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talkfantasytome · 1 year

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Small Steps

Cassian has a rough day that really shakes him. Nesta meets him where he is, using physical touch to try help him.

Warnings: Mild Angst | Word Count: 2,717 | Read on AO3

Nessian Masterlist

a/n: Based on this ask. I took to heart the "change anything". 🙈 So no smut, friends, I'm just still not there, and I wanted to get more to the heart of the love language.

Written for Day 2 of @sjmromanceweek: Love Languages.

The massive sigh that escaped Nesta's lips practically echoed through the sitting room.

She rarely read in that room. Then again, despite the book in front of her, she really couldn't say she was currently reading, either. Not as her eyes flicked to the floor-to-ceiling windows and glass door every other second. Checking on the balcony, making sure she didn't miss it when he got back.

As if she could. Who could miss someone of that size?

Thump.

Her eyes snapped back to the balcony, but nothing was there. It took her a minute before she realized the sound had come from the book that slipped from her lap.

She must be getting tired. It was rather late. And with how dark it was, she could actually miss it. Perhaps she should just go to bed, wait for Cassian there. Nesta would likely wake up when he got in…he was never particularly quiet getting ready for bed.

With a yawn, Nesta closed her book and stood from her seat, jumping as she heard the door open behind her.

"Finally!" she sighed, placing her book on the table and turning to see Cassian standing in the threshold, his hair wet and clinging to a forlorn face. It must be raining outside. "Where have you been?"

Nesta padded over to Cassian, pulling him further into the House and shutting the door behind them. The wind was harsh, blowing against her efforts, but she got it closed and locked before too much water came in. And what did was magically dried away by the time she heard the lock click.

Cassian didn't answer her. He just stood there, a few feet away, eyes distant and unresponsive.

"Cassian?" she questioned. Nesta kept her voice soft, tilting her head to try and meet his gaze. But even when she made contact with his hazel irises, that's all she was doing. There was no recognition that he was seeing her, meeting her eyes. She brushed a hand up his arm and asked, "Is everything all right."

He turned his head away, as if he couldn't look at her, and then pulled his arm back. It wasn't the response she wanted, and she couldn't pretend it didn't cut like a knife, but at least it was some type of reaction. "Cassian," she tried again, taking his hand. "What happened?"

Still no answer.

A pit began to emerge in Nesta's stomach as she watched her husband and mate remain still and cold. It wasn't like him. Cassian was all warmth and openness, jokes and laughter. He didn't fluster. Nothing ever shook him. Not like this. The worst Nesta had ever seen him before was in times when she was in danger, and even then there was something more than this.

She didn't know what to do. How could she? Five years together, and this was a first. She should know how to comfort him - she did know, typically. But this wasn't the same as sad Cassian or worried Cassian or pissed-off Cassian. And she doubted some sarcastic insults or gentle kisses would pull him out of the stupor he was in.

But Nesta had to do something. Cassian was always the strong one. For her…for everyone, really. It's what he did, constantly. And now she had to do it for him.

Holding back the tears that were begging to be set free, Nesta quickly requested a meal for Cassian from the House as she led him to the table. A plate full of steak, fried potatoes, and broccoli appeared just as she got him into a seat - his favorite meal. She sent a silent thank you to the House for that. The House didn't always seem to like Cassian, but clearly it could tell that now wasn't a time for whatever grudge it held.

Cassian sat there, hands at his side, staring off into the distance. She wasn't sure he even realized the food was there, but that was fine. He'd eat it, anyway. She'd make sure of that.

Nesta picked up the silverware and cut a piece of steak, cooked perfectly between rare and medium-rare, exactly how Cassian liked it. She then brushed some of his hair behind his ear and lifted his face to meet her gaze again.

This time, something registered in his eyes. The faintest twinkle that said he did see her. And for a moment she let the relief flood her, but only a moment. Because as quick as the twinkle came it faded again.

"Please, Cass," she breathed, holding the bite of steak up. "Eat for me?"

He lifted a hand and placed it over hers, guiding the steak into his open mouth. After that first bite, he took the fork in his own hand and began to work on the meal.

Nesta let out the breath she'd been holding and then sat beside him, keeping one hand on him at all times, her fingers curved around his broad shoulder. She stayed clear of his wings for the moment, unsure how he'd react in his current state to even an accidental brush against them.

It was quiet as he ate, only the sounds of his bites and chewing filling the room. And the inconsistent clicking of his jaw. The sound usually grated on Nesta a bit. Tonight, however, it was music to her ears.

His hair began to fall into his face, and Nesta pushed it back behind his ears, stroking him for a second with her thumb. Once again, no reaction from Cassian, but Nesta was too busy noting how cold his cheeks felt to worry about that. It felt as if he'd been out in freezing temperatures long enough for it to chill his very bones.

Turning her face toward the ceiling, Nesta asked, "Could you start a hot bath, please?" A gentle breeze caressed her face in response, and she added a whispered, "Thank you."

Cassian set his fork down a couple minutes later. He didn't move beyond turning to look at Nesta. He seemed to be asking 'what next', and it broke Nesta's heart and healed it at the same time. One step at a time, that's all she needed from him. She took his hands and stood up, pulling him up with her, and thanking the Mother that he registered it enough to help. She wasn't actually strong enough to move him without his help.

Keeping one of his hands in hers, she led him down to their suite. The bathroom was warm with the steam from the bath. Cassian followed Nesta into the room and stood in the center of it as directed by Nesta. She didn't bother waiting to see if he'd start to ready himself for the bath.

Nesta started on his jacket. She had to walk around him as she slid it off his arms and wings. And then she was on her tiptoes, peeling his shirt off of him, grateful he was present enough to lift his arms and duck down a bit to help her. Once the shirt was on the floor, Cassian straightened. It gave Nesta the chance to look over his torso. Not in admiration, as was so often in the case, but instead Nesta found herself scanning his body for injuries.

She couldn't imagine that was what was getting to Cassian. He typically played off injuries as if they were nothing, only resting to get Nesta to shut up. But that didn't mean he couldn't also be physically injured, along with whatever had happened to affect him emotionally.

There wasn't much, however. Just her husband's extremely toned chest and those entrancing tattoos that never ceased to astound her. She trailed her hands up and down his arms, hoping the touch would offer him a bit of comfort, or at least some warmth. He slanted toward her a bit, as if he were leaning in to the touch, but when Nesta looked up his face was still vacuous, even as his eyes followed her.

Nesta gave him a small smile anyway, giving his chest a quick kiss before she moved on to his legs. She knelt down to get off his shoes and socks. They were dirtier than she'd realized. He must've been tracking mud through the entire House. And the socks, too, were damp. But the worst part was the pinkness of his toes. How long had he been in his wet clothes? Nesta hadn't realized how wet they were. She was pretty sure Az had gone with him that day, so he shouldn't have needed to fly home. Just the quick flight from beyond the wards to the balcony of the House. They should've been lightly damp.

Based on the feel of his socks, they'd likely been drenched hours before. Dried enough they wouldn't drip, but not so much that they weren't still wet and cold. She should've had him bathe first.

With this new realization, Nesta was quick to remove his pants and lead him toward the tub. Whorls of steam danced across the calm water. She tested the water quickly and it was perfect. Hot, definitely, but not so much it would burn his skin.

She looked back up at him, meeting his blank stare. "Cassian, can you get in the tub for me?"

His eyes shifted to look at the tub and he gave her a solitary nod of his head. He was slow to move, but he climbed into the large bath. He always commented on how it was too big for him alone when Nesta didn't bathe with him. Seeing him in it without her, Nesta actually believed him.

Cassian sat down in the water, everything but his shoulders and head submerged. Nesta knelt beside the tub once he was situated, surprised to find a pillow on the floor waiting for her. She didn't reflect on it too much. Just accepted the plush object and reached to grab the soap and a loofah.

She didn't scrub too hard. He wasn't noticeably dirty, nor did Nesta want to hurt him. But still she made sure to wipe down his arms and torso, and did her best to get to his legs as well. And then she worked on his hair. She poured a large dollop of the hair cleansing concoction they kept into her hands and then lathered it into his hair.

Letting off a soft groan as she massaged his head, Cassian leaned into the touch and something lightened in Nesta. She let out a sigh of relief and smiled to herself as she continued to rub the soap in. Nesta took her sweet time with it, making sure she got every inch of his head, hoping to prolong his enjoyment. She then began to scoop water up to rinse the mixture out of his hair. It was slow work, but it was better than asking him to dip his head.

Once all the soap was off him, Nesta reached into the water and grabbed Cassian's hands, standing up and leading him to do the same. He followed, a waterfall cascading off his body as he did. Nesta grabbed a towel and wrapped it around him before she carefully helped him out of the tub. He held the towel around himself as Nesta patted it against his body, attempting to soak up as much water from his skin as possible.

Cassian watched her as she did. Something in his features scrunched, his eyes focusing on her chest.

Nesta couldn't hide her shock. She doubted Cassian was actually interested in doing anything that night. And she wasn't sure he was in a place for it anyway. Following his gaze and looking down, Nesta realized it wasn't actually her chest that was drawing his attention, but the fact that her dress was entirely soaked. She hadn't even noticed. "It's fine. I'll be out of this soon enough."

He didn't respond, but Nesta didn't care. It was a tiny step, and that was all she needed.

They walked into the bedroom and Nesta began to turn down the bed before going to the closet and pulling out Cassian's favorite pair of lounge pants.

"Do you want to wear these tonight?" she asked, holding them up for him. He looked them over, taking a minute before finally nodding. Nesta held them open and helped him into the pants.

Her hands met his waist as she let the pants go around him, and then they were trailing up his stomach and landing on his chest. It was a soft touch, not the kind that was meant to lead to something else. Just to comfort.

Cassian watched her. And when she looked up into his face, she found his hazel eyes staring back at her. They weren't as distant as they had been earlier. There was still something vacant about his face, but it wasn't entirely blank anymore. She smiled and lifted one hand to caress his cheek.

"I love you, Cassian," she breathed. Cassian tilted his head against her hand. All the response she needed. "Do you want to get into bed? I'm going to get into my nightgown, and then I'll join you."

Despite her words, Nesta didn't move her hands until Cassian had moved far enough away that she wasn't touching him anymore. He climbed into their bed as Nesta got on one of her nightdresses, and then she was joining him.

He stayed on his side, his back to her, and it took all the strength Nesta could muster to not finally break down. As much as she wanted to, Cassian still needed her. Even if he wasn't turned toward her with his arms open like he was most nights.

So Nesta scooted toward him, wrapping her arms around his waist and nestling her face between his wings. She left a soft kiss on the center of his back and made sure her entire body was up against his, mimicking his position.

Lifting one arm, Cassian rested it on top of Nesta's. His hand curled around hers and she nearly burst into tears. He was there, somewhere. Tomorrow would be for talking. Or the next day. Or whatever day he was ready. Tonight, she would hold him and stay close. And his hand grasping hers was enough to know that's all he needed.

She nuzzled as close as possible and held him tight. It wasn't long until his breathing evened out, his body relaxing in sleep. Nesta was able to drift off soon after that.

Nesta awoke to a room so bright, even with her eyes closed it was blinding. She groaned slightly to herself, squeezing her eyes shut and curling into the body that was holding her.

A deep, soft chuckle sounded beside her and Nesta's eyes shot open.

Cassian was there, smiling down at her, his arms tight around her waist.

"Cassian?" she whispered.

He lifted one hand, bringing it up to cup her cheek. "'Morning Nes," he breathed before leaning in and kissing her on the forehead.

"Is everything-are…are you okay?" she asked gently.

He nodded, pulling her closer to him and resting his head on top of hers. "It was a bad day, yesterday."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She could feel him shake his head as he replied, "Not yet. I just want to stay here a bit longer."

Nesta nodded and tightened her arms around him. "We can stay as long as you like. And we can talk when you're ready."

"Thank you. For that and…for last night."

Nesta brushed her nose against his chest in response and said, "I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

"No," he stated quickly. "It was exactly what I needed. You were perfect." Nesta buried her face into his chest, hoping to hide the tears that were finally breaking free. "You are perfect."

They stayed like that for most of the day, neither wanting to move or be far from each other. There wasn't much talking, but Nesta knew Cassian would share when he was ready. For now, she took joy in the small steps. The conversations they did have, the touches Cassian initiated, the way his eyes finally sparkled again as he looked at and laughed with her.

It was more than enough.

a/n:I hate that last line but I literally couldn't think of anything better, so...😬

@live-the-fangirl-life @generalnesta @secretlovelybeauty @julemmaes @boredserpent @autumnbabylon @moodymelanist @sv0430 @nesquik-arccheron @gwynrielsupremacy @katekatpattywack @moonstoneriver77 @deedz-thrillerkilller16 @swankii-art-teacher @lemonade-coolattas @emily-gsh @my-fan-side @champanheandluxxury @sayosdreams @simpingfornestaarcheron @perseusannabeth @clemidansleschoux @meher-sumedha @labetenoir @vinylcryes @shinya-hiiragi @starryblueskies7 @a-court-of-milkandhoney @pintas3107 @embersofwildfire @superspiritfestival @aks18 @thewayshedreamed @lunabean @xstarlightsupremex @mis-lil-red @wannawriteyouabook @dealfea

#nessian #nesta x cassian #sjmromanceweek2023 #cassian x nesta #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acotar fic #a court of thorns and roses #acosf #acosf fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #modern au #mild angst #fluff #love languages #physical touch #the emotional kind #a side of words of affirmation for nesta

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shadowdaddies · 1 month

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I neeed a jealous Nesta fic that ends in smutty punishment omg

so we're all down bad for mean domme Nesta 👀 I gotchu guys

Who You Belong To

Nesta x f!Reader smut

warnings: d/s dynamics, smut below the cut, light bondage, blindfold, impact play, toys (all the fun stuff tbh)

Music echoed through through Rita’s, a hypnotic rhythm that steeped warm pleasure through your body. Setting down your water, you’d lifted your hair from the back of your neck in attempt to cool the sweat you’d built from dancing.

Azriel murmured a wry comment about Feyre and Mor’s dancing, your eyes flicking to where they had taken over the dance floor. A giggle escaped you at the sight of your friends, your head leaning against Az’s shoulder as the two of you admired the scene.

Scanning the room, you realized Nesta was missing just in time to catch sight of her silver eyes practically glowing in the dim club lighting. Her gaze pierced through you in a way that sent a shiver down your spine straight to your core.

Heat pooled in your stomach at her stern glare, and feeling Azriel stiffen next to you, you realized what you had unwittingly gotten yourself into for the night. “I think it’s time for me to go,” you murmured to Az, daring to give your friend one last kiss on the cheek in farewell before moving to where Nesta stood by the bar.

She tracked you with a predatory gaze, the smile on her lips devoid of any warmth. “Did you have fun this evening?” she purred, voice deceptively even as her fingers hooked around your elbow, leading you out of the building.

“I had a wonderful time,” you replied jovially, feigning obliviousness as you curled into her warmth. Nesta hummed noncommittally, arm wrapped possessively around your waist while you walked home.

Unlocking the door to the house, you shucked off your heels, yawning lazily with a stretch as you padded towards the kitchen, when a soft hand gripped your arm firmly. You dared to turn towards Nesta, breath hitching at the flames that danced in her eyes, emanating sheer power and dominance.

“Don’t play coy, pet. It’s beneath you,” she drawled, hand sliding up your arm to settle at the base of your throat. A knuckle dragged down the bare skin revealed by your low-cut dress, Nesta’s pupils dilated as the scent of your own desire grew.

“You knew exactly what you were doing this evening, wearing this slip of fabric,” she growled out the last word, finger hooking through the waist band of your dress with a sharp tug, “cozying up next to Azriel-“

“I wasn’t, it was-“ you tried to interrupt, but Nesta’s other hand firmly held your jaw, silencing you.

