of her brow.
“I’ll say,” Feyre added.
Bringing a hand to your lips, the sensation of Rhys’s lips on yours lingered, and twinge of guilt cast through your stomach.
“Any idea of where he went?” you asked quietly, no longer amused with the game’s antics.
“The Sidra,” Rhys answered shortly, offering you a sorry smile before casting a long look at his mate, an obvious sign of their mind-to-mind exchange.
————
Velaris was freezing this time of year, and even your layers of wool, scarves and a heavy coat couldn’t protect you from the icy bite that blew from over the cold of the river. You found Azriel at a docking pier, solemnly leaning against the railing as the water sloshed below the planks.
There was no sneaking up on the Spymaster, yet he continued to ignore you as you approached.
“Care to explain yourself?” you spoke from some distance, making your way closer to him. His wings twitched at your words and knuckles whitened at their clutch on the railing, but Azriel kept his gaze on the night’s horizon.
You folded his coat over the railing, a small sign for a truce you were unsure was needed. When Azriel left it untouched, you sighed, folding your arms. “Put the coat on, Az.”
Without turning his head, Azriel cast a sideways glance before pulling the large black coat over his arms and wings. He was already a large and broad male, but the coat refined him further. It was quite a handsome look on the Shadowsinger.
“What happened back there?” you poached again.
There was a moment of silence before he spoke. “You wanted him to kiss you.”
Frowning, you were quick to defend yourself. “Not necessarily.”
“You did. I heard your heart fasten. I scented your excitement.”
“It was a game Azriel, one we all agreed to play.”
“I didn’t want to.”
You rolled your eyes then. “Alright Az, I’m sorry we forced you–”
“I didn’t want to play because I can’t stand the thought of anyone else kissing you.”
You gawked at your friend. “Excuse me?”
Azriel had finally turned to face you, his eyes wild and swirling with gold, his frown deep and chest moving fast. You could hear his own heart then, beating far too fast.
“When Rhys looked at you like that, and touched you, and then h-he kissed you… Gods Y/N. You don't understand. It took everything I had to rip him off of you.”
You blinked at Azriel – never had he shown such vulnerability. “Is this an Illyrian thing?”
Azriel shook his head tightly, wild eyes still fixed on you, nostrils flaring yet again.
“Are you jealous?” you collected.
Azriel ignored your statement. “I ache to be the one to kiss you like that, Y/N.”
Your heart skipped a beat then, and you were forced to take a gulp of quick air. “Do you desire me, Azriel?” Something in your core throbbed at the thought.
“Tonight I realised it’s more than that. You have a certain…pull on me,” he said, moving to step closer. “Every time you’re in a room, I feel the need to be near you. And when you leave, something beyond my will begs for me to follow. I feel anxious when you’re away, and unfulfilled if I haven’t seen you or even scented you in hours.”
Your were deadly still, eyes wide as Azriel continued to move closer, drawing a breath through his nose, claiming the smell of you he so desperately needed. A deep hum sounded from him, before scarred hands moved to grasp either side of your arms.
“You have no idea how much control you have over me. You rule me Y/N, dictate my every move, just by simply existing.”
Guilt, confusion, passion and a small glint of hope overwhelmed you as his words sunk in. Could it be? Something so rare sparked by a ridiculous exchange of puppy-love? Your hands moved on their own accord, seeking his to hold. And when your cold fingers slid over his scarred ones, Azriel’s touch ignited a current of warmth through your veins, heating you from the inside out. Your own eyes widened to find his softened, earnest and pleading.
“I never meant to hurt you by kissing Rhys.” Your voice was a whisper.
“I know. Gods, of course I know that. I’m acting rash, I’m aware.” Azriel kept your hands in his, but looked down now, shaking his head. “Mother above, this is insanity!”
“It’s not insanity,” you said softly, stepping closer and bringing a hand to cup his chiselled cheek. “It’s the mating bond.”
Azriel froze then, his eyes locked on yours. “You feel it too?”
“I do now,” you said with a faint smile.
Azriel brow pulled in painful relief. “I heard it snap the moment Rhys’s lips found yours,” he admitted.
You cringed at the thought. “Gods, what an awful way to find out.” You pulled him closer to you, instincts igniting as your body begged to be closer to him, pressed against him bare if you could. “I’m sorry.”
Azriel was silent as he moved to entwine himself with you, strong arms encompassing you, protecting you. For a moment you held each other, savouring the feel of a perfect fit, two pieces of a puzzle having finally interlocked. Your kept your check pressed to his chest, listening to his heartbeat that was now a melody to your ears.
Looking up, you trembled in awe of his beauty, gingerly stroking his cheek before rubbing your thumb gently over his bottom lip. A deep sound left his chest then, and it thrilled you – you were tuning him with your touch.
“Be mine?” he asked, biting back his own urges as you leaned on your toes, reaching closer to his face.
“Only yours,” you whispered before pressing your lips against his, indulging in the euphoric sensation of the eternal tether binding you to your mate.
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A/N: Look, I truly believe not all fics have to end with a mating bond. But this one does, ok? Hope you enjoyed, thank you to @aroseinvelaris for the request!!
Also did you spot the slightest Mor x Elain crackship?? If you blink you might have missed it.... but I got excited lol.
Thanks always for reading! MWA
#azriel acotar#jealous azriel#azriel x reader#azriel x y/n#azriel angst#azriel fluff#azriel mate#azriel jealous#azriel x you#inner circle fluff#inner circle x reader#acotar fluff#acotar fan fiction#acotar one shot#rhysand x reader#azriel mating bond#sarah j maas#acotar fanfic#acotar spin the bottle
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Day 1:
Rhysand was fucked, utterly fucked.
Feyre sat on his lap as the festives began and the music started. She was rigid under his touch but her mask didn't crumble a bit. Even as he told them go play, the stares of the crowd were fixed on them. On Feyre. He didn't need to use his powers to know what they were thinking. The bride of Spring, now the High Lord's pet. He met their gazes, daring anyone to utter a word. They turned away.
His fingers were stroking lazy circles on the bare skin of Feyre's ribs, don't let it get to your head, he had told her only moments ago, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Her hand twitched, barely noticeable to anyone who didn't know it was a nervous tic of hers.
Feyre's voice was husky, a voice that could bring Rhys to his knees, as she said, what? her eyes never leaving the bowing crowd.
That every male in here is contemplating what they’d be willing to give up in order to get that pretty, red mouth of yours on them, he told her. It was the truth, he could see it in the way they were ogling Feyre. It took Rhys more self-control than he was proud of to not rip out their throat in an instant. But it was forgotten, everything was forgotten, when a slow, wicked smile stretched on Feyre's red painted lips. It took even more self control to keep his mask up.
His hand slid up her thigh, guilt threatening to swallow him alive, but Feyre insisted on coming today. Insisted on helping.
He had wanted to tell her that her presence was more than enough, that she didn't have to prove herself, but one look into her blue-gray eyes and he nodded, telling her the plan. The roles they had to play.
Feyre leaned back at his touch, leaned into him. He couldn't decide if this was a whole other form of torture or if the stars granted him a wish.
Rhys was brought back to the presence when Keir spoke, "Greetings, milord," he said and then his eyes flicked to Feyre, "and greetings to your…guest."
Don't rip out his throat, don't rip out his throat, don't rip out his throat. Rhys could only see his cousin out of the corner of his eye, but Mor looked as murderous as he felt. Rhys looked at Feyre, angling his head and flattening his hand on her thigh, "She's lovely, isn't she?" he said in a voice that was his but wasn't his. A voice that was reserved for the Lord of Nightmares.
"Indeed," Keir agreed with Rhys as he lowered his eyes. “There is little to report, milord. All has been quiet since your last visit.”
Well aware of that, Rhys asked, “No one for me to punish?”
“Unless you’d like for me to select someone here, no, milord.” Keir answered.
"Pity," Rhys clicked his tongue. He didn't pay any attention to Keir as he leaned forward and tugged Feyre's earlobe with his teeth. Feyre leaned even farther into him as his thumb sweeped over sensitive skin and her body went loose, only for a quick moment. Cauldron damn him, he thought as her breath hitched. And mother above, her scent. Lilac and pear. He wanted to tug her closer, hold her and breathe in her scent. As if she could hear his thoughts, something shifted in her, making Rhys still. He made sure his walls were intact, she couldn't have heard his thoughts.
Keir began his report, marriages, alliances, blood-feuds. Rhys only half listened as he stroked Feyre's skin again, nodding here and there. His nose brushed the spot between Feyre's neck and shoulder, his mouth so close to her skin. What he wouldn't give to just trail her freckles with only the two of them.
“I had heard the rumors, and I didn’t quite believe them.” Keir disturbed Rhys's thoughts and when his gaze settled on Mor's father, he was looking at Feyre. Staring at her. Rhys swallowed a growl, “But it seems true: Tamlin’s pet is now owned by another master.”
“You should see how I make her beg,” Rhys murmured, nudging Feyre's neck with his nose.
“You know everything I do is a statement.”
“Of course. This one, it seems, you enjoy putting in cobwebs and crowns.”
The disgust in his voice made Rhys pause. When Feyre stiffened, his mouth opened, to say what, he didn't know. But before Rhys could give Keir a verbal lashing, or mist him, Feyre said, “Perhaps I’ll put a leash on you.”
Surprise sparked in him, not only at the statement but also Feyre's voice. A voice that didn't belong to Feyre but a voice that belonged to this court. Followed by a wave of pride. He let her feel his approval down the bond.
“She does enjoy playing,” he mused onto her shoulder. He jerked his chin toward the Steward. “Get her some wine.”
He didn't bother to sound polite, watching as Keir quickly moved away. He pressed a soft kiss under Feyre's ear, an apology. One that he hoped she would get.
Feyre twisted in his lap, looking at Rhys with curious eyes, meeting his gaze. What? he asked down the bond, lowering his shield for her as she lowered her own shields.
There was a moment of silence, he could feel her debating how to say the next words. His eyes wandered over the crowd as she thought.
You are good, Rhys. You are kind. This mask does not scare me. I see you beneath it.
His eyes snapped back to hers, his hands tightening the grip around her. His mouth brushed against her cheek as his heart hammered in his chest. He needed every ounce of self control to keep his mask from slipping. This female, this magnificent gift from above, would be his undoing.
@officialrhysandweek
#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#rhysandweek2023#rhysand#rhys#rhys acotar#high lord rhysand#rhysand archeron#high lord of the night court#acomaf#feyre archeron#feyre#feyre cursebreaker#high lady of the night court#high lady feyre#feyre darling#feysand#acotar fanfiction#acotar fan fiction#Acotar fanfic#acotar fic#feysand fanfiction
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Hi everyone! First time following and sharing on a character week. Looking forward to all the art and stories!
Day 2 Warrior
My short fan fiction for @tamlinweek
~An Unexpected Encounter~
Tamlin crosses paths with Rhys for the first time while on a mission
Tamlin peered through the thicket trying to make out where for Cauldron’s sake he was. His sense of direction was usually impeccable but since he got to the Middle, something about the magic here felt off - made his senses go haywire. He kept low while stalking through the forest, shifting into his beast form, his senses sharpening as he did so. The first stars were already showing in the sky when he finally got a glimpse of what he was looking for and halted. He crouched low and surveyed his surroundings keenly. Soon all sorts of creatures would be prowling around in the dark. It was one particularly vicious one that he was after. Once again, he had been sent to do his father’s dirty work.
”I have a special mission for you and I expect you to keep this quiet” his father had said when he had summoned him from the Spring Court borders where he was patrolling with his war band. “It has come to my attention, that there has been a breach at the Prison” he continued. One of his spies had informed him that something had managed to break out of the highly guarded prison island. And it was making its way across Prythian. “Have you ever heard of the Weaver’s demon?” his father asked. “I have heard the stories” Tamlin said frowning. It was a dreadful being, its venom capable of overpowering even the most formidable of Fae, and it only obeyed one master. One that harboured resentment for the Fae that trapped her in her abode in the Middle. What would his father want with such a fearsome creature? “Hybern’s General is due to visit soon” his father added as if guessing his thoughts. Amarantha. The very thought of that female made Tamlin’s skin crawl. He never understood why his father was so keen to make her an ally. “She does so delight in taming a wild creature” his father’s tone was laced with wicked amusement. Tamlin did not miss the insinuation, but ignored it. His father’s notion was not misplaced however. Amarantha was an avid collector of such monsters and had an array of creatures she used to torture her enemies with. His father took out a map and proceeded to show him the trail of the last sightings of the demon. “It travels by night, hides by day”. “I’ll get on it” Tamlin had said, turning to go. “Stay away from those fangs, they say the venom works faster than faebane” his father had warned as he left the room.
Tamlin pushed the memory to the back of his mind; it wasn’t wise to let himself get distracted; he needed his wits about him. According to his father’s spies the demon had left a distinct trail and it was clearly making its way back to its master. Tamlin gazed at where the Weaver’s cottage stood in a small clearing of the wood. It looked almost ordinary. Gnarled trees grew so close at its back, they nearly formed a solid wall. Tamlin cast his look around for a good vantage point that afforded concealment and opted for a particularly thick assembly of shrubs to the south of the trail leading up to the cottage. He gave a low sigh. This was going to be a long night.
***
“What?” “Shhhh…”. Be quiet Rhys shot a pointed look at Azriel who gave him a pained look in return. It will never not freak me out to communicate with you like this. Rhys grinned. A low growl like earth rumbling sounded in the woods and echoed off the side of the mountain. They both stood still for a moment, waiting. Nothing happened. “This should be fun, just like old times” Rhys said jokingly trying to lighten the mood. Azriel gave a snort in reply. They had been camped out in this forest for a couple of days now, lying in waiting, and had become increasingly restless. His father had sent them to retrieve the escaped creature and it was of the essence that they recaptured the Weaver’s demon before it got to its master. The Weaver may be contained to her cottage, but united with her demon she would have a weapon that could cause all sorts of strife to the Courts of Prythian. But this wearisome task wasn’t really what made them feel so on edge.
“Do you think they managed to restrain her by now?” Azriel whispered, sounding more fearful than Rhys had ever heard him before. “I don’t know…” Rhys was trying not to think about it. The truth was that there had been an even greater breach at the Prison. One that the Night Court has gone to great lengths to conceal. A more cunning and dangerous captive had managed to escape. And had sprung the neighbouring cell containing the demon on their way out. Rhys had nearly fainted when he heard that Amren had gotten loose.
I need Azriel his father’s voice growled in his mind, full of irritation. We have not yet concluded our mission in the Middle Rhys answered. Now the order boomed in response. “Az, you are needed back at the Night Court” Rhys said, giving Azriel an apologetic look. Azriel’s face paled but he didn’t hesitate as he stood immediately and shot to the sky. Rhys looked on as Azriel’s form grew smaller and then vanished from sight. It was their jurisdiction after all. The Prison. A monumental headache passed on through generations. Rhys sighed and settled his gaze back to the small clearing where the Weaver’s cottage lay. He and Azriel had chosen to find shelter in the trees, just off that clearing. Shrouded in shadows he was nearly invisible as the night grew thicker and the stars brighter. The forest seemed to come alive in the night, growls and snarls filling the air. Rhys occasionally got a glimpse of a pair of eyes between the trees. It was going to be a long night.
Tamlin heard it before he saw the creature. Not the demon itself but the silence that suddenly fell across the forest. The night was filled with sounds one moment and went completely still the next. As if everything living, including the trees and the shrubs, held their breath all at once. He strained his eyes looking for movement between the trees. Only moments later he saw it crawling on all fours, making its way towards the cottage, its skin smooth grey, nearly translucent, covering the eye sockets completely. He felt disgust twisting his stomach but didn’t stop to give it a thought. He leaped out of the shrubs and directly into the demon’s path.
Rhys spotted the demon creeping along the line of trees, but before he could make a move, a majestic beast crowned with antlers burst out of nowhere and stopped the demon in its tracks. It was massive, almost the size of a bear, with wolf-like features that were twisted in a menacing snarl. It had golden fur and gleaming emerald eyes that looked completely at odds with the dark grey forest that seemed devoid of all colour. For a moment Rhys stood frozen, watching enthralled as beast and demon leapt towards each other, colliding in midair and tumbling out of sight into the nearby thicket. Rhys finally shook himself from his stupor and sprang from the tree going after them, his shadows veiling him in darkness as he went.
