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wingedblooms · 5 months

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Sister-Glass Caverns

Warning: This is a Maasverse post, and as such, there are spoilers for all Maas series, including information connected to the HOFAS teaser.

The caves in the hofas teaser made me think about something I noticed in Elain’s witch series. In acosf, the priestesses worship in a cavern that is smooth as glass.

“…And the cave we have the service in is beautiful, too. It was carved by the underground river that flows beneath the mountain, so the walls are smooth as glass. And it’s acoustically perfect—the shape and size of the space amplifies and clarifies each voice within.” (acosf)

In the sense chanted, I talked about how this might be Prythian’s version of witch glass, which as we learned from Manon and Maeve in the tog series, has various uses:

“You can see the future, past, present. You can speak between mirrors, if someone possesses the sister-glass. And then there are the rare silvers—whose forging demands something vital from the maker.” Manon’s voice dropped low. Dorian wondered if even among the Blackbeaks, these tales had only been whispered at their campfires. “Other mirrors amplify and hold blasts of raw power, to be unleashed if the mirror is aimed at something.” (Manon, eos)

“It’s possible—to show a different world?” Dorian asked Maeve when they were again in their tower room.

Maeve slid into a chair, her face distant. “Using mirrors, yes.”

Dorian lifted a brow. “You have seen yourself the power of witch mirrors. What it did to Aelin Galathynius and Manon Blackbeak. Who do you think taught the witches such power? Not the Fae.” A small laugh. “And how do you think I have been able to see so far, hear the voices of my eyes, all the way from Doranelle? There are mirrors to spy, to travel, to kill. Even now, Erawan wields them to his advantage with the Ironteeth.” With the witch towers. (Maeve, koa)

Witch mirrors can be used to store knowledge (like the memory Aelin and Manon entered), amplify power, travel, and spy (listen and watch). It is interesting that the cave under the mountain where the library rests is described in terms of glass. Gwyn even indicates that it amplifies their voices, so if those ancient songs Clotho found were spells, it’s possible the glass amplified their power. And that spell helped Nesta enter a trance-like state and connect with the Harp.

So Nesta drifted down and down, the harp and the voices pulsing and guiding, until she stopped before a rock. She laid a hand on it to find it was only an illusion, and she passed through it, down another long hall, beneath the mountain itself, and then she stood in a cavern, almost the twin to the one the priestesses sang in, as if they were linked in song and dreaming. (acosf)

The spell led Nesta beneath the sister mountain called the Prison, to a near-twin cavern where the Harp is located. These sister caverns—or sister-glass, if you will—are linked in song and dreaming.

We learned from Amren that there is an extensive underground cave system in Prythian, meaning that there might be other sister-glass caves.

“Oorid was once a sacred place,” Amren said. […] They say the water there flows to Under the Mountain, and the creatures who live in the bog have long used its underground waterways to travel through the Middle, even into the mountains of the surrounding courts.” (Amren, acosf)

@offtorivendell, @silverlinedeyes and I theorized that the sister mountains (the Middle, Ramiel, and Prison) could all have portals to other worlds buried beneath. What if each sister mountain has a cavern with sister-glass, and these caves are not only linked to each other, but—as Maeve suggests is possible—to other worlds as well? Did ancient beings like the Daglan or death-gods (who are similar to those who taught the witches how wield the glass) create these sister caverns? Is that what Bryce, Azriel, and Nesta came across—or are searching for—in the teaser? And if ancient creatures like kelpie still use the waterways in Oorid, which is connected to the underground waterways and cave system that spans the Middle and leads to other courts, then what other ancient nightmares are waiting for them beneath?

Annnnnd if they are exploring the cave system, and it leads to Ramiel rather than the Prison, I wonder if they’ll see Balthazar mysteriously appear again. 🤭 (C’mon, you knew that was coming!)

Annnnnnnnnnnnnd if these sister glass caverns operate like witch mirrors, would that mean someone could use it to communicate with or spy on others from other worlds? Even travel from Prythian to Midgard? Erilea? I swear, if someone (please, I’m begging for it to be Elain in the next acotar book) steps out of a sister cavern and into a Blueblood ritual, my mind will explode.

#hofas teaser #crescent city 3 #maasverse theories #maas crossover theories #bryce + nesta + azriel #sister caverns #sister mountains #sister glass #that mysterious Balthazar #but you know who I really mean #I can’t help myself

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damedechance · 3 months

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𝖈𝖗𝖔𝖜 𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖌 (pt 6/12)

𓇢𓆸 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑜3 || 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

Pairing: Gwynriel Status: Ch 6/12 (Read from Pt 1) Rated: E (Explicit) Summary: Three years ago, Gwyneth Berdara became the ward of the Night Institute, a band of hunters led by Rhysand who work to rid the world of vampires. After one fateful night where Gwyn unwittingly welcomes one such creature into their home, she strikes a deal with Azriel, one that is just as likely to condemn them as it is to save them.

Massive thank you to @climbthemountain2020 for beta'ing this chapter, and for overall being amazing and sweet and kind!

𓇢𓆸 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑓 𝑠𝑛𝑖𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑡

VI.

Today, the sun blared bright and relentless in a powdery blue sky, and the unexpectedly pleasant winter day has rendered the inhabitants of the Night Institute lethargic, and to a hopeless degree. The three Archeron sisters–having appeared no more disturbed by Gwyn’s sudden and frantic entry than they might an errant fly–lie strewn about the music room in various states of inertia.

Elain, having stirred only to flutter her fingers in a half-hearted wave upon Gwyn’s arrival, naps in an armchair by the entrance. Both of her legs dangle over one end, while her hand is flung delicately over her face, blocking out the midday sun which stretches lazily across her upper half. A crumpled up ball of paper lies on her stomach, slowly rising and falling in time with her dozing breaths.

The ball of paper–and its numerous companions–can be traced back to Feyre. She sits cross legged on the ornate persian rug with her sketchbook propped up in her lap and her pencil scratching furiously over the pages. In fits of irritation, she groans before tearing a page from her sketchbook and tossing it carelessly onto the rug, the settee, or the low table placed in front of it. One of her trashed drawings has found its way into a bowl of fruit on the table, and another rests beside a crystal vase on the fireplace mantel.

Gwyn tracks the iridescent refractions scattered by the faceted surface of the vase. Notices how they cast soft colors over the sleek mahogany finish of the piano, or how they slant across Nesta’s pensive face–the prismatic effect softening the eldest Archeron’s usually sharp and angled expression. Blurring the edges, almost.

Nesta sits on the piano bench with her back to the keys, and stares down at a velvet dress lying across her lap. One of the many things Gwyn has ruined, the bodice is marred by a gruesome stain.

Fidgeting once more, Gwyn swallows against a lump in her throat and watches as Nesta scrapes at the stain with a fingernail. Dried mud flakes off, illuminated by the sunbeam that Gwyn avoids, and drifts to the ground. Gwyn’s foot slides forward, grinding it into the carpet with the toe of her leather boot.

“Is that all?” Nesta asks finally.

“Yes,” Gwyn says, her voice rising in unnatural inflection. She tugs the edge of her sleeve even further down. “I’m so sorry, Nesta.”

Nesta hums, nodding contemplatively down at her lap while Gwyn fails in repressing memories from this morning. The sun hanging low, practically scalding against her back as the mud seeped cool into the knees of her skirt. She kneeled in that garden, rubbing filth into the fibers of the most beautiful dress she’s ever worn, until even the smallest dot of blood was obscured. The pungency of the wet earth clings to her skin even now, despite an hour spent scrubbing her skin raw in a hot bath while she rehearsed this apology over and over–each iteration proving more and more inadequate than the one that came before.

She told Nesta she fell in a mud puddle while walking home from the gala. And now that the lie has left her mouth, all that remains within is a tongue pressing heavy and useless against her teeth, and lips groping for a suitable explanation that will never come.

Finally, Gwyn forces out, “I can take it to be laundered.”

Gwyn flinches, not only at how shrill her voice sounds, but at how the words ring so hollow. Gwyn has not left the Institute in all the nights she’s lived here, save for the one she wishes never happened. She certainly would not leave the house to see to a dress being laundered.