“You acted out, and I think you deserved to punished for that. Don’t you agree, pet?” she breathed, minty breath chilly against your neck. You both knew the truth, that you were acting out, desperate for her attention. To have Nesta take control tonight, to own you.

You whimpered, thighs rubbing together as you nodded meekly. “Words, pet,” Nesta demanded, hand tightening slightly around your throat.

“Yes, Mistress,” you choked out, heart pounding as your pussy clenched around nothing at her demanding tone.

“Mmm,” Nesta hummed, finger nail scraping along your skin to toy with the thin strap of your dress. “I’ll be back in a moment. You know how I expect to find you.”

Without another glance, Nesta turned towards your large closet, disappearing behind the door. You stripped quickly, folding your clothes neatly in a side chair before kneeling beside the bed, head bowed with your hands on your thighs.

Excitement shot through you as you heard Nesta emerge from the closet, heels clacking against the floor. “Hands behind your back, pet,” she ordered, honey-soft voice betraying her dark intentions.

Breathless, you complied, allowing the silk ribbon to be looped around your wrists until they could not be moved. “Good girl,” Nesta affirmed, a light smack to your ass encouraging you to stand.

With an awkward shuffle to your feet you stood to see Nesta dressed in a black lace teddy that left nothing to the imagination, thigh high stockings and heels to match. A pathetic whimper left you at the sight, your pleading eyes quickly covered by the blindfold Nesta held in her hand.

“This is for my pleasure, not yours. Remember that, pet,” she reprimanded coolly, hand gently guiding you to bend over the mattress so that your core was spread and bare for her, no sight to hint at what she might do next.

Feeling a presence standing behind you, your hips involuntarily ground against the bed, eager for any touch. “Count for me,” was the only warning before Nesta’s hand landed sharply on your ass, a lewd moan escaping your lips before you whimpered out a weak “one.”

Mind growing fuzzy, you barely managed to keep track of each slap against your skin, soothing rubs and occasional licks to your reddened ass breaking up the pain from your punishment. “Ten!” you squealed, body jerking against the mattress as Nesta shushed you, a hand running soothing circles across your rear.

“Good girl,” she purred, long hair tickling your neck as she leaned down to kiss you. “Have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes, oh cauldron, yes,” you babbled, wriggling against Nesta’s hand as you felt her presence move behind your spread legs. Another noncommittal hum left her lips, and you knew your punishment was far from over as a delicate finger slid over your core.

A rich laugh rang through the air before you felt Nesta’s finger forced through your lips. “You’re dripping for me already, pet?” she laughed, finger shoved deeper down your throat as you sucked your juices from her digit.

“Such a little whore for me, aren’t you?” she teased, swiping her hand from your mouth as quickly as you felt her settle on her knees behind you. Warmth breath tickled your center, your bound hands clutching at thin air in silent plea for more.

Nesta gave no warning before diving into your heat, expert tongue rolling and sucking your clit before lapping the slick dripping from your pussy. Her lewd moans sent vibrations up your body, your legs shaking as she wrapped her lips around your clit. Sucking in a harsh pulsing rhythm, Nesta plunged two fingers inside of you, curling against your walls at the spot she knew would send you over the edge quickly.

The coil in your abdomen tightened, eyes rolling back under the blindfold as you mumbled in incoherent warning that you were close to your high. But Nesta knew your body too well, withdrawing her touch before you could finish.

You let out a frustrated cry, muffled against the sheets as your orgasm was ripped from you. Nesta cooed in false sympathy, the warmth of her body enveloping yours as she bent to whisper in your ear. “Oh, pet. You didn’t think your punishment was over, did you?”

A wicked laugh echoed through the room, Nesta gripping your thighs as she flipped you onto the bed, your arms uncomfortably restrained against the mattress as your back arched in the air. The bed dipped beneath you, the familiar feeling of Nesta crawling up your body combined with the scent of her arousal your only hint of what was coming.

“Open,” she commanded, a soft tap to your cheek ordering you to offer your mouth for her pleasure. “Good girl,” she cooed, warmth settling over you as her clit perched on your nose, dripping core hot against your tongue.

“Clean up your mess,” Nesta ordered casually, her hips rocking slightly as she smeared her wetness across your face. You moaned at the taste of her, the struggling breaths you took beneath her heat while your arms remained tied behind you.

“Fuck, such a good little slut,” Nesta breathed from above you, whimpers escaping you in a plea to see her reaction to the pleasure you were giving her. With a dark chuckle, she pulled the blindfold from your eyes to reveal her tits bouncing above you, body swaying as she used you for her own satisfaction.

The sight spurred you on, tongue flicking out in rapid movement as you bobbed your head, nudging her clit to bring her closer to orgasm. You smirked at the stuttering breath she took before crashing into her high, arousal flooding your face that you savored like the delicacy it was.

Cheeks flushed, golden-brown hair hung around her face as Nesta smiled softly down at you. “How are you feeling?” she whispered, thumb stroking your cheek.

You turned to press a kiss to her palm, grinning up at beautiful silver-blue eyes. “Never better,” you assured her. “But my arms are a little sore from being under me like this,” you admitted with a soft laugh.

Nesta smiled, a genuine joy that turned mischievous as the geared in her head turned. “Would you be better on your stomach for a little longer?” she purred, leaning down to nip at the skin of your neck.

The gasp that escaped you at her words was telling enough, and she flipped you back onto your stomach as heels clicked against the floors while she disappeared for a moment. You felt the bed shift behind you once more, eyes glazing over and lips parted as you took in the sight.

Nesta kneeled behind you, a strap-on attached to her hips as she rubbed lube across the toy. “I think you’ve learned your lesson, pet. But you still need to remember who you belong to,” she teased, grinning at the whimpers that left you as she rubbed her tip against your core.

Collapsing against the sheets, you relaxed in the restraints as you braced for a long night, more than satisfied to be reminded of whose you were.

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tadpolesonalgae · 8 days

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Love Fool

Nesta x reader

a/n: This didn’t go in the direction I was expecting, but oh well

Day 2 for @nestaarcheronweek : Metamorphosis

Warnings: mention of sexual assault, Nesta having ptsd from the cauldron, kind of hurt/comfort?

word count: 3,955

Sharp, grey eyes cut across the tavern, picking her out with ease, adorned in a dress of such deep purple it almost appears as an inky blue, velvet warm and inviting as it wraps around her body. Golden clips hold her hair back, thin and golden chains of jewellery sitting around her wrists, hanging from her pointed ears, mouth painted in a shimmery purple and gold.

Horrific beauty that never fails to reel in her attention, luring Nesta’s eyes over no matter who else may be in the room.

She feels bewitched, her heart not her own, her pulse heating whenever the female enters her vision, lips parting to allow air into her lungs. A few times her nails have grazed the pale skin of her chest, assuring herself she is still breathing. That the life hasn’t been pulled from her body without her knowing.

Grey eyes return to her cards, swiftly growing bored of the game. Her drink has been empty for a while, and none of the males hold even a suggestion of the blissful pleasure she’s searching for tonight. The kind that will take her away from the strange tightness in her chest whenever the female manages to pull another glance form her.

The game concludes, but Nesta gives no sign of choice between the males, each in silent competition with the other for a chance to bed her. And yet as they try to initiate conversation, eager to prove themselves worthy, already Nesta can feel that phantom presence shifting through the tavern, fighting to keep from looking—to affirm what she already knows.

Warmth settles at her side as the female slides into the booth, the proximity closer than anyone else has dared risk with her, a distance shared between women, then men have no access to. At least, not without effort.

There’s an intangible shift over the table, the atmosphere changing with the presence of fresh fruit pressed so appetisingly to an already appealing meal. Tantalising and irresistible to any male with hot blood in his veins. Nesta doesn’t believe the female at her side is oblivious to the change she’s caused with a simple movement, believes it was intentional to a degree. Her thoughts are confirmed when one of the males attempts to bring the fluid-bodied female in, switching his approach to what appears to be an easier catch. Unaware of the honey trap.

Remark after remark slips from his lips, accumulating into the suggestion that’s doubtlessly on all their minds, the nature shared between them, fallible and easily redirected with the allure of a hunger being satisfied, greed sticky and oozing from their rough features. It isn’t the first time Nesta’s overheard a proposition like this, but it’s certainly the first she’s so directly been included in, the male making little effort to conceal the explicit fantasy he already drools over.

And while the female at Nesta’s side has no obvious reaction other than a suggestive smile, eyes twinkling with sultry implication, Nesta catches the slight wrinkle to her nose as she returns “I doubt you have the coin to pay for a show like that”, and puts an end to the conversation.

————

You watch as the males depart, understanding they are no longer welcome at the booth you’d commandeered.

Nesta’s empty glass twinkles in the low light, and you call someone over for a refill, enjoying how the liquid splashes in the hold, swirling around like a stormy sea until full. Instead of passing it to her however, you raise it to your own lips, drinking deeply to wash away the grubby looks the males had been trying to glue the two of you together with. Trying to wash away the foul taste in your mouth.

How Nesta finds the conviction to put herself through this each night is alarming to say the least. Her determination to punish herself is indeed remarkable, if not disturbing. But she makes no move to retrieve her glass, sitting alert at your side, cornered and confined to the darker parts of the booth.

The glass clinks on the table as you set it down, at last glancing to her, pinning her with your attention. Her grey eyes ice over, sharp and piercing as they search for a way in, to penetrate past your exterior. To find a soft spot to pry open with bladed words, jamming in the steel she holds within to fracture you, to push you away like every other person in her life.

“How was dinner last night?” You ask neutrally, the painted nails of your fingers grazing along the cold ridges of the glass, tracing the bumps and dips. “The usual,” she replies, quicksilver eyes darting between your own set at the amber liquid at the bottom of the glass. “Really?” You remark, with sarcastic surprise. “You know, that’s quite odd, because Mor tells me you haven’t been a single time in the last six months, so it really is quite impressive you’ve managed to elude her so thoroughly.”

Nesta’s lips purse, silver eyes glinting with something slightly other. “I didn’t realise it was any of your business—what I do in my personal life,” she replies coldly.

“It isn’t really. But you’re making it. You aren’t exactly subtle about your interests.” Her gaze shutters, a sure sign the comment had hit close to a nerve. “You can’t honestly tell me numbing yourself every night with sex and alcohol really works, Nesta,” you continue, speaking while you have her attention. “Whatever problem you’re running from won’t shrivel up and die if you leave it long enough. It’ll be waiting for your return.”

“You don’t know what you’re taking about,” she replies lowly, the edge of a snarl to her voice, and you flick your gaze over her, marking that while she makes no attempts to hide herself, a certain stiffness follows the sweep of your attention. Fighting to not shrink away. “I know grief when I see it,” you reply, taking another drink from her glass. Silvery eyes track your motions acutely, feeling their weight on your mouth as you take what she probably considers the last of her absolution.

The glass thunks upon the wooden table, a clear end to the conversation as you stand, gazing down at her. “It’s already been a long night,” you say idly, watching her from your higher position. “Retire with me. The dark can be dangerous, even in a city of starlight.” Her expression sours at the mention, resentment tucking itself between the slight dip of her brows, the subtle disgust shown in the crinkle around her pretty nose.

“Oh-so-powerful Rhysand can’t keep the streets tidy?” Nesta remarks, but it’s clear she’s trying to rile you. “Worry about yourself before speaking from the gutters,” you murmur softly, low enough fo no one to hear, vicious enough to put an end to her poisonous games. “I think you’re forgetting you’d be included in that cleanse,” you speak quietly, pausing, “at least, as you are.” Unless you change.

Nesta bristles, mercury swirling in her glacial eyes, glittering with something stinging and wrathful, before it’s smothered with self-destructive efficiency. But then she settles in her seat, pressing comfortably into the booth, gazing up at you. “And yet here you are, in these gutters too. A little hypercritical, don’t you think?”

“I will wander worse places if necessary.”

“How noble of you.”

You sigh, feeling fatigue beginning to weigh on you—a buildup of late nights spent keeping an eye on her, subtly, always finding your own company to make it less glaring. Shaking your head, you pin her with a cold look, one that thaws out against her own ice. “Aren’t you tired, Nesta?”

She’s quiet, features unmoving; unyielding. Growing colder, if possible.

“Come back with me,” you say, “start tonight, and by tomorrow you’ll have already taken the first step.”

But she allows herself no reprieve. No relief from the numbing poison.

Soaking in her nest of self-imposed sickness.

————

After that initial confrontation, Nesta only becomes more aware of her presence. How she shines in the middle of rooms, sending shockwaves of laughter crashing down upon her own dim and quiet corners, so raging and wrathful they’re an effort to withstand. To weather.

Night after night she appears, without fail, stalking Nesta’s steps relentlessly with a drive that has her own conviction both growing stronger; more impenetrable, and pausing. On the verge of collapse.

There have been more times in the past month the female has approached her, trying to lure her away from the blissful deadening of her mutinous senses. Usually it’s a subtle dismissal of whatever group Nesta has aligned herself with for the night, a quiet send-off that leaves Nesta with the choice of either integrating herself into a new setting, or to leave for her cold, smelly bed. Usually though, she forges onward, a creature of habit that persists relentlessly, rotting in the dark, grimy corner of whatever establishment she’s chosen.

Nesta worries about that pull, though.

Every step echoes through her mind, every word reverberating through the numbed halls of her memories the next day.

Then there are the rare moments the female will make her intervention more blatant, more difficult to ignore. Her tone sharper than usual, her proximity closer, as if trying to physically force her way through the barrier Nesta has spent years carefully engineering.

On the worst nights, deep in the darkness after at last returning home, having stubbornly protested against leaving, her thoughts wander. Wonder what would happen if she allowed herself to be swept away. Wonder at the tension that warms in her chest with the female’s presence. And in the darkest, most liminal hours, in the utter silence of her small apartment, she sometimes wonders what it would be like to leave with her.

But leaving…going with her…

She would have to return here eventually, and she doesn’t want to crumble.

————

You’re sipping on your drink, leaning against the wall of the tavern facing the street, when you hear a snarl louder than the others, loud enough to reach you despite the carefully thought out distance.

A male growl follows quickly, starving and angry, hissing with aggression, and your skin prickles with awareness. Attention sliding toward the alley Nesta had disappeared into a while ago.

Something thuds on the floor, like a barrel being pushed over, and the sounds of commotion follow, echoing off the brick walls. You turn into the alley, magic swelling at your fingertips, warming your skin as you pull it to the surface.

Nesta steadies herself, trying to dig her nails into the male’s face as he forces himself closer. Your blood pounds around your ears, picking up to a debilitating roar as muscle seizes, fury so cutting you’re nearly swept away in the current. But then your hand settles over his shoulder, and he’s vanished away, displaced to somewhere else. Somewhere you know he’ll be treated well.

Fear-dilated pupils meet your gaze, and you can hear her heart thundering against her ribs, the ragged huffs of breath as her chest rises up and down, the front ties of her dress disturbed, revealing more of her cleavage than usual, and that roar returns to your ears, fighting to calm yourself, to be steady for her.

“Are you okay?” You ask flatly, knowing what will happen if you allow a slip of emotion out. Nesta pants deeply, gaze flickering between you and where the male had been, eyes shuttering, pupils shifting and contracting with fear as she swallows. Then manages to nod.

Your lips purse, fury beginning to abate. Refocusing on the female before you. “You’ll probably stay in shock for a little,” you say quietly, keeping your voice even. “You might start to shake in a bit. Maybe a little nauseous too, but you’ll be okay. You’re safe now.”