Tamlin tumbled onto the forest floor; his grip still locked around the demon’s throat. The demon thrashed its legs and arms frantically, sharp talons drawing blood from Tamlin’s golden fur. Struggling to immobilise the creature, Tamlin reached for his earthly Spring Court power, but the response did not come from the ground, as if it were devoid of any spark of life. He strained with concentration and finally vines sprouted from the ground. But as soon as they appeared they grew ashen and crumbled to dust. Tamlin felt panic rise in his chest, just as a citrusy scent filled his nostrils that hadn’t been there a moment before. Even the demon seemed to pause its struggling for a heartbeat. Tamlin whipped his head around, two star flecked purple eyes meeting his. He started and snarled and his grip loosened for the smallest of seconds. That was all the demon needed, it seized its chance and slipped through Tamlin’s grasp, leaping for his neck with its long poisonous fangs. Tamlin growled and fought the hissing demon when black tendrils took hold around its neck and pulled it back. A blade flashed and a spray of blood landed across Tamlin’s face. He rolled away, shifting into his Fae form just as the demon, its head impaled by a long knife, dropped dead to the ground.
Tamlin braced his hands on his knees and stood panting, watching the raven-haired male now crouching over the dead demon. Night Court he thought. The male grabbed the hilt of the blade that was still stuck in the creature’s head and pulled. Clear liquid trickled down the shining metal and onto the ground. Tamlin had never seen a knife like that, its blade curved slightly and adorned with an intricate carving. The male turned his purple gaze on him in an assessing sweep. “What were you trying to do?” he said, cocking his head onto one side. “I was… trying to capture it” Tamlin answered with uncertainty. “Capture it?” the male’s eyes widened in surprise “Whatever for?”. Tamlin didn’t know what to answer, he didn’t know this male and didn’t want to give away any intel to another Court. “Just following orders” he said finally. The male frowned at that response, no doubt trying to figure out who in their right mind would want that demon alive and in their vicinity. “Looks like that didn’t work out for you” the male said thoughtfully. “No, it did not” Tamlin said grimly. The male gave him a weak smile. “I’m Rhys by the way” he said. Tamlin nodded and stood straighter. “Tamlin” he said in response.
Rhys regarded the panting male standing in front of him, his long hair the same golden hue as the fur of his beast form. Shape-shifter. Spring Court. He felt intrigued by him. There was such frankness in those green eyes. “We should probably cover our tracks” Rhys said, pointing the Illyrian blade at the dead creature before sheathing it at the bandolier on his chest. “I can take care of that” Tamlin replied, crouching next to the demon and touching his hand to the ground. Rhys took a step back as a large crack appeared in the ground, swallowing the demon in its dark abyss, then closed neatly back up. “Impressive” he said, smiling. “Thank you” Tamlin answered, smiling back nervously. A hiss sounded from a nearby brush and they both whirled around, bracing themselves. Whatever it was it must have decided they weren't worth the risk, because it took off, the bushes rustling in its wake.
Tendrils of shadow started whirling around them and Tamlin backed away apprehensively. “They won’t bite” Rhys said in a teasing tone. “I’m just trying to make us less conspicuous' '. “Are they, like, solid?” Tamlin asked, contemplating the tendrils that snaked around him. “Oh, I can make them as solid or transparent as I like” Rhys said and a tendril rose gently at the level of Tamlin’s arm, who tentatively raised his hand out to reach for it. It felt like a silky breath at first and then took on a more solid feel, like a ribbon smoothly flowing over his hand, over some of the scratches the demon had left with its long talons. Tamlin flinched. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to… does that hurt? You should get cleaned up” Rhys said. “Yes” Tamlin agreed, inspecting the blood and mud smears on his arms and chest, the gashes that were not quite healed. He had been so distracted he hadn’t even noticed. “I should probably-“ he started, “There is a creek nearby, I can show you if you want” Rhys interrupted. Tamlin looked at him surprised. “Just over there” Rhys said, pointing to the East. “I… uhm… sure, ok” Tamlin said in an uncertain tone and they started walking in the direction Rhys had indicated. “Don’t you need to get back and report or something?” he asked. “I’m not in a hurry” Rhys shrugged. Tamlin eyed Rhys thoughtfully. He felt wary of this male, but going back to his father seemed even less appealing at the moment. He gave a long sigh “I suppose neither am I”. With a sidelong look, Rhys patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. The first light of the day was breaking in the distance as they walked on, Rhys’ shadows shielding them both from lurking predators.
#acotar fan fiction#Tamlin#Tamlin&Rhys#TamlinWeek2024#tamlin week 2024#first time trying at fan fiction
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A Moment with Nyx
Summary: Rhys and Feyre share a moment with Nyx after he is born.
Notes: Spoilers for ACOSF
Teaser: “I never thought the happiest moment of my life would also be the most terrifying.”
__________
“Darling,” I said, easing myself onto the bed next to Feyre and sliding my arm around her shoulders. “I love you,” I murmured against her hair, breathing in the scent of her.
I’d lost count of how many times I’d said those words to her today. The fact that she’d almost . . . My chest throbbed at the thought of it. I knew Feyre knew that I loved her, that there was nothing in this entire world I wouldn’t do for her, but in our final moments all I could think of was that none of it had been enough.
Feyre turned her head to stare at me with her gorgeous gray-blue eyes. “I love you, too.” She pressed her lips against mine and my body shuddered. She pulled away, her brows knitted in concern. “Rhys,” she trailed soft kisses along my cheeks, brushing away the tears that I hadn’t even realized were falling. “Rhys, it’s okay now. We made it. We’re here.” Feyre kissed me one more time before looking down at the sleeping babe in her arms. “We all are.”
I gently placed a hand over the one Feyre had supporting his head.
He was perfect, and he was ours.
“Nyx,” I whispered, “Our Nyx.”
It was a miracle he was here. That any of us was.
I looked again at Feyre. My mate. Mother of my child. Her hair was slightly disheveled and I could see in her eyes how tired she was. “Can I get you anything, my love?”
“No, not right now.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
“Yes, just tired,” She admitted.
“Are you sure?” I pressed.
She smiled at me. “Yes, Madja said we were all going to be okay, remember, Rhys?” And then as if she knew what I was about to say next, she added, “It’s normal for me to feel tired.”
I knew she was right. Madja had said all three of us were perfectly healthy after Nesta had used the trove to save us during Nyx’s birth. She’d checked Feyre and Nyx extensively and then insisted on checking me as well. She was amazed—we all were— by what Nesta had given to save us. There was almost no limit to what I would do or give to repay Feyre’s sister for her sacrifice.
I rubbed my thumb over the back of Feyre’s hand.
A son. We had a son.
In all my years I’d never hoped to have a family of my own. I never dared to consider a mate who would see me for everything I am and not only accept me, but love me as she does. And offspring… Feyre had given me a son.
There was nothing I wouldn’t do for them.
“Rhys,” Feyre whispered, “A thought for a thought?”
She knew me too well.
“I felt you…” I started, “felt you dying. And I knew that I was dying too. And that Nyx was…” My voice became shaky and I trailed off.
Feyre rested her head against my shoulder. “I know, Rhys… I felt you too. I felt you holding onto me, trying to pull me back.” Her voice cracked. “I was trying so hard to stay.”
“I never thought the happiest moment of my life would also be the most terrifying.”
“Me either,” She agreed.
We sat in contented silence for a while. I had no idea how much time had passed while I held my mate and our son in my arms. I was beginning to wonder if Feyre had fallen asleep when she said, “You once told me that everything you love has a tendency to be taken away from you.” I tensed up, but let her continue. “Those are my things too now, Rhys. We share those things. They are mine, just as much as they are yours. I love you, the way you love me. And I love Nyx, the way you love Nyx. And our family. And our Court. All of it, Rhys. We are one, until the very last star winks out of existence, we are one. And I will share, and protect the things you love just as you do.”
I kissed her temple several times before resting my forehead against hers. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“You should get some sleep.”
“I know.” She smiled softly, shifting her attention to Nyx, “but I don’t want to put him down.”
“I’ll hold him.” I replied, sitting up in bed so that I could reverently take the small winged boy from her. He stirred in my arms for a moment but did not wake, not as I tucked him against my chest and laid back onto the pillows.
Feyre rolled onto her side next to me, placing a hand over Nyx. “We made him.”
“I know,” I grinned, “That’s why he’s so beautiful.”
Feyre chuckled, and Cauldron, she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, especially as she began to glow with that brilliant light of hers.
“Happy, Feyre darling?”
“More than I ever thought I could be.”
“Me too, my love. Me too.
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Y’all I’m so upset. I was reading a fan fic on here and now I can’t find it. I don’t remember the title. But all I remember is Rhysand telling Nesta to shut the fuck up (I hate him) then he dumped her in the mountains near the day court, and then Cassian finds out and brings her back, they cuddle for a few days, and then Feyre visits and tells them to show up for a gathering or meeting or something, and Nesta doesn’t want to but they go anyway, and when they go, Nesta wants wine but then Rhysand is like “no you know how she is” and shit like this (I ducking hate him) and yeah basically i explained enough. Help me find the author please. I desperately want to know what happens next. I also very much want Nesta to smack Rhysand
#pro nesta archeron#nesta archeron#pro nesta#sarah j maas#sjm fandom#sjmaas#sjm fanfic#sjm books#acotar fan fiction#acosf fanfiction
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𝐒𝐉𝐌 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑
𝐀 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬
𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐌𝐞𝐧
Intertwined (Batboys x Reader)
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Rhysand
Cassian
Azriel
Lucien Vanserra:
Promise (smut)
Slow (fluff/smut)
Watch (smut, plussize!reader)
Breakfast (smut), domestic!Lucien)
Safewording w/ Lucien
Coward (angst)
Distraction (fluff)
Eris Vanserra
Morrigan:
NSFW Alphabet
Being in a relationship with Mor would include…
Nesta Archeron:
Good (smut)
Be Nice (smut, Nesta/Cassian/Reader)
Bratty (smut)
Nesta/Reader/Azriel smut drabble
Feyre Archeron:
One More (smut)
NSFW Alphabet
𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐂𝐢𝐭𝐲
Ruhn Danaan
Hunt Athalar:
Perfect (smut)
Always Yours (smut)
𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬
Rowan Whitethorn:
Fragile (smut)
Lover (smut)
Being in a relationship with Rowan Whitethorn would include…
Guarantee (tension, smut-ish)
Just One More (smut)
Manon Blackbeak:
NSFW ALPHABET
Beg (smut)
Little Thing (smut, Manon/Dorian/Reader)
Remind Me (smut)
Dorian Havilliard:
Little Thing (smut, Manon/Dorian/Reader)
Dramatic (fluff, slight suggestiveness)
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lose control | prologue
pairing: azriel x day court!reader
word count: 1k
warnings: allusions to sex/one night stand but nothing explicit (yet)
summary: the humble beginnings of your complicated relationship with azriel
series masterlist
The first time you and Azriel slept together was an act of convenience, fraught by mutual attraction. It was a flurry of heady seduction, hands and teeth and tongues colliding sloppily — though pleasurably — as you pulled him by the collar of his shirt over the threshold of your bedroom in the late hours of the night of one of Helion’s overindulgent parties.
It wasn’t the first time you two had met, but it was the first time you had any meaningful interaction past polite greetings at the meetings between your respective High Lords.
You’d been watching him all night, tracking his movements and the way he carried himself with an air of such confident nonchalance. Truthfully, you were supposed to be observing everyone at the party — a lesson in networking, Helion had told you — but you couldn’t help your gaze from straying to the Night Court’s spymaster more and more as the night progressed.
At the time, you had been relatively new to your role as Helion’s second in command — a position you rightfully earned with your grit and blood, despite the rumors of your appointment being the product of nepotism. They were rumors you abhorred, insulted by the insinuation of Helion’s favoritism and that you had not earned your keep. But they were rumors you could understand; had you taken an outsider’s perspective, you might have thought the same thing.
When your father — one of Helion’s top generals — met his untimely and gruesome end on a mission gone wrong, Helion himself saw to it that you, a mere adolescent at the time, were well taken care of. Having lost your mother before you could exhale your first cry, and having lost your father on the cusp of your adulthood, your orphanage pulled at Helion’s heartstrings; he always liked your family. So, Helion took on the task of your parentage, providing lessons in a plethora of subjects from fine art to the sciences, and offered advice about the many trials you’d faced in your late adolescence and early adulthood.
Notwithstanding your enjoyment of the challenge of living and learning, nothing compared to your inherent skill in war strategy; you truly were the child of your father. When Helion caught wind of your exceptional prowess in strategy, he’d helped you hone your skill, challenging you year by year with more difficult tasks, pleased in every way a fatherly figure would be.
Though suspicions of Helion’s soft spot for you were true, it played no role in your acquisition of the warmaster — and subsequent second in command — title you now bore. You’d proved yourself time and time again, besting some of the Day Court’s most renowned soldiers in games of wit and combat. You were an indisputable prodigy.
But even still, even after a decade of proving your competence as Helion’s rightful second hand, some still questioned your ability. And — looking back on it now — you supposed you had let their skepticism of you get to your head, planting seeds of insecurity deep in the recesses of your mind. And maybe it was because of this burgeoning insecurity that you were so wildly drawn to Azriel, a beautiful challenge with dark lashes and hazel eyes.
It was a ridiculous notion borne of the naivety of youth to think that bedding a beautiful half-stranger would prove your worth and erase your uncertainty in yourself, as if somehow your skill on the battlefield could be corroborated by your skills of seduction. But you bought into it, determined to use your charm and wit to coax him to your room.
It worked, though you imagined that Azriel had his own reasoning for following you down Helions’s estate’s hallways.
And he most certainly did. At the time, he had still been deep in his unreciprocated pining for Mor, and watching her flirt with the patrons at Helion’s party sent his chest lurching in pain and longing. So when you sidled up next to him with a spare flute of faerie wine in your hands, he allowed himself to indulge in your beauty, allowed himself to crack open the door to his heart just a little to let you in. For just a moment, just a night.
What he hadn’t anticipated was the rush of fondness and joy that flung that door to his heart wide open, filling his chest with a light he hadn’t experienced before. Maybe it was the faerie wine, or maybe it was the way your lips curved in a stunning arc that had him leaning in closer to you, whispering risqué promises in your ear as you laughed with heat blooming on your cheeks. He knew what would happen next, and the thrill of anticipation coursed through his veins in a persistent pulse; he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to want and be wanted back.
Azriel couldn’t remember who invited who to “talk somewhere quieter” first, but in hindsight it didn’t matter. You had come like a thief in the night and stolen all of his attention, erasing any thoughts of any other female before you. Just one night, he had told himself before he indulged in you. Just one night and he’d go back to his reality, back to the darkness of his longing.
Though Azriel’s night with you ended with the early morning sun peeking through your curtains, he never truly returned to the reality of his life before you. The longing he felt for Mor — though still present and pervasive — had eased somewhat by the gentleness of your touch, and he found his thoughts shifting gradually.
It happened slowly at first, a fleeting image of the curve of your spine, a brief flash of the glow upon your cheeks when you smiled. And then as the mental pictures of you grew more insistent in his consciousness, he sought you out, taking more missions in the Day Court and spending one night longer every time to keep you company.
He had told himself he had it under control, would most likely be overtaken by his affections for Mor at some point once again like he always was. But every night he spent warming your bed pulled him deeper and deeper into a space he was unsure how to navigate. You were…a friend, maybe. And though he knew friends did not sleep with one another on a relatively regular basis, Azriel intentionally ignored the complicated maze of his feelings, opting instead to lose himself in your magnetism for fear that if he allowed himself more time to think, to ponder about what his desire for you meant, he’d be sent into another painful spiral of unreciprocated affections.
So he kept whatever unexplored feelings he did or did not have for you locked away, enjoying the strange limbo and relative detachedness of your relationship. He was allowed to have fun, and you were both consenting 500-something-year-olds; where was the harm in a little messiness?
He had this under control.
Oh, poor misguided Shadowsinger. How wrong you are.
part i (coming soon!)
a/n: here is the prologue!! honestly this was an impulse post, but i’m just so excited for this series, i couldn’t help it! come talk to me about your theories and ideas of what will/should happen ;-)
#azriel x y/n#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel#azriel acotar#azriel fanfic#azriel fan fiction#azriel fanfiction#azriel fluff#azriel fic#azriel angst#acotar azriel#acotar#acotar x reader#acotar imagine#azriel imagine#acotar fic#acotar fanfiction#acotar fanfic#acotar x you#acotar x y/n#acotar fluff#a court of thorns and roses#acomaf#acowar#acowar fanfic#acosf
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A little blurb I came up with in honor of our High Lady’s birthday and the winter solstice. This is modern!eddie x reader who seem to bump heads when it comes to their respective fantasy series: Lord of the Rings & A Court of Thorns and Roses. Thank you to @big-ope-vibes and @fracturedarkness for reading this over for me 💖
Words: 733
Dustin lets himself into your apartment as he always does. One of the very first things you and Eddie learned when you’d moved in was to make sure the front door is locked if you didn’t want hordes of teenagers just busting in at all times of the day.