“What?” Nesta, usually so stern, lets out a small, incredulous laugh. “Laundered?”

Nesta’s stare is cold as ice against the side of Gwyn’s face. Gwyn swirls her tongue in her mouth until it is pressing against the inside of her cheek, and she stares vacantly at the crystal vase. The center of her palm feels like it is burning, and surely Nesta can see it. Gwyn’s transgressions, playing so blatantly across her face.

“Gwyn,” Nesta says finally. Firmly enough, that Gwyn reluctantly flicks her gaze back to her friend. She watches Nesta shake her head and set the dress beside her on the piano bench. “Truthfully, I don’t care about the dress. The stain will come out, or it won’t. You’re the one I’m worried about.”

Gwyn voids her lungs, feeling them shrivel up in her chest as tears begin to sting at the corners of her eyes. She lifts her chin so that she is looking at the overhead light fixture, and allows it to spot her vision instead of looking into the forgiving face of her only and greatest friend.

Tightly, Gwyn says, “Are you?”

“Yes,” Nesta says, pushing up to stand.

Panic constricts Gwyn’s veins, her blood running cold as Nesta snatches Gwyn’s hand out from behind her back. Gwyn is so sure that Nesta is about to turn it over, will shove the sleeve back to reveal the bandage wrapped around her wrist, that the panic does not recede even when Nesta surprises her by clasping Gwyn’s hand in both of hers.

“You disappeared,” Nesta says, anguish flashing briefly in her expression. She presses a glancing kiss to Gwyn’s knuckles, and smooths it away with the brushing of her fingers over Gwyn’s rings. Nesta continues, “I looked for you all over. I worried something might have happened, or that you were scared.”

Gwyn flushes, unsure whether it is from embarrassment or the sight of the cuff of her sleeve slowly slipping down her wrist. She can see the edge of the hastily wrapped bandage visible through the lace, and she swallows.

“I’m sorry to have worried you,” Gwyn breathes through a clenched jaw, barely restraining herself from tearing her hand out of Nesta’s grip.

“Nevermind that now,” Nesta says dismissively. “If falling in the mud is the worst to have happened to you, I am glad for the stain. It means you must have had a splendid night.”

“I did,” Gwyn says, stretching her mouth into a smile in the hopes it will sufficiently convince Nesta before any more of her wrist is revealed. Of all the members of the Institute, Nesta is the one Gwyn wants to keep it from most.

“Good,” Nesta says. “It’s settled.”

Apparently satisfied, Nesta finally releases Gwyn’s hand, and it is promptly replaced behind her back once Nesta returns to the piano.

“Any requests?” Nesta neatly slides herself onto the bench.

Gwyn allows for a moment to pass before she answers, her heart still thundering in her ears and all of her focus attuned to forcing her breaths out evenly. Every passing moment serves to wind her nerves tighter and tighter, a festering coil at the center of her belly–and she wonders just how much of it she is expected to endure before they snap completely, their ends fraying.

Gwyn steps forward, that poor imitation of a smile still plastered on her face, and watches Nesta listlessly strike a few discordant notes at random.

“Beethoven,” Gwyn murmurs, tucking her hand into the folds of her skirt. “If you have any prepared.” From the armchair in the corner, Elain suddenly emits an uncharacteristically loud and very beleaguered groan. “Beethoven is all she has prepared,” Elain gripes.

˖⁺‧₊˚⸸˚₊‧⁺˖

#gwynriel #azriel #gwyneth berdara #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #gwyn berdara #vampire au #gwynriel fanfic

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shadowriel · 5 months

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Well that’s alright if you’re not planning to write part 2 but I really wanted to see the jealous Az when some guy from their class tries to flirt with her as others don’t know about their relationship 🙈🙈❤️❤️

You mean, like:

Az watches Gwyn with an intent focus as she talks to another man in their class.

He moves to sit in the seat behind her—his normal spot, even though they're now dating.

Gwyn leans back almost imperceptibly, as if sensing his presence.

And then: "She has a boyfriend, asshole."

Gwyn turns around, annoyed. (The other guy leaves). "Seriously, Az?! I can't have one conversation with another man?"

"Not when he's obviously flirting with you."

Gwyn shakes her head. "He wasn't."

"Believe me, Gwyneth, he was."

She starts to protest, but he leans forward, lips almost—almost—brushing her ear. She should hear the rustling papers and the sounds of their classmates sitting down, but all she hears is his impossibly low voice.

"The way he was looking at you... that was definitely flirting. And I thought we'd established that l'm the only one who gets to look at you like that."

#gwynriel #this is a product of the ten minutes I have on the bus #gwynriel drabble #if you can even call it that #gwyn berdara #azriel #anon asks

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daevastanner · 3 months

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Halfbreeds - Ch 3 is up!

g w y n

Six months later…

The House of Wind

Gwyneth Berdara stood with her palms braced on either side of the map laid out on the mahogany table. Behind her the private library’s hearth roared with a fire, less for the balmy summer night and more for the Valkyrie’s comfort.

She muttered to herself, eyes roving over the marks she’d made, the strategy she’d detailed, the only chance at getting her mate back from Koschei’s clutches. It was risky, but with enough Valkyrie Units dispatched Gwyn could pull it off. All she needed was for Rhys to sign off on the emergency status that would allow her to lead such a large number.

Nodding, Gwyn stood up straight, admiring the plan once more. “I promised I’d never let anyone lock you away again,” she whispered to Azriel, hoping he could hear her across the bond they’d yet to accept. “I will keep my word, Shadowsinger.”

The doors squeaked across the room and the Valkyrie’s head whipped up to see Nesta striding in, her expression cautious as she no doubt tried to gauge Gwyn’s distress over Azriel’s abduction.

Gwyn gave the eldest Archeron a hesitant smile. “I think I have a plan. It just requires a little luck, and Rhysand’s approval of…”

“Gwyn, wait,” Nesta interjected.

But there was no time to lose, so Gwyn continued, “...emergency status so I can lead a…”

“Gwyn, please stop.”

“...unit of Valkyrie to help me…”

“Listen!” Nesta snapped.

Gwyn jerked back, eyeing her friend like a potentially threatening predator. She narrowed her eyes, prompting her to explain why she was so fiercely protesting Azriel’s rescue.

Nesta breathed slowly through her nose. “Gwyn, Rhysand is calling the Night Court’s forces to retreat. He won’t be dispatching any more units until the Healers have seen to the wounded and the High Lords are able to meet and discuss how to move forward.”

Blinking, Gwyn walked around the table towards her friend. “But… but he’ll make an exception for Azriel, won’t he? That’s his brother.”

Nesta’s throat bobbed. “No exceptions, Gwyn.”

“Well, then he must not be aware that Azriel has been captured,” Gwyn countered.

Because if Rhys knew Azriel had been captured he would do everything he could to see that he was brought home. He had worked so hard to ensure Azriel lived for the past five centuries, he wouldn’t stop now. And certainly not after he had succeeded in his covert maneuvers to guarantee Gwyn and Azriel met, that the bond snapped for his brother as it had for her. That the shadowsinger received the happiness he had so long deserved.

“He’s aware Azriel was taken, Gwyn,” Nesta said gently. “And he is still ordering the retreat.”

Gwyn felt her brows pull together, her jaw falling open as she struggled to process what Nesta was saying. “He… He wants to wait to rescue him until after the High Lords have convened?”

Nesta gave a single nod, then placed a comforting hand on Gwyn’s shoulder. “If all the High Lords decide rescuing Azriel is a priority for victory, then yes.”

If Azriel’s life was ‘a priority.’

A priority?

If?

Gwyn’s blood boiled, her brows slamming down. “He can’t be serious. If he knows it’s me leading the plan, he’ll make an exception. I’ll speak with him–”

But as Gwyn tried to step around Nesta, the eldest Archeron blocked her path. Her steely eyes were hard, but Gwyn could see a frown threaten to tug at her full mouth.

“Nesta…”

“Gwyn, I’m under orders to ensure you remain here in the House of Wind until we’re called into battle,” Nesta replied. “Rhysand wants you clear-headed when we move out eventually.” Then softer, “You’re to be sequestered here on the High Lord and Lady’s orders.”