Nesta swallows thickly, your attention marking the roll of her throat acutely, noticing the bite on her shoulder, your eyes lingering a little longer than is wise, emotion stirring in your chest. But again you push past it, inclining your chin a little. “Let’s get you back.”

Silver eyes dart about the alley before settling on you, assessing warily. But then she dips her head, pushing up from the wall, hands raising to the roughly tugged-free ties of her dress.

“I’m going to winnow us,” you tell her, keeping your statement clear and steady, speaking so she can process what you mean. She nods her head. “Okay.” Her voice is thick and slightly raw from panic, but mostly together.

Your hand encompasses her own, and darkness wraps around you, icy and startling as wind howls in the background before you’re delivered to the door of your own house, silently bringing her up the steps and guiding her inside. You take your time removing your outer layers, untying your shoes to give her time to process, before copying your actions, remaining quiet. Likely still in shock.

“Why are we here?” She asks at last, a shard of ice creeping back into her slightly shaky voice, “this isn’t my home.”

“It isn’t,” you reply calmly, turning to face her where she’s removing her shoes. It’s a good sign, at least.

But then she stands straighter, raising her gaze to yours, blank and unreadable. “I want you to take me back,” she states, “to my house.”

The two of you watch each other, wills pushing against one another, holding their ground.

“You’ve been through a lot,” you say at last, a touch quieter. “You should stay here for the night.” Nesta manages a shake of her head, slowly walling herself off. “Take me back to my house,” she says firmly, and you glare at her, hard.

When you don’t answer, she turns, making for the door, and panic jumps in your chest, making to reach for her before forcefully tugging yourself back. “Nesta,” you call sharply, having her stop, and you catch the tightness of her shoulders, the slight flinch of her body at the tone. But when she turns to face you, her features are cold and unreadable as ice, already withdrawn and harsh.

You gaze at her silently, brow furrowing a little. “Stay here,” you ask quietly, “just for tonight.”

Her eyes narrow a fraction, and you sense she’s about to speak.

“Please,” you murmur, watching her. “Please, Nesta. One night.”

Her icy gaze shutters, lips tightening.

But, “fine,” she mutters, turning away from the door.

Staying the night.

————

“You can stay here,” you say, guiding her into the room adjacent to your own, a guest bedroom for people you’re more acquainted with. “There are clothes in the wardrobe over there, and a bathing room just through that door. You are the only one with access to it, so you’re more than welcome to use it.”

Nesta steps in behind you, entering the clean space, taking it in with clinical scrutiny as se analyses and examines each trunk, the wallpaper, the ceiling and windows, the rugs over the hardwood floor. “Is that everything?” She asks, turning to you.

“Do you need anything else?” You reply, leaning your back against the for frame, legs crossing at the ankles.

Her nose wrinkles, but instead of irritation rising up at the action, relief again cools your spine. She seems to already be returning to normal.

“I’ll manage,” she responds, a clear dismissal.

One you don’t follow, watching her a little longer.

Then you nod, glad she’s at least accepting help. “Okay.”

————

You’re pulled awake, something tugging in your lower stomach, an urge to see her, to find her, to make sure she’s okay after the night.

But she’s probably asleep by now, so you don’t go. Judging by the colour of the sky, it’s been a few hours since she came back. She probably wouldn’t appreciate you checking in on her, either.

So despite the tension, the prickling of your skin, you abstain from checking on her.

Yet it seems like you’re being drawn to her room. Especially when a crackling shockwave passes through your lower body, skin tingling like water that’s been struck by lightening, oil frying in a pan, and you’re swiftly heading for the door, not bothering to even grab a night robe as you cross the hall for her chambers.

“Nesta?” You call, knocking, listening for noise. Another wave sizzles through you, and something thuds from behind the wood. You try for the handle, but she’s used the latch on the other side, locking herself away, and you knock again, louder. “Nesta, can you hear me?” You call, for the most part succeeding in keeping the panic from your voice, remaining calm.

Your sharp ears pick out a low, muffled groan, and your pulse spikes, winnowing inside.

“Nesta?” You call gently, scanning her borrowed chambers, eagle-eyes picking out how the bathroom door is ajar. You make for it swiftly, carefully opening it up as you again look around the room.

She’s hunched over the latrine, the floor wet, an empty bucket tipped over and on its side, the tap to the bath dripping as if hurriedly shut off.

She groans again, and you move forward, nimble fingers slipping beneath the burnished gold of her hair, pulling it gently from her face as she heaves, body convulsing as she retches, knuckles turning white as she grips the seat, muscles shaking. Your brows narrow in concern—nausea might have been expected, but not regurgitation.

Slowly, quietly, you crouch beside her, one hand holding up her hair, the other soothingly stroking down her back—gentle but firm motions, applied to calm and soothe. The trembling begins to fade, and she groans again, spitting out the foul taste, moving to wipe her lips on the back of her palm. You grab some of the roll, pulling away two sheets and offering them to her. Shaky fingers brush against yours, and she dries her mouth on the roll, getting the corners clean.

“Feeling better now?” You ask, releasing her unbound hair, soothing her shoulder. She tries to shrug you away, moving to sit upright, but her muscles give out, falling back against you. In the same moment you discard the roll, supporting her as she collapses, limbs too weak to hold herself up. She struggles, trying to move, but you wrap your arms more securely around her. “On three, okay?” You ask clearly, knowing how she’ll flare up if you allow even a tinge of concern into your voice. “One. Two. Three.”

The two of you manage to stand, stood close together, and another shudder passes through her. You increase your hold, making sure she won’t fall, keeping her nearby. “Careful of the water,” you murmur, helping to guide her out of the bathroom on her unsteady feet, aware of her light grip on you, nearly falling away with every step.

You sit her in one of the comfortable armchairs in the room, feeling as she gives a sharp breath, another shudder passing through, wracking her chest. Her arms make to wrap around herself, but they’re too weak, too tired, so she ends up placing them in her lap, leaning to one side of the seat.

You move, getting the faelights to turn on, then making for the bathroom. You refill the bucket, vanishing the water with half a thought, before taking a washcloth with you, returning to her.

“Have enough energy to clean?” You ask, setting the bucket down before moving to the wardrobe, retrieving a fresh nightgown for her to change into. You can smell the cold sweat on her.

She makes no move to change into the clothing you’ve given her, or even to grip them. Simply remains to one side of the chair, watching them vacantly. “Nesta?” You call, a touch quieter, moving to be at her side, wary of touching her.

Her silver eyes are rimmed with red, nose tipped in a similar colour, the tops of her cheeks and her upper lip gleaming faintly as you realise she’d been crying. The shudders the result of trying to keep quiet. Your shoulders slope, and you move slowly as you settle your hand over hers, letting her see the movement and choose whether to allow it. You squeeze her hand lightly, watching her silently.

“You’re safe, Nesta,” you say quietly from her side. “Nothing’s going to happen to you here.”

Her thin brows narrow, lips cutting down in the corner as her eyes take on a new gleam, looking wet.

“Where did he go?” She asks, voice raw and faint. Scratchy sounding.

Your lips press into a flat line, looking away briefly before returning to hers.

“Azriel knows what to do with people I send his way,” you answer quietly, marking the thick roll of her throat.

“He won’t be finding you again.”

You wait for some sort of reaction. For her skin to whiten, for a fresh wave of sickness to rise up her throat. But she just swallows, dipping her head in a slight nod, eyes moving to the clothing. “Will you help me?”

You nearly miss a breath, but manage to nod, still watching her. “I—… Yes. Yes, of course.” You turn, reaching for the washcloth, but she makes a noise in her throat, having you look at her, unable to conceal your concern. “I don’t…” she struggles, pupils dilating as she glances toward the pool of water, fear tinging her scent. “I can’t manage bodies of water,” she manages quietly, not meeting your eyes. “They remind me of the Cauldron.”

Your lips part on a silent breath, but then you nod, memorising the small piece of information. You should have realised. It looked like she’d been trying with the bucket before…maybe that’s what caused her stomach to upturn itself. That and the intense events of the night.

“Right,” you manage thickly, getting to your feet. “Do you…” You trail off, suddenly unsure in yourself. She swallows again, “can you just…just sit on the bed. While I change,” she mumbles.

Nodding, you move to the bed, sitting with your back to her. You aren’t foolish enough to offer aid with undressing her. She needs the reminder of her own autonomy right now, to known she can do things on her own.

The material rasps, and you’re unable to help the way your ears pick out the noises, assigning actions to each of them. Pale palms pushing her hair out of the way, trembling fingers undoing silky buttons, clammy hands pushing soft but now-dampened fabric away.

“Okay,” she manages, some strength back in her voice. You turn on the bed, seeing her stood the other side, dressed in fresh new clothes, crisp and clean, unbound hair cascading over her shoulders, down her front.

Nesta moves to take the bucket back to the bathroom, but you shake your head, standing. “Just settle into bed for now,” you say, already moving, “it’ll be morning soon, anyway. You should get as much rest as you can.” You think she might protest at first, but she nods after a pause, moving to the bed, pulling back the sheets and laying down.

When you return from the washroom, she’s tucked under the duvet, hair bundled beneath her head like a halo to prevent lying on it during the night.

You turn the faelight off, opening the locked door to let yourself out, pausing on the threshold. “I’ll see you in the morning, Nesta.”

She doesn’t make a sound, but you can clearly see her open eyes watching you from the dark.

“Call if you need anything,” you murmur, stepping away, bringing the door to a close.

“Sleep well.”

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria

#nestaweek2024 #nesta x f!reader #nesta x reader #nesta archeron #nesta fic #nesta fics #love fool

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azzieshd · 1 year

Text

Azriel: Pillowtalk

Mates bond

Warnings: War, injuries, NSFW content, Bad words

Words counting: +/-2100

Requested by: @agdas3214

Sequel: No

*English it not my mother language, there could be grammatical errors and typos. Please warn me if you find them, I'll do my best trying to get better.

---x---x---x---x---x---x---x---x---x---

You’ve known each other for years, centuries actually. Azriel has always been one of your most cherished friend among the Inner Circle, you talked about everything when spending time together and he was the only person you could trust blindfolded.

Unfortunately, things didn't stay just as friendly as you first wanted, and you fell in love.

You always knew about his passion for Mor, and – before catching feelings for him – tried to help to put them two together as a couple. It was hard for you to keep hearing about his love declarations about another while you could barely stay by his side without sighting.

It took years and more years, and as he was still into Mor, you were still into him.

And then came the War. And you almost died.

The calderon almost got you with all the rest of the army, you also stopped with Cassian when Nesta’s scream was heard, but you didn't stop too fast and part of that awful power hit you strongly.

It took you weeks to recover, days just to wake up and find an Illyrian warrior seated by your side. While you stayed unconscious for 72 hours, Azriel seemed to be awake during this time. His eyes were red and if you didn't know him, you would say he had been crying. He looked tired, exhausted in truth. His hands were in his head while he stayed arched in a chair that didn't look so comfortable.

You don't know if you called by his name or if the shadows told him that you were awake, but it took just two seconds for him to put himself by your side in the bed, close, too close.

"How are you feeling? Any pain?" he asked rapidly, putting his hand in your forehead to feel your temperature.

"Good, just thirsty."

Azriel didn't take too long to hand you a glass of water. You didn't take too long to drink it.

"Did we win?" you asked, eyes pleading for an affirmative answer. He nodded.

"We’ve lost a lot of people and it was hard, but yes, we won. Hybern was defeated"

"That's good. Is a shame that I spent all the time here while everyone was fighting."

"You're alive. That's the only thing that matters" his eyes darkened, just as remembering you almost dying was enough for him. And it was, you just didn't know that.

Azriel told after that Cassian was the one who found your body, your life slipping through. He didn't think twice before grabbing you and going straight to the healers. Azriel just knew about you because Rhys – mind to mind – told him. So he rushed himself out of the combat scene and went to the tent where you stood. His heart broke at the sight of you, covered in blood, wounds open and fainted because of the pain.

It was in that moment, when you were between life and death that the bond snapped, the spymaster felt that gold line that connected you both and as a blink of an eye, he forgot about the war and everything became you, just you. He didn't leave his mate during the next few days.

And so here you are. Listening to everything while trying to bake a cake, Azriel’s favorite cake. You felt the bond yesterday, while looking up to the starfall by his side. He was already looking at you when you turned around to face him. Apparently, the bond wasn't new for him, so you wanted some explanations since there are months that the war ended, hence, months he knows you were made for each other.

Of course you weren't crazy to say “no” for the mate's bond, especially since your mate is the male you are completely in love with. But you have to admit that it is kinda funny to see him desperate as he talks about everything.

The cake is ready. You hand it to your mate. He eats it. Now is the part that he fucks you.

- - - - -

Azriel is famous among the females, he is tall, strong, pretty handsome and his serious face is that kind that makes you wonder if he keeps a concentrated frown while invading you with his cock.

After eating the cake, devouring it actually, he kissed you. A desperate kiss, just as if he couldn't control himself for one more minute. His hands went straight to your waist, then to your tights. He grabbed you in his arms just like you had no weight. It took seconds to get to your room since you were at your city apartment.

Your bed was made. Not a single wrinkle on the sheets. Azriel threw you in the mattress. You had no time to breathe, he already was above you.

First, he left kisses on your neck, then he lifted just inches of your shirt, just to have access to your abdomen. You wanted him to go a little more down. He didn't.

"You drive me crazy (Y/N)" his voice was lower, deeper. You almost heard his control cracking.

He kissed you once more before taking your shirt out completely. It would be a lie if you say that you haven't imagined where things would go between you two after asking for explanations about the mates bond, you made sure to be wearing your favorite bra.

Azriel gasped. His shadows making their way through your body, it was cold, just as if someone was blowing your skin. You loved that feeling. His hands made their way to unbutton the black laced bra, the Shadowsinger gasped once more to your now naked torso.

"So beautiful" said while leading the hands softly to your breasts "And all mine"

Your mate then substituted the hands for his mouth, kissing and leaking your too sensitive tidies, you moaned lowly and hazel eyes immediately went to your face, his mouth doing that one more time, you moaned again, Azriel closed his eyes just as appreciating the sound.

It was taking too long, you needed Azriel more than ever, you could barely remember a time where you needed somebody as much as you needed at that moment. You felt like you could explode if he didn't take all your clothes out with his and take you in that bed. Fuck, you needed that so much that you started pleading.

"Oh, darling, don't be so rushed. We have all the time in the world" his voice was so low, a grim face while he started to lower your pants slowly.

Your panties matched the bra, it gave your body all the credit for highlighting your curves. Azriel didn't take that piece off, not yet.

Tired of waiting that long, you led your hands to his leathers. You had already seen the spymaster shirtless while training with the warlord, but having him with his nude torso right in front of you with you allowed to touch every part of that shaped abs – and more –, was a completely different feeling.

You saw a little smile on your mate's face while you kept yourself busy touching the tattooed skin. He was responsible for taking his own pants out, letting you have a glimpse of his underwear, his cock making an appearance at the black cloth. Your mouth dried. It seems that the wingspan theory was real and you had no idea how that would fit you.

"Like what you see?" He asked while getting closer again.

"A lot…"

Your voice was mere sight, if you both weren't blessed with the hearing of High Fae and Illyrian, you were sure that the confirmation couldn't be heard.

After kissing one more, you felt Azriel's finger inside your panties, searching for your clit, which didn't take too long to be found. Azriel gasped as he found you already wet for him, needless to say that he loved it.

Your breath started to get louder as he started to round his finger in your too sensible spot. You wished to keep this sensation forever, but you needed more. You needed him. Fast.

"Azriel, please" your legs were already shaking "Please, I need you. Please, please, please…"

"Oh baby, calm down. I want to prove every part of you..."