“I can’t believe you think that’s better!”
Dustin hears Eddie shout from your shared bedroom and the younger man sinks down into a kitchen chair with a groan. Maybe he could make an escape before either of you noticed he was there. It’s not like you could have heard him come in over the volume of your argument.
“God damn it, not this again,” Dustin mumbles to himself as he stands up.
He isn’t quick enough though. Eddie stomps out of the bedroom, you hot on his heels. You notice Dustin before your boyfriend does and throw him a quick, semi-forced smile before turning your attention back to your boyfriend. Eddie gives him a nod in greeting before your reply.
“You have no taste! Arwen sounds like the name of a hotel maintenance repair guy! My daughter will not have that name.”
Eddie scoffs and shakes his head.
“And what, your top pick is so much better?” Eddie spits out.
“Yes!”
Eddie lets out a humorless laugh. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Yet you say I’m the one with no taste?” he asks.
“Feyre is a beautiful name! What’s wrong with it?”
Eddie pulls out the old, worn blue chair that’s across the table from Dustin and plops down into it. He looks imploringly at one of his best friends, not even sure what he’s asking for. Backup? Agreement? Would either make a difference?
“What about Galadriel?” Eddie asks. “We’ll call her ‘Gal.’”
“That’s worse than Arwen!” you tell him as you walk to the fridge and grab a drink. Eddie opens his mouth to speak but you hold up a hand before he can get the words out. “If you say ‘Éowyn’ I swear to God you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”
Dustin rolls his eyes as Eddie stands up again, taking a few steps closer to you.
“Éowyn sounds like that other name you suggested!” he argues.
“Amren?” you ask. Eddie nods and you shake your head. “They are entirely different names. And I think I’ve given you some great options.”
“Haven’t heard a good one yet,” Eddie says as he crosses his arms over his chest.
One hand slams your drink down before it rests on your hip while the other you hold up in front of your face so you can count off the names on your fingers.
“Morrigan, Nesta, Elain!”
“Uh, you know,” Dustin pipes up as he begins to stand, “Elain sounds pretty reasonable.”
“Gimme a second, Dustin,” Eddie says, waving a dismissive hand at his buddy. The shorter man just rolls his eyes and plops back down in his seat.
“Samwise!” Eddie hurls at you, upping his volume. “It could work for a boy or a girl! Call them Sam.”
“If we’re going with that, we might as well go with Rhysand! Call him Rhys!” you shout back.
“I see we’ve moved on to boys now…” Dustin mumbles to himself.
“Legolas!” Eddie barks.
“Cassian!” you snap back.
“Aragorn.”
“Azriel.”
“Boromir.”
“Lucien.”
Eddie smirks and you narrow your eyes at him suspiciously.
“What about Tam—”
“You shut your damn mouth,” you hiss, pointing a finger at him.
Eddie scoffs and opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Dustin stands up, emanating a deep groan.
“You guys!” he yells, louder than both of you had been. It catches your attention and you and Eddie look over at him. “Will you two stop arguing over these names? Holy shit. You’re not even pregnant—you’re not having a baby! God damn it.”
Dustin shakes his head and walks towards the front door, clearly exasperated from just being in your home a few minutes.
“Maybe I’ll come back after you do have a kid and all this bullshit will be over,” he mumbles as he walks outside. The door reverberates as he slams it shut behind him.
A moment passes before you and Eddie tear your eyes from the door to meet each other’s gaze. Your boyfriend arches an eyebrow at you.
“So, the name Dustin is a no go?” he asks.
“A definite no.”
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#ACOTAR#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fan fiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic
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The pursuit of Feeling Alive: I. Intro
Pairing: Azriel x fem!reader, PLATONIC!IC x reader
Synopsis: cousin to Rhysand and Morrigan, y/n was once her family’s golden child. Faced with trials and tribulations her whole life, she needed reprieve— a distraction. Until a surprise homecoming opens Pandora’s box, and gives y/n a reality check. Especially facing her once close friend Azriel. Friends to Enemies to lovers trope.
Warnings: trauma, swearing, pining, angst?
Word Count: 4.8k
Author note: this is my first acotar fic! It was originally going to be a singular self indulgent azriel fic, but I can’t ever get to the point and I got too many ideas. Definitely not very canon with the timeline of series I think lol, just going to throw that out there. I’ve already rough drafted another chapter and thought I’d share the work on here. Feel free to share your thoughts! If you’d like to be added to a tag list let me know!
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ
Internally, you teetered on the edge of a nervous breakdown, ready to tear yourself apart from within. Externally, you wore a mask of cold calculation, hoping no one could detect your distress and near senility. Earlier in the day, your cousin Mor had mentioned that her high lord and your other dear cousin, Rhysand, had matters to discuss with your high lord, Helion. The reason for their meeting was of no concern to Mor to bother filling you in.
Your heart thumped against your chest, unsure of what to expect. It had been over fifty years since the Day Court and Night Court had engaged in official business since the end of Amarantha's reign of terror. You had seen Rhysand during the time under the mountain, where you spent nearly half a century with him until Feyre saved Prythian. Still holding visits with him after to report to him along with Mor, thanks to her frequent visits to Helion. However, the rest of the court, especially those you hadn't met since after Amarantha and Hybern, remained a mystery, with only Mor's updates for context.
Following your time under the mountain, you chose to reside in the Day Court under Helion's rule as an emissary between the two Solar Courts. It served as a means to shield yourself from feeling too deeply, allowing you to focus on healing from the traumatic events you endured during those fifty years. There were other matters you had yet to confront and come to terms with, voluntarily choosing to ignore them. By hiding away and conducting your business mainly with Mor and Rhys, you could maintain a sense of avoidance of your once home.
Now, in the dining hall of the palace where Helion and his inner court resided—including yourself—you found yourself on edge. Regardless of the pressing matters at hand, your high lord insisted on hosting a dinner for his court and other high fae to publicly display the alliance between the Night Court and the Day Court. Standing next to Helion's chair in the center of the room, you observed the lively chatter among the gathered individuals.
Your hands were clasped tightly in front of you, nervously inspecting your gown for nonexistent dirt, attempting to conceal your jitters. The gown itself could remind anyone of the place you resided and wanted to consider your new home. It was an off-the-shoulder nude gown with gossamer sleeves cascading around your arms. The bodice, nearly transparent, accentuated your bust, adorned with soft gold crystals intricately arranged over your body. The long skirts consisted of layers of gossamer, featuring two long slits up the front that revealed your legs. You appeared ethereal and angelic.
"You seem on edge," Helion called out to you, pulling you out of your internal thoughts. Your eyes scanned the room, observing every movement, before turning your attention to the main entrance. He gently traced his finger beneath the dainty black diamond bracelet adorning your wrist, bringing your attention back. This bracelet, along with matching pieces around your neck and ears, showed your affiliation with the visiting court. You wore them out of respect for your older cousins, never daring to show your true affection openly—a facade to conceal your true self. You knew they would appreciate it if they noticed.
"The Night Court was your home, was it not?" He questioned, his tone casual, as he glanced over his shoulder at the other members of the inner court to make sure they weren’t listening. Adjusting his shirt cuffs to his well-matched button-down very similar color to yours, he exuded regality from head to toe.
You mumbled stoically, "Was." Clearing your throat tentatively, your eyes returned to the main doors. "This is my home now, serving under your rule. I can't afford to be anything but cautious when the Night Court wishes to discuss an unknown matter."
You didn’t miss the way his eyes rolled. "Always playing this game, aren't you?" Helion scolded playfully. “There's no need to keep up the act. Rhys's actions beneath the mountain spoke volumes for our court."
You thought to yourself, 'But my actions don't, and I'd rather keep it that way.' Aloud, you replied smoothly, "One can't appear too soft when the Night Court steps through that door." The lie slipped easily from your lips.
"Are we referring to the whole court now or the spymaster we both have eyes for?" Helion hummed, reclining slightly in his chair as he took a sip of fae wine from his chalice-like glass. Damn him.
"I have no eyes for any man, particularly not a brute Illyrian man. And especially not one I've been watching wrestle with my cousin since we were young children," you retorted, feeling a surge of unease and clenching your jaw at the assumption.
"That's a match I would give up all my powers to witness," the handsome, dark-skinned lord purred, his words aimed at you.
You wanted to snap at him, your patience wearing thin at the mere mention of the tall Illyrian warrior. However, you managed to keep your composure in check. "It's hardly a match; Rhys won every time."
As if on cue, you felt the energy of several individuals entering the palace. Rhysand always loved a dramatic entrance. "Excellent, our guests have arrived," you murmured, straightening your shoulders as best as you could.
Helion followed suit, sitting more upright in his chair at the center of the hall. The rest of the inner court took their positions standing.
The sentries opened the doors for the guests. Morrigan was the first to enter, her golden hair elegantly curled, and she delightedly took you in before blinking a few times, returning to her sultry expression. Her red gown fitted her perfectly: a strapless piece that flowed around her as she walked. Following her was a sight you hadn't expected since hearing the gossip from Mor—Lucien Vanserra, adorned in deep autumnal colors that complemented his complexion and long, tidy red hair. He was an old confidant of yours when you had stayed in the spring court. You couldn't help but find it amusing, but you maintained a composed demeanor, concealing your bemusement at how out of place in the night court he seemed.
After Lucien came two beautiful high fae women. The younger one on the left wore a flowing champagne pink gown that accentuated her slim waist and showcased her porcelain fair skin. Her light brown hair was adorned with crystals and flowers, and she wore dainty opal teardrop earrings that complimented her brown eyes. On the right stood another woman in a form-fitting navy dress that subtly shimmered with every movement. The gown highlighted her curves and bust, while a sapphire-like sciphon necklace adorned her neck. Her darker brown hair was elegantly pinned up with a silver circlet. These must have been the High Lady's sisters, Elain and Nesta, whom you had heard so much about. Nesta's eyes had a hint of danger and coldness, while Elain's were filled with awe as they observed the dining hall.
Cassian followed the two women, and you discreetly coughed to suppress a snort. He appeared cleaned up, wearing a navy tunic and dark linen pants, with his hair slicked back and neatly tied. This was a different version of him from the rugged general you were accustomed to, not dressed in his usual fighting leathers to a formal affair. His siphons were cleverly disguised as jewelry pieces, and he had politely tucked back his larger wings. He seemed out of place as much as Lucien, but his mischievous eyes locked with yours, indicating he might have had similar thoughts about you.
Before you could even see her, you sensed Amren's piercing gaze from behind Cassian's towering figure. Her glowing silver eyes held an inscrutable expression, and her lips formed a slight grimace. She wore her usual grey color in a slip gown that elegantly draped down in the front. Though not dressed as extravagantly as the others, her presence demanded attention. A touch of red lipstick and a slightly tousled hairstyle were enough to enhance her beauty. You could see the rest of Helion’s inner court murmur from your peripheral, the usual whispers about the millennia’s old creature stalking towards them.
Rhysand made his entrance with the high lady from beside him, exuding confidence and power. He wore his customary dark attire that accentuated his commanding presence. His violet eyes locked with yours for a fleeting moment before he turned his attention to Helion. Feyre held her head high, a diadem hanging on the crown of her head, and her hair half up half down in loose waves. Her dress off the shoulder shone in sapphire crystals making it look like stars had been entwined on the gown. She was gorgeous as a mortal even when she was malnourished when you saw her under the mountain, but as a high fae she was even more devastating.
Last of the group, you spotted Azriel, his shadows swirling subtly around him, and your breath caught in your throat. His shadows slinked up his dark tunic clad shoulder seeming to whisper in his ear. He looked over at you making eye contact discreetly. His features were hard but something unreadable in his eyes as he observed you. You didn’t miss the slight bob of his throat as he looked quickly away to a distant corner in the room acting stoic. His hair was pushed back showing his sharp jawline, and you could see his tattoos peeking out his shirt. His silent and brooding presence always managed to unnerve you, unable to get a good read on what could’ve been going through his head. You refused to let your guard down, not wanting to think about the shadowsinger that stood mere feet away. This had been the first time you have seen each other in person since you were able to leave under the mountain.
The Night Court all stood in front of Helion, and he bowed his head in greeting. You did the same along with the rest of the inner court. The introductions began, and the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation. Helion gracefully welcomed his guests, exchanging pleasantries and acknowledging the significance of the meeting. You observed the interactions, keeping a blank face despite the tumultuous emotions swirling within you. It felt like you were looking into your old life from the outside watching the inner circle, and your heart ached for a second.
Eventually, it was time for you to step forward and join the introductions. As you approached Rhysand, his gaze never wavered from yours. His lips curved into a knowing smile, a silent acknowledgment of the past. You stood before him, your heart pounding, but your expression remained composed.
"High Lord Rhysand," you greeted him, keeping your tone neutral and titles formal. "It has been a while."
His voice was smooth as he responded, “Y/n, always a pleasure. Allow me to introduce my wife and High Lady, Feyre.”
You bowed respectfully to the High Lady. “I am in awe, Feyre Cursebreaker. What an honor to have you grace the Day Court with your presence.”
A smile graced her lips in response. “Thank you for the warm welcome. I have heard so much about you, Y/n.” She took your hands in hers, and you were taken aback by the warm informal gesture. Your gaze fell upon the intricate tattoo adorning her hand and forearm, and in that moment, your heart swelled with joy for your cousin, and you dared to steal a glance at Rhys. His eyes were already fixed on you, and you couldn’t help but notice the subtle hints of tenderness and anticipation shining within them. You were so happy for him.
The formalities continued, and you exchanged polite words with Lucien, Elain, and Nesta. You longed for a chance to sit down and talk with them, to hear about their experiences since being freed from the cauldron. Your gaze wandered momentarily to Lucien, who stood near Morrigan, his amber eyes briefly glancing in your direction. A flicker of recognition passed between you, an unspoken acknowledgment of shared history. You had both suffered under the rule of the Spring Court, and it was a trauma you preferred to keep buried for now. But you couldn’t deny that you treasured the moments the young emissary had kept you sane within the trauma.
You stood next to Helion along with another Day Court emissary as Rhys, Amren, and Helion discussed some political topics. Deep down, you yearned for a moment alone with the inner circle, away from the prying eyes and expectations. But for now, you had to focus on the diplomatic matters at hand and navigate the complexities of the gathering. As the conversations flowed around you, you remained attentive, gathering information and assessing the dynamics between the courts.
Throughout the evening, conversations flowed, alliances were strengthened, and unspoken words hung heavy in the air. You played your part, engaging in polite conversation and maintaining the facade of an emissary, all the while battling the internal storm raging within you. It was beginning to wear on you though. Watching from afar at how Mor mingled with Nesta and Cassian. The Illyrian man had his arm around the oldest Archeon sister as they nodded and chuckled at Mor, and you wanted to smile. You had never expected Cassian finding a mate before you, but here you were.
A lot has changed since you had left indeed, and the longing you felt came back.
“You’re not my prisoner, you know. Feel free to mingle,” Helion’s voice chimed from behind, breaking through your thoughts.
“Isn’t that a bit informal?” you responded, sipping your glass of wine.
He arched an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “To talk at a party?” He snatched your wine from your hand.
You turned to face him, reaching for your half-filled glass that he held teasingly away from you. “Ah, don’t you think it’s a bit informal for an emissary to get drunk?” He added a playful spark in his eyes.
“To drink at a party?” You volleyed back, grinning mischievously as you continued your playful struggle for the glass.
“Why don’t you practice the talking part with Rhysand?” Helion suggested, his eyes glinting with amusement. “It seems like he’s eager to have a word with his dear cousin.” He gestured subtly behind you, and amidst the revelry and banter, Rhysand and Feyre made their way toward you both. However, before you could react, your gaze caught Azriel’s intense hazel eyes from their table behind the approaching couple, where he sat next to Elain. His massive wings appeared tense and uncomfortably confined by the chair. Elain chatted with him, but it seemed his attention was elsewhere, fixated on you. His shadows still whispered in his ear as one crept across the table.You resisted the urge to shudder, maintaining your composure, and quickly turned your attention back to Helion, whose grin remained firmly in place.