Gwyn’s whole body began to tremble with energy, her eyes blazed.

First it had been Rhysand, now it was both Rhysand and Feyre.

And judging by the immovable set of her shoulders, Nesta agreed with her sister and brother-in-law. She would follow their orders.

“Nesta, get out of my way,” Gwyn said, her voice low.

Nesta swallowed, but held her friend’s skewering gaze. “I can’t, Gwyn. I understand you want to save Azriel, but I won’t let you sacrifice Valkyrie troops in the high of your mate-induced anxiety so you can hate yourself for it later.”

Mate-induced anxiety? What the hell was that? Whatever anxiety Gwyn felt was the result of the other half of her soul being held by Koschei, not the stupid mating-bond they hadn’t even accepted yet. This blazing, burning fury that lit her up from the inside out was all hers.

Wasn’t it?

“I know it feels normal. It’s going to feel natural,” Nesta said calmly. “The urge to turn the world to ash in order to save him, right? The anger that justifies you going to such extremes. It feels like any other decision. Like you’re choosing what to read for the night.” Lady Death shook her head. “It’s not. Once the haze clears, you may regret what you did in the heat of the moment, Gwyn.”

Gwyn shoved the words away, glowering at her friend now, “Maybe I will regret it.” She took a step forward so they were nearly chest to chest, “But I know I will regret letting Koschei kill Azriel because I was too scared to stand up to you and Rhysand.”

Nesta opened her mouth, her features shadowed with alarm, but Gwyn didn’t even let her get a word out before she grabbed her by the side of her neck, applying tension to the arteries she could feel beneath the pads of her fingers. She squeezed before Nesta could pry her hand off, and Nesta’s blood pressure rose till her eyes fluttered shut. Her body began to slump, but Gwyn caught her, carefully tilting her to lie on the rug by the table.

“I’m sorry, Nesta,” Gwyn said, grabbing a throw pillow from an armchair and lifting her sister’s head to rest upon it. “But you wouldn’t let anything keep you from Cassian either.”

Read the rest on Ao3

#gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #gwynriel supremacy #gwyn and azriel #acotar fanfiction #gwynriel fic #gwynriel fanfiction #ao3 #gwynriel weeks 2024

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separatist-apologist · 3 months

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Take Me Back To The Night We Met

Summary: Gwyneth Berdara wants nothing more than to return home and exact revenge on the courtiers who hurt her and killed her sister. Exiled to a distant temple, Gwyn finds herself at the mercy of a mysterious stranger offering to escort her home on orders from her eldest brother and king of the realm.

Unraveling the secrets of the strange soldier will prove more deadly than Gwyn could ever have imagined, setting into motion events that began nearly five hundred years before.

Happy @gwynrielweeksofficial!

TW for mentions of past sexual assault

Read on Ao3 | Chapter 1

Gwyn found herself seated before Merrill while Clotho stood just behind. It was another gloomy day, threatening rain which made the study seem darker by comparison. Merrill had books stacked so high they created walls within the four walls of her office and everything was claustrophobic. Gwyn knew she wasn’t supposed to fidget—both princesses and priestesses were expected to have a perfectly rigid spine.

Merrill was dragging this meeting out, watching Gwyn with that haughty suspicion she was all too familiar with. Eris could have picked her for a wife, Gwyn thought privately. They shared so much in common already. Gwyn could only imagine who he’d selected, certain it was some nightmare from the south looking to enhance her fathers power while tormenting the court.

Gwyn was going to beg her brother to let her take up residence at the sea palace. She’d put on her bravest, sunniest face, dance and smile and laugh, and then at the end of the festivities, swear she barely thought of Catrin at all and could she please spend a few months looking at the sea?

Maybe he’d be too busy trying to put babies in his new wife to care what she did. Gwyn very much doubted her other brothers had strong opinions on where she was or what she did. But she’d make sure they saw her, too. Smiling–happy. Alive, which was more than Catrin could say.

It wouldn’t matter if either of those things were lies.

As if they could tell the difference.

“Gwyneth,” Merril began, eyes focused wholly on Gwyn. The priestess was a beautiful woman—young, too, for someone so revered. It annoyed Gwyn that Merrill referred to her as Gwyneth—even Eris didn’t bother. Neither had their father, who had always called her princess in that mocking, sneering way of his.

Gwyn could have demanded Merrill address her properly. Could have made the priestess bow so low her nose scraped the stone floor beneath them. It was tempting and yet wrong all at the same time. Gwyn settled for fidgeting, holding Merrill’s gaze and daring her to say something about it.

“Your brother has released you from your service here,” Merrill continued, eyes narrowing. “You will leave with the knight tomorrow. We’ve packed you a few provisions but I wanted to discuss the books in your bedroom.”

Gwyn forced herself to maintain eye contact. “What books?”

Clotho offered up a wordless sigh, her fingers slowly moving through the air. Gwyn had never dared to ask what had happened to Clotho or why she didn’t speak. If it was natural or self-imposed, Gwyn couldn’t say. She wouldn’t have cared had it not been for those fingers of hers. They’d been purposefully broken by someone and it didn’t look as if they’d ever properly healed.

Merrill drummed her own fingers against the desk, clearly annoyed and unable to do much but wait.

Don’t leave as angry as you came in, Gwyn.

“Who says I’m angry?” Gwyn replied, adopting her sweetest voice. Clotho leveled a stare, not needing a word to call Gwyn a liar.

“Bring the books back before you go,” Merrill added snappishly. “They are not for you or the palace.”

“Everything in Ellesmere belongs to the king,” Gwyn replied, though this wasn’t a battle she wanted to fight. She knew she’d bring them back and Merrill must have, too, because she reclined back in her chair, a queen holding court before her subjects. Gwyn bristled but rose to her feet and inclined her head, making a mockery of the whole thing.

At least she could have the last word.

There was no chance Merrill didn’t write Eris ahead of time and give him her perspective of Gwyn’s time at the temple. Eris would be so irritated with her. What, she wondered, would his knight tell her brother, too? If she was difficult and unladylike, would that be held against her? If she had a nightmare, if she couldn’t keep a smile plastered to her face?

Gwyn made her way out to the vegetable garden, ignoring several hens pecking at the soil so she could plop onto a wooden bench. Only there, beneath that moody, gray sky, did she dare vocalize some of her frustration with a long, quiet scream.

No one ever came out here. It was reasonable to assume she was alone. But there he was, appearing seemingly out of the mist with a cocked head and curious eyes. “Heard the good news, did you?”

Gwyn toward the heavens. What have I done to displease you? “I still have a day before I’m remanded into your company,” she replied, unable to even pretend she was excited.

The soldier—Azriel—sat beside her, though he kept a respectable distance between them. “You’re the only person willing to speak to me.”

“The priestesses aren’t keen on men,” Gwyn replied, glancing over at him. He was too beautiful to be trustworthy, besides. It set her on edge, too—made her nervous though she was a princess and he was practically no one at all. Why should he make her nervous? He was injured if his limp was any indication and the cut across his throat was stark in comparison to the golden brown of skin. Gwyn would have bet his ribs were all taped up still and if she needed to, she could just outrun him.

Though he’d given her no reason to distrust him, Gwyn felt she had to be careful.

“I’ve noticed,” he replied, settling back to look up at the sky. “Your head priestess has refused my offers to sleep outside.”

“I don’t think that would help,” Gwyn admitted, a new thought coming to her. “Will it be just you and me on the road?”

He cut a glance in her direction. “Yes.”

Two options presented themselves, each offering a different, potent form of anxiety. Gwyn could refuse to spend another minute in this man's presence and stay at the convent, no longer her brother's ward but as an actual priestess. She’d have to give up the title that had protected her and the station she’d always intended to fall back on. There would be no Sea Palace, no visiting Catrin’s grave, no more of her brothers or the life she’d once known.

And she’d likely lose her position in the library. That seemed the most offensive to Gwyn.

But if she went with him, she risked violence. He was a stranger with a pretty face and Gwyn didn’t trust men. Even low born men felt they were owed something from women. Alone, on the road…who could stop him if he decided to take more than she was offering?