His hazel eyes darkened a bit, he removed his hands of your lingerie, taking it to his own mouth, proving your taste. A sound of approval came out of his throat. After leaking the finger he used to estimulate you, he ripped your underwear out.

"Hey! It was my favorite one!" You complained, but your speech was cut off by feeling the Shadowsinger opening your legs more than it already was.

"I can buy you another."

And that was his last phrase before putting his head between your tights and proving you. His tongue doing an excellent job, leaking and sucking perfectly, leading you to ecstasy, now screaming your lungs out because of the extreme pleasure you felt burning inside of you.

Your tights getting marked because of the pressure he was doing with his big hands. You couldn't keep your own hands to yourself and grabbed his dark hair, pressuring his head a little more close to your intimacy. You didn't make it any longer after he inserted two of his fingers inside of you. It was all too much: his tongue and after his fingers, the phantasmagoric feeling of his hands holding your legs. And when you were too close to come, he stopped.

A moaning of denial came out of you. Your mate was smiling wildly, loving to see how submissive you were in his hands. He didn't say a word when approaching to tour naked and sweaty body, he took one of your hands and led it to his hardness. You felt how big it was, how much he needed you. His underpants were wet by precum. With no time, you started setting his cock free, throwing the undergarment someplace. All of his size came to you sight, but before you could approach yourself to him, he stopped you, his voice even more low and husky:

"Let me come inside of you first" He begged. He was sure that if he had your pretty mouth surrounding his dick, he wouldn't make it too long.

Nodding with your head because you weren't sure your voice would be stable, you silently watched your own body be covered by his toned and wonderful structure. His dick slightly touches your pussy making you feel at the paradise and hell at the same time. First he just played with you, rubbing against your surface, but then he came with all, not giving you time to breathe as he slided all his length into you. A scream came out of your mouth as a surprise. Oh Gods, he was big, huge actually.

A growl came out of him as he was all inside of you. It seemed so perfect that even with all of his size, it didn't take you too much to get costumed, and you were soon filled with the necessity of him moving, which he didn't wait for.

His pace was naturally hard, a loud sound reverberating as his groin hit yours. His movements were getting faster and faster, your hands on his back, scratching right in the middle of the wings, those he kept open and stretched in pleasure, tensed by the wonderful feeling of your tight walls, those ones that you were unconsciously punpering, extending the pleasure for both.

By this time Azriel was wild as an animal, fucking you with all his strength. His mouth opened as curse words were spoken. You couldn't keep yourself quiet, calling out his name, and when you felt too close, your hands slid to his enormous wings, touching that one spot that you knew could make any Illyrian get to their knees. And with a last groan, Azriel and you came together, his semen filling you gorgeously.

You felt empty when he got out of you, making a low last sound make its way out of your throat. Azriel laid by your side in the bed, getting you closer to his chest, where your head rested for a moment before your body started to claim for him again.

The desperation to have Azriel inside of you one more time was almost self-destruction. The frenzy was nonsense, it seemed like you weren't allowed to breathe. You needed your mate, now. Fortunately, he needed you as much as you needed him.

It was needed 3 times in a row for you to fall asleep. You were sure that this would be a long week…

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asnowfern · 1 year

Text

Drabble written for Day 6 of @nestaarcheronweek: Lady Death.

A/N: I hope this isn't too angsty for Nesta Week but it's been bouncing in my head for a while and I thought the Lady Death prompt is quite apt.

TW/CW: Nesta's self destructive behaviour pre-acosf. Slight NSFW.

It was freezing. The liquid that threatened to drown her, her face and limbs. Everything but the burning in her lungs.

The memory before she was dragged down clung to her - the cruel haughty face of the King of Hybern, the tortured face of Cassian reaching out desperately for her with his shredded wings, her raising a damning finger at the King, promising her revenge.

A cold rage built within her.

Silver fire shot out of her hands, razing her surroundings.

Nesta snapped her eyes open and stared at the dirty wooden ceiling of her apartment. Nightmare, it was just a nightmare, her mind repeated. She sat up, her book slipping off her abdomen onto the floor. She looked at her surroundings and cursed. Burnt scorched marks ran from the sides of her bed, along the floors and to the wall where the mirror stood, cracked.

Nesta padded her way to the sink to get a glass of water. She paused as she caught sight of her cracked reflection in the mirror, taking in the pale, gaunt face and foreign silver fire eyes which stared back at her. The bubbling cold rage within her surfaced unpleasantly, freezing her to the core.

Fuck.

Nesta took deep breaths to smother the raging fire, only managing to tame it barely under the skin. The power that she took for revenge and then failed at every turn. The coming down of The Wall, scrying for the Cauldron, crouching over Cassian's broken body. She couldn't stop any of it.

She resisted the urge to scream, knowing said Illyrian sat on the roof opposite her building, watching.

And we will have that time. I promise.

Nesta's wretched heart tightened painfully in longing as she clenched her fists. No, how could she even contemplate it after everything that had happened? No. Making up her mind, she donned her cloak and made her way to a nearby tavern. That should shake off her protective gargoyle.

She hunted the first High Fae desperate for a cheap release, placing one seductive hand on his chest and watched as his lidded eyes drifted downwards and rested on her breasts.

"Can you winnow us out of here?" she asked, her voice low and coying.

"My apartment?" the male affirmed.

"Outside Velaris. Where we can be as loud as we like." Nesta purred, lowering her hand with each word. Finally, palming the hardening length. "I'll make it worth your while."

The male grinned and winnowed them out to a remote forest just beyond the outskirts of the Velaris. Nesta closed her eyes as she rode the unnamed Fae, her back pressed against a tree, imagining inky black hair instead of dirty blonde, striking hazel eyes instead of pale grey. A warrior's callous fingers that flicked at her clit and tipped her over the edge. Only her steel will stopped her from gasping the wrong name.

"Leave me," she commanded as they buttoned up their clothes.

"We are in the middle of nowhere." the male sputtered.

"You got your fuck," she said coldly, "Now leave."

The male scoffed and winnowed out, still muttering profanity under his breath.

Once alone, Nesta finally unleashed the scream and allowed the simmering rage to boil over, spilling out of her and razing the grounds.

She collapsed on her knees, sobbing and drained, cursing her power. Fat load of good it did.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta!

A panicked voice infiltrated her through the curtain of darkness to reach her. She blinked her eyes but could not find the strength to keep it open. Her eyes shuttered close.

Strong arms scooped her up and held her close, eliciting a comforting buzz in her chest. You're safe, it seemed to convey. Nesta relaxed into the embrace.

"Cassian," she murmured into the firm chest, "You came."

She was so tired. Perhaps, just this once, she would let herself indulge in this fantasy, in this dream.

A/N: Cassian's POV anyone?👀

Update: Part Two on Cassian's POV is now up!

#nesta archeron #acotar drabble #nestaweek2023

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thewayshedreamed · 2 years

Text

Not Even at All, Part 4

Nessian High School AU Inspired by 10 Things I Hate About You

A/N: Excited to share this update with y’all! It took me a while to get it where I wanted, but I decided it was time to share!

Although this isn’t an official Nessian Week submission, I hope everyone is enjoying the Nessian Week content! There are some incredible content creators in our little fandom, and see so much Nessian content come across my dash has been a treat.

Anyway— without further delay, enjoy this update to Not Even at All!

——————————————————————————

[ Nesta ]

The heat was suffocating. Nesta usually enjoyed playing soccer, even running the practice drills, but the unforgiving temperature made her shoulders sag in relief when her coach blew the whistle to end practice.

“Great hustle, ladies,” he yelled.

Yeah, Nesta thought. Just wonderful.

She dragged her feet over to the bench and dug through her duffel bag for her water bottle. Thanking the gods that it was still cool, she fought the urge to pour the entire thing over her head. She settled for a long sip instead.

A shadow stretched across the grass, but before Nesta could thank the Cauldron for the possibility of cloud cover, she realized the shadow was more humanoid in shape. With her luck, it was her teammate who hadn’t expected such physicality from Nesta during practice coming to even the score. Either her, or her coach was sidling up for another lecture about aggressive play.

“Hey there, Sweetheart.”

Nesta’s shoulders tightened. That voice was vaguely familiar in the way that nagged at her memory, yet it came up short. It was somehow jagged and honeyed at the same time with a slight accent. She couldn’t quite place it, but that didn’t stop her tireless brain from trying.

She angled her head to the side and found Cassian Enalius’ obnoxiously large form hovering nearby. She took him in. His rogue hair, only to be outdone by the haphazard grin stretched across his face. His high cheekbones that cradled cunning hazel eyes. The way the sun illuminated his face made him an entirely different experience from when he’d clambered into Mr. Day’s class.

“How’s it goin’?” His lips pulled farther to one side, informing Nesta that she’d been caught cataloguing his features for a moment too long.

She glared sidelong at him and shoved the water bottle back into her bag. “Sweating straight through my uniform. How’s it goin’ for you?”

Perhaps mimicking the drawl and informality of his words wasn’t entirely called for, but his unsolicited attention fell into the same category. He appeared unbothered, anyway.

“Mm,” he began, rolling his lips between his teeth in mock consideration. “You sure know how to snag a guy’s attention.”

She straightened to her full height and turned toward him, her arms crossed over her chest. “Now you know my life’s work.”

Cassian blinked, but his only reaction was a huff of amusement. Otherwise, he remained neutral in the face of her snark. Interesting.

“Clearly, it’s going well since you felt inclined to come over.” She grabbed roughly at the strap of her duffel and hauled it over her shoulder. “All is well with the world.” With what she hoped was a cleared dismissal, she turned on her heel and walked away.

The sound of his footsteps followed, and she indulged in an eye roll since he couldn’t see, anyway.

“So, I’ll pick you up on Friday, then?”

Nesta’s steps faltered almost imperceptibly, but in her soul, she knew he noticed. Smug satisfaction was an almost tangible thing around them, and it wasn’t coming from her.

“Friday,” she deadpanned. It wasn’t quite an affirmative, nor was it a question.

“Yep,” he said, hastening his steps to walk alongside her. “The night everything changes.”

Nesta scoffed. “I can’t imagine how low you’ve set your bar if you think anything noteworthy will happen on Friday. And to be honest, I’d be shocked if you even knew my name.”

“I think I’ll surprise you plenty, Nesta Archeron.”

Her throat constricted, but luckily, her body gave nothing away. “I doubt it,” she countered, internally celebrating the way the short sentence planted Cassian’s feet to the ground.

She didn’t look back.

—

[ Rhys ]

If Cassian knew that they were watching nearby, he gave no indication. Rhysand had to respect the way he squared his shoulders and walked away from the rough encounter with the eldest Archeron, no hint of shame in sight. In fact, Rhysand swore he saw the barest remnants of a smile still tugging at the edges of his mouth.

Maybe some of the rumors about Cassian were truer than they’d realized. He wasn’t cut from the same cloth, that was for certain.

“We’re fucked,” he lamented, turning to gauge Azriel’s expression.

As usual, Azriel’s stoicism made it difficult to read him. And that was saying something, because Rhys had always been decent at reading people.

Az’s mouth twitched at the corners as if trying to contain his amusement. “You gave up quickly considering the lengths you’ve gone to set this whole thing in motion.”

“Yeah, well,” Rhys grumbled. He didn’t have much else in terms of ideas or next steps. Dating Feyre was looking more bleak with each passing moment. It surprised him how quickly his hope died.

“Look, if anyone is going to try and date Nesta Archeron and survive, it’s that guy. Have some faith.”

Rhysand nodded, his gaze fixed on Cassian’s retreating form. Somehow, Azriel being the one to try and keep the hope alive made it shrivel that much faster.

—

[ Elain ]

Three girls— high school girls, at that— sharing one bathroom was always a source of conflict in the Archeron house. Elain was used to blending with the walls as much as possible and allowing Nesta and Feyre to go for the other’s throat. She never let it escalate too much, mostly because she wasn’t entirely sure her two sisters weren’t stubborn enough to power through even physical injuries to get their points across. Nesta, especially, was ruthless; sharp and unyielding. In so many ways, Elain knew those traits would bring much of the world to their knees before her sister.

In even more ways, Elain was headed for an early grave for all her efforts in conflict resolution.

Nesta tied her long hair away from her face and turned on the sink to wash her face. Her delicate fingers danced beneath the stream of water to test the temperature until she deemed it appropriate. They stood in comfortable silence while Elain applied lotion to her face. She considered asking Nesta about her day, maybe soccer practice. Things were tense in the house since Nesta and Feyre’s fight with their father.

Elain could see both sides. Ultimately, she felt the contingency unfair to Nesta. It added a level of responsibility to her shoulders that didn’t belong there, and it seemed as though it was a winless scenario. Their oldest sister could either compromise her desires and her intense focus on her studies in favor of dating to appease her sisters, or she could dig her heels in for the remainder of the school year and have them resent her.

She didn’t envy Nesta for her position.

As if she knew Elain was thinking of her, Feyre walked into the room. Elain made space for her at the second sink, just as Nesta rinsed the remaining suds from her face. The air thickened with tension when two identical pairs of eyes met in the mirror. Nesta was the first to break eye contact by rubbing roughly at her face with a towel.

Feyre fiddled with the clasp of her bracelet and placed it in a small dish. “Have you considered not taking yourself so seriously?” she asked, her tone too casual for such a loaded question. “You could have some potential if you tried being more pleasant; maybe let a couple of people in.”

Elain tensed, bracing herself for how lethal Nesta was known to be. To her surprise, Nesta merely looked down her nose at their youngest sister and finished drying her hands with her towel.

“Someone should take themselves seriously around here.”

If the room had dipped several degrees in temperature, Elain wouldn’t have been surprised. Getting involved required a level of energy she’d expended by a much earlier hour, but things were deteriorating quickly.

Feyre’s cheeks flushed with temper. “You could also try being nice for once in your life. No one would know what to think if you did.”

“Feyre—” It was as far as she got before Nesta’s retort sliced through Elain’s interference.

“I don’t care what people think,” she snapped, tossing her towel roughly onto the countertop.

Elain grabbed it, folding it neatly and hanging it on the small towel rack nearby. Mostly, she wanted to be in prime position to wedge herself between Nesta and Feyre should the need present itself.

“Yes you do.” Feyre punctuated her words with a subtle eye roll and shifted her attention to removing her earrings.

Nesta scoffed. “No, I really don’t.” A beat passed, loaded with an almost palpable energy, before Nesta drove her knife a bit deeper. “You don’t always have to do what people expect of you. You don’t have to be what they want you to be.”

“Nesta, Feyre— please. Let it go.” Elain’s usually soft voice seemed to echo in the small space. The authority in her tone was something she only used when she felt it necessary. Their conversation was going to hell in a hand basket, and fast, so it seemed like the right time.

Technically, Elain’s nightly routine was finished. She could have dipped out, but considering Nesta propped her hip against the counter and crossed her arms, it was best to stay put. Her sisters may have honored her demand, but no promises were made about how long it stood.

Nesta heaved a breath, followed by an almost preternatural tilt of her head. “Where did you get that necklace?”

“It was Mom’s.”

Elain’s breath caught. She’d thought she had remembered the jewelry, but it hadn’t been clear enough to know for certain. In hindsight, it was obvious Nesta had known before the question had left her mouth.

Before their mother had died, there had been a certain Archeron dynamic. Nesta was their mother’s pride, her protégée in many ways. Her expectations had been nearly unattainable, but not everyone was as driven and hard-headed as Nesta. She rose to the occasion every time. No doubt, the success cost her, and the way she approached most things in life showed the evidence of it.

Feyre had been favored by their father as the youngest and as a curious child who showed interest in everything their father did. She’d followed him around tirelessly in her earliest years, learning certain useful skills through his interests or by proximity.