“Helion, may we borrow Y/n for a moment?” Rhysand inquired, one eyebrow raised, his gaze flickering between you and Helion.
Helion practically pushed you into Feyre’s arms. “Go ahead, I was just informing her that she’s free from her duties until later!” he announced with a mischievous glint in his eyes. The tips of your ears burned with embarrassment as you realized his intent to encourage your mingling.
“Thank you, My Lord,” you replied, bowing your head with a touch of sarcasm. Rhysand extended his arm, and you looped yours through it, allowing him to guide you towards their table. A nervous gulp betrayed your anticipation.
Feyre looked at you with concern. “Are you alright?” she asked, her tone gentle and caring.
“May we speak on the balcony?” you requested, your voice filled with meekness.
“Of course, it’s getting a bit warm in here,” Rhysand agreed, leading the three of you towards the balcony bathed in soft faelight.
You all leaned casually against the balcony railing, observing the lively feast taking place inside.
"How's the Day Court treating you?" he asked in a relaxed tone, as if to put you at ease. Away from prying eyes, you felt your shoulders relax. It felt good to be with your cousin where you both didn’t have to wear a mask.
"Well," you replied, "the Day Court doesn't quite compare to the beauty of the Night Court, but the days are undeniably bright." You struggled to find a suitable comparison for the Day Court's allure to the Night Court.
Rhys and Feyre almost snorted out their wine, their amusement evident. "I wonder why," Rhys sarcastically murmured.
Choosing to ignore your cousin's comment, you continued, "I've been making progress translating some texts for the court, and delving into a lot of reading.”
It seemed as though the High Lord and Lady expected to hear more and urged you to continue, but they realized you had nothing more to share.
Rhys cleared his throat. "Wow, that sounds like quite a lot," he remarked. You could tell he wanted to throw a snide remark, but a warning look from his mate kept him at bay. Where was Feyre centuries ago when you always found to be the butt of your cousin's jokes?
You shrugged. "Keeps me distracted." From your vantage point, you had a perfect view of the inner circle's table. Mor, Amren, Azriel, Lucien, Nesta, and Cassian were all seated there, drinking and picking at their food. Helion even made sure Amren had a chalice of beast's blood. You missed being a part of that group, laughing and sharing moments with them. The only person in the Day Court you truly felt comfortable with was Helion, and even that remained behind closed doors.
"Come home," the words made your shoulders tense. It wasn't your cousin who had spoken, but Feyre. You looked at her, finding understanding in her eyes, as if she knew what you were going through.
Your gaze wandered back to the inner circle. Your eyes fell on Azriel, who was listening with a ghost of a smile on his lips, as Cassian animatedly spoke, his wings flaring about and nearly knocking over Lucien's wine glass. The group tried to hide their laughter while Amren scolded them. Azriel's shadows discreetly moved the glass out of Cassian's wingspan, hiding his amusement.
"They miss you," Rhys genuinely expressed. "I miss you, and even the House misses you." Tears welled up, tightening your throat. "He won’t say it out loud, but he misses you too."
You didn't need to be told who he was. You knew.
"I didn't even say goodbye," you spoke with a heavy heart, guilt washing over you.
"That was over fifty years ago, Y/n," Rhys reminded you gently.
He placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "We have texts for you to translate if it’s a means to keep you busy, we could even have you train with Madja. Want an apartment on the opposite side of town from the House of Wind? Consider it done. Desire a cottage in the middle of nowhere? It's yours. Just please, stop running away," Rhys pleaded.
You felt tears welling up, but you willed them away. "I... I just can't leave," you stammered. You could feel your heart torn.
"You can," Feyre said sympathetically, holding your hands. "Helion asked us to come and talk to you."
"We won't force you, but he mentioned that you've changed in the last few years," Rhys added. Feyre's grip on your hands tightened.
"Please talk to them maybe and think about it?" she requested. You knew she meant the inner circle.
Biting your lip, you contemplated. "I'll find you in a bit. I need some time alone."
With a nod, Rhysand and Feyre understood your need for solitude. They exchanged a brief glance before making their way back inside, leaving you alone on the balcony.
Leaning against the railing, you let the cool evening breeze brush against your skin, smell of wildflower and honey in the air, the quietness of the moment allowing your thoughts to swirl. Images of your past, the friendships you had forged and the bonds you had left behind, filled your mind. The longing in your heart grew stronger with each passing second your family stood in the same room as you. A longing you pushed deep down when you were still under the mountain, uncertain of seeing your loved ones again.
Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, trying to not let tears slip. It was true that you had changed over the years, that the weight of your experiences had shaped you into someone different. But running away had only prolonged the pain, and you knew it was time to confront it. If your cousins had endured the pain, you were sure you could too.
Slowly, you pushed yourself away from the railing, determination igniting within you. You couldn't stay on the sidelines any longer. The inner circle had always been your family, even if circumstances had driven you apart. And now, as you stood on the cusp of a decision, you realized that it was time to bridge that gap.
Stepping back inside, you navigated through the crowd, searching for the familiar faces you had missed dearly. You found them at their table, still engaged in their playful banter, laughter filling the air. Taking a deep breath, you approached, your footsteps faltering only slightly.
As you reached the table, a hush fell over the group, their gazes turning towards you. Azriel's eyes locked with yours, and the shadows around him seemed to ripple, as though mirroring the tumultuous emotions within you.
"Can I join you?" you asked softly, your voice carrying a blend of trepidation and hope.
The response was immediate and overwhelming. Cassian's boisterous laughter echoed as he clapped you on the back, nearly knocking the breath out of you. Nesta's sharp gaze softened for a brief moment, Elain offered a warm but wary smile, and Lucien's amber eyes held surprise. Morrigan's voice was a welcoming melody as she pulled out a chair for you, and Amren, in her own enigmatic way, nodded approvingly.
Taking your seat among them, you couldn't help but feel a sense of homecoming. And as you settled into the comfort of their presence, you could feel your frozen heart just dethaw slightly.
“Y/n, I knew you were always shy, but around us?” Mor teased you endearingly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You look so beautiful tonight!” She gushed, her words filled with genuine admiration as she played with a strand of your hair. “The dress would be better in a darker color though.” She whispered the last part so only you and the inner circle could hear, her voice laced with a conspiratorial tone.
“The gown color does wash you out,” Amren chimed in, her bored expression not fully hiding a hint of amusement.
A laugh bubbled out of your chest, surprising even yourself. "Not the first thing I thought I would hear from you in years," you quipped, a playful smile tugging at your lips. Amren raise her glass to you before taking a sip of the thick liquid in the cup.
“Better than that raggedy spring court piece you came back in, though," Rhysand interjected, his voice filled with playful banter as he and Feyre settled into the extra seats at the table. The original inner circle chuckled at the memory.
Despite that being one of the worst days of your life, you couldn't help but smile too. The shared laughter brought a warmth to the air, softening the edges of past wounds.
“You should’ve seen the dress I came to the Night Court in," Feyre chimed in, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Another monstrosity by Ianthe," Lucien muttered into his glass before taking a sip, his voice tinged with a touch of disdain. Your eyes widened at the snide comment, but the group erupted into laughter, momentarily forgetting the weight of your burdens.
As the night wore on, Helion raised his glass, signaling a toast to the alliance between the two courts. The hall fell silent, and you raised your glass as well, a faint smile playing at the corner of your lips. The toast created a joyous noise as everyone in attendance drank, and the music started playing. Mor instantly beamed and grabbed Feyre’s hand, followed by Elain, leading them to the dance floor. Rhysand and Lucien joined them, their steps filled with a carefree grace. Cassian took Nesta’s hand, and they followed suit. Amren excused herself to converse with the emissary from the Day Court with a request of Azriel to accompany her.
You turned to Mor, insisting you would join them shortly, as you wished to find Helion. She nodded understandingly, giving you a knowing smile as she disappeared into the swirling crowd. You made your way toward Helion, feeling the warmth of the night and the drinks starting to loosen your tongue and heart.
“Do you wish to get rid of me so easily?” you feigned offense, walking up to his side. The merriment of the evening had given you a newfound boldness. Your body hadn’t felt this light in ages. Your gaze met his, and a flicker of understanding passed between you.
Helion shook his head, a gentle smile gracing his features. “No, darling, never. I just think your heart belongs somewhere else.” His words were filled with gentle encouragement. He patted the arm of his chair, offering you a seat upon the rest. With an eye roll and a smile, you accepted, settling into the plush chair arm.
"Your presence is lovely, your duty is commendable, but I couldn't sit here watching you turn to stone any longer," Helion continued, his voice filled with genuine concern. His finger absentmindedly found the wrist under your bracelet, his touch a feather-light brush against your skin. A wave of warmth washed over you, and the faint scent of wildflowers drifted through the air.
"Besides, maybe it's time you face a certain Illyrian man," he whispered discreetly, his words carrying a hint of suggestion.
You looked at him, confusion swirling within you. His eyes subtly glanced over to the corner, and you followed his gaze. Azriel stood behind Amren, his intense gaze fixed on Helion and you. His jaw was clenched, and his wings were taut with tension, as if holding back an impending storm. The sight of him sent a jolt of both excitement and apprehension through your veins.
"I can't ignore those ravenous stares, knowing he wants to rip me to shreds, and not in the way I like," he added, teasingly toying with your bracelet as if oblivious to Azriel's presence. The Day Court High Lord knew exactly what he was doing it seemed. Azriel couldn’t have been glaring at Helion; it had to be you. Memories of your past argument with Azriel flashed through your mind, the intensity of the argument still fresh. You had both nearly destroyed each other. You hadn’t ever heard you two speak so many volatile and vulgar things— especially at each other.
"I could never forgive him for what he said," you sighed. "What's even worse is that I can't forgive myself for what I did, not only to him, but to my family. I feel responsible for my ex-husband's actions towards them." You admitted, realizing that you had never spoken those words aloud before.
Beside you, the lord sucked his teeth in retort. "You can't blame yourself for what your father put you through by selling you to that pretty little beast." He sat up straighter and looked at you earnestly. "Nobody blames you, Y/n." You found yourself unabashedly staring back at Azriel as he was still looking at the interaction between you and the high lord.
“We all carry burdens from our past, but we mustn't let them define our future," he said gently. "You were caught in a web spun by others, but you have the strength to break free. It's time to forgive yourself and embrace the healing you deserve."
You nodded nimbly, biting your lip in contemplation. You would always hold gratitude for Helion. His kindness you’ve experienced for the last several years was more than what you deserved and needed, but he still provided it. If you returned to the night court you wouldn’t have known where you stood in the court. What your rank would be, what your friends thought of you, and where to even pick back up in your life. You just knew you haven’t felt this alive in awhile, and you craved the feeling.
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ
[x] next chapter
Let me know your thoughts, and feel free to like and reblog! I might change the title but that’s tbd.
#acotar fanfic#azriel shadowsinger x reader#acotar fic#acotar fanfiction#pofa#Lucien Vanserra x reader#lucien acotar#Cassian x reader#inner circle fic#morrigan#feyre archeron#a court of thrones and roses#a court of mist and fury#a court of wings and ruin#azriel#azriel x reader#azriel shadowsinger#rhysand#rhysand x reader#a court of thorns and roses fan fiction#azriel acotar#Cassian acotar#morrigan acotar#pro nesta#elain archeron#Amren acotar#inner circle#azriel shadowsinger fic#azriel shadowsinger fan fiction#azriel shadowsinger x reader imagine
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A Dying Flame
Eris POV — my first fic
Heyyyyy friends. I decided to write the two scenes UTM from Eris’s POV where Lucien is being tormented and Eris is forced to watch. It can also be found here. I’ve never written anything before so be nice to me 😭 I took a few lines directly from ACOTAR to set the scene and make it as canon as possible, but the rest came from me. I tried to channel SJM's writing style as best I could. I am trash for Eris so I couldn’t resist. I hope you guys like it 🥲 title is dumb so I might change it. I am eternally grateful for any of you who choose to read the whole thing, I promise it’s not too long! 🙏
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Eris
I stood at the edge of the gathered crowd, struggling to keep the cool mask of indifference on my face as Amarantha once again had Lucien bound and on his knees before her. Would his torment never cease? He had never quite mastered the ability to keep his mouth shut, to leash his tongue until the moment it would best serve him. Lucien’s loud mouth had already cost him his left eye, plucked right from his head by Amarantha herself. Rage coursed through me at the role I was forced to play each day under this cursed mountain. How useless I’d become at protecting those I held most dear.
Lucien and I had not exchanged honest words in over 30 years. I longed for the chance to speak to him alone, to beg him to hold his tongue so as not to draw Amarantha’s ire more than he already had. Not for the first time, I desperately wished for the daemati abilities the High Lord of Night possessed so that I might speak to Lucien privately. Abilities he was about to unleash upon my brother.
Beside Lucien stood a small and ordinary mortal girl, likely Amarantha’s newest plaything to torture and discard.
“Her name?” Amarantha asked Tamlin, who didn’t reply. “I don’t suppose your handsome brothers know, Lucien,” she purred.
Give up her name! I nearly begged him. To hell with the girl. Instead I heard myself say, “If we did, Lady, we would be the first to tell you.” The words tasted like poison on my tongue. My brothers chuckled from behind me.
Amarantha only smiled and nodded at Rhysand. He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing slightly on Lucien, who hissed in pain.
I tensed as Rhysand began smiling faintly. Bastard. He was a loathsome, foul bastard. And though I knew he played a role and wore a mask as much as the rest of us, it didn’t stop me from hating him as he held Lucien’s mind in his clutches.
Lucien stiffened in pain. A groan slipped out of him, and–
“Feyre!” the girl shouted. “My name is Feyre.”
Lucien sagged on the ground, trembling. Relief shuttered through me, and I bared my teeth and snarled quietly at the girl to disguise the trembling in my hands, my legs. He was safe, for now. And no thanks to me.
The conversation continued, but I let my mind drift far away. Tried to feel nothing as I attempted to calm my racing heart. I clenched my sweaty palms at my sides and allowed myself a quick glance at Lucien’s prone form. Alive–for now.
I slipped back into the crowd as they dragged Feyre away. He was alive. I repeated this to myself as the cruelty continued through the night, as it did every night in this miserable place. Alive–as I sipped wine and smiled at the punishment the Attor was inflicting on the poor faeries Amarantha had singled out this evening. Alive, alive, alive a steady chant in my blood as the night wore on.
Alive.
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“Well, Feyre, your second trial has come.” I heard Amarantha smugly announce from her throne at the front of the room. A gnawing dread had been pooling in my gut for the last hour. I could only guess at what new horror she had in store for the girl, but I grew increasingly anxious when I did not see Lucien amongst the revelers. He tended to lurk in the shadows of the room, one eye on Tamlin, ever the loyal sentry. I couldn’t help the low snarl that escaped me at the thought. That Lucien was willing to risk his own life for the Spring Court brute. The faerie next to me skittered away at the sound.
I slowly made my way towards the gathered crowd. Faeries averted their eyes as I passed. It was a relief that I still commanded a modicum of fear from these leeches. Their fear of me was a weapon I wielded frequently.
Amarantha sat proudly on her throne. The Attor at her left, Tamlin braced stiffly behind her on her right.
“Here, Feyre darling, you shall find your task. Simply answer the question by selecting the correct lever, and you’ll win. Select the wrong one to your doom. As there are only three options, I think I have given you an unfair advantage.” Something metallic groaned at the snap of her fingers. “That is,” she added with a snake-like smile, “if you can solve the puzzle in time.”
I had just gotten a glimpse of the girl when the floor where she was standing began to sink down, revealing a small chamber split in two by a metal grate.
I went rigid as I beheld the figure chained to the floor, previously hidden from view. A loud roaring began building in my head. My skin felt tight and hot as I saw that it was Lucien–Lucien, who would again be part of the night’s entertainment. Lucien wrenched at the chains binding him to the floor. I nearly puked on the throne room floor at the sight of it.
Only the many years of practice in my long immortal life stopped the cry of anguish from escaping me as burning spikes began to slowly lower towards Lucien from above. I was a fool. A wretched fool to think Amarantha was done torturing him. That she would not use his friendship with the girl again and again until she finally broke, or was dead, Lucien along with her. I made to take a step forward but then jerked to a stop. Nothing. There was nothing I could do to stop this without damning us both further. I would be forced to watch in silent agony as Lucien was slowly and painfully crushed under the weight of those red-hot spikes.