He didn’t seem interested in her internal warring, or at the very least, didn’t recognize what was happening. Having delivered the news, Azriel rose to his feet and began making his way further from the temple, unleashed and allowed. He didn’t look back, nor did he return to her long after the fog had consumed him.

What would Catrin do, she wondered?

Catrin would go home. She’d get out of this nightmare even if she had to claw her way out, and if Azriel was the only way to do it, Catrin was grit her teeth and figure it out. Gwyn could still boss him around, she reasoned. Could force him to stay on main roads, to rent rooms in taverns, to travel only during daylight. Gwyn had never quite managed the haughty, imperious nature of her siblings but perhaps she could try.

Maybe she could channel a little of Eris’s attitude just this once if it meant freedom.

At least, that’s what Gwyn told herself. Still, she barely slept that night, tossing and turning as she played out a million terrible scenarios and how she might react. Eris wouldn’t send someone cruel, would he?

No, not intentionally—but Eris also wouldn’t concern himself with whether Gwyn felt safe so much as he would concern himself with who could get her home the quickest. Clearly it was this man who, despite provoking the ire of some unknown assailant, had all but crawled to the temple and was apparently ready to go a mere day later.

Gwyn doubted Eris paid enough for that kind of loyalty. And still she packed up her things with a faint buzzing of excitement. She was leaving. Gods, but Gwyn would never have to see this place again, this prison dressed up as a religious institution. And the gods willing, she’d be home in a matter of days without any intention or returning.

Surely Eris could hand over the estate by the sea and allow her to have her own household. Gwyn would have to work on appearing chasetend, of course—like she’d learned some grand lesson and was now ready to be a member of their household.

It was the happiest she’d been since Catrin died. The entire mood of the temple was upbeat, something that barely wounded her. They were all excited to see her go, forgetting that once she was no longer there, they’d have to pick a new target for their ire. Absently, Gwyn wondered which of them it would be. Who would become the new scapegoat for everyone's dissatisfaction? Would they realize the problem had never been with her?

Doubtful.

The only person Gwyn felt compelled to truly say goodbye to was Clotho. She didn’t hate Clotho so much as she hated that Clotho upheld the rules her brother had obviously set in place. Standing before her in the library, a bag slung over her shoulder, Gwyn heard herself saying, “I’m sorry I was so difficult.” Clotho’s fingers were quick with a response. You were never difficult, Gwyneth. I hope you find healing, wherever you go.

Gwyn choked down the urge to cry, nodding her head and keeping her face impassive. “I appreciate that.”

There was nothing else. Azriel was waiting outside by the barn with leads to two horses looped around a gloved hand. Merril led Gwyn out, snapping out her displeasure over Azriel’s presence and how Gwyn had made a mess of her routine, her research—everything. It was only when they were nearly to the courtyard that Merril offered Gwyn any kindness at all.

“For you,” she said, pulling a small, pale blue box from beneath her cloak. “Don’t let him know you have it.” Gwyn looked up at the woman who could have been her mentor with surprise. There, nestled among soft velvet, lay a silver hilted dagger that curved in a wickedly lethal point. A flash of recognition passed between the two of them, gone so fast Gwyn blinked and nearly missed it. But there it was—two souls who, on some level, knew what kind of danger might be waiting for Gwyn.

And despite Merril’s dislike of her, she was seemingly unwilling to let Gwyn risk it all again without some kind of aid. Gwyn took it, unsure where she could even hide it and decided on her bag for the moment until she found something better. It would slice right through her pockets which, while an amusing image, was not the kind of stealth she was aiming for.

“Thank you,” Gwyn murmured but Merril had already turned, her job clearly done. That was all Gwyn was ever going to get and so, with a breath to keep herself from hurtling a bunch of unfair, hurtful accusations at the retreating priestesses back, Gwyn turned for the world outside.

It was another moody, miserable day made moodier still by Azriel’s flat expression. Gone were his casual, comfortable clothes, replaced by thick, black armored leather that looked frankly uncomfortable. Two lethal blades were curved behind his shoulders and a dagger was strapped to his thigh.

Where was his red cape, she wondered? That was the mark of all of Eris’s men, the red cape with the golden clasp marking the sunlight insignia of their family. Gwyn marched up to him intending to demand to know but Azriel cut her off. “No one can know we’re traveling, princess.”

Ass.

“Why not?” she demanded, yanking the reins of the one of the midnight black horses from his hands. Azriel let her, his eyes hot against her back.

“There is one of me and one of you,” was his level, near cold response. “I’d rather not find out what the King will do if I let his sister die on the road.”

“I doubt he’d care at all,” Gwyn said without thinking, the words slipping bitterly from her lips. Azriel glanced up at her, seated now in the well-oiled saddle, a question lingering in his gaze.

Wisely, he kept it to himself and instead swung a powerful leg over his own horse, the movement effortlessly graceful and strangely fluid. Hardly a common soldier, then, though not an elite warrior, either. He was something else, something she didn’t have any knowledge of.

That was likely for the best, all things considered.

“We’ll travel until nightfall,” Azriel began, digging his heels into the flank of his beast. Her own followed of its own accord, as though it had been given some silent command. Gwyn knew how to ride a horse—had been taught as a girl, like all good royals. She didn’t need his help.

“I won’t be sleeping outside,” Gwyn told him in the snottiest voice she could manage. Eris would be proud—she sounded just like him.

“I’m well aware,” Azriel replied without humor. “You’ll be locked in a tavern room. And before you get any ideas, princess, I will be just outside.”

“What ideas—”

“I’m told you run away. Often,” he added, those hazel eyes focused straight ahead.

Eris was such a cheat. Of course he’d warn this man, likely with veiled threats of what would happen if Gwyn slipped his grasp. The thought of trying occurred to her, though something in the set of his shoulders told her it was better not to try his patience. Clotho had never truly been angry with Gwyn. Impatient, frustrated, even irritated, yes. But truly angry? Never.

She had the feeling this man might raise his voice. Might yell. And he’d learn, if he did, that all her talk was merely bravado and beneath she crumpled easily. There was no Catrin to create a wall, to shield Gwyn from the tempers of the world while Gwyn sniffed, eyes welling with tears.

Even as a grown woman, anger so often provoked the sobbing reaction.

“Well. I’m trying to leave this place, not return to it,” Gwyn told him, some of that haughtiness gone. She had a good plan, one that seemed achievable and promised relief. Get home. Fake enough contrition that Eris stopped thinking about her, which was almost the same as his concern. And then, once he was in a good mood—perhaps the night before his wedding, when he was likely to be a little drunk and too focused on himself to think of his wayward siblings—ask for the Seaside Palace. Maybe, she reasoned, she could ask to just go for a while and acclimate herself back into royal life.

And once she was gone and no longer causing mischief, Eris would let her stay if only to have one less person to worry about.

“You want to return to the palace?” Azriel inquired, as though this was difficult to believe.

Gwyn twisted in her saddle, looking over her shoulder at the temple atop the hill, fading quickly in the creeping fog, its spindled fingers forever reaching for the sky without ever quite reaching. How was anyone supposed to feel human in a place dedicated to the gods?

“It’s my home,” she said softly, turning her eyes toward the paved road ahead, curving over lush, green hills that promised freedom. In truth, the palace had long stopped being her home and yet that was where Catrin’s ghost still lived, where half of Gwyn’s heart was buried. Perhaps she could fill the aching yawn stretching in her chest, could finally have some closure.

It was tempting, right then, to ask Azriel about court life. Some sick urge wanted to know who still lingered in those ornate marble halls. She never wanted to hear the names spoken and yet thought of them so often, wondering how their lives had gone, that Gwyn was constantly at war with herself. There was no outcome that would bring her peace because no matter what happened to them, Catrin was still dead and Gwyn was still alone.

Though, she supposed being allowed to kill them would be a close second.