Elain had fallen somewhere in between, gravitating back and forth between the two pairs depending on what suited her mood that day. She wasn’t wholly different from everyone, nor was she entirely the same. Her greatest blessing was the opportunity to be whoever she wanted to be.

Considering the way they had grown up, it made sense that Nesta would be so affected by Feyre’s possession of one of the few remaining items that had belonged to their mother. Elain’s chest tightened. She didn’t feel a profound connection to the woman’s possessions, but she imagined that Nesta’s thoughts were conflicted at best.

“So, you’re just going to start wearing it now?” she demanded, incredulous.

“It’s not like she’s going to wear it,” Feyre retorted, but she wouldn’t meet Nesta’s gaze. “Dad found it and offered it to me.”

Nesta blinked at Feyre, and Elain’s eyes danced between the two of them. Her eyes slid closed as she took a deep, steadying breath.

“It’s beautiful, Fey,” she murmured, eyeing Nesta in the mirror. “It looks great on—”

“Don’t,” Nesta interrupted. “Leave it alone, Elain.”

In a blink, she was gone. Feyre’s eyes met Elain’s in the mirror, and all she could muster was a defeated shrug of her shoulders in return.

Could have gone worse, she supposed.

—

[ Cassian ]

As it turned out, Cassian’s plan to catch up on his English readings while he did laundry wasn’t the success he intended. It had nothing to do with his interest in reading, but Shakespeare wasn’t his writer of choice by any stretch of the imagination. Mr. Day had been relatively understanding when Cassian explained his circumstances, granting him additional time to turn in his analysis of the assigned section. Explaining everything to his teacher had been an uncomfortable, yet necessary, evil if finishing senior year was in the cards.

Cassian huffed a long breath, laying the book facedown over his thigh and running his free hand through his hair. A quick glance at the dryer nearby showed another 25 minutes on the timer, but he didn’t have it in him to pick his book up immediately. He wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about anyway when he considered the plot. The story seemed like it would have played out with far less issue if the others had let Katerina live her life true to herself.

His eyes wandered to the large window along the storefront. A flash of golden brown hair, tied into a long french braid, caught his attention and had him tossing his book on a nearby chair. Nesta Archeron appeared to be leaving a cafe across the street, one of those artsy places that played only indie music and served a side of angst with their coffee.

Fitting, he mused.

Traffic was minimal at the time of day, and Cassian was able to cross the distance with a few long strides. He wasn’t entirely sure what he intended to say when he made it over to her. Rather than run straight into her path, he opted to ease to a stop at her car as a general midpoint. It had seen better days— not that Cassian could judge considering the age of his Jeep— but it was enough that he eased his weight against the side a little at a time to test its resilience. A vision of his larger-than-average form knocking a fender off her car didn’t seem like the best lead-up to a conversation.

Nesta’s eyes assessed him, but her expression gave nothing away. Cassian felt his lips pull into an easy smile.

“Nice car,” he drawled, bouncing his weight. The metal creaked in warning. “Vintage.”

“Wasn’t our last conversation painful enough?” she bit, unimpressed. “You’re following me now?’”

Cassian bristled, but he was determined not to let it show. “I was doing laundry across the street.” He nodded toward the laudromat. “I saw you leaving the cafe, so I came over to say hi.”

“Hi.” The dismissal was brutally efficient, but something about it called to Cassian in challenge.

Ms. Drake would have a field day with that information if he dared share it. Before he could think better of it, he slid over and perched against the driver’s side door. Nesta glared at him, and while that look probably leveled other guys on the regular, Cassian fought against a wide smile.

“Not much of a talker?”

“Depends. You haven’t said anything particularly interesting.”

Cassian blinked, settling deeper into his position. It had been a long while since anyone had ignited his interest so quickly, and he wasn’t ready for it to end. The fact that Nesta didn’t seem bothered in the least by the various rumors that haunted him was refreshing.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?” His awe came through more than intended, but he didn’t regret it.

Nesta scoffed, and in the weird ways of the world, it softened her features somehow. “Why would I be afraid of you?” she asked, somehow looking down her nose at him. He was nearly a foot taller than her, for the gods’ sakes.

Cassian shrugged, his arms crossed over his chest. “Most people are.”

“Well, I’m not.”

An elaboration never came, but Nesta continued taking him in as if cataloguing the details for later. When her eyes finally met is, he offered a casual, sideways smile.

“So, you’re not afraid of me,” he began, gauging Nesta’s expression. Something in him wanted to disrupt all that careful control. “Maybe you’re picturing me naked.”

A million other things would have been better. Picturing him naked? Why in the hell had he said that?

Nesta blinked, blinked again. “How did you know?” she purred, but the cool glare she paired with it didn’t match her tone. Then, she deadpanned, “I want you— no, I need you.”

She squared her shoulders and yanked roughly on the handle of the door.Cassian eased off of it without resistance, especially considering he’d opened his stupid mouth and made an ass of himself enough. He did roll his eyes a bit at her mockery, though. He had to preserve some shred of his dignity.

Her case was made, so she didn’t spare another glance as she dropped into her seat and slammed the door shut. Cassian took several steps backward away from the car, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. Not yet.

Music, terrible and obnoxiously loud, sounded around them. It poured out of Tamlin’s sports car as he whipped into the parking lot, and unbelievably, parked behind Nesta and several other vehicles in his haste to get to wherever the hell guys like him spent their time. Cassian was annoyed on Nesta’s behalf, and squared his shoulders to tell him as much, until Nesta’s cutting words beat him to the bunch.

“Of course,” she muttered loudly, but low enough that only Cassian could hear. “Hey— Spring!” she yelled. “Do you mind?”

Tamlin continued his casual stroll between Nesta car and another. “Not at all,” he replied, knocking lightly on the hood of Nesta’s car. His pace never faltered, and he never looked back. Cassian resisted calling him a dick if only to avoid making things worse for Nesta.

Nesta’s eyes followed Tamlin, her jaw slack in disbelief. Her eyes darkened, and a menacing smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. Cassian didn’t have time to dissect it before Nesta’s hand reached for the shifter, and her car lurched backward into Tamlin’s precious sports car. At the sound of crunching metal, he spun around and looked on in horror at the state of his vehicle. The impact had shifted it away several feet, allowing Nesta adequate room to adjust and slip around it if needed.

Cassian had to give her points for ingenuity, at least.

“What did you do?” Tamlin yelled, a hand running through his usually styled hair. “You bitch!”

A growl erupted from Cassian’s chest, but no one heard it amidst the chaos.

“Whoops.”

Nesta’s carefree delivery dissolved Cassian frustration and pulled a rough chuckle from deep in his chest. She was none the wiser since her attention was wholly on Tamlin’s meltdown, her face fixed into an expression of innocence for good measure. Without deigning to offer any parting words, Nesta pulled out of her parking space and drove away as if she couldn’t be bothered with the aftermath.

The smile on Cassian’s face was frozen in place, and rather than fight it, he dipped his head and made his way back across the street. He didn’t need Tamlin seeing the clear signs of his amusement and channeling his rage toward Cassian, and he got the impression that maybe Tamlin could use the moment of privacy while he came to terms with Nesta’s retaliation.

Cassian supposed he hadn’t needed to worry about making things worse. Nesta was plenty capable all on her own.——————————————————————————

If you’d like to be tagged in any of my fics, please send me an ask, a message, leave a comment, or mention being tagged in your reblog! I’ll be happy to add you!

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#nessian #nessian au #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #10 things i hate about you fic #nessian high school au #not even at all #twsd fics #twsd writes

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elliemarchetti · 2 years

Text

Day 1 - Emerie’s POV

My first entry for @emerieweek2022. This is going to be a small series, but you can read the first chapter as a stand alone too.

The bell of the shop door ringed, almost making her sigh with relief at the sight of Nesta Archeron coming in, shaking off the snow stuck to the back of her cloak. Emerie heard Velaris was still held in the summer’s hands, dragged away with difficulty by a mild autumn, but Windhaven already fell completely into the winter’s embrace, with a thin white layer covering the roofs and the sides of the road.

“Nice to see you,” she said as a greeting, leaning over the bulky figure of her cousin, and words had never been truer. Not that she needed help when it came to her family, the worst was over and she was used to getting by on her own, but Bellius was drunk and she didn’t want to clean up the mess he could’ve left in the shop if the argument got more heated.

“Wait for your turn, witch,” muttered the asshole she unfortunately had as a relative, oblivious to what he just unleashed in the High Lady’s sister. How she would’ve liked to see her cousin in Lord Rhysand’s presence, shrank as a worm in fear... Obviously, it wouldn’t happen, but it was nice to allow herself to dream.

“I think we’re done,” Emerie said, crossing her arms as she saw her father do all too often. It meant the topic was closed, or there would be consequences, which usually came a little later in the day anyway.

“We’re done when I say so,” he mumbled, and for a moment Emerie hoped the rumours were true and Nesta could kill by only pointing an accusatory finger, even though her indifference and cruel jokes still had the desired effect.

“A friend of yours?” she asked, as Bellius’ winged figure disappeared into the sky. If only the lucky asshole had been born female like her, not only he wouldn’t have been able to have that attitude, but he would also have been nailed to the ground learning respect and good manners.

“My cousin,” Emerie replied, trying to stifle her disgust at least in part. “His father is my uncle on the paternal side, and since he’s young, arrogant and idiotic, he’s also allowed to be drunk at noon. It must be a family vice.”

To be true, it was a new level of baseness for him, but Nesta didn’t seem to care much, more interested in her well-being and what might happen if he came back. Not that it was possible, the lands he was stationed in were a couple hours of flight away, but it pleased her nonetheless.

“I get these little visits from my uncle’s family from time to time, although Bellius is new. I suppose they think he’s now old enough to threaten me,” she explained, but since she couldn’t find a reason why she was doing it, she hurried to change the subject before she could be asked uncomfortable questions. She was sorry to go back to talking business with the only semblance of a friend she ever had, and to pay back she decided to invite Nesta for lunch, even though she didn’t have much to offer. Emerie was used to keep the back room of the shop as immaculate as the front, as if minimalism and attention to details gave her some advantage over the part of the family that wanted to take over what was rightfully hers to marry and give birth like all other Illyrian women. The very though made her nauseous.

“Alone?” Nesta asked, eyeing the room, as Emerie walked to a counter to retrieve enough roast beef and browned carrots for two. It was a fair question, so she tried to suppress the annoyance when she answered affirmatively. Loneliness never bothered her, on the contrary, sometimes she found it cathartic, but there were few who understood it, just as there were few who entered her life and respected its sacred spaces.

“And what about you and the handsome general Cassian?” she asked, sitting down at the other end of the small table. She knew many females would kill to sneak into his bed, and although she wasn’t part of the group, she imagined where was a certain charm in his overwhelming masculinity; the mountain of muscles and the confidence, in addition to his legendary skills with the weapons, were something most females aspired to have in a husband.

“There’s nothing to say,” Nesta replied, but Emerie suspected, from the little pause she left before giving a rushed answer, it was only an half-truth. Out of benevolence, she let it go, and listened to the usually feisty girl as she complimented her simple cooking. If only she had more spices, she could’ve made those carrots a real treat, but availability was limited in Windhaven and she had to be content with herbs and what little she could find.

“My father traded them all over the world,” Nesta began, as if she read her mind. “I still remember his office’s smell, it was like a thousand personalities all crowded into the same room.”

“Did he ever took you on a trip with him?” she asked, hoping to be able to be cheered, and to shake off the tension left by her cousin’s visit, with tales of distant lands, but it wasn’t the case, since human ideas about women weren’t very different from those of the Illyrians,

“What if he asked?” she pressed, not to let the conversation die. “Would you have liked to see the world?”

Nesta thought for a while, but eventually admitted she would’ve been too curious to let her sisters explore the continent without her.

“Besides, I would’ve feared they might get in trouble, especially Elain, who is the most innocent of us,” she concluded, but it was evident she had the feeling she already said too much, so Emerie let her ask the question she feared the most. Nesta was cautious, but once she finished her meal, she wanted to know what was of her host’s family. Emerie knew the moment would inevitably come, she certainly couldn’t expect to be a simple listener, but being aware of something doesn’t make it any less complicated, especially when it’s cloaked in trauma and resentment. But what was better than the harsh truth? So she said it, and wished she could have Nesta’s company more often. A friend, she told herself, a confidant is all you need to resist in this place.

#emerieweek2022 #emerie of illyria #nesta archeron #acosf #a court of silver flames #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

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deathsconsort · 13 days

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“ i love you, every part of you. even the parts you don’t like. ” ( from fenrys )

a smile that once was so rare paints her face. these days it’s not unusual to see such an expression on her thanks to fenrys and to this court. despite her new happy life here in terrasen, her past still haunts her and old thoughts and feelings get dredged up. there were still hard days when she hated herself, but she accepted there would be days like that probably for the rest of her near immortal life. her powers, her magic, and fighting skills were things she was capable of learning, but something like good self esteem seemed nearly impossible. even when she has a beautiful fae male who showers her in affirmations often. the smile changes into a sad one and she laughs bitterly. “i’m afraid there’s not a single part of myself i do like. it seems you love me enough for the both of us. although i’m still not sure why.”

they had shared their stories about their siblings before, so maybe he saw himself in her and understood her in a way no else does. yet, nesta doesn’t think about him the way she thinks about herself. fenrys had loved and tried to protect his brother, while nesta was okay with her and her sisters dying to spite their father for not trying to help them. so when feyre decided to be the one to provide for the family it festered the resentment between the two even more. when comparing their situations with their siblings it was clear that nesta was still the awful one. not wanting to dig deeper into her self-hatred she wills a grin on her face. “maybe you just enjoy the sex too much,” she teases. "i love you too though." cupping the side of his face, she kisses him tenderly. "and thank you for loving me." even though i don't deserve it were the unspoken words.

#☾ ‘ death herself ‘ ( answered )#feyras #💕#( verse : a court of glass )

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vidalinav · 2 years

Text

She is tucked in their sheets, and he trails his finger along her cheek, softly tapping at her nose. Nesta learns to appreciate these touches. They’re not fiery or heavy or hot, and they shouldn’t mean so much. But they do. They mean something coming from him.

“I didn’t think...” Eris shakes his head and reaches for her hands. He’s become fascinated with entwining them together as if that might keep them close. “I thought love would feel different somehow.”

“How so?”

Eris shrugs, and there’s something about the movement that seems casual. Not as princely as months past. His lips raise at the side, and she thinks he looks happy. Truly happy, like she’s beginning to see much more. “I thought it'd be overwhelming, and I wouldn’t be able to stand it. But you... you make me feel comfortable like I’ve never been. I’m safe with you.”

He raises her hand to his mouth, kissing at her fingers. Her palm.

“You know I’ll protect you,” Nesta says, softly. “I’ll make sure no one stabs you in the back.”

At his glare, Nesta laughs, but it sounds nervous somehow. To Eris, love might not be overwhelming, but for Nesta?

Love feels wild and beautiful and calming and sad. All emotions teeming in her heart. A cauldron that can easily tip over.

“I’m trying to confess my love... My love.”

Nesta wraps her arms around his neck, pleased with that term of endearment. “Should I sing you praises? You’ve always been so good with words.”

She expects Eris to laugh, smirk and reply indignantly, but he doesn’t. Eris sets his hand at her waist as if to stop her.

“I won’t demand that you love me,” he affirms, “having you close is enough. Having you at all is a miracle.”

“Having you... Loving you...” Nesta doesn’t know how to explain it—what she feels—but Eris is patient. His eyes are bright and there’s no judgement from his gaze. She could tell him now or not at all, and he won’t push. She’s never had someone who didn’t push her. “Love feels... I feel so many things now. I didn’t know I could feel this much.”

“Does it bother you?”