I stared and stared at Lucien, only vaguely aware of the girl flailing and panicking in the chamber next to him. This was some new level of hell. My nightmare brought to life, one that I could not wake myself up from.
“Answer it!” Lucien shouted, his voice hitched. My eyes burned, and I felt a cold drop of sweat begin to drip down my spine. Only sheer force of will kept the practiced smirk on my lips. The spikes lowered further.
“Just pick one!” Lucien shouted. He strained against the chains, panting frantically, eyes wide.
My brothers around me laughed gleefully, and I forced myself to join in, the sound a pitiful rasp in my ears. I was grateful that the crowd around me was thoroughly distracted by the horror unfolding before us. That they could not hear my pounding heart or the screaming inside my head as those molten spikes lowered another inch closer to Lucien’s body, helplessly chained to the floor. This was the true torture. Not the painful lashes I’d so often received from my father for disappointing him in one way or another. Not the loneliness and fear that threatened to crush me after so many years navigating the snake pit of my father’s court. But this. Forced to stand idly by as my loved ones were killed. Forced to hear the fear in Lucien’s voice as he begged the girl to just pick a lever and be unable to stop any of it.
“Feyre, please!” Lucien moaned. The terror in his voice nearly brought me to my knees. And yet I stood there like a statue. Maybe this was my punishment for being so useless. So worthless. I desperately wished I could take Lucien’s place. That it was me chained to the floor. I deserved it.
I held my breath and shut my eyes as the girl finally reached for the third lever, bracing myself for what was surely to come.
Silence. Then–a sigh. From Lucien.
I opened my eyes at the sound and choked down the sob building in my chest. The girl, Feyre, had actually done it. By dumb luck or fate, she had saved them both.
I did not stay to witness Amarantha’s reaction to the girl besting her once more. Could not stand to be there a minute longer. I turned, not seeing any of the faces around me, desperate to escape the swirl of both panic and relief pressing in on me, threatening to swallow me whole. I could not fall apart, not here.
I stumbled away to the back of the throne room and kept walking until I was alone in a darkened passageway, the sounds of jeering and wicked laughter slowly disappearing. I leaned heavily against the nearest wall and emptied the contents of my stomach onto the floor. My eyes and throat burned and I let out the broken sob I had been holding in. I would allow myself one minute to fall apart, away from prying eyes. Just one minute, and then I would return to join in the merriment of those who had cheered as my brother had nearly been killed again.
I breathed in the damp, cold air of the mountain, my body shaking silently as I sunk to my knees. I listened to the drip, drip, drip of water on the stone floor and used it to slow my quaking heart. When the minute was up, I stood. Tunneled deep down inside until I could barely feel the rage and sorrow. I brought the smirk back to my mouth–it was second nature after all these years. I took one last deep breath, and turned back the way I had come. I had been gone too long, and these caves had eyes and ears that were always watching, always listening–always reporting back to her. And though Autumn Court fire burned in my veins, I forced my heart to freeze over, as cold as Kallias’s ice. I let that ice flow through me as I walked back–as I blocked out the despair that fought to drown me with every step I took. Until I was no one, and nothing.
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A small part of me was aware that I was in shock. I drifted through the following day as if underwater, not fully hearing the words spoken to me or how I responded. Through it all, I made sure to keep the haughty mask on my face. Only when I spotted Lucien across the room did I feel as if I had come up briefly for air. Our eyes locked, and Lucien’s mouth tightened in displeasure. He held my gaze, emotion flickering in his right eye–there and then gone before I could decipher it. After a beat he looked away and was promptly swallowed up by the crowd.
I knew Lucien despised me. It was written on his face whenever he deigned to look me in the eyes, and I let him believe I felt the same. As much as it pained me to do so, I treated him as if he were nothing to me, no more than trash to be discarded. I hated myself more with each passing day–was at risk of being consumed by it entirely and slipping deep into the burning pit of fire within me. It was sheer defiance against the bitch queen that prevented me from doing so. The hope that I might one day see Autumn again. So many years trapped down in the dark were wearing heavy on my soul. The steady fear that I would fail those I sought to protect slowly ate away at me. What I’d give to breathe in the crisp, cool air of home, to walk amongst the red and gold leaves that sparkled like jewels in the dawn light. I held on to the hope that I would one day return. Tucked it deep down inside where it flickered softly, the aching pain in my heart its only companion.
#eris vanserra#pro eris vanserra#Eris#Lucien#pro Lucien#pro Eris#pro lucien vanserra#under the mountain#amarantha#Feyre#sarah j maas#acowar#acomaf#acotar#a court of wings and ruin#a court of mist and fury#acosf#fan fiction#writing#my fic#Eris pov#eris fanfic#elucien#eris acotar#lucien acotar#Eris oneshot#Eris one-shot#lucien vanserra#vanserra brothers#soft Eris Vanserra
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Our girl – Part 1
Azriel x Cassian x Reader angst
Summary: Deeming you unfit for a mission, the Inner Circle have betrayed your trust and shattered your life’s mission to avenge you sister. And the two males you love most were at the centre of it all.
Word count: 5k
Super angsty IC dynamics, little bit of violence/blood. Injured reader.
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“It was my right!!” Your voice was shrill, breaking from the volume – but you couldn't care less.
“I understand that Y/N, but I have a duty to my court. And to you, to keep you safe.” Your Highlord was unmoved, professional and stoic, your anger washing over him like water against stone.
The thud of your heart was in your ears, the tips of them hot, and you were sure the rest of your family could hear it too. You tried to breath, to think, to let yourself see the logic in Rhys’s decision to let Azriel make the kill over you.
But it was all bullshit.
“He was mine to kill,” you seethed, your voice unrecognisable, an almost growl from the deep part of your throat that strained at you not to cry.
“Try to understand–”
“No!” you spat, marching up to the High Lord, your finger pointed at your chest. The rest of your family stiffened as you approached, untrusting of what you would do next. You could see Azriel’s shadows run down his frame, even though the male hadn't moved from his formal stance by the door. He kept his hands clasped behind his back, still unable to look you in the eye since the moment you had barged into the room. Feyre was biting the nail on her thumb, her face pained and distressed as she watched you march up to her mate. But it was Cassian who showed the least amount of trust, taking a step closer, ready to jump in if - or rather when he had to.
“She was my sister Rhysand, MY SISTER! Not yours, not anyone else's here. He took her in innocence, and his death was mine to mark.”
Rhysand’s brow clenched. “It had to be this way,” he offered softly.
You scoffed, running shaky hands through your hair as you paced backwards. “You expect me to believe that?” Sarcasm oozed from you as easily as the aggression. “I’ve only ever asked you for one thing Rhysand, one thing! Meryl’s murder was unjust, and you promised to train me to avenge her! You promised I would be the one to kill that male!”
Rhysand took a deep breath, his violet eyes pained, but his head remained high. “I’m sorry Y/N. It’s as I said, you’re not ready to execute a mission this big, and Alvar had intel on our court that we could not risk exposing.”
“I have worked my ass off for years for you Rhys. I have trained in hail, rain and shine, I’ve completed mission after mission with no complaint. I have fought for you, lied and stolen and killed for you. I have given my life to avenging Meryl, and you have the audacity to tell me I’m not ready?”
“I know it’s hard to hear. There’s no changing that you didn't have clearance.”
“From who?”
“Cassian and Azriel.”
And that was the last thing you heard before your heart broke in two.
The males you trusted most in this world, the two that had broken your walls, taught you to trust again, trained you and nurtured you, the very beings you loved most in this world,– had not only known of the task, but had been the ones to stop you from fulfilling your life’s mission?
They knew the depths of your reasoning for joining the Inner Circle, for training as a Velarian spy. They had known your one true desire to find Alvar Ashwood – Hybern’s lead assassin – and make him pay for the innocent life that he took.
You looked between the two of them now, your mouth agape as you tried to find the words, or even a sound that could come close enough to the anguish you felt. But no sound found you, even your shaking had stopped. Rhys was saying something, but his words were a world away, muffled and muted as heart-wrenching shock consumed you.
Cassian looked back at you with broken, pleading eyes. Azriel's head hung low in shame.
You would never forgive them for this.
“I-I.” You stopped yourself, gulping. You had nothing left to say. Nodding slowly, silent tears of realisation rolled down your cheeks. One thing was clear – there was no one left that you could trust.
“I’m sorry you’re hurt Y/N, truly. Please, take some time to rest, to process. We’ll discuss this further when you’re ready, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” Rhys’s stance had softened at your tears, his palms open as he dared to try and slip through your mental shields to sooth you.
Gritting your teeth, you slammed your walls up as high as possible, shutting him out and throwing him from the outskirts of your mind. You whipped your head back to your High Lord, a snarl ready at your lips as you took another stride towards him.
Cassian jumped into action then, stopping you with two large hands on either of your shoulders, his back to his Rhys as he blocked your path.
“Hey, hey, how about we go talk about this outside, ok?”
“Get off me,” you spat, shaking off his hold as you tried to eye Rhys over his shoulder.
Feyre had joined her mate now, their arms linked as they stared at you with pure shock. Neither of them had anticipated just how deeply this decision would cut.
Giving up against Cassian’s hold, you looked between both of them, their figures becoming a blur as tears welled in your eyes. “How could you do this to me?” you broke, your face crumpling. “I trusted you, all of you!”
Cassian pulled you close to his chest as he walked you from the room. “Shh, its alright, c’mon, come with me.”
You had nothing left to give. No energy, no fight, certainly nothing that could resist Cassian’s strength as he dragged you from that room, weeping.
You weren't even sure how you made it to the gardens, but the bite cold of the night shocked you enough to push the General off of you.
Bending at your waist, you held yourself up by your knees, your breath shaky and uneven as you struggled to breath in between sobs. Bile rose in your mouth, and you were unsure if you were going to be sick.
“Shh, its alright Y/N. Just breath.” Cassian’s large hand framed and soothed your back.You wanted so badly to give in to him, to throw yourself at his chest and let him hold you while you cried. But no – he had betrayed you, just like the rest.
“D-don’t touch me,” you managed to gasp.
“Alright sweetheart, alright.”
“And don't call me that!” Having regained a steady breath, you straightened to look at him, disgust seeping from your expression as your eyes darted between his. “You knew?”
Cassian sighed, closing his eyes and dropping his head slightly. “Yeah, I knew.”
“How could you not tell me?”
Another sigh from the General. “We knew you’d go after him if you found out.”
You blinked back at Cassian, biting your lip as you shook your head in disbelief.
“I know it might not make sense right now doll, but we did it for your own good.”
You shook your head faster, your frown deepening as you stepped further away from your once friend. “No, no no Cassian! No! There is no excuse!”
“I’m sorry you’re hurting Y/N, really, I am. I know what it feels like to lose someone you love, to need to avenge them.”
Your eyes narrowed. “That’s right Cass, you do. So where was our family to lie and deceive you all those months you spent slashing and killing to avenge your mother?”
Cassian’s eye softened as he took a deep breath. “You know that is the deepest regret of my life.”
“At least the decision was yours,” you spat, turning your heel for the gates at the back of the gardens.
Cassian was on your tail. “Please, Y/N. We did it out of care for your safety, try to understand.” You kept a stubborn chin forward, picking up your pace as you sought any kind of exit from this Gods-forsaken home that had once been your haven.
You had finally reached the gates, magic willing them to open on their own accord. You steered straight ahead – to the thick of the woods that bordered the house
“Where are you going?” Cassian asked.
You didn't answer the General. Before you, your destination lay clear.
“Y/N. The woods are dangerous.”
You scoffed, your pace and direction unchanged. A strong hand caught your wrist.
“Get off me Cassian,” you snarled.
“Look, I’m sorry, but I can't let you.”
“I said get off!”
Cassian snatched his hand back, a sharp breath drawn as he winced in pain. Your power – that unpredictable, uncontrollable current of energy now swarmed your skin like an electric coating. It was moments like this that your gift found you, unpredictable and dangerous, much like yourself. Surely part of the reason your family had decided you weren't good enough to find and kill Alvar on your own.
You had no room in your heart to care if you hurt Cassian. This was your window to flee, so you did, escaping him and heading to the depths of the woods.
————
The woods were crisp and dark, the usual brilliant array of stars hidden by tree tops. But you didn't care, your own discomfort numbed from the sheer rage that fuelled your every step.
Your breath was a smoky puff against the cold, twigs and branches crunching underneath the stomp of your boots while circular thoughts reeled in your mind, over and over again.
Rhysand had ordered Azriel to kill Alvar. Cassian and Azriel didn’t give you clearance and kept the mission a secret. Alvar was dead. You would never avenge your sister.
It was done. It was over. The last tether to your sister, buried forever. Everything you had worked for, the one motivation that kept you from falling apart at her death, that got you out of bed on those days when grief was an excruciating ache on your stomach – gone in an instant. And the people you loved the most were to blame.
Deep within your turmoil of thoughts, the shadows that slinked over your footprints went unnoticed, and the figure that flew overhead amiss.
The sound of a bubbling brook pricked your fae ears. You decided to follow it – perhaps a sip of cold water, or running your hands through a stream might calm the energy that still zapped at your skin.
Sure enough, not a short walk away was the brook. The water trickled down into a large pool, the tree tops cleared as moonlight danced in the reflection of the water. Under any other circumstance, you would have found this setting to be beautiful.
You bought shaking hands to cup at the stream, wincing as the cold stung at your power. But the liquid was quick to sooth you, and your spark began to fizzle as you bought your hand to your mouth, drinking intently.
After a few more sips, you sat back at the bank of the pool, closing your eyes as heavy breaths pushed through the ache in your chest. The sound of a small splash of water had you opening your eyes, and you jumped as unfeeling, black ones stared back at you from the centre of the pool.
A sickly pale face watched you unblinking, its figure still beneath the water from the nose down. Adrenaline was quick to fuel you to get the hell out of there, but you also knew better.
This was a kelpie. And it was too late to run.
The kelpie moved silently beneath the water, wading its way towards you. You took the few moments you had to scramble to your feet, patting yourself for anything to defend yourself with. Fuck – you hadn't a weapon on you.
Reaching the edge of the bank now, it stood on its long limbs, water trickling off its sickly figure, its own long black hair blending with the reeds that clung to its frame.
“Are you a royal?” it grinned, its pointed teeth yellow and rotted.
You forced a steady voice, calling on your power you so often stifled. “No,” was all you said, staring the creature down.
The kelpie ran an insidious tongue along its teeth, churning a nauseous feeling in your stomach. “Then why do you smell of it?”
You blinked – you hadn't realised you carried the scent of your family with you too. Perhaps a kelpie’s scent was more heightened?
“They are my family. Unrelated.” you explained, buying yourself more time for your power to gather. “They’ll fetch for me soon,” you lied.
The kelpie hissed and grinned at once, walking closer towards you. You took a few steps back, keeping your distance.
“You smell…,” the kelpie paused, its awful nostrils flaring against its face. “Delicious.”
“You best leave. They’ll kill you if you harm me,” you replied quickly, cursing yourself for the fear that you knew now tinged your scent. The kelpie caught it too, its grin growing wider.
“But I’m starrrrved,” it drawled, lowering its look to you. “I’m afraid I cannot contain myself, even if I tried.” A sickly chuckle racked through its chest.
You gulped, sizing up the creature in front of you. Ordinarily, you knew you could take down someone of his size. But you were without your weapons, and your power was unreliable at the best of times. If it took you in the water, you were sure as dead. Begging to the Gods, you clenched your fists, willing your power to find you in any shape or form.
“Any last words, non-royal?” it cackled, readying itself to attack.
You didn't have a chance to respond as shadows flooded around you, blue siphons glowing among them. The kelpie yelped and howled, and as the darkness cleared you saw its pale figure pinned to the ground.
“Are you alright?” Azriel was before you, his hands gripped at both your arms. Your eyes were wide with shock as you took him in. He had followed you?
The kelpie was deceivingly strong, and fought against his shadows, freeing itself quickly. It screeched as it lunged for you both, a darkened claw swinging for Azriel’s back. You shoved the Shadowsinger aside, the kelpie’s claws slashing across your arm as you yelped in pain. Blood began to pour from your new wound, and the kelpie hissed too, having being struck by your power on contact.
Azriel was on the kelpie in an instant, a blur shadows and muscle before you spotted the glint of truth teller. The next thing you heard was the kelpie’s final howl.