Azriel asked her no more questions, settling into a comfortable pace. On occasion he stopped to let the horses graze and rest, but for the most part they rode in silence. It left Gwyn with too much time to think, and thinking very quickly turned to ruminating. She knew she couldn’t change the past and yet…if only she’d told Eris sooner. If only she’d kept what happened to herself. Catrin might still be alive and Gwyn wouldn’t feel so angry and hollow.

They’d been more than just sisters. Gwyn and Catrin had shared a womb, a body, a soul. Tilting her face skyward, Gwyn would have given anything to tell Catrin how sorry she was. And when a cool breeze fluttered against her overheated cheeks, Gwyn thought it was Catrin’s hand reassuring her everything was alright.

She tried to find contentment with that.

Azriel had promised her a room, and he managed to deliver. After what felt like miles of nothing, a dilapidated village appeared just as the sun began to dip, casting even weaker light over the gloomy world. Gwyn pulled her cloak a little tighter against her shoulders as they made their way through high, iron gates covered in curling ivy. The homes were made of stone and wood, the windows chipped and covered with boards to keep out the rainy chill.

It unnerved Gwyn how no one moved around. It wasn’t that late and yet had there not been flickering candle light behind some of the filth covered glass, she would have thought the entire village was inhabited by ghosts. The tavern Azriel promised had a rotted wooden sign banging about in the wind, unreadable from the elements.

Someone came out to meet them, taking the reins from Azriel wordlessly in exchange for a couple coins pressed into a weathered palm. Gwyn said nothing, keeping her hood over her head to obscure the auburn hair that would mark her as a Vanserra. Hers was darker than her brothers—more cinnamon and gold than true coppery red—and still something about it made people pause.

Azriel nodded for her to go inside, pulling the handle to a swinging door so she could duck beneath his arm.

“Say nothing,” he murmured, his lips barely moving. For once, Gwyn was inclined to do as she was told. Keeping herself close, Gwyn followed him over creaking wood boards toward a chipped and warped desk where an exhausted looking matron stood, her eyes fixed on the pair of them.

She’d been told not to speak, and so she didn’t. While Azriel asked for one room, his voice low and intimate, Gwyn took the opportunity to survey their lodgings for the evening. The tavern was just that—a tavern first, room for rent second. Exhausted bodies were hunched over tarnished cups and worn bowls of food, steam curling around wan faces. Gwyn was tempted and nervous all at once.

It was a room filled with unfamiliar people, the majority of which were men. Azriel spared her the agonizing, gloved fingers reaching for her elbow to tug her in the opposite direction toward narrow, spiraling stairs.

“I’m hungry,” she whispered.

Behind them, the door opened and two men stepped into the room. Like Gwyn, their faces were obscured by rather fine looking cloaks and yet she knew without seeing them at all that they didn’t belong. Azriel’s eyes slid over their frames without recognition, turning back to her as the two large, powerfully built men made their way toward the tavern.

“I’ll bring you something to eat,” he replied, level as always. “In your room.”

“Fine,” she hissed, though relief pierced her irritation. “I want a lot of it.”

He only shrugged, as though it didn’t bother him one way or the other. How much gold had Eris given him, she wondered? Enough to keep her fed, which was a relief. Food was a good substitute for feeling at time, and Gwyn was tired of how raw she felt. She’d eat, she’d bathe, and she’d go to bed.

After all. She was one day closer to home.

#these chapters used to be longer but i took out all the az pov #just to add a little mystery #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel shadowsinger

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c-e-d-dreamer · 9 months

Text

Does (s)He Make You Happy?

A/N: Happy Song Association Day of @nessianweek! This past year, on TikTok, I've discovered the band Tors and I've been obsessed with their harmonies and their music, and I'm in love with this particular song. This definitely came out angstier than I intended, but I hope everyone enjoys Rockstar Nesta :)

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“And when I turned back around, he was already almost halfway across the room. It was like a switch went off and suddenly he decided he could crawl now.”

The baby in Feyre’s lap lets out a giggle as though agreeing with the description of events, and Feyre leans forward to press a kiss to Nyx’s round cheek, bouncing him on her knees. The motion just has him giggling more, a wide grin pulling across his face and showing off the two teeth that have started to grow in on the bottom. He turns his head to blink up at Feyre, wide, blue eyes that match his mother’s.

“Just wait until he starts walking,” Nesta comments, taking another sip of her tea. “Then, you’ll really have your hands full.”

“Maybe… but then he’ll really be able to dance too. You know, he always bobs his head along whenever we put one of your songs on.” Feyre tickles Nyx’s belly, another round of giggles echoing off the walls of the sitting room while she coos, “you love Auntie Nesta’s music, don’t you?”

“Speaking of music,” Nesta begins, setting her tea back down on the low coffee table. “I do have to get going. Em, Gwyn, and I still need to rehearse a few more times before the show on Friday.”

“Of course,” Feyre agrees, standing up and settling Nyx on her hip. “Oh, I’m so excited for the show. It’s going to be so fun, and it will be nice to get out of the house for the night.”

“Already have a babysitter lined up?” Nesta asks, stepping out of the sitting room and winding her way down the hall toward the front door.

“More like finally have a babysitter lined up. Rhys is such a mother-hen. He must have combed through fifty different babysitter options before deciding one meets his standards.”

“Well, hopefully, you’ll both be able to relax at least for a few hours on Friday then. Thanks again for the tea.”

Nesta turns and offers her sister and nephew a final, soft smile before she tugs open the front door, but she freezes before she can step out of the house. Freezes when she sees the person blocking her path, fist already raised as if to knock.

He looks as good as the last time Nesta saw him. The late afternoon sun bounces off the dark strands of his hair, cutting shadows along his cheeks and jawline where the curls fall around his face. Those rays of sunlight bring out the golds of his hazel eyes, the swirling maze of greens and browns.

His eyes used to be one of Nesta’s favorite things about him. Even when they seemed to cut through her defenses like they were nothing, even when they seemed able to see her soul splayed out and on display in a way no one ever had, she could never help staring into those eyes. It was those eyes and that damned smile. The cocky smirk. The soft, almost private smile. The wide grin that was almost always followed by a deep rumble of laughter.

He’s not smiling now, though.

In fact, Cassian looks nothing short of bewildered, and Nesta can do nothing but watch his throat bob as he swallows hard, as his arm drops back down to his side. He has on his favored leather jacket, and Nesta knows all too well that if she were to run her fingers along the sleeve, it would be soft and worn beneath her touch. She knows that the scent of his cologne, of him, probably still clings to the collar. Pine and crackling embers and the wind before a snowstorm.

“Cassian. Andromeda. You’re early.”

The sound of her sister’s voice finally pulls Nesta away from her staring, and it’s then that she notices the woman standing beside Cassian. She’s pretty, all long legs and dark, curly hair pulled back into a high ponytail. Her smile is wide, easy, green eyes bright as she coos at Nyx cradled in his mother’s arms, the babe smiling in return with a familiarity that makes Nesta’s gut twist.

“Yeah, our last client ended up canceling, so we figured we’d just close up shop and head over,” the woman, Andromeda, explains, reaching out to tickle Nyx’s belly completely at ease.

“Nesta,” Cassian breathes like he’s not even listening to the conversation around him, like his only focus is her.

Nesta hates the way the sound of her name falling past his lips sends a shiver skittering up her spine, the way her heart skips and constricts between her ribs. She hates the way her whole body seems set on betraying her, a thousand words clogging the back of her throat and weighing heavy on her tongue, her blood practically buzzing and thrumming with the desire to be pulled right back into his orbit.

“So you’re the infamous Nesta,” Andromeda cuts in. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you and your band.”

“I’m sorry. I have to go.”

Nesta is sure that she’ll be receiving a text from Feyre about her cool and clipped tone, but she doesn’t care. She needs to get out of there. She shoulders past Cassian and Andromeda, quickly digging her keys out of her bag. She can feel Cassian’s gaze on her the whole time, can feel the way it practically burns a hole into her shoulder blades, but she doesn’t turn back. She merely clambers into her car and shoves the key into the ignition.

It’s only when she’s back in the safety of the parking lot for her apartment building that she finally releases the stuttering breath she was holding in. Finally gives into the emotion clanging and clamoring in her chest, gripping the steering wheel until her knuckles turn white and dropping her head down onto the leather.