Nesta shrugs, “It makes me feel... fragile. I’m constantly worried.”

“I understand,” Eris nods. “You have something to lose.”

Yes. She has something to lose.

#neris #nesta archeron #eris vanserra #my neris fic I haven't named nor will post anytime soon #because it's not really a fic yet #just random scenes that pop up in my mind #vices and virtues

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mc9798 · 3 years

Text

My Little Fire

Chapter 6

First < Previous > Next

I turned around to meet hazel eyes and dark wings shining under the colorful brightness of dusk. Azriel was handsome, with his leather suit adorning those glittering cobalt stones. I looked up to his face, just to see it turning red under my gaze.

I smiled widely, I could look crazy, but I was so glad to see him that I didn’t pay it any mind. And I wouldn’t let this opportunity slip through my fingers.

“Only if you stay for dinner.” I said.

He was nervous and his eyebrows were knitted together, his shadows dancing over his shoulders. But before he could refuse my offer, I said: “Come on, please, Azriel. You left without saying goodbye and it’s already too late for you not to be hungry after having to fly over here. And I also have more questions, please.” I finished quietly.

I made the best sad face I could, pouting and my eyes down. And I could see the exact moment that he gave in. He sighed loudly, closing his eyes and I knew. I smiled again and also did him this time.

We went inside and found my sister in the living room. Nesta was reading on the sofa and Elain was watering some plants by the window.

They both turned to us when we entered the room and almost jumped with surprise by seeing the male by my side. I had to bite the inside of my cheek so as not to laugh at their pale faces.

“Nesta, I invited Azriel to dinner. I’ll prepare it and call you both when it’s ready.” I affirmed without giving any space for her complaints.

Azriel greeted them with a short nod, his face still. They didn’t say a word, so I turned and left the room, the Illyrian on my heels, not wanting to be left alone with them.

“They don’t like my presence. I think it might be better if I just leave, Aideen.” he said concerned as we got to the kitchen.

“Don’t pay them any mind. I like your presence, so stay, please, I insist. I’ll make dinner and wouldn’t complain if I had some help, if you wouldn’t mind helping me.” I placed my hand on his elbow to assure him that I wanted him there. And his shadows, as it seemed, wanted to stay too, as they curled up on my wrist and forearm.

“Alright, I’ll stay.”

I went about the kitchen picking every ingredient to prepare the food. Roasted chicken and some other things to fill the plate. The chicken was already in the oven, I had left it ready when I went to the forest, so Nesta might have put it in.

“What do you know about cooking?” I asked. “I know that you have many years on your account, but do you know how to cook?”

He laughed and said: “Yes, I do know how to cook. But I don’t do it often, I can be a little out of shape for that.” He answered embarrassedly and I smiled.

“No worries, I’ll take it easy on you.” He smiled, showing his perfect teeth on a smirk that made my insides crumble. I had to gulp the sigh that threatened to leave my mouth.

Entreguei a faca para ele cortar a cebola e comecei a preparar a panela com alho e azeite. Quando ele terminou me entregou as cebolas picadas.

I handed him a knife and an onion and started preparing the pan with olive oil and garlic. When he finished and gave me the small pieces of onion I regarded him.

“For me you are not out of shape” I said smiling at him.

“Good.” He answered sweetly.

I continued preparing the food, mixing the onion with the rest and then adding the rice and the broth. I mixed a little more before noticing I haven’t grated the lime peel.

“Azriel, could you keep mixing here for me, please? I need to get the lime.” I asked.

He nodded, standing from the stool where he had sat to observe me cooking.

He positioned himself beside me to take my place, and when he took the cable of the spoon his fingers brushed mine lightly, but it was enough to set my heart on a high pace. Losing a beat of it, I turned to look at him. His eyes were already on mine and my breath hitched by the sheer intensity of them.

I came back from my thoughts and quickly took my hand away from the cable. Turning to the shelves where the supplies were.

I extracted the juice from the lime and grated it’s peel. But when I turned again, Azriel had still to move, he was watching me intently.

“You must mix it if you want it to come out right.” I stated smirking at him.

Coloquei o suco e retomei a colher o agradecendo, ele assentiu e voltou ao banco, mas dessa vez olhando para os pés com os cotovelos nos joelhos e as mãos unidas. Não entendi o motivo da sua mudança de humor, então tentei mostrar que estava tudo bem e não estava brava com um sorriso ao perguntar:

He jumped a little and began to mix with the spoon, his cheeks the faintest shade of red. I laughed breathlessly, coming closer to him to make sure the food hadn't burned.

I added the juice and the peel, retaking the spoon from him. Azriel nodded when I thanked him and strode back to the stool on the corner of the room. Sitting with his elbows on his knees and his face brooding.

“What are those stones on your uniform? I noticed that both you and Cassian have them, but his are red. Is it some kind of Illyrian tradition?” I asked taking in the cobalt stones.

“Yes, they are called siphons, and are used to canalize our power, otherwise it will get out of control. It makes us use it properly. Only the Illyrians who go through the rite have the chance to receive a siphon, but they usually only get one.” He answered calmly and I felt the dark cloud that had taken his thoughts leave.

“But you and Cassian have seven of them. What does that mean?”

He smirked. “That we are, in fact, the most powerful Illyrians to ever exist.” He boasted and I felt my eyes going wide with amazement, making him chuckle.

“Should I bow or run is a better option?” I said playfully. But Azriel didn’t laugh.

His face was serious. “Neither of them. You don’t have to be afraid of me. I would never touch you with bad intentions.”

Thinking about his “intentions” made me blush.

“You look alike, you and Cassian, but you are not brothers, right?” I continued and he nodded. “So every Illyrian is like that, so…?”I trailed off, blushing at my thoughts, at what I was about to ask.

“So… what?” He asked smirking. Smug.

“Smug.” I answered smiling at him and saw his grimace while laughing. He glared at me.

“You think I’m smug even when you were about to compliment me.” He stood and started walking in my direction with slow steps. My heart started racing faster and faster at each step. His wings, that before were tucked on his back, now were slightly open and his shadows wrapped my waist, making me jump, startled.

“W-who told you that I was about to compliment you?”

“The beautiful red on your cheeks.” He answered when he was close enough to breathe the same air as I. I had to incline my head fully back to be able to look at him properly. He was towering over me.

I blushed even more when his hand touched my face, trailing his thumb on my cheek tenderly. My breath hitched.

I could only stare at him. His hazel eyes melted honey gold. And his perfect reddish lips. I regretted looking as soon as his tongue darted out to lick his lips, making my insides crumble.

I wasn’t able to suppress the sigh this time.

—————————————————————————

Azriel :

I wanted so badly to kiss her that I couldn’t think about anything else. I focused on her eyes. Dark brown, that consumed my every dream. The reddish color of her cheeks only accented the constellations of freckles. The strawberry and lily scent, which I could smell even after days away, was almost my loosing. But when I was about to get closer another scent registered on my nose. Burnt.

“Oh no.” I said then turned to the oven.

Since my smell was better by being Fae I could take it out before burning too much. When I turned again to see Aideen, she was still in the same place I had left her, looking at me with a puzzled look, not even noticing the reason why I had moved away. I wanted to laugh at seeing that I could effect her too.

“Luckily it didn’t burn, otherwise we would only have rice for dinner.” I said, taking her out of her trance.

She shook her head a little as if she wanted to put a thought away.

“Good.” Was all she said. Her breathless voice almost made me stalk back to her. But Elain entered the kitchen before I could move.

“Sorry to interrupt, I just came to take the plates to prepare the table.” She said lowly, for sure still afraid of me.

I nodded and started cutting the chicken to make it easier later. Aideen finished the rice and handed me a cloth to hold the baking tray while she took the pan.

We carried everything to the dining room and sat down to wait for Elain, who went to call Nesta.

I sat by Aideen’s side, trying to fit my wings on the chair.

“I’ll get the stool for you to be able to sit comfortably.” She had noticed my struggling and offered to help. She was perfect.

When I noticed that I hadn’t answered she was already by the door.

“No, please, sit down, I’ll get it.” I said standing and pulling her chair for her to sit back.

She glared at me, but sat.

I went to the kitchen and took the stool with me.

When I arrived back at the room, the tree sisters were already waiting for me. Nesta glaring openly at me. I kept my expression even, changing the chair for the stool and sitting by my mate’s side one more time.

Aideen took my plate and served me.

We didn’t speak for a while, until she turned to me.

“You didn’t answer my question earlier. Are every Illyrian alike, or is it just a coincidence for you and Cassian to have the same features?”

Sua curiosidade era tão atraente quanto fofa, ela mexia com meus sentimentos e me fazia diferente, um diferente melhor, mesmo que ainda não soubesse disso, mesmo que mal nos conhecêssemos, eu era seu.

Her curiosity was as attractive as it was cute. She played with my feelings in the best way possible. She made me different, a better version of myself. Even though she didn’t know it and we didn’t know each other. I was hers.

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel (acotar)#azriel x oc #a court of frost and starlight #a court of wings and ruin #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #mor acotar #amren acotar #acomaf #elain acotar #nesta acotar #feyre acotar #lucian acotar #acowar #acotar x reader #acotar x oc #acotar

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rarephloxes · 3 years

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@lucienvanserraweek, free day!

I’m so happy to announce that this is a collab with my dear friend @ratabrasileira!!! Go show the beautiful drawing she did some love!!

rating: G

words: 2.2k

Elain searches the woods for flowers and finds more than she ever expected. Sleeping Beauty Au

❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦

Elain left the cottage barefooted, the soft cushion of the grass comfortable and well known to her feet. The familiar and gratifying feeling of calm earth beneath her, steady and grounding, more than enough reason to forego any sort of shoes.

Roses, Feyre had chanted, the dreamy look in her sister’s eyes persisting ever since her chance encounter with a newcomer guard at the town square, the prettiest ones you can find, please?

Elain had not the courage to tell her younger sister that she had picked fresh flowers just the day before, funny-shaped pink blooms Elain found at the lip of the stream near the border.

So, she had picked her basket - the one Nesta had gifted her on her last birthday, handmade by her older sister herself; a beautiful, intricate thing done with the hard-earned love of the hardest Archeron - and left, a spring to her step and a tune brimming in her throat.

The woods, the townspeople said, were older than the village by unaccounted years, and therefore filled with deep, wondrous and dangerous magic.

Elain, as well as her sisters, was orphaned too soon. A wasting sickness that had scourged their village had taken away both of her parents, one after the other, leaving only a nearly of age Nesta, a doe-eyed Elain, and a tear-stained Feyre.

Many years had passed since, the nebulous, all-consuming pain of the absence of their parents soothed by time. Despite her grieving, it never escaped Elain’s thoughts how lucky she was to have such wonderful people in her life: her kind neighbors; the quaint, energized people of the village, who never missed a chance for celebration; the old grouch at the square who made wooden figures just as her father once had; Feyre’s laugh, her creativity and Nesta’s attentive strength.

The woods, magical and mysterious, were a source of peace in Elain’s little life, too. A balm made of soft sunlight, fresh, perfumed breeze, and the singing quietness of wildlife.

She walked, shawl hanging on her elbows to ward off the slightest of spring chills. Elain sang to her heart’s content, a lively lyric dancing on her tongue and bouncing on the leaves of the tallest of trees, her heart soaring with each note she presented to her loved woodland.

With Feyre’s wishes in mind, Elain followed a path towards a grove, the humidity at her destination perfect for the birth of deep pink roses which best complimented Feyre’s complexion.

She crossed the sturdy old bridge that allowed passage over the river, her cottage’s mill no longer audible from where she stood.

“Hello, Mister,” Elain greeted the white, wild bunny, its twitching mustache smelling the air twice before hurrying on fast jumps towards her, a cupped palm of berries awaiting the animal’s eager mouth, allowing her to scratch its head “You’re rather famished this morning, aren’t you?” she asked. The bunny agreed with what seemed like and affirmative ear twitch before her furry friend scampered away to a nearby bush.

Then, singing about poets and kings, Elain continued her path through the meandering trees, her basket filling with dark, juicy berries - a few of them already staining her lips red - and multicolored flowers.

A bold, red little bird landed on Elain’s extended finger and enchantingly sung with her. Its melodic chirping lacing and harmonizing to the girl’s sweet voice, their impromptu duet accompanied by the rustling leaves and the gurgling stream.

How wonderful Elain felt, surrounded by nature, connecting to the air around her as if it had birthed her itself, offering it her voice. Respectfully reaping the charming flora, she found on her way, breathing their scent, befriending the forest animals, and spinning on the tip of her toes on the soft soil.

As she stopped dancing, her skirts still swishing around her calves from the last of her twirls, Elain noticed a magnificent shrub of the blooms she had braved the woods for, jewel-bright pink petals shining under sunbeams, as if the tress had organized themselves to create a spot of light for such earthly beauty.

Right then, the strangest of things happened.

With her heart jumping to her throat, beating frenetically against her ribs, Elain noticed a beautiful horse. Saddled, with a gleaming chestnut coat, dark eyes downcast, calmly munching on the grass near its hooves.

It wasn’t unheard of, horses in the woods, wild or otherwise, they were not far from the main road, but that was not what made Elain’s skin prickle with alertness.

A well-taken care horse as such must have a rider nearby.

“Samson,” called a male voice “There’s not much left to go.” The horse shuffled his legs, huffing before turning its nose away, back onto the moss.

“There will be carrots,” the voice tried again, with a tone of simulated indifference.

Caught like a fish on a hook, the horse’s great neck snapped up, looking at its rider, as if expecting the vegetable all at once. Stoic as the pair of them seemed, Elain had the impression Samson was kindly spoiled.

Elain, who could hear the rich sound of the stranger’s voice, had not yet distinguished his form in the shade beyond the grove she entered, but following the stallion’s gaze she finally sighted him.

Oh, but what a beautiful man he was.

Stranger was tall and broad-shouldered, with an old, silvery scar marking the side of his face, slitting his brow and narrowly missing his eye - which seemed to be a disconcerting shade of brown. He had the most vibrant shade of red hair she has ever seen, dark like autumn leaves and silky like water.

He was the most beautiful human she has ever seen.

Stranger, however, had yet to notice her.

And as handsome as he was, Elain was clever enough to realize that a quick, silent escape was the safest option.

Slowly, she walked one step back.

The crunch of the branch beneath her foot echoed loudly, too loudly to be confounded by an innocuous wildlife sound.

Elain couldn't raise her eyes to look at him, attention glued to the sword holstered at his hip.

“Be not afraid, lady. I’ll take my leave in a moment,” Stranger said in a placating tone, palms deliberately upraised for her benefit.

The woods turned to music at the exact moment their eyes met.

A world-altering spark of recognition lighted in her mind.

A stranger in the woods, merry music, dancing fireflies, and singing birds, trees being led by the wind as if women in a ballroom, her vision spinning, and her body lighting up like fireworks. A hand on her waist, a choreography her body must have been made for performing, such ease it was to allow it to guide her away.

Dreams, she remembered, wonderful dreams which always kept her under her covers for a moment too long, always ending way too soon, leaving longing as a dent in her pillow.

Now he was right in front of her.

“I know you,” she whispered, words slipping through her lips like birds escaping a cage, her hands shaking.

He was dressed in well-made traveling clothes, dark pants, finely done knee-length boots she had only ever glanced upon whenever wealthier people crossed the town to check on their local businesses, but those deftly dressed gentlemen couldn’t have looked better than the man even with the priciest of fineries. Elain resisted the urge to press her hands to her cheeks, heated and pink from noticing Stranger only wore a thin, unruffled poet’s shirt, - his cape and hat using the nearby trees as hangers - its open laces revealing golden skin and wisps of red hair.