Its mouth agape, the kelpie bled black blood, crawling back to the depths of the pool, choosing to die in its element. Neither you or Azriel stopped it.
Azriel was panting, his breathing loud as the final sign of life from the kelpie bubbled to the surface of the water. You stayed still with shock.
Hazel eyes were before you now, scanning you over.
“Your arm,” Azriel said, touching you gingerly.
“I’m fine,” you said with a distant voice, your mind still with the hideous creature that attacked you. Your forearm was warm with your own blood as it gathered at your fingertips before dripping to the ground.
“Let’s get you to a healer.”
It was that instruction, that order, that snapped you out of your trance. You had heeded and trusted that voice for far too long. And in the end, it had betrayed you.
You snatched your arm away from Azriel, scowling as you met his eyes. “Do not tell me what to do.”
Azriel levelled a look at you. “This is not a regular wound, Y/N. You know a kelpie’s claw is laced with poison.”
You gritted your teeth, ignoring the burning sensation quickly spreading across your body, or the reel in your vision. How convenient that you so desperately needed his help.
“I’ll see to it myself,” you snapped, glaring deep into the Shadowsinger’s eyes. A muscle feathered in his jaw, Azriel’s tell-sign of irritation. He was far less patient than his brothers.
You made to step around him, before a strong arm circled your waist, pulling you back. Too weak to fight him off, a scarred hand covered your mouth to mute your yell of protest. Instead a quick rush of air filled your lungs as the forest folded around you, quickly revealing an infirmary wing.
Shoving yourself from Azriel’s hold the moment you landed, you stumbled forward, finding balance by clinging to the edge of an empty cot. A set of healers rushed to you, grabbing your arms and holding you up.
“A kelpie’s claw,” Azriel said before either of them could ask the question, one of the healer’s dashing for the antidote. “Where is Madja?”
“She does not work nights,” the healer’s voice was loud in your ear as you clung to her, barely able to stand. A small groan escaped you, the fire from the kelpie’s poison burning through your veins, your mobility slowing with every second.
“Fetch for her, please,” Azriel instructed, taking your limp body from the healer and placing you in the cot. A vial was bought to your lips then, the contents inside giving off a putrid smell. You jerked your head stubbornly, but the vial was tipped further against your mouth.
“Drink,” Azriel ordered, his cold hand lacing through your hair and pushing at the back of your head. You had no chose, swallowing the liquid while you still could. The fire in your veins began to dull, and you breathed, thankful for the quick relief.
“Good,” the Shadowsinger said approvingly. You hated that affirmation, but were too weak to show it.
The healers dotted around you, placing cold rags on your face and stitching your wound. Azriel watched, his arms folded and face etched with concern. Uncontrollable shakes racked through your body, your muscles jerking with pain and exhaustion.
Falling in and out of consciousness, you were too dazed to note Madja’s arrival, and with her, Cassian.
“What happened?” Cassian asked his brother, his eyes panicked.
“A kelpie,” Azriel said tightly.
Cassian clenched his eyes shut, punching the bridge of her nose. “She got away from me. I didn't want to chase her, she was already distraught.”
“I was tracking her too. I should have intervened sooner,” Azriel responded, his eyes not leaving you as a deeper frown settled on his face.
After a quick check of your vitals and words with her healers, Madja approached the two.“The antidote is working. She’ll recover soon.”
“She still looks sickly?” Cassian questioned, looking past the healer at your sagged and sweaty body.
“That is what I wanted to talk to you both about. Y/N is carrying symptoms of something else I can't place. Do either of you know if she was involved in a foreign mission lately, perhaps something of high risk or stress?”
The brothers shared a look before Azriel responded. “Not exactly Madja, but she… received some bad news today.”
“She was very upset,” Cassian added.
Madja nodded slowly, tutting softly. “Whatever has happened, it’s manifesting physically. She’s weaker than usual, and will need to rest for a few days. I suggest keeping her here, where we can tend to her.”
“Perhaps we can bring her home Madja. Would you see to her there?” Azriel asked, his arms crossing tighter. Illyrian’s being preternaturally possessive, he preferred you at home where he could keep a closer eye on you, help even.
“The choice is Y/N’s really. Let me do what I can while she rests, I’ll call for you when she wakes.” The brother’s nodded, making to leave the wing.
“Madja,” Cassian half turned, grabbing the healer by her arm. “Please, just, tell her we’re sorry.”
With a small frown, Madja reluctantly agreed.
————
When you awoke, you expected it to be light. Instead, the infirmary was dim, the soft glow of fae light warming the medical wing around you.
Memories from the night before returned, your stomach churning at the thought. The kelpie, hurting Cassian, the fight with your family. Your heart clenched as you were reminded – they had betrayed you, and you could no longer trust them.
Groaning as you turned to your side, you felt around for anything to catch the bile rising in your throat. You luckily landed on a pan, what little remained in your stomach hurled up as your gut clenched and heaved.
Madja entered at the sound, rubbing soothing pats on your back and taking the pan away when you had finished.
You fell back onto the pillows, your body clammy and weak. “What’s wrong with me?” you asked her as she checked your breathing.
“You were struck by a kelpie. Although your wounds are healing well.”
You looked at the ceiling, nodding as you recalled the horrific event. It was hard enough to almost die at the hands of a creature like that, but your heart ached at the thought that Azriel had saved you, yet you never wanted to see his face again.
“It would seem there is something else that plagues your mind, child.”
You looked at Madja now, blinking away the tears that were quickly building.
“Your family mentioned some kind of distressing news?”
Closing your lids, a silent tear rolled from each of your eyes. You merely nodded, your hands quickly brushing away the evidence.
“Its none of my business, but the General was eager that I relay their apologies.”
You froze, flashing a broken look at the healer you had known for many years. How many wounds and ailments of yours had she patched and cured in your career? But emotional wounds – this was new territory for the both of you.
As if finally in safe hands, your face crumpled, your anger and anguish overwhelming as you began to sob. Madja was ordinarily tough – she had no time for foolery and was unsympathetic for injuries of your own fault. But she comforted you now, hushing you and patting your back in a motherly way.
“What do you do when you no longer trust the people you love, Madja?” you asked through shallow cries.
She gave a small, tight smile, squeezing your hands that she now held in hers. “You spend eternity learning to forgive them.”
You bit the quiver in your lip. “I’m not sure I can,” you admitted.
She sighed softly, nodding with understanding. “You have the rest of your existence if you choose to try.”
Madja’s wisdom comforted you, your eyelids turning heavy and you fell to another bout of sleep.
————
Azriel, Cassian and Mor were eating breakfast at the House of Wind, none of them speaking as the weight of last nights events hung heavy.
With a sigh, Mor looked between the males. “She’s going to forgive you eventually, you know that right?”
Cassian gave her a sorry smile, while Azriel kept his eyes on his eggs. He gripped his fork tighter, his jaw clenched. “You didn't see the way she looked at us.”
“She just needs time,” Mor said. “This was her life’s mission after all.”
Azriel’s head snapped up, an icy cold glare fixed upon his face, a blanket over the sheer guilt he felt at Mor’s statement. “You don’t think I know that?”
Mor blinked at the Shadowsinger in shock – it was so unlike him to lose his cool.
“Easy Az, don't snap at Mor for things out of her control,” Cassian frowned at his brother, before shovelling another mouthful of oatmeal.
Azriel let out a sharp breath, clenching his eyes shut, ignoring the sting from the lack of sleep. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, still unable to unlock his tight jaw. Mor waved him off, assuring him it was no big deal.
A gust of foreign wind blew as Rhys and Feyre winnowed into the dining room. The High Lord disregarding pleasantries, his hand clutching a letter, its broken seal the unmistakable symbol of the infirmary.
“I have received news on Y/N.” The High Lord’s tone was to the point, cold even, like he was only interested in discussing the facts.
“Is she alright?” Cassian asked urgently. Azriel’s grip tightened on his knife and fork as he held his breath.
“Madja says her recovery is slow, but she is making progress. One or two more nights at the infirmary and she should be strong enough to be discharged.”
“I asked Madja about attending to her here. Has she written about that?” Azriel asked.
Rhys’s lips tightened before he loosed a deep breath. Feyre, her face pained, jumped in. “Madja has also written that at this point in time, Y/N does not wish to return to home.”
The others fell silent.
“What does that mean?” Azriel gritted.
Tears welled in their High Lady’s eyes, and Rhys slipped his hand over his mates.
“She no longer wishes to live here,” he said, his violet eyes saddened and dim.
Mor gasped, and Cassian shook his head. “Where will she go?” The General stood, his chair scraping as he pushed it out behind him.
“It’s unclear at this stage. Madja has asked that we respect her privacy while she heals. I’m hoping we can talk to her when she’s feeling better. Perhaps even convince her to stay.”
“She won't come back.” The rest of the group turned to the Shadowsinger, his gaze darkened and his shadows building to his neck. “I could sense her rage, the hate she held in her eyes. To her, what we did is unredeemable.”
“Don’t say that Az,” Feyre begged, a lone tear rolling down her cheek.
Azriel’s pounded the table with his fist, his knife now stuck upright in the mahogany wood. “Would you prefer I lied? She’s worked her whole life to avenge Meryl, and we shattered that dream. I wouldn't forgive us either.”
“Surely there is something we can do,” Cassian looked between his brother’s, eyes desperate, almost pleading.
But Azriel kept his cold glare on the couple before him. “You asked me to find Alvar first. So I did. And now we’ve lost our girl.”
Rhys’s power coursed through the room as he bought his mate closer to his side. “Watch it, Azriel,” he warned. “Alvar had intel on our wards, our home would be forever exposed if he got away. I tried my best to give Y/N the opportunity. Let’s not forget the decision you and Cass made to keep her grounded.”
“She was going to get herself killed,” Cassian muttered, not defensively, but as pure fact. “The desire to kill him – it makes her power unpredictable. She would have hurt herself, or died trying.”
“We all did what we had to do,” Feyre said softly, bringing sense back above the tension of the room. Pained, guilty expressions reflected hers.
Azriel stood now too, making his way around the table and heading for the door.
“Where are you going?” Rhys asked.
“To go get Y/N.”
“She’s asked we give her some space Az,” Feyre reasoned. “We have no right to go barging in while she’s trying to recover.”
“I don't care. She’s angry, but that doesn't mean she knows what’s best. She’ll heal better here, with people that care about her. I’ll go–”
“Sit down,” Rhys interrupted the Shadowsinger, the air thickening with his power as he pulled rank.
Azriel’s shoulder’s tightened at Rhys’s order, halting his steps yet refusing to take his seat. “She belongs here, with us,” he gritted.
“We can't force her to do anything Azriel,” Mor whispered, her eyes soft as cast a sympathetic look at her friend.
There was silence in the room again, none of them knowing what to say next.
“This is my fault,” Cassian swallowed, his gaze distant in a deep frown.
“No one is to blame,” Rhys said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The situation is unfortunate, but I’m certain it will get better in time.” He breathed deeply, offering a broken smile to his mate before casting a stern look at the others. “We’ll keep you updated if we hear anything further.”
With a few quiet goodbyes, the High Lord and Lady winnowed back to their River Home.
“We–“ Cassian began.
“Don’t Cass,” Mor interrupted knowingly. “You need to leave bad enough alone.” She stood then, leaving the males to their breakfast.
Cassian cast a look to his brother, who was already looking at him. “Are we leaving now?”
“Not with all eyes on us. Wait until dark. Then we’ll go get our girl.”
“Deal.”
--------
Part 2 >>>>
AN: Ok, here’s that angsty piece I was telling you about....
I HAVE MISSED YOU GUYS!!!
Also I’ve been slack with my tag lists, very sorry! If you’d like to join a generic acotar one, drop a comment.
#azriel x cassian x reader#azriel#cassian#azriel angst#cassian angst#acotar angst#rhysand x reader#inner circle angst#acotar fanfic#acotar fan fiction#acotar injured reader#azriel x injured reader#cassian x injured reader#Inner Circle#azriel x cassian fight#rhysand angst#inner circle x injured reader#azriel x reader#azriel x reader angst#cassian x reader#cassian x reader angst#acotar reader insert#acotar reader injured
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Day 2:
Rhysand stomped down the paths of Windhaven, the icy wind of the mountains biting into his skin, making him shudder when it hit his sensitive wings. Usually, he walked down this path with his brothers, limping and bruised, but Devlon kept him in the camp for longer to try a new set of siphons. He had told his brothers to go on without him, Rhys didn't want them to unnecessarily wait for him in the cold. He was still limping, though, as today was especially a rough day.
Groaning, he stepped over a fallen log, his muscles screaming in protest. He couldn't wait to finally take a bath and eat dinner, his stomach grumbled in agreement. A sigh of relief left him when he finally spotted his mother's house. Even limping, he quickened his steps, ignoring the pain and the biting, cold wind until he finally reached the wooden door. Relieved, he went inside and was greeted by the usual crisp smell of the house and whatever his mother made. Stamping off the dirt off his shoes before he went farther into the house, then walking into the kitchen. Cassian and Azriel sat at the table, the former grinning up at him and the latter staring in question. Rhys only shrugged and went to his mother who stood at the kitchen counter and pressed a kiss on her cheek. "Can I help you?"
She huffed a laugh and shook her head, "I'm done, already." She took a bowl and filled it with soup and repeated this three times. Rhys took two and brought them to the table, placing the bowls in front of Cassian and Azriel, then met his mother halfway to the table and took his own. It was quiet as they all got seated, the only sound being the cracking wood in the fireplace and Cassian greedily snatching up his spoon.
"So," his mother broke the silence, flipping her dark hair over her shoulder. It was unusual for her to not wear it in a braid. It was long, down to her waist, and thick. It bothered her most of the time when she had to work, as a seamstress or around the house. Rhys's eyes flicked to the counter and when he found the broken leather band he realized that it must have broken not too long ago. "Why did Devlon keep you at the camp longer?"
Rhys stirred around his soup with his spoon, "He wanted to try the Siphons again."
His mother's hazel flashed in surprise, "And?"
Sighing, he put down his spoon."They all shattered again."
"Oh, Rhysand–"
Cassian snickered, "Must be hard being all powerful."
"Eat your soup!" his mother scolded him and turned back to Rhys. Cassian still smirked but kept his head down to hide it, "I'm sure you will find a way. Devlon might be…"
"An asshole?" Cassian threw in. The corner of Azriel's lips tucked up.
"Language!" His mother snapped. "He is but I meant to say strict. He is strict but fair and if you don't find a solution it's not the end of the world either. You keep learning how to control your powers, you already do very well. Although you have to work on your temper." and before Cassian could throw in another of his comments, his mother threw him a look that told him that his temper wasn't much better. Cassian kept quiet.
Already annoyed at the situation with the Siphons, Rhys looked around the room for a topic change. "What is that?" he asked, pointing to a chair in the corner that was covered in different materials. The one hanging over the backrest caught Rhys's eyes. It looked like starlight from his place but squinting his eyes he realized it was tiny, blue gems. Hundreds of these, if not thousands. On the cushion was a stack of other materials, the one on top of the stack was blue and the fabric below looked like gossamer.
His mother took a spoonful of her soup before answering, "It's fabric for a dress."
"For who?"
"You'll see," she answered. Something akin to mischief lit up her eyes, but it wasn't mischief. Rhys couldn't place the emotion. "Do you like it?"
Looking back at the fabric, he nodded. "It's pretty."
"I'm glad," she responded and before Rhys could open his mouth, she changed the topic. "While you are here, Rhysand, I can tell you now that I brought the sapphire ring to the weaver in the woods just today."
His spoon was barely picked up again before it clanked back into the bowl. "Why?" Rhys cried out.
His mother pointedly looked at Cassian, then Azriel and then Rhys. "Because you just showed me how much I can trust you with this prized family possession." she shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. A sound of outrage left Rhys but his mother continued, "Also, if you are to find a bride, or your mate, she must be intelligent or strong enough to live a life like yours, Rhysand. Take this as a test, if she is made for this life because if she can retrieve the ring, she certainly can keep up with you, my son."
"So it's to test my future wife's strength and intelligence?"
"And bravery." his mother added.
Rhys slumped in his chair, mumbling, "It's a quite deadly test for a ring."
Her hand rested on his cheek, "Look at me," she said, her voice gentle. Rhys met her eyes. "I'm not going to sugarcoat it, being a High Lord and being part of this family is dangerous. It's not for the weak." she looked at him, waiting for a reply but when Rhys didn't answer she leaned back and sighed. "Eat your soup, it's getting cold."