If she closes her eyes, she can still feel the sheets tangled around her body and legs. Can still hear the words Cassian whispered in the darkness between them. Can still feel the ice that had sliced through her veins, the fear and anxiety that had swirled dangerously, the ringing that took up home in her ears.

She can still see the look on his face, the way his smile had dropped and those hazel eyes had dimmed, as she clambered off of the bed and started pulling her clothes on.

It’s like a ghost that won’t give up its haunt, a shadow digging its claws in until the wound continues to bleed and bleed, crimson red staining her fingers. She remembers the sound of bare feet on the hardwood as he followed her to the door, the words he spat as she slipped her shoes back on.

Yeah, do what you always do best: walk away. You know, for someone who claims to never want to be like her mother, you sure are just like her. Walls tall enough that what sane man would even bother trying to get through them.

She remembers the echo of the door slamming shut behind her, the silence that carved out the space between her ribs. She remembers the string of texts and voicemails that followed in the days after, each more desperate than the last.

Sweetheart, I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean it. Let’s just talk it out.

Nes, please. Just call me back. I was just angry, just lost my temper.

Fuck, Nes. Please. We don’t… we can just go back to the way it was before, okay? We can pretend I didn’t say anything.

With a sigh, Nesta slumps back against the seat, scrubbing the heels of her hands against her eyes and wishing she could scrub the memories just as easily. She snatches her bag from the front seat and slips out of the car, taking the elevator up to her floor. Thankfully, Emerie and Gwyn are both out until later, so she’s able to retreat to her room. She settles beneath a pile of blankets and tries to distract herself with her latest book, but her fingers itch and twitch until she finally caves.

It’s easy enough to find Andromeda on Instagram. Feyre and her little family, including Cassian, all follow her. Most of her posts are fitness Reels, tips for doing certain exercises, best exercises to hit each muscle group. There’s a post of glasses cheers-ing that’s captioned, ‘Just birthday things’ where behind one of the pint glasses, Nesta can see Cassian with his head thrown back laughing, and a more recent post is a gym selfie with him, both of them flexing their arms in matching Night Gains apparel. One of the highlights is labeled with just a pink heart, so Nesta dares to click that next, but after seeing the first Story with two green smoothies and ‘Smoothie dates > coffee dates,’ she decides that she’s seen enough.

Letting out a quiet huff, Nesta tosses her phone aside and does the one thing she knows will actually help. She grabs her guitar.

~ * * * ~

“I think it’s a full house out there,” Gwyn says excitedly, stepping over to Nesta and Emerie. “Definitely more people than our last show.”

Emerie clears her throat with a smirk, using a drumstick to gesture at her mouth. “You might want to fix your lipstick post-goodluck-kiss.”

Gwyn rolls her eyes, but she pulls her phone from her back pocket, using the camera as a mirror to do just that, sliding her thumb against the now smudged color. Nesta snorts amusedly and goes back to plucking each string of her guitar, tuning until she’s happy with the end result. The process is methodical and second nature, a soothing balm to her nerves that spark and jump at Gwyn’s earlier words. The bar isn’t exactly big, but even if they were performing to just five people, Nesta knows that her stomach would still twist with anxiety. No matter how many times they perform, the stage fright still sends her emotions swooping right before they hit the stage.

“Also…” Gwyn starts, turning her full attention to Nesta and offering a small grimace as she adjusts the strap of her bass across her shoulder. “You should probably know that—”

“Alright, everyone,” Cresseida’s booming voice cuts her off, the bar owner speaking into the microphone at the center of the stage. “Thanks so much for coming out tonight. Make sure you tip your bartender and give it up for The Valkyries.”

Cheers and applause echo around the bar, and Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn step out of the wings and onto the stage. Emerie steals a quick kiss from Cresseida before she settles behind her drum kit, knocking her sticks together to count them into the first song.

For a moment, as Nesta’s fingers strum the guitar strings with ease, as she steps up to the microphone to sing the first verse, everything else fades away. It’s just her and her chosen sisters and the music. The notes skitter across her skin. The melody sinks deep into her bones. And nothing else except this matters. Nothing else except the lightness that floods and warms her veins, the comfort that wraps around her limbs as sure as the music. Nothing else except the rush that comes from being up on a stage and doing what she loves.

As Gwyn sings the second verse of the song, Nesta’s eyes sweep over the crowd. It’s easy enough to find her sisters where they’ve claimed a set of tables at the very front near the stage. Elain is leaning back against Lucien, one of his arms secure around her waist while she films on her phone. Feyre is opposite her, Rhysand’s arm slung casually across her shoulders while she sings along to the lyrics. Nesta can see Azriel and his dopey smile while he watches Gwyn, can see Morrigan where she sways along to the music, a glass of wine poised in her hand.

And there, in the middle of their little group, is Cassian and Andromeda.

It takes all of Nesta’s willpower not to break, for her fingers not to slip on the strings, for her voice not to falter as she comes back in to sing the chorus with Gwyn. It doesn’t help that Cassian is already staring right at her, the hazel of his eyes glinting even through the harsh stage lights. A small smile pulls across his lips, almost sad, but Nesta refuses to dwell on it, refuses to dwell on him and their past.

Because if she doesn’t, she’ll be forced to think about the way his arms felt wrapped around her, the safety she’d found within that embrace. She’ll be forced to think about the way his lips felt pressed against hers, against her skin, the way his hair felt threaded through her fingers. She’ll be forced to think about the songs on the setlist that he got to hear first, back when they were little more than a jumbled mess of unfinished of lyrics and melodies, about how his hazel eyes always seemed to shine with what looked suspiciously pride while he smiled and told her the songs were amazing.

So instead, Nesta tears her gaze away from him and focuses on finishing the song. And then the next one. And then the next one. She makes it almost to the end of the set before she’s stepping away from the microphone and turning her back to the audience.

“I think we should do the new song,” Nesta explains, her eyes darting between Emerie and Gwyn.

“Are you sure?” Gwyn asks, keeping her voice quiet so the microphones won’t pick them up. “We’ve only practiced it like twice.”

“Twice is all we need. Em?”

Emerie shrugs her shoulders. “You know I’m always down for a little chaos.”

With a nod, Nesta slips her electric guitar off her shoulders, stepping over to the side of the stage and swapping it with her acoustic. When the strap is secure, she slides her fingers down the strings, giving the guitar a testing strum, before she steps back up to the microphone.

“So, we thought we’d slow it down a bit and play you a new song tonight,” Nesta speaks to the crowd. “Hope everyone likes it.”

More cheers and applause answer her, so Nesta starts to strum the opening chords, Gwyn stepping up to her own microphone to begin singing the opening verse. As the song continues to build toward the chorus, Nesta keeps her eyes closed rather than risk catching those hazel eyes again. She keeps her focus on steadying her breathing, on pushing her voice through the emotions that twist and twine around her chest like prickly vines.

“Does she make you happy? I heard she’s an athlete, a hit with your family. So what do I, what do I do? I’m more of a black sheep, the last one your friends meet before you get married. So what do I, what do I do?”

The lyrics flow as freely through Nesta as they did that day she penned the song, even as they threaten to clog up her throat at the same time. She can feel the familiar sting behind her eyes, feel the way her fingers have started to tremble, and as the song comes around to the bridge, she finally snaps her eyes open again, finally gives in to the bruised throb that is her heart.

“So what the hell am I supposed to do when I can’t find my heart because it’s lost on you? So what the hell am I supposed to say when I can’t catch my breath because you took it away?”

When the final chords of the song echo out around them, there’s a brief moment of silence before the crowd erupts into more cheers, Feyre’s declaration of ‘we love you, Nesta’ carrying over the cacophony. It has a small smile tugging up Nesta’s lips, gives her the motivation she needs to finish the final two songs in the set.

But as Nesta steps off the stage, the adrenaline, the high that comes from performing, fades like smoke in the wind. It leaves her chest feeling tight, a lump pressing hard enough against her throat that she can do nothing but swallow hard. She needs to get out of here. She needs air.