Elain had never felt self-conscious of her looks or clothes, the townspeople dressing similarly to her (even if Elain herself had one of the best sewing hands in their village). Her current outfit was a simple corset with boning made out of prepped hedgehog spikes, the plain fabric embellished with neat seams and picturesque figures Elain had stitched herself; a brown, light skirt - easy to wash and easier to hide soil stains - and, what now she deemed absurd due to the grime on her nails, no slippers.

“And I, you,” he answered as in a daze, hands falling limply at his sides.

“Do you hear it?” Elain made her voice firm, lifting he chin but with her knees slightly bent, ready to run.

“Yes, my lady,” he took a step, then two, until a stretch of his arm would land his hand on her shoulder.

But he didn’t move to touch her.

Elain swallowed, the breeze cooling her body, eyes downcast, legs now motionless and nearly failing her.

“Why won’t you let me see your eyes, my lady?” She couldn’t be sure, for she knew him not, but there was pleading in his tone.

“I’m afraid, my lord, that if I look at you, I’ll awake and leave this dream,” she whispered, surprised, but not fearful, of her words. “And you’ll fly away from my grasp,”

Suddenly shy of her newly found boldness, she turned her back to him.

“I’m-" She started, voice small.

“No, please.” Elain saw a shadow over her shoulder but wouldn’t dare to guess. “Forgive me for my requests, my lady, you need not give me anything, I-”

He sounded... embarrassed.

She found it endearing.

The song of the woods shifted to a village rhythm she knew well.

“Dance with me,” he called.

A gasp fell freely from her mouth, the ghost of a touch on her hand.

Slowly, she turned back to face him and realized her mistake.

His eyes were not brown, but a vibrant russet shade, complimenting his hair better. Elain had heard only the continent bred humans with the most varied and colorful bodies.

“I forgive you,” she mouthed, her throat no longer functional.

There were callouses on his palms if from holding reins or sword fighting, she couldn’t determine, but they were so gentle against her skin she barely put any mind to it.

A blast of sound surrounded them, as if the song recognized their meeting, rejoicing in their movements, magnifying their volume to ensconce the pair of them in a cloud of magic. Elain allowed her stranger to spin and lead her in the dance of her dreams.

She couldn’t help to laugh and smile and giggle as they swayed in impossibly rehearsed arrangements, his wide, carefree, delighted grin pouring sunshine into her chest.

Time turned to a growing bloom, following the natural, slow, unpreoccupied pace of life. A hundred dances thrummed with them while the small pointer of the square clock circled once.

At that time, the resounding, deep clang of the church’s bell chiming twelve times broke through the magic steering the couple.

Elain ceased her steps, the pang of reality downing on her face, awareness washing the enchanted fog in her mind.

She let go of Stranger’s hand, the melodies dimming to a quiet hum, tempting her as a distance siren song,

“I must go,” she told him, yet unable to move.

“So soon?” he asked earnestly, arms lovingly tightening around her waist, not caging, only a gentle embrace.

“Oh, please, I must have my leave. Your lordship certainly has somewhere to be. I don’t even know what to call you-“ she babbled in a rush.

Stranger pressed his nose to the sliver of skin above her neck line, as if he couldn’t help himself, as if she were a saint and he a devotee. Elain lost the breath in her lungs, head lulling back, her words cutting themselves short.

“It’s yours,” his lips brushed the slope of her neck, “My name, my heart, my soul. It’s all yours. I’m Luc-“

Hurriedly, Elain lifted his head and pressed her pointer and middle finger to his mouth, “You must not tell me your name,”

“I heard your voice,” he admitted, a portrait of hope in his face, gently grasping her wrist “I deviated from the road to look for the angel whose song I was lucky to listen. But the singing stopped, as it was never there in the first place,”

“The woods have a mind of their own” she whispered to herself, eyes roaming around as if searching.

“I found you once I let Samson rest for a moment,” he continued, uninterrupted, as though afraid she would vanish in a poof of light.

“Please, my lady. Can’t you see? One is never to deny a gift from the Gods,”

“Are you a believer, Stranger?”

“Now, I am,” he said, his gaze unfaltering, “Will you allow me to reveal my name to your Ladyship?”

“I’m no lady,” she said, taking her hand from the warmth of his, regretting it immediately, “I must have my leave,” How would she explain her tardiness to Nesta? Oh, how reckless she was acting.

“At least allow me to take you to your home, my lady,”

Elain knew deep in her gut as clearly as she knew the color of the sky and the name of her favorite flowers that he would never hurt her.

But her oldest sister warning echoed in her conscience, coiling its limbs around her, refraining her voice.

The universe, it seemed, understood her decision.

Samson let out a loud neigh, attracting her love’s attention for just long enough.

“I’ll see you in my dreams,” she promised as he turned around to watch his horse.

And ran away, deep into the woods.

❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦

Thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, likes and comments make my day.

Special thanks to @moononastring and @silvergriff for hosting this awesome event, @separatist-apologist for being the kindest and most considerate beta reader I could ever hope for.

I’m building a tag list! If you want to keep up with my writing, let me know :))

I may or may not continue this? I really want to mesh this with a bunch of other ideas I have on my notes!!

#elucien #lucien vanserra week #lucien vanserra headcanons #lucien spell cleaver #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #elucien fanfic #elucie fic #elucien fanfiction #acotar #sleeping beauty

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princessofmerchants · 3 years

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Let's talk about the Archeron sisters and learning something new... *cue perplexed face*

(Also first let me fully acknowledge that my tumblr has become, in part, my reading notes for this reread of the ACOTAR series ahead of ACOSF, so this is more of that...)

I don't know y'all. So I know every person's needs may differ depending on your inherent strengths and weaknesses. But this exchange been Feyre and Elain in ACOWAR is totally frustrating me, and not because of Elain:

Nuala swallowed hard. “The lady said she was hungry, so we went to make her something. But—she said she wanted to learn how, so …” Hands wreathed in shadows lifted in a helpless gesture, flour drifting off them like veils of snow. “We’re making bread.”

Elain was glancing between all of us, and as her eyes began to shutter, I gave her a broad smile and said, “I hope it’ll be done soon—I’m starved.”

Elain offered a faint smile in return and nodded.

She was hungry. She was … doing something. Learning something.

“We’re going to bathe,” I announced, even as my stomach grumbled. “We’ll leave you to your baking.”

I tugged Rhys into the hall before they’d finished saying good-bye, the kitchen door swinging shut behind us.

I put a hand on my chest, leaning against the wood panels of the stair wall. Rhys’s hand covered my own a heartbeat later.

“That was what I felt,” he said, “when I saw you smile that night we dined along the Sidra.”

Elain was learning something new. I adore her so that is an exciting development for her. I'm on board with this.

But Nesta has been working her ass off AND being really vulnerable in the process learning something new this entire book...? The training with Amren? Hoping she can learn to wield her magic to help with the Wall? And I am not even sure if anyone except maybe Amren has said a dang thing to her acknowledging her work and willingness to learn something new that will help the war and which also requires her to come to some kind of terms with her new Fae body.

I know when Feyre is reunited with Nesta and Elain in this book, Elain's needs as they relate to her response to the trauma of being turned Fae are different on the surface from Nesta's. Elain is starving herself, Nesta is not, etc. But I am really side-eyeing right now the idea that someone like Nesta doesn't register as needing the equivalent of words of affirmation (cf. love languages) for her hard work at trying to work through her trauma by learning something new that may help others. Or if not spoken words of affirmation, internal feelings of gratitude from those around her at the very least?

Their personalities are different but there are some basic *human needs everyone shares and for some reason Nesta doesn't register on peoples' radars as having those same needs, and it frustrates me, and I want to know why that is.

*human = formally mortal Fae in this instance but I'd argue this applies to all of the Fae as well --- if you are a relational being there are needs we all share, that's what I'm referring to here.

***

GAH after drafting the above I kept reading and after the next scene break, the next morning, Feyre thinks this in relation to Nesta learning to wield her powers in support of the war effort:

Not when Amren claimed that my sister was close—so close—to grasping whatever skill was involved in potentially patching up the wall. If she would only unleash herself, Amren said. I didn’t dare suggest that perhaps the world wasn’t quite ready for that.

The tone of her inner voice here is just so tragically and unjustly different from what we saw immediately above it with Elain. I'm just like.....????!!!!

And the funny thing is, I don't even mean this as an anti-F*yre post, because the dynamics that led to this difference in how Feyre and others in their lives relate to and see Elain versus Nesta are really complicated and no one single actor is to blame for the injustices inherent to said dynamic. But my gods, give your oldest sister some credit, Faebae 😩😢

#nesta archeron #feyre archeron #elain archeron #archeron sisters #acowar #a court of wings and ruin #let's give our girl some credit please #i want the sisters to have a healthier relationship #all three of them #it's on my acosf wishlist #reading notes

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likeiwishiknew · 3 years

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Azriel x Gwyn - The Beginning

Read on AO3

The air was unnaturally cold.

So cold that Gwyn could see her breath. She stood in the middle of the library, all of the lights turned down, in nothing but her nightdress.

Not another soul was awake, at least none that she could sense. Gwyn couldn’t recall when or how she’d made her way down here. Nor did she remember why. She suspected she was on one of the lower floors from what she could make out. However, it was too dark for her to be certain which one.

A chill ran up her spine, and she could not escape the uneasy feeling that something or someone was watching her. Turning in place, she checked all sides. But she did not see anything out of the ordinary. Still, her heartbeat picked up just as a cool wind breezed past her carrying the sound of a faraway voice.

Find the book and bring it to me. It cooed.

Gwyn spun in the direction of the voice, only to once again find nothing there.

She waited for the voice to speak up again. But didn’t. Yet the feeling that she was being watched did not go away. Gwyn focused for a moment on its words. The voice had mentioned a book. There was only one book it could possibly be talking about, but that thought left her with far more questions than answers.

Who did the voice belong to? And why were they, or it, searching for the book?

Rhysand had made it clear to her that there might be great repercussions should the book fall into the wrong hands. The sense of foreboding she felt from the haunting voice had her more than inclined to believe him. Which left her all the more determined to do anything and everything she could to ensure that did not happen.

Gwyn turned back around only to catch sight of a faceless figure, its sharp teeth inches from her face. Her stomach dropped.

She tried to shout but discovered that she could not find her voice. A wave of terror rushed over her at the realization. And when Gwyn tried to shift away, she found she could not move. Icy dread crept into her veins. It was what she feared most.

Helplessness.

She was helpless.

She turned back around only to catch sight of a faceless figure, its sharp teeth inches from her face. Her stomach dropped.

Gwyn tried to shout but discovered that she could not find her voice. A wave of terror rushed over her at the realization. And when she tried to shift away, she found she could not move. She was helpless. Icy dread crept into her veins.

The monster reached for her face, hands like claws, the second it touched her she jolted awake.

Bolting up from her bed, sweat dripped down her brow, leaving her skin cold and damp. Her breath came in shallow bursts, her throat felt so tight it was a wonder she was breathing, as her heart all but beat out of her chest.

The remnants of her dream began to fade until only the fear remained.

When she tried to recall the finer details of the dream her mind came back blank. Which had her fighting to remember, but no matter how she struggled the memory wouldn't return.

Gwyn let out a sigh. Taking a deep breath, she calmed her breathing. Her heart rate slowly followed.

She fell back onto her bed in a heap, confused and concerned, wondering if she closed eyes she might fall back into whatever nightmare had done this to her.

Gywn turned her head to stare at the blank wall beside her bed.

This was going to be a long night.

- - -

It had been well over a week since he’d last seen or spoken to Gwyn. Nesta told him that Gwyn had a lot of work to catch up on in the library, thus her absence at morning training.

And while that might’ve been partly true, he knew that wasn’t entirely the case. Gwyn was also avoiding him. Because of his conversation with Elain.

His shadows should have warned him of her approach, and yet they hadn’t. Though the truth was they often did the strangest things around Gwyn. They reacted to her in ways that they never did anyone else.

If she’d overheard his and Elain’s conversation. It stood to reason she might’ve thought he was admitting to still having feelings for Elain. But that wasn’t the case at all. He’d tried to find her countless times to explain as much to her, but every time he had gone to the library Clotho had told him Gwyn was too busy to see him.

Today was the first day he’d laid eyes on her since that night.

He watched silently from across the ring as Gwyn practiced aiming her fire with Lucien. This was now the second time the male had come to see her. Azriel had been absent during the first visit due to a last-minute assignment from Rhys.

But apparently, according to Cassian, the first lesson has been remarkably successful.

Lucien had managed to teach Gwyn how to call upon her fire.

Azriel watched engrossed in her effort, sending her his quiet encouragement and support. Her eyes were bright and focused as she honed in a target across the ways from her. Her hands alight with fire.

He watched her chest rise as she took in a deep breath and aimed, shooting her fire across the way. In a fury, the flames propelled forward toward their intended target - hitting them dead in the center.

Azriel saw her face go from serious to delighted. A small smile formed on his own lips at her feat. Gwyn jumped up and down in place. In her excitement, she ran straight into Lucien’s arms. With little hesitation, Lucien hugged in her turn, spinning her in a circle. A look of contented happiness on both of their faces.

Azriel could not remember a time he’d ever seen the other male so happy. Not even in the presence of his own mate.

The ease with which they embraced had him thinking it wasn’t the first time they’d done such a thing.

And he loathed the very thought. A part of him wanted to march over pull them apart. But he thought better of it.

He called out to his brother instead.

“Rhys, I need you to call Lucien away.”

It took a beat, but his brother responded shortly thereafter.

“Why is that?”

He had no time to explain.

“Please just do it,” he shot back.

Rhys was silent for a moment, and Azriel worried his brother would deny him this. Thankfully, his concern proved unwarranted.

“Fine,” Rhys returned.

He turned back to the duo just in time to see Lucien set Gwyn back into the ground. Azriel watched Lucien’s expression and posture stiffen, at which point he knew that Rhys had done as he asked.

He overheard Lucien informed Gwyn of as much.

“I must go,” the male told her.

“Why?” she asked with a touch of concern.

“It would seem your High Lord wishes to speak with me.”

Azriel saw Gwyn grow still and he got the feeling she knew exactly what he’d done.

But she did not comment on it, instead, she only nodded, “Alright,” she acknowledged.

Lucien, not knowing her as Azriel did, didn’t pick up on the tiny shift in her tone.

“I’m proud of you Little Red,” he said, rubbing the top of her head affectionately.

Gwyn smiled up at him, “Thank you.”

Lucien’s gaze went to him briefly. The other male’s eyes narrowed on Azriel. But he said nothing, simply headed straight for the stairs.

Azriel watched him go.

When he turned back to Gwyn he found her eyes set upon him. She started toward him and he opted to meet her halfway.

“Why did you have Rhysand call Lucien away?”

He stilled for a moment. It had been days since they’d last spoken and yet her first words to him were regarding Lucien.

Had she even missed him?

Was he only setting himself up for another heartbreak?

“That’s all you have to say?” he returned, voice coming out colder than he intended.

His tone clearly caught her off guard because she appeared less irritated and more concerned.

“Are you upset with me?” she questioned, sounding genuinely perplexed. He most certainly was upset. Though he wasn’t sure if he was upset with her or himself.

“You ran to him,” he managed to say.

Gwyn’s brows inched together in confusion.

“With a look of pure joy on your face you ran into his arms,” Azriel continued.

From the look on her face, she still did not quite understand.

"Anyone looking in would think you loved him,” he finished.

“I do love him,” she replied with little to no hesitation.

He felt something lodge in his throat, making it difficult to breathe.

“I know we’ve not known each other long but I feel a connection to him. He’s like family to me,” she defended, “Like Nesta and Emerie and you.”

“I don’t want to mean the same thing to you that he does.”

She took a step closer to him.