Rhys silently picked up his spoon, ignoring the gazes of his brothers.
What kind of female would confront the weaver and retrieve her own ring? If there even would be someone in the future who would be this brave.
Deep in thought his eyes wandered to a painting of the night sky, beside the door.
A brave, strong and intelligent female.
@officialrhysandweek
#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#rhysandweek2023#rhysand#rhys#rhysand archeron#rhys acotar#high lord rhysand#high lord of the night court#acotar fanfiction#acotar fan fiction#Acotar fanfic#acotar fic#Rhysands mother#Rhysand's mother#cassian#cassian acotar#azriel#azriel acotar
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A new Chapter of A Court of Blood & Mercy now available! Chapter 27 - "The Lady of the House" 👑🌹🔪🕯
#elriel#elriel fan fics#elriel fan fiction#elriel fanfiction#elriel fan fic#elriel fanfic#elain fanfic#elain fanfiction#elain archeron#elain acotar#azriel fanfiction#azriel fanfic#azriel fic#elain fic#azriel x elain#a court of blood and mercy
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stay with me pt 5
<azriel x ofc>
warnings: angst. lots of it. SH kinda, mentions of suîćîdë
part one, part two, part three, part four
✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖°
Azriel couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t fucking breathe. The overwhelming tightness was strangling his lungs, crushing his already broken heart. And someone was screaming, he couldn’t hear anything over the screaming.
Where was he, anyway?
He tried to take in his surroundings, to see where and what was going on. But his vision was so fucking blurry he couldn’t make out anything other than the outline of people. They were standing over him, trying to haul him up. Apparently he was laying on the ground, clutching something wet and warm to his chest. But the pain, which radiated over his entire body, wouldn’t let him move, even if he wanted to. It hurt too much.
“Azriel!” Someone screamed.
He felt the sting of a slap land across his face, and suddenly the whole world came back into focus.
It was Azriel that was screaming, voice raw. His vision cleared, of what he realized were tears, and the grief stricken faces of his family appeared. And he also realized he was speaking, repeating the same words over and over again.
“No, no, no!”
“Stay with me!”
All consuming anguish slammed into him. Ophelia was dead. Ophelia, his mate. His fucking mate, was dead. Azriel couldn’t feel her on the other side of the bond anymore. Couldn’t feel her chest rise with life-saving air, he just couldn’t feel her. Her beautiful eyes would never open, her mouth would never tip to the side with a cheeky smile, and he wouldn’t ever get to hear his name on his lips again.
Dead.
He held onto her tighter, how he should have all those nights ago. He should have told her everything when he had the chance, should have beared his fucking soul to her. Even if she had rejected him, he still should have told her.
“Madja is on her way.” Azriel heard someone say. He was so lost in his agony he had no idea who was speaking. “Azriel, we need you to let her go”
A primal snarl tore from his lips, and they backed away, hands up in a placating gesture.
“You’re going to have to knock him out.” Another said.
“I know. I’m just afraid of what he’ll do when he wakes.”
Cool hands grabbed onto his temple and Azriel thrashed, trying to throw whoever that was off of him. He was like a raging wild animal, like something out of the Middle. He was no longer the calm and collected male like everyone knew. It was pure carnal rage.
Long, razor sharp claws tore their way through his minds shield, destroying them to get inside. Azriel screamed louder, blood trickling from his nose. The sounds of his family faded away, so all that was left was the sound of soft spoken voices, cooing and hushing him. Lulling him to sleep. He fought, pushing back against those claws. But they only held on tighter.
Slowly, he slumped to the ground, arms falling away from Ophelia’s bleeding body.
And sleep consumed him.
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Azriel woke with a start, like something had scared him out of his deep slumber. That hadn’t been a normal sleep, it was only darkness with him floating forever in the nothingness. But he still felt pain raging all over his body. The pain of the mating bond breaking, slowly fading away into nothing.
Would that be all that’s left? Nothing?
He sat up sluggishly, the joints in his body popping and cracking. He was no longer out in that cursed field, but tucked into his room in the House of Wind. His bloody leathers had been stripped from his body, replaced with leisure clothes. Someone had changed and bathed him, as he saw no signs of her blood anywhere on his body. How long had he been out?
Getting to his feet, he walked towards the door. But he stopped as he passed the mirror, seeing his ghastly reflection. Azriel studied himself, hating what stared back. His wings now dragged behind him, the talons scraping the floor. There were deep purple marks under his bloodshot eyes, like he had been crying while he slept. And he looked incredibly pale, skin taking on a sickly pallor.
The look of someone with an utterly shattered heart. That’s what he looked like now.
A messy knot of emotions rose up his throat and Azriel stumbled, grasping the wood of the dressing table. His shoulders shook with each deep inhale he took, but it just seemed like he couldn’t catch his breath. His fingers gripped the wood so tightly that they turned white. He just couldn’t get his head clear, couldn’t stop hearing her broken cries.
Whimpering with frustration, he lashed out, his closed fist connecting with the mirror. It exploded into a thousand tiny pieces, small shards embedding themselves in his knuckles. Thick red blood seeped out of his wounds, but already his Illyrian healing was trying to take control. He watched numbly as his cuts turned pink with new skin, but was instantly shredded back open by the glass.
Suddenly, the door flew open and Cassian rushed in. He halted in his tracks, taking in the scene of his brother standing there with a shattered mirror and blood running down his hand.
“You’re awake.” He croaked, eyes misty with unshed tears.
Azriel didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up a scrap of linen and wrapped it around his knuckles to staunch the bleeding.
“You’ll need that cleaned out, there’s glass-”
“No.” Azriel snarled.
“Az…” Cassian tried, taking small steps in his direction.
“I said no!” His teeth flashed. “Fuck the glass, fuck everything! There is nothing left for me here, my mate is fucking dead. DEAD. And I might as well join her!”
They both stood there in deafening silence, just staring at each other. The realization of what Azriel had just admitted struck Cassian like a slap. His breath hitched in his chest, and Cassians mouth opened and closed, as if he were a fish out of water, trying to think of something to say. But there was nothing he could say that would take away this hurt.
“But she lives.”
Except that.
Azriels head snapped towards his brother, eyes going so wide that they almost popped straight out of his head.
“What?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“Madja brought her back. She’ still unconscious but-”
Azriel didn’t stick around to hear the rest of what he said, because he burst past Cassian, sprinting towards her room. Alive? She was alive? He couldn’t wrap his destroyed thoughts around it. He had felt the bond break, and watched her take her last breath, how could she be alive? This had to be some type of cruel joke his brothers were playing on him, there was no way-
He opened Ophelia’s bedroom door so hard that it bounced off the wall, hinges rattling with the force. He took a step, and then another, before his knees gave out. But Rhys was there, catching him under his arm, and kept him upright.
“Easy, brother.” His voice was soft, softer than he had ever heard it.
What Azriel saw confused him. Ophelia was there, laying on her bed as if she was sleeping. She had been washed and changed just as Azriel had, no traces of blood remaining on her. Feyre and Madja stood on the other side of the bed, and the two stared at him, unsure of what his next move would be.
“How?” Azriel’s voice broke, and for the millionth time that day, tears rushed to his eyes.
“We got to her just in time.” Madja was there, putting various medical supplies back into a bag. The old female turned to Feyre and said something under her breath. But his shadows heard her.
Watch him. The bond hasn’t returned, and I’m afraid he’ll do something…something I can’t heal.
Feyre nodded and thanked the healer before dismissing her.
“How are you feeling, Az?” Feyre asked, and just then Rhys released the grip he had on Azriels arm.
But he didn’t hear her. Instead, he slowly crept towards the edge of Ophelia’s bed. She looked so incredibly peaceful, like the events of the past week hadn't happened at all.
He took her slender hand in his, and it was so cold. He supposed that was normal considering how much blood she had lost. They had been laying in a puddle of it. And still, it just didn’t seem possible that she was alive.
“Why hasn’t the bond returned?” Azriel whispered, scared that if spoke too loud it would wake her.
“Madja said it would take time.” Rhys said, coming to his side.
Time. If there was anything Azriel knew how to do was wait. He had waited his entire life for Ophelia, he could wait just a little bit longer. So, he grabbed a reclining chair and dragged it to the side of her bed, and plopped down in it.
“What are you doing?” Feyre asked softly.
“Waiting.”
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Three things were clear to Ophelia as she laid in the eternal darkness.
One, her mother was Lady of the Autumn Court and her father was Lord of the Day Court, and Lucien was her brother.
Two, her entire body was screaming in pain. It was a never ending barrage, it felt she was being set on fire over and over again. It felt like she was being stripped of her flesh, and someone was sticking needles in the exposed skin.
Three, Azriel was her mate.
Mate.
The cauldron had blessed and cursed her with a mate. And out of everyone, in the entirety of Prythian, it was him. Azriel.
His name on her tongue felt like taking a cold, refreshing gulp of water. It felt like life, death, and everything in between. Something as big as ruling the world seemed possible with him by her side, or even just getting out of bed for the day. Knowing that he was there, waiting for her. She could do it all.
But where was he?
He wasn’t here with her, in this endless pit of dark nothingness. But she could sense him, his scent lingering on the tip of her nose. It was smokey and sweet, the boldness of each taste coming together each time, it was intoxicating. Like she could drown in him, but he would be there to keep her afloat.
Ophelia could feel him now. He was so close but yet so far away. It felt like she could reach out and touch him, but when she tried, her body screamed in protest. Everything hurt. Every miniscule movement that was made had her already exhausted mind slip farther and farther into the darkness.
So she laid there, feeling nothing and everything. Waiting for her mate.
Azriel.
#a court of mist and fury#a court of silver flames#a court of thorns and roses#acomaf#acosf#acotar#acowar#azriel#azriel angst#azriel fanfic#azriel x reader#azriel x oc#azriel fluff#azriel spymaster#azriel smut#azriel shadowsinger#azriel imagine#azriel x you#azriel x ofc#azriel fan fiction#azriel x female!reader#azriel x y/n#a court of frost and starlight#a court of wings and ruin#a court of silver fire#a court of dreams#a court of nightmares#azriel hurt#azriel comfort
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Illyrian Comfort Pie
I shared a post with some Christmas OTP prompts and asked if anyone wanted any for Nessian and @dustjacketmusings chose:
"Every country has different traditions for Christmas when it comes to food: trying something new when they have always eaten the same dishes for the holidays feels wrong at first. But when it’s cooked with love by their favourite person, it can sure taste like new traditions."
I don't know if this entirely fills the prompt and it's a lot rougher than I'd like but please enjoy!
Illyrian Comfort Pie
“Fuck you, Morrigan.” Nesta wiped her bare arm across her brow, spices and herbs transferring straight from her forehead onto her forearm, the little green and orange specks dusting her skin. “And fuck you Rhys come to that.”
The alarm on her phone screamed and Nesta whirled around in her small kitchen space. She’d put the device down earlier, stabbing at the timer with a flour covered fingertip whilst trying to shove her pie into the oven.
Where the hell had she put the damn thing?
On the counter stood an open cookbook entitled ‘Recipes from the Heartland of Illyria,’ a bottle of wine which doubled as a rolling pin and cooking motivation, and Nesta’s pathetic pastry attempts one, two, and three – each one slightly less gloopy than the last - until she finally made semi-successful attempt number four.
No phone.
Nesta let out a noise halfway between a screech and a yell, her hands reaching either side of her head, ignoring whatever food stuff would end up in her hair.
“Shit!” At least she managed to remember what the phone alarm was for, swivelling behind her and yanking down the oven door, reaching for the mitts as she ducked a plume of smoke.
This one didn’t smell too bad. Nesta grabbed the pie and shoved it onto the trivet on the counter. The crust was a little singed on one side but, if she was careful, she’d be able to scrape that off.
Her movements jostled a reem of paper towels and as they fell to their side, they revealed the object of Nesta’s irritation. One phone.
“Thank you,” she muttered, her eyes drifting upwards to the ceiling as she turned off the alarm. Her thanks was to whatever cookery god was willing to listen and half to the smoke alarm not going off.
Three notifications waited for her. She took a breath in and hit open on the first one.
Hahaha. You agreed to what?! Even *I* run from making that dish. Pretty sure my *grandmother* ran from making that dish and she used to be a baker. Anyway, are you coming Thursday?
Emerie. Not providing the answers Nesta was so desperately hoping for, instead reminding Nesta she had yet to confirm drinks with her and Gwyn. Nesta typed out a quick response.
Yes to Thursday. Any chance your grandmother would attempt making this again if I paid her?
Sent. Nesta moved onto notification number two - Feyre.
Did you want me to see if the Illyrian restaurant down Sidra Street will do a delivery? If you put it in the oven for a bit and burn the edges no one will know.
Nesta raised an eyebrow. The audacity of her sister to assume Nesta would need assistance and that she’d burn the pie. She had burnt the pie but still, the audacity.
She chose not to respond to that one and instead moved to the final notification. Cassian. Nesta took a deep breath and hit open.
Are you having as much fun as I am? Thinking I could do this as a side hustle.
There was a photo attached. Cassian had taken a selfie of himself standing in front of his obnoxiously large quartz kitchen counter. His dark hair was tied in a messy bun and he winked into the camera. He wore an apron Nesta had never seen before, deep red with candy cane striped ties and in Christmas style writing was embroidered ‘Kiss the Chef’ underneath a sprig of mistletoe.
Nesta squinted at the image, zooming past Cassian himself to the dishes behind him slightly out of frame. Was that a bowl of perfectly glazed parsnips? A tray of immaculate shortbreads?
She let out another noise and flung the phone back onto the counter so she could press her palms into her eyes. At this point she was covered in flour, meat juice, and soggy pastry pieces. Sweat gathered under her breasts and trickled down her back from the constant heat of the oven.
Nesta had been baking for over six hours now and though there was a small part of her which wanted to cry, she refused. Although she’d cursed Morrigan and Rhys the biggest ‘fuck you’ should have been delivered to Nesta herself.
She’d agreed to this when she should have declined, and now her pride would cause her to take a fall.
There had been five of them for drinks at Rita’s. Should have been two – only Nesta and Cassian for their quiet post theatre drinks, but Morrigan had been there with other friends who she swiftly abandoned as soon as she saw Cassian arrive.
Within minutes Morrigan had called Feyre and then before Nesta knew it, she was being squished into a booth, Cassian to her left and Feyre to her right, while she sipped her chilled white wine and counted the minutes until it was socially acceptable to say her goodbyes.
“Oh my god,” Morrigan had been saying. “That was the best dish I think I’d ever eaten. Do you remember it Rhys? The caramelised onions and gravy? What was it called again Cass?”
Cassian groaned and lolled his head back. “Illyrian Comfort Pie. My favourite.” He took a sip of his beer. “The Illyrian army did a version with off-cuts, almost ruined a perfect dish.”
“What’s this pie?” Feyre asked.
“Only the best pie in the world,” Cassian replied, his eyes misting over. “Imagine thick tender beef soaked in its own juices for hours, drowned in rich gravy and embedded with caramelised onions all under a cover of hot crust pastry.”
“You need a room, Cass?” Rhys laughed.
Cassian raised his middle finger to Rhys but joined him in the laughter.
“Cassian’s ex made the best version,” Morrigan said, her eyes sliding to Nesta. “Honestly no one would be able to top it. Bri wasn’t even Illyrian but it was spot on.” She took a long sip from her own glass of red wine. “I guess it doesn’t need to be your own tradition if you care enough to put in the effort.”
There was a heavy silence which would have lingered if not for the clearing of Feyre’s throat. “Who’s got who for Secret Santa?”
“Oh, I’m sure if Nesta put in the effort it would be just as good. Right?” Nesta looked up and met Rhys’ eyes as he ignored Feyre’s question. He smirked as he finished speaking, cocking his own beer bottle to his mouth.
Three more pairs of eyes looked her way. Nesta felt the slight, almost imperceptible tensing from Cassian but it was Feyre’s eyes which widened the most. There was a kick against Nesta’s shin under the table.
“I’m sure it would,” Nesta said, “if I had the time.”
“Cassian was telling us at the bar you’re now on vacation. All your gifts already wrapped and under the tree. Sounds like you have time.”
“Rhys...” Feyre began but Morrigan jumped in.
“I think that would be a lovely Christmas present for Cass. You can start your own tradition now you’re official. Illyrian food is so hearty.”