So, while Emerie and Gwyn excitedly exit the backstage area to join the crowds of the bar, Nesta turns on her heel and slips out one of the back doors and into the side alley. She leans back against the brick of the building, tipping her head up toward the inky sky overhead and greedily sucking down gulps of the chilled night air. She presses a hand against her sternum, against the thundering of her heart beneath her palm, and counts back from ten.

The sound of scraping metal has Nesta jolting upright again, her head snapping toward the door back to the bar. She watches as Cassian steps out into the night, letting the door fall shut behind him. He has his hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders raised as though he’s bracing for the worst. For a moment, there’s only silence between them, only the sounds of distant cars, of the bass thrumming from within the bar from the stereo system Cresseida turned back on.

Cassian opens his mouth before seeming to think better of it, clearing his throat instead. “That was a great set tonight. I especially like the new song.”

“Thanks,” Nesta tells him quietly.

“Who’s it about?”

Nesta rolls her eyes. “Not all of our songs are autobiographical.”

“You forget that I know you, Nes, and I know your writing style.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You used to like when I called you Nes.”

It’s true. He was always the only person she let get away with the nickname, the only one she didn’t chew out about using her proper name. And it was that nickname, whispered into her hair, their bodies pressed together, that always had goosebumps erupting across her skin. But she refuses to admit all that to him, refuses to give him any more parts of her heart to hold hostage. So instead, she narrows her eyes and scowls, crossing her arms.

“Isn’t your table missing you?” Nesta asks coldly, raising a pointed brow. “What are you doing out here with me when you could be with them?”

Cassian laughs wryly, crossing his own arms and matching her stance. “I doubt a single one of them even noticed I’m gone.”

“You think that lowly of your new girlfriend?”

“So, the new song is about me then?”

“You’re an arrogant ass,” Nesta sneers, daring to take a step closer to him.

“That’s why we ended things, right? I’m an arrogant, insufferable asshole who can’t hold his tongue, and you’re a stubborn, haughty witch who refuses to let anyone close.”

It’s dangerous territory, rehashing things, opening that door again, but Nesta’s blood blazes and sings. She’s itching for a fight, for another round of the push and pull between them that’s held taut like some sort of golden thread since the moment they met. From the fire she can see burning in Cassian’s hazel eyes, she knows he feels it too, but her heart is still too battered, too bruised and cracked, from that final conversation between them. It still twists and squeezes just standing here with him now, that she’s not sure it could take anything more. Not sure that she could survive a world where they go back to being friends, where she can stand on the sidelines and watch whatever is between him and Andromeda blossom.

So Nesta holds her arms tighter around herself and breaks their staring contest, turning her face away. “I don’t think you should come to my shows anymore.”

Cassian scoffs at that, drawing Nesta’s attention back to him. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Dammit, Nesta, I miss you. I miss us, even if you say there never was an us.” Cassian sighs softly, pushing a hand up and through his hair. “If the only way I get to see you is up on that stage, then so be it. I’ll take what I can get.”

The admission hangs in the night between them, Nesta unsure of how to respond to that. Words and feelings bubble up in her throat, clawing desperately for release, but she keeps her lips firmly pressed together. Cassian continues to watch her, but as the seconds continue to tick by, he lets out another sigh, turning back toward the door.

“She’s not my girlfriend, you know,” Cassian offers quietly, his hand resting on the door handle. “Andromeda. She just works at the gym as one of the trainers. In fact, I’m not even close to her type, which is why I introduced her to Mor.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t know,” Cassian mutters, shaking his head before finally turning to meet her gaze again. “Probably because you’ll always be the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Before Nesta can think twice about it, before she can talk herself out of it, she’s moving. It takes just a few short strides for her to crash into him, Cassian’s arms slipping easily around her waist and tugging her closer still. His lips find home against hers, and Nesta kisses him with everything she’s got, kisses him with the hunger, with the regret, with the longing, that’s been building inside her in their months apart.

The kiss is everything she’s missed. The slide of Cassian’s lips against her own. The hot press of his tongue into her mouth. The solid warmth of his body pressed against her. They fit together like puzzle pieces, like twin flames twining and burning up into the stars above, and some part deep within Nesta’s soul seems to sigh in relief, seems to unfurl like coming home.

She buries a hand into the soft, dark strands of Cassian’s hair, tugging until she draws a groan out of him, a thrill skittering up her spine at the way the sound reverberates through his chest, against her lips. Cassian’s own hands slide down to her thighs, hoisting her up and against him. Nesta wraps her legs around his waist, Cassian walking them until he can press her back against the wall of the bar, until their hips slot perfectly into place.

Nesta moans against him as she starts to rock her hips, her free hand sliding down his chest and bunching up his shirt until she can press her palm against the heat of his skin. Cassian tears his mouth away from hers, and Nesta lets her head fall back against the brick, expects him to press his lips to her neck, but his whole body tenses up instead.

Carefully, Cassian sets Nesta back down on her feet, taking a pointed step back and away from her. The loss of contact leaves Nesta feeling cold, an ache beginning to settle in her chest that has nothing to do with the chilly night air around them. She can feel the barbed words poised on the tip of her tongue, the defenses rising to cut before another blow gets close to landing.

“Fuck,” Cassian mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “This was the mistake we made last time. We fell into bed and it was all fun until you were literally walking out the door and refusing to speak to me again.”

“What?” Nesta asks, hating the way her voice sounds so small.

“I thought I could take whatever you’d be willing to give me, but I can’t… I won’t lose you again. I don’t want just sex. I want to do this right. I want there to be an us.”

There’s a desperation, a pleading, to Cassian’s expression, to his tone, as he steps closer again. He reaches up and gently tucks a strand of Nesta’s hair behind her ear. It’s a soft gesture, one that has Nesta’s breath catching in her lungs, has her heart tripping over itself for a beat.

“Let me take you on a date, a proper one,” Cassian begs quietly, dipping his head down enough that he can press his forehead to Nesta’s.

Nesta has to swallow hard before she’s able to find her words again, but she raises a hand to cup his cheek. His eyes flutter closed at her touch, turning his head to lean further into her palm. She smiles softly up at him, and Cassian’s answering grin is that private one she’s beginning to suspect is only for her. The sight of it after so long sends her heart soaring, sends butterflies cascading and swooping in her gut.

“Alright. It’s a date.”

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck

#nessian #nessianweek2023 #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #my fic #Spotify

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elettralightwood · 1 year

Text

happy valentine's day 🌈🤍

This day is not only for romantic couples, it's for families, for friends and for self love also. I just wanted to celebrate with the couples that fucked up my standards in romantic love cause how can someone ever get to their level?

"So I'm your first ever Shadowhunter, huh?" Alec said when they separated at last.

"You're my first so many things, Alec Lightwood."

- Alec & Magnus

"Every time I think I'm missing a piece of me, you give it back."

- Jace & Clary

"Simon, don’t you think I’m scared of that too? You’re not the only one on that ledge. If we jump, we jump together. We fall together."

- Izzy & Simon

"I could not have loved Will so much if I had not loved you as well. And I could not love you as I do if I had not loved Will as I did."

- Tessa & Will & Jem

"You may hide here with me, if you wish."

- Gabriel & Cecily

"I see it," Gideon said in a low voice. "I am not blind, and we are a people of many scars. I see it, but it is not ugly. It is just another beautiful part of the most beautiful girl I have ever seen."

- Gideon & Sophie

Kissed her in such a way that she no longer felt plain, or conscious of her hair or the ink spot on her dress or anything but Henry, whom she had always loved. Tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks, and when he drew away, he touched her wet face wonderingly.

"Really," he said. "You love me, too, Lottie?"

- Henry & Charlotte

"As long as you exist and I exist, I will love you."

- Julian & Emma

"We will never leave you,” said Mark.

“We will stay as close to you as the tide to the shore,” said Kieran. “Neither of us wishes for anything else.” He reached out a hand. “Please believe us, Lady of Roses."

- Cristina & Mark & Kieran

"Every single minute I've spent with you has been my real life. And even on Wrangel Island, a better life than I ever had without you."

- Helen & Aline

"Tell me," Kit said. "Tell me what you need."

"Put your arms around me," said Ty. His hands were pale blue blurs in the air, as if Kit were looking at a time-lapsed photo. "Hold on to me."

- Kit & Ty

"It is as I knew," he said. "When I saw you upon the stairs of the Institute, and I saw the fire in your eyes, I knew you were the bravest woman ever to set foot on this earth. I regret only that such a fearless soul was ever hurt by the ignorance and fear of others."

- Gwyn & Diana

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dawneternal · 2 months

Text

Part 2

⊹ A modern Gwynriel College AU

⊹ Summary: Nesta has been trying to throw Azriel and Gwyn together for a while now. When a group project comes along, Nesta snags Az for their group so the pair are finally forced to interact.

To make matters more complicated, Gwyn accidentally sends the wrong document to the group, replacing the writing assignment with a smutty chapter of fanfiction.

Things only bloom from there, forcing Gwyn to either let down her walls or lose a friendship that has become important to her.

Prepare for fluff, angst, classic college tropes, and some cheesiness

⊹ Notes: Sorry this one is pretty short. But don't worry, the next chapter is like triple the length.

⊹ Warnings: Gwyn has a panic attack

⊹ Word Count: 1k

⊹ AO3 Link

Gwyn woke to no new notifications on her phone. That unsettled her more than any teasing responses would have. She wanted to stay in bed and hide from the world until the pain of her mistake faded. And avoid any inevitable interactions that would come from it. But she willed herself to get up and change, braid her hair, and head to her favorite campus cafe for breakfast.

They only served their giant cinnamon rolls on Friday mornings and there was not many things that could keep her from getting one. This was her Friday ritual - spending a couple hours with whatever book she was obsessed with and one of her worn notebooks, complete with a hot mocha latte and a cinnamon roll.

As she settled into her booth, she let out a happy sigh, glad she went out after all. It was chilly, overcast, and rainy. Perfect for a cozy breakfast and an afternoon nap. The fireplace in the far corner crackled, soft music playing throughout the room.

All of this pleasantness was interrupted by a booming voice calling her name.

“Berdara!” Connor called from across the cafe, “What the fuck was that email? You'll never hear the end of this!”

He was laughing hard at his own cleverness, at this gift that would supply him with months of material. He turned back to his friends, most likely explaining the joke, as they turned toward her a moment later and howled with laughter. The cashier snapped something in their direction and the group of them shuffled out into the cold.

Gwyn sat still, frozen. This was exactly what she didn't want. Connor would make good on his promise and she knew it. Boys like him were not easily deterred, only spurred on by protests. She had handed him an opportunity on a silver platter and there was no way he wouldn't take it.

This was feeling too familiar. This was feeling very, very bad.

“Hey,” A softer voice met her ears. Gwyn turned and found herself looking up into kind hazel eyes.

“You saw that?” She asked, a lump forming in her throat. She willed herself to keep it together, but her body did not seem to be listening. Her heart hammered, fingers numbing as reality drifted away.

“Yeah, I thought I would check on you,” Azriel said, smile fading as he watched her struggle to get enough air. In spite of herself and her pleading, Gwyn's face crumpled.

“Oh, no, hey hey hey,” Azriel swiveled, dumping his things on the table. He gently picked up one of her hands and guided her from the seat. Then he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and led her out the side door of the cafe.

Gwyn could barely see through the blur of tears, but she found herself sitting beside Azriel on a bench in some shaded corner. The world seemed a little bit quieter, here, and she could finally take a deep enough breath.

“Don't listen to him,” Azriel said, his voice low and soft, “He's an idiot.”

“I'm guessing you opened the document,” Gwyn said between sniffles, keeping her gaze on the grass. Though when a tanned hand entered her field of vision holding a tissue, she took it.

“I will say you had me hooked with that subject line,” Gwyn could hear the laughter in his voice, “I was curious. But I figured it out pretty fast and stopped reading.”

Gwyn groaned and buried her head in her hands. At least he didn't bring up any details. Like how the character she had written about was tall and muscled with dark curly hair.

“Hey, it's okay,” He said, so kindly it made her chest ache. “We've all done stuff like that before.”

She looked up to give him an incredulous look, and for a moment Azriel's breath caught in his throat. He was not often the sole subject of her gaze but it left him speechless every time. Even if she was scolding him with her teal eyes, telling him she didn't believe him. He blinked a few times and tried to pull himself back together.

“Seriously,” His lips spread into a crooked grin, “Once Cassian sent a nude to his aunt.”

“Oh,” Gwyn smiled at her lap, “Okay, that's pretty bad.”

“What if I do something embarrassing to make you feel better? Then it'll be even between us.”

Gwyn tilted her head at him, studying his face for any teasing, any spark of something non genuine. But his face was open and honest. And far more alluring than she wanted to admit. Perhaps that's why she pushed away the thoughts of wondering why he would bother to do that for her. It didn't matter why. She wanted to take the opportunity anyway.

“This is worth more than one embarrassing thing. A hundred, maybe.” She shook her head, biting back a smile and trying to look solemn. It almost startled her how easy he was to talk to. This was not a trait she encountered often.

“What about three?” He said, matching her solemnity, gaze burning into her.

“You actually mean it?”

“Of course I do,” He grinned, and Gwyn noticed his dimples for the first time. Of course he had dimples.

She thought for a moment, wondering what thing she could propose first that might make him squirm.

“For the first one, can I put eyeliner on you before class?” She squinted, waiting to see if he'd scoff and protest. His grin only spread.

“Sure,” He chuckled. “You intend to take my offer, then?”

“We'll see how the first one goes.”

She looked away, needing a break from the intensity of his stare. She had definitely not suggested eyeliner just to see if it would make his golden eyes pop even more. Certainly not.

Instead of looking back at him and risking a blush, she took in the little corner he had brought her to, behind the cafe. They sat side by side on a worn wooden bench, facing the lawn that stretched between the cafe and the library. No sidewalk passed through here, shielding the spot from foot traffic. Two trees intertwined above them, showering the pair in jewel-toned foliage with every breeze.

“How'd you know about this spot?” Gwyn asked.

“I know all the best spots on campus to have panic attacks,” Azriel said, smiling softly.

“You showed up at a good time.”

“You have Friday morning cinnamon rolls to thank for that.”

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theladyofdeath · 10 months

Text

Lady Death's Lover {V}

Lady Death's Lover Masterlist & Summary

19th Century Period AU Nesta x Cassian Secret Affair / Enemies to Lovers / Forbidden Romance Fanfiction / Characters from Sarah J Maas / ACOTAR Based on a prompt sent in by anonymous

A/N: This chapter is slightly NSFW. No one under the age of 18 should be reading this story. Thank you to everyone who reads, comments, likes, and/or reblogs! I'm glad you're enjoying the story and hope you continue to do so! x

TW: marital abuse, sexual content, language, depression, alcohol abuse

This story is for readers 18+. Mature readers only. Content should not be read by anyone under 18.

Dear Emerie,

I hope you’re enjoying your time away. Just know that we miss you here in the city, but I hope your travels are everything you want them to be. I cannot wait for you to return and tell Gwyn and I all about your thrilling endeavors. She is convinced that you have found someone in which your soul cannot live without, but I have assured her that it is nothing more than a foreign fling.

I cannot wait to see who is right!

To answer your very thoughtful questions, I am doing just fine. You know how Tomas is, but he is busy with his business and I find peace in the distance that brings between us. I have found myself wondering one thing — what is it like to attend a ball as an unmarried lady? We used to have little get-togethers in my village, of course, but nothing as grand as the balls in Velaris. I used to love to dance and each time I attend one of these gatherings I cannot help but daydream of dancing once again. Of course, it is not common for a married lady to dance, and Tomas would never. It is a lovely thought though, isn’t it? I know you are content with your life as a spinster (which I admire), but even you love a good turn about the dancefloor.

Perhaps one day I will be privileged enough to just get a tease of what it is like.

Write back soon. Be safe. We miss you!

With Love,

Nesta

I hate luncheons. Especially women-only luncheons. The only perk is that I don’t have to attend them with Tomas, but that is by far the only perk. All of these women think they’re better than me and each other. Every one