“Then what do you want to be?”

He froze.

And Gwyn all but sighed, “See you can’t answer. Because you don’t know what you want.”

She moved to pass him.

Unthinking, Azriel’s hand darted out and grabbed hold of hers.

He spun her around and cupped her face, bringing their lips close. But he paused, leaving himself just enough room to meet her eyes - to seek permission. Gwyn stared back for a second before giving him a firm nod.

It was all he needed. Azriel brushed his lips over hers, gently at first. Only once Gwyn leaned into him, her warm hand upon his chest, did he deepen the kiss. He wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her in. He could get used to this, the feel of her warm body pressed to his.

Kissing her...it felt like breathing, essential to his survival.

Still, he managed to pull back before he got carried away.

Azriel didn’t wish to rush things between them. He would take his time with her, savoring every moment, every touch.

Meeting her eyes again, he stroked her cheek thoughtfully.

The truth was that he’d known for quite some time what he wanted, he simply never dared to imagine he could have it. Only now did he realize that if he didn’t try, he’d never know. And so, he took a leap of faith.

“I want you Gwyn,” he confessed, staring into her blue-green eyes that seemed to glow as they looked upon him, “And I hope you want me too.”

She placed her hand over his.

“Are you sure about that?” she asked, “Are you sure I’m truly the one you want?”

He hated that she doubted it for a second. But he would tell her as many times as she needed to hear it. He would work every day to prove it to her.

“Yes,” Azriel re-affirmed, “It’s you I want Gwyn.”

He touched his forehead to hers.

“I know I haven’t done enough to make that clear, to reassure you. But it’s true. And I promise to do better. I promise I will show you that I mean everything I say. We can take things at your pace. I will follow your lead without question."

Studying her face, he found she still looked a measure unsure.

“If what you heard in that garden weeks ago is the reason for your uncertainty then allow me to tell you that was a misunderstanding.”

He would not lie, would not sugar coat it, Gwyn deserved the truth. All of it.

"At one time I did want Elain as a mate.”

Gwyn took a step back, dropping her hand and pulling it away. But Azriel managed to catch hold of it. And he held onto it for dear life.

“I saw how happy my brothers were. Rhys and Feyre. Cassian and Nesta. You’ve seen them. They’re perfect for each of her,” he remarked.

By some kindness, Gwyn allowed him to keep hold of her hand. He stroked that back of it with his thumb.

“I wanted what they have. And for whatever reason, I believed that Elain could give that to me. I thought that after everything I’d endured through the centuries, I deserved that sort of happiness.”

Gwyn’s expression softened a touch at the barest mention of his past.

“But that was wrong of me. To think that I could replicate their happiness. To put all those expectations and hopes onto Elain simply because she was there. Three brothers and three sisters,” he paused on that thought, recalling how he’d felt about that in the past, “It all seemed so perfect. So long as I ignored the glaringly obvious issue.”

“Lucien,” she breathed.

He nodded.

“I pretended as though he didn’t exist, convinced myself he wasn’t worthy of Elain. It made it easier to convince myself that the cauldron had made a mistake. But I know now that my feelings for Elain were misconstrued. I didn’t love her. I loved the idea of her, of what believed she could be for me.”

Gwyn seemed to take a deep breath, digesting everything he’d said.

If he were being honest, Azriel was quite certain he’d never spoken so much in his entire life.

“And what do you feel for me?” she questioned.

This was where it got tricky.

“I...I care about you, so much. When you’re not within my sight I find myself looking for you. I miss you whenever I’m away or when you’re gone. I think about you often, more than I probably should," he admitted, "I’m always wondering what you’re doing and if you’re thinking of me too. And I’ve dreamed of kissing you for far too long. And now that I have I hope you’ll let me do it again.”

Her eyes were rimed with unshed tears. He took her face in his hands, gently cupping her cheeks, not caring that he hardly deserved to touch her.

“Please tell what you’re thinking,” he nearly pleaded.

The sound that escaped her was somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle.

“I’m thinking this crazy,” she said at last.

He waited for her to continue.

“I’ve been having these confusing feelings for what must be months now, unsure what was wrong with me. Every time I thought I had it figured out something would happen that made me doubt it all. My thoughts. My feelings. You.”

He swallowed. And once again, he saw the doubt in her eyes. The sight of it broke his heart.

“I don’t - I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know what it means to be in a relationship. If that’s even what this is. If that’s even what you’re asking me,” Gwyn confessed.

“It is,” he confirmed for her.

Gwyn’s eyes held his.

"You’re not the only one who’s unsure about how we go about this, Gwyn. As sure as I am about you, I’ve never done this before either. I’ve had lovers before, but I’ve never been in a truly committed relationship. With my past lovers, we took what we wanted from each other, and once either one wanted out we walked away."

But it would be different with Gwyn.

If this didn’t work out he wasn’t sure he’d be able to walk away unscathed, and he loathed the very idea of this thing between them ever ending.

“But I still want to give this, us, a try. I want to try to be someone worthy of you."

Her brow furrowed, “I’m nothing special, Azriel.”

He let his hand slide down to the back of her neck, gripping it firmly, “That’s where you’re wrong, Gwyn. You’re special, especially to me.”

She reached out her hand and cupped his cheek, her eyes warm, “You’re special to me too,” she spoke in answer.

“Is that a yes?” he asked hopefully.

She cracked a brilliant smile and nodded, “Yes.”

Azriel found himself smiling back. He wasn’t sure what came over him but he pulled her into a tight embrace, lifting her feet straight off the ground before holding her up above him. Gwyn grinned down at him, the bright, silky strands of her hair tickling his face, and he felt the overwhelming need to kiss her again.

And so, because she'd said yes, he did.

~ ~ ~

Author Note: I'm a firm believer that the key to a successful relationship is honesty and communication. So that was the focus of this chapter. I've had these two dancing around each other for a while and it felt high time they behave like reasonable adults and talk about their feelings. You will note, this is not quite a love confession. I do not think we're there yet. But we will get there. We shall definitely get there, and it shall be steamy ;)

Anyways, this chapter was a pleasure to write so I hope you all enjoy it as well. And if you do, please do let me know in the comments!

~ ~ ~

@azrielsshadowsdanceforgwyn @bittermuire @ofstarsanddreams @corrdolium @toolazymyguy @inkdrinkershadowsinger @itswrongsong @dealingdifferentdevils @rhysmoira @brucexselina @inejjg @rhysmoira @gwynnight @fairytamy @bluegold08 @amandapearls @highqueentaey @lioness-says @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @princessofmerchants-reads @cantkeepmyeyesoffofyou-x

@my-fan-side @spookylightkidranch @elucienschild @keramzinskies @itswrongsong @mirubyjane

@lovelywordsandwine @ladygwynriel @parisakamali @mirubyai

#a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #acosf #acotar #gwynriel #azriel x gwyn #azwyn #fanfiction #love #otp #Azriel #gwyneth berdara #ao3 update #read on ao3 #sarah j maas

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drjackandmissjo · 4 years

Text

Roses are Red, Tattoos are Forever

Chapter 1 --- Next Chapter

Feysand Masterlist

Pigtails and Liliums

They have two shops, one next to the other. They're friends. She disappeared and now she's back. He tries his hardest. The only thing that gets a reaction from her isn't the one he planned

Florist and Tattoo Artist Au, Modern Day

“Excuse me, sir?” a little girl with missing front teeth and pigtails asked him as he was cutting the leaves off a long Lilium.

He gave her his brightest smile and, after having put the tools down on the counter, leaned over towards her. “Yes, sweetie. What can I do for you?”

The little girl began to look nervous and turned her little head towards her mother, who motioned for her to go on with her question. The girl couldn’t have been older than seven and, after taking a big breath in, she said:"Do you have to put the drawings on every morning by yourself or does your mom help you?”.

Rhys was shocked for a couple of seconds, but promptly replied:"My mommy helps me every morning before I leave for work. But, if you want and if your mom agrees, there is a little shop next door that can give you a drawing for your skin that can last for a week or two! And your mom doesn't have to help, there are some that you can put on your own."

The little girl’s smile grew so wide and bright it might’ve outshone the Sun itself. The mother mouthed a little ‘thank you’ laughing a little at his response.

He nodded his reply and went back to his work. He gave the flowers to her after he was done as the little girl kept on asking:"Can I get one of those for one week? Pretty please."

Rhys did not hear the mother’s affirmative nor negative response as she said it while getting out of his shop, but he imagined it must’ve been affirmative, based on the girl’s reaction.

He went back to work, smiling to himself.

***

An hour later, it was time to close the shop and call it a day.

What a wonderful day it had been!

He had an appointment with the others for dinner at Amren’s house, and he knew perfectly how much she hated when he showed up late, so he turned the sign at the door and went on to finish his chores. He had exactly 20 minutes to complete his paperwork and head out, so he moved as quickly as he could. Or at least he wanted to.

When he had arrived halfway to his desk, he heard a small knock on the glass door.

“We’re closed, I’m sorry.”, he yelled without looking.

“Did you just send a freaking seven years old into my tattoo parlour?”, yelled back the person on the other side.

Rhys didn’t turn around, but simply smiled and took some steps backwards, until his back hit the glass door. “I did it one hour ago, not ‘just’, and I sent her to get a temporary one with the roses that you hand draw and that usually last a week, just as those into the Polaretti.”

“I know and I proposed one of those, but she saw my arm and choose a full sleeve. I gave her a henna one. Will wash down in a month or so.”

Now he turned around to open the locked door, letting the girl in.

Feyre wasn’t particularly remarkable: golden brown hair, piercing blue-greyish eyes that usually threw daggers and glared at everyone and threatened everyone from her 5’6 glory. A tattoo adorned her whole left arm, a full sleeve made of intricate waves and vines and thorns that went from the top of her shoulder to the tip of her fingers, leaving only her palm empty of ink. On the back of her hand, there was a little spot not covered by those thorns and those vines, but by a VFD's style eye. His idea. It came out off a bet, like many things in their friendship.

He did not like that word.

When Feyre walked past him to walk into his shop, she left a trace of vanilla and blueberries in her wake, probably from her shampoo or perfume.

He was intoxicated.

“It’s the third kid that you specifically send me to get a temporary tattoo.”

“Do you blame me for making you work a little bit more?”

She sat on his counter and pouted. “I blame me you for the looks the parents give me after the job’s done.”

“I’m sorry they’re causing you trouble. They look very convinced when they leave from here.”

She threw her hands in the air:"As they are when they come in! But, as soon as my work's finished, they whine about how the kid will get sick of it, how their classmates will react, how their other parent friends will react, etcetera etcetera etcetera.”

He nodded respectfully. They set into a comfortable silence and, while he worked, Feyre read one on the handwritten labels next to some petunias, explaining the meaning of the flower, the history, its origin and even a synopsis about Harry Potter’s aunt.

“I’m sorry again if I have to cut this lovely visit short, but I gotta be at Amren’s, and you know how she gets when someone’s not punctual.”

She nodded solemnly, fully aware of the of the little one’s wrath.

“Besides”, he continued even though the topic pained him, “don’t you have to be home soon? It’s a miracle Tamlin lets you out of the house to go to work even. Without anyone to check on you regularly even!”

She scolded, but didn’t comment, shutting the conversation down.

Shady? Maybe. True? Yes. Bitter? Totally.

He had been in love with that woman since day one, but didn’t have the guts to ask her out. They started as friends, then besties and then, when he finally found his courage, Tamlin came into the picture.

The blond-haired lawyer asked her out the same day he had planned to, just one hour earlier. Feyre then came to his place, as they had planned, to a Disney movie night and ice cream, and told him everything. Rhys couldn't believe his luck, but as long as she was happy, he wouldn’t have said anything.

And he didn’t. Things started out perfectly for them, but Tamlin rushed into it head first, arguably forcing her into moving in together at his place, which was very much better than hers. ‘Arguably forcing her’ because, even though she denied, he gave her no choice. Small comments here and there about her living situations, bigger comments about how he would’ve appreciated to have her around 24/7 and three weeks later, she had given up her apartment.

"You'll save money like this, since you don't have to pay rent anymore.", he said.

And then:"I don't see why you choose that as a living profession. It isn’t proper for a lady to work in a tattoo shop”.

Later:"You know you can stop working, right? My salary is high enough and, besides, the house could use someone to pay attention to it."

That sentence came one month earlier. Feyre didn’t show up at her little shop for almost four weeks after that, not even texting Rhys or letting anyone of their shared friends knowing if she was alive. Rhys had to even call her bigger sister, Nesta, that didn’t exactly appreciate him very much, nor his brother Cassian for the matter.

Moral of the story: nobody knew where Feyre was for three weeks and four days. Three days earlier, when Rhys went to work, the little tattoo parlour next to his florist shop was open. He rushed in, relief written all over his features, but she was with a client already, so he decided to swing by later. She was constantly with clients whenever he showed up to check up on her.

It pained him, how she looked: pale, almost invisible. Her collarbones were showing more than usual, the bags under her eyes more prominent than ever.

The worst thing was a simple one, though. A month or so, after she had started dating Tamlin, she stopped drawing.

She did her job, still perfectly. Only with less passion.

She used to draw the tattoos by hand on a piece of paper before transferring them to the skin, to make them more personal for the buyer. She made the most complicated details with her pencil and pens and the results were breathtaking.

After moving in with him, she started using her laptop, searching for the tattoos online or using pre-drawn models. She still focused and did what she was paid to, but each time with less energy. Until she stopped at all.

Now she was back, empty as a shell. And still didn’t hand draw anything.

Until now. It struck him as a lightning.

“Feyre, you gave that girl a Henna, isn’t it?”

She smiled, timid and small, but it was a smile nonetheless. “She couldn’t stop talking about how pretty was the tattoo on you and how pretty was mine and how she wanted one up her arm and I couldn’t just make a sticker one.”

“You free-handily draw that?”. Rhys was hoping so hard. He prayed every deity he knew.

Feyre looked down at the point of her shoes. She was shutting him down again.

He couldn’t let it happen. “Fey, what happened? You stopped coming to work, stopped talking and texting. And now you come back, looking like a ghost. And a little girl shows up and you gave her a free handily henna. It’s the first drawing you’ve done in months. What happened?”

“She reminded me of you.”, she said, still looking down. “She reminded me of you and I... I just wanted to. I left him. A week ago. I just couldn’t stay there any longer. He was obsessive and jealous and I felt like I was dying. We argued about how maniacally he was acting and he snapped. So I packed all my things and left in the middle of the night, as he was sleeping. He came looking for me the next day and I was scared. I told him to get the hell out of my life or else I would've gone to the police and fucked up his perfect lawyering career.”

For once in his life Rhys didn’t know what to say. He simply stared at her as she was looking at the floor.

“Who kept Lucien?” his voice said before his brain could even register.

Feyre’s head bubbled up quickly, her eyes open wider in disbelief.

“I mean, he’s like a puppy. A red furred puppy. So, usually, when two people split up, one keeps the dog.”

“Lucien is a grown man and can make his own choices.”, she replied stubbornly.

"I take that as ‘at first he chose The Tool and now he's turning around towards me'”

She smiled. “Indeed”

Rhys’ heart was about to explode. He was about to tell her everything, how he felt truly.

But he didn't. Instead, what he said was simply:"I gotta go at Amren's. There is a seat reserved for you, you know."

Feyre looked at him, truly looked at him for once and he thought she could stare at his soul.

“Smile again” he whispered. She did, broad and without restraint.

“You’re exquisite”, he breathed.

She was brilliant, broken and healing at the same time. She needed time and he would’ve given her all the time in the world.

Feyre looked at the clock on the wall. “If we leave now, we can arrive at Amren’s in time, hell even beat Az in the race there!”

That was enough for now.

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