There was a part of Nesta which was too stubborn for her own good. Rhys’ smirk and Morrigan’s too-wide grin opposite her, the meeting of the cousin’s eyes like this was some in-joke they had just started. Feyre kept kicking her under the table, the jostling movement irritating Nesta further.
The flash of irritation was the problem. That, and the second glass of wine she’d drunk on a half empty stomach fuelling it. Her temperature rose and her skin prickled and instead of counting to twenty like she’d been practicing in her apartment Nesta opened her mouth.
“Fine,” she said, “this whole thing sounds great. One Illyrian Comfort Pie it is. When do you want it? Day after next?” Nesta quickly grabbed her glass to take a swig of her drink before she agreed to anything else.
Cassian’s eyebrows shot up but she didn’t want to meet his eyes, he was probably thinking how Nesta wasn’t implementing those ‘take a moment’ techniques. But his hand reached down to clasp her free one under the table, giving it a squeeze.
“You know what?” he said, looking at the group. “I want in on this. New traditions sound great. You’re making mine so how about yours. What’s the Archeron family dish of choice?” He asked this looking at Nesta but she still had the wine glass clamped to her lips. No longer drinking, just holding it there to feel the cold.
“Ooh,” Feyre said, clapping her hands and jiggling a little on her seat. “Roasted venison, but that’s quite tricky. We haven’t eaten that since Elain went vegetarian. We also had roast potatoes and honey glazed parsnips. Green beans. There was a cheesy mash and – oh, oh, the shortbread biscuits with a chocolate drizzle and the Prythian Pavlova. That’s Nesta’s favourite.”
Cassian laughed. “You want to take a breath there, Feyre?”
In response, Feyre’s stomach grumbled. “No, but I think I need some dinner.”
Aside from Nesta, the table laughed. Her wine glass was now empty and back on the table, her fingers toying with the stem, her mind too preoccupied with the thought of this pie and how the hell she’d even find the recipe.
As the chatter resumed, now about where Rhys and Feyre were going for dinner, Cassian’s weight shifted against her, his arm casually slinging around her shoulders.
“You ok?”
She glanced up at him, plastering a smile on her face. “Absolutely fine.”
“Hmm. Is that genuine fine or Nesta fine?”
Cassian was staring at her intently, concern swimming in his dark eyes. She knew if she immediately conceded he’d let it go, their friendship group knew Nesta wasn’t known for her domestic pursuits and Cassian could whip up a mean dish filled with flavour.
If she really wanted to, Nesta could cheat her way out of this. Getting Elain to bake the pie for her would have once been a consideration until Elain and Lucien’s diet change. No meat, no dairy, no sugar.
No flavour, Lucien had added, ignoring Elain’s frown.
Still, there was something else shining in Cassian’s eyes. Excitement. He was pleased she’d agreed, he relished competition in all its forms and he seemed eager to do this with her.
Nesta’s smile melted in a more genuine one and she squeezed his hand back. “Honestly, it’s good. Dare I say I may even find it fun?”
That was two days ago. Two long days.
“Ha!” She now shouted to her cramped kitchen. “Two drink Nesta has no concept of what the fuck fun is.”
Everything was a mess, even the edges of the cookbook were singed and Nesta cringed at the sight. Gwyn had managed to track down the edition on her behalf and Nesta hated to see a book suffer.
She looked at the clock. Two hours to go – plenty of time to shower, dress up and cart the pie to Cassian’s where they would have a grand unveiling in front of their friends. Her phone pinged and Nesta glanced down to see a reply from Emerie.
She says no chance.
“That’s not a problem,” Nesta said, wiping her hands on her thighs and staining her jeans further. “Because I now have a half decent pie.” She picked up the sharp knife. “Just scrape some of the black bits off and we are good to go.”
The knife slid through the crust and Nesta lifted some of the burnt pastry off using the blade. Odd. What was a deep and crispy brown on the surface seemed pale and soft underneath. Almost as though the pastry hadn’t fully cooked all the way through.
“It’s just this bit,” Nesta told herself. “I’m sure the rest is just fine.” But as she gently lifted the pie-top she could see the same pale colour underneath. Worse was the distinct lack of steam rising from the filling. “No, no, no, no. You’ve been in the oven for almost two hours.”
Grabbing a fork, she stuck it into the dish and scooped out a lump of meat. Juice, which looked far too oily for her liking, dripped off the prongs. Nesta placed the meat on the counter and cut through it with a knife.
She was met with resistance. The beef was still cold. A noise left her throat unbidden, something akin to a half sob. Nesta had researched the best meat cuts for the pie, she’d made sure to go to the best butcher and spent no less than forty-five minutes asking the rather exasperated man behind the counter questions from her list.
Her eyes flew up to the clock. Less than two hours to go. The time she’d budgeted to get ready and go to Cassian’s now shrivelled up. Just like my hopes for this pie.
She peered into the dish, the caramelized onions bobbing in the gravy like some apple bobbing contest gone wrong. “You’re mocking me,” she said and then groaned. They wouldn’t be the only ones.
Nesta sank down onto her floor, ignoring the drip of gravy she sat on and put her head on her knees. She could imagine it all now; Feyre, Rhys, and Morrigan all dressed up, swanning around Cassian’s apartment waiting to be served their multiple courses.
Feyre’s eyes would go wide at Nesta’s attempt but she’d try and make Nesta feel better and yet somehow by trying, she’d only make Nesta feel worse. Cassian would likely tuck the monstrosity – if she even bothered bringing it – behind some extravaganza he’d made and perform an elaborate distraction.
Rhys and Morrigan would probably just snigger behind their drinks and tell her that ‘at least she tried.’ Patronising fuckers.
A tear dripped from the corner of her eye down her chin.
Nesta had tried. Had really tried. She’d memorised the recipe from back to front before she even started, she’d gone out into Velaris Market with a clipboard, she’d called Elain early for pastry tips ignoring Lucien joining the call to ask Nesta if she could describe what real food tasted like because the memory of butter was fading fast.
She wiped her eyes with her fingers, knowing she must look even more of a state than before. But wait – there was an option open to her. Hope flared yet.
Nesta grabbed her phone from the counter. What had Feyre said? The Illyrian restaurant down Sidra Street might be able to deliver. If anyone served an Illyrian Comfort Pie, it would be them. She scrolled through her favourites for the number. Her and Cassian had eaten there so often, she practically had them on speed dial.
The phone answered after the second ring.
“Hello? Hi. I know it’s late notice but I’m in a bit of a bind and hoping you could help.”
She explained the situation, confirming that yes, her pie request was for that Cassian, the one with the tattoos and arms.
“I mean, I don’t know,” Nesta said, eyeing up the clock and tapping her foot against the cupboard. “I’ll ask him. Some kind of protein shake, I think. Yeah, it’s really glossy hair. I’ll ask him that too. Anyway – the pie?”
They were regretful. Truly. Nesta could almost feel their sorrow down the phone. They didn’t have any pies pre-baked and they wouldn’t have one ready for the time she needed it by. They offered Nesta and Cassian a discount on their next visit and Nesta thanked them before hanging up.
“Well. Shit.”
Her eyes itched and she wanted to cry again but this wasn’t the Archeron way. She shook her shoulders and cleared her throat. There would be no pie but Nesta would be damned if she turned up without bringing anything and looking like a chaotic mess.
The kitchen horror show was a problem for future her, but in less than an hour, she had showered, dressed herself in her most confidence boosting little black dress and practiced her affirmations in front of the hallway mirror.
“You are a calm, confident, capable woman. You did not achieve the pie. Others have probably not achieved the pie. You have achieved other things. Like your best friends, two degrees, and this awesome looking pavlova.”
Nesta held the covered bowl to the mirror as though to show her reflection the cream and meringue evidence. Her lipstick red smile shook a little but the taxi driver was calling to say he was downstairs so there was no time for doubt to creep in.
On a usual night it took too long to get to Cassian’s. The drive was less than fifteen minutes from one end of the small city where Nesta lived to Cassian’s address and every second stretched out painfully slow.
Tonight, it was as though all roads had cleared especially for her just to say ‘look, you can get to your ritual humiliation even earlier.’
“It’s not like I’ve ever seen Rhys or Morrigan cook,” she mumbled to herself as she exited the cab and entered Cassian’s building. The porter nodded and buzzed her in and then Nesta was counting the too-quick numbers on the elevator.
Cassian’s apartment was one of two at the top of the building and though the sound-proofing was excellent, which they could attest to personally, Nesta was surprised at the distinct lack of any festivities sounding from behind his door when she approached.
He answered after one knock, hair freshly washed and dried. His white dress shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and the top buttons were undone, swathes of black swirling tattoos on display.
Cassian let out a low whistle and grinned like a wolf when he saw her. “Well, if it isn’t my favourite lady, in my favourite dress of hers, with my favourite dish.”
He leant in to kiss her and Nesta winced at the mention of food. Cassian’s lips met hers in a chaste kiss but he must have noticed her response as he was frowning when he pulled away.
“Come in,” he said with a light tone. “Let me take that.” He held his hands out for the bowl she was carrying but she clutched it tighter to her body.
“That’s ok, let me find a space to put it.”
“Sure.”
Nesta stepped further into the apartment. Everything was chrome, quartz, or wood but Cassian couldn’t help himself when it came to Christmas. What was once an interior designers dream for a ‘bachelor living’ magazine spread was now a grotto fit for the dreams of any eight-year-old girl.
A smile lifted the corner of her lips. She’d never begrudge him this. Foster care and ten endless churn of care homes hadn’t left Cassian with any sense of home and the orphanage tried their best but lacked the funds.
Cassian had told her that his best Christmas eventually came in the Illyrian military and all that involved was eating dry turkey from paper plates and reading stupid jokes from cheap crackers. But he was with people that felt like family and that’s what mattered the most.
Now, garlands hung from the oversized windows, a tree larger than Cassian himself stood by the fireplace decked with shining ornaments. A range of presents piled up under the tree to the point where they spilled across his floor.
Stockings on the mantel, rugs everywhere, gingerbread houses which increased in number each time Nesta was over. Candles on every surface.
“Wine?” Cassian asked as Nesta slid the bowl onto his counter. She nodded while taking a breath in. Ham and apricot, honey, a distinct scent of rich chocolate. All the food laid out but under coverings to keep them fresh.
Her stomach stank. She’d failed him so miserably.
Her face must have painted a picture because Cassian moved beside her. “Hey, what’s up.” His fingers tucked under her chin, tilting her face to his. Those deep eyes of his, again swimming in concern.
She hoped the best Christmas present she could get him was honesty.
“I fucked it.”
He blinked. “Sorry?”
“The pie, I completely fucked it up.”
His confused blank expression immediately melted and he laughed, his head thrown back and the column of his throat on display. His face in laughter was a delight, he was young and happy and in love with life. “Well, that makes a lot more sense.”
“There is no pie. I botched it.”
He looked down at her, his expression softening, his smile gentle. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t. That pie is an art only the devil knows how to get right. Did you know Emerie’s grandmother won’t even make one and she won Illyrian baker of the year for fifteen years?”
Nesta coughed and reached for the wine poured out for her. “No, I didn’t know that.”
Cassian moved round the counter to Nesta’s dish. “So, what did you bring?”
“The only thing that didn’t involve my oven. The meringue isn’t even home-made. I’m such a sellout.”
He peeked under the covering and exhaled. “Oh, thank the Mother.” He stepped back, his hand over his heart. “I fucked it.”
Now, Nesta blinked at him. “Sorry?”
“The meringue for the Prythian Pavlova. It was the one thing I wanted to get perfect but do you know how hard meringue is to make? I couldn’t even make it to the store.”
He shook his head, grabbing his own glass of wine. “I even rang Elain to ask her for tips but Lucien answered and begged me to tell him in great detail how the filo wrapped parcels were smelling. He said, and I quote ‘go low and take your time’. I’m not sure how comfortable I am having them over for New Year.”
Nesta laughed, shaking her own head, glancing around the apartment. It had taken her long enough but something finally dawned on her. “Am I early? When are the others arriving?”
Cassian paused, swirling his glass. “Yeah, about that... I thought ‘fuck ‘em.’”
Nesta’s eyes bulged. “I think I’m missing something.”
Cassian put his glass down and leant back against the far counter.
“You know Bri’s pie wasn’t all that great. Mor was being...” he trailed off, scratching his eyebrow the way he did when he was uncomfortable. “Mor was being difficult and it was unfair. Rhys too. But I liked the idea of you and I doing our own holiday tradition so I guess I thought I’d see where we ended up.”
He gestured to his apartment and the dishes before them. “So, we ended up here. Just you and I, a bottle of wine, lots of delicious food and a very comfy rug we’re fucking on after dinner.”
“Is that right?” Nesta said, putting her glass down. She walked over to him. “Have you seen what you’ve made? We are not fucking after dinner.” She placed her hand on his chest, his heart beating a rhythm against her palm as she ignored his disappointed face. “We’re fucking before dinner.”
That wolf grin was back on his face and he leant forward to kiss her but Nesta stopped him. “I feel bad, everything here is an Archeron dish. You didn’t get your pie.”
“Oh, I’ll get to eat my pie.”
“Cassian!”
He laughed again, his broad arms wrapping around her body. “The fact that you tried means everything. I promise. This is a great start to our forever tradition.”
Nesta looked up at him; the hours of failed baking, the constant smoke alarms, the mess she had to clear up tomorrow. Worth it. All of it. “Forever you say?”
“Forever.”
#nessian#nesta#fanfiction#fanfic#nesta archeron#cassian#nesta x cassian#acotar#acomaf#acowar#acofas#acosf#i wrote something#nessian fanfiction#nessian fic#nessian fan fiction#nessianfic#nesta archeron x cassian#nessian fan fic#illyrian comfort pie#writing request
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I can't believe there are people in this fandom who say Mor lied about what happened at Autumn Court and led Azriel on for centuries. We have people say Gwyn, an SA survivor, has manipulate everyone with her lightsinger power and she wasn't actually SA'ed and undermine her strength in Blood Rite. We have people say Feyre overreacted and minimise her trauma and depression to nothing after UTM and calling her ungrateful...
All of these over another man's action...
While Eris didn't try to help her, y'all make a hero out of him for not touching her. I know why he did it but the fact that you all try to find an excuse for his actions and go as far as calling Mor a liar. (don't forget he slut shamed her in front of all the high lords...)
While Azriel is the one who's been panting after Mor for centuries while Mor couldn't be more obvious about how she doesn't want to do anything with him and you didn't even consider how she might not trust him enough to tell him the truth but somehow... Mor is at fault. Somehow Azriel, not even trying to talk to her once and discuss their situation and create a safe space for her and try to be her real friend instead of trying to be in a relationship with her and waiting for a mate bond to snap, is the victim here... you all don't find his actions creepy at all because he's a "shadow daddy". While Azriel still couldn't say he's over Mor to Rhysand and at the same time tried to fck Elain without thinking anything more about her (no future whatsoever), but somehow... somehow is Gwyn's fault, who used her lightsinger power to prevent it to happen and manipulate Azriel all the same... all of this is being said because of Azriel's own actions and you don't want to blame him and hold him accountable for his doings, so you find (create) these disgusting excuses.
While Tamlin only sat there for 3 months and didn't even try to help Feyre and y'all excuse his lack of action for protecting, but he could get her alone right before the night of her last trial... While he sat there begged on his knees and didn't even try to stop Amarantha, and in the main time each bones in Feyre's body was breaking. And you still find an excuse for him locking Feyre and not listening to her about how she's suffering, how she's drowning, for him being "traumatised"... but Feyre died for him and saved his court and people and the whole Prythian and destroyed herself in the process but you all don't even see it... and go as far as calling Feyre a coward for hesitating to kill those faeries...
#the fact I had no opinion about Eris and wanted to see how sjm will approach his story#but y'all make me hate him#even tho I'm a gwynriel I can't shake the feeling how Az behaves in certain situation but because most people love him#and not remotely his personality but his “wingspan” and being “freaky” in bed#everyone try to find an excuse for his action and go as far as making made up excuses#people genuinely make me hate Azriel and Eris sometimes#I'm not even gonna talk about Tam/in bc I already hate him so much and his “fans” doesn't help either#it just adds to my hatred for him everyday#Morrigan & Gwyn & Feyre deserve so much better than these acotar fans...#the fact that these are fictional characters but I wonder how ppl would react to an irl situation like theirs#feyre archeron#gwyneth berdara#morrigan#pro feyre#pro morrigan#pro gwyneth berdara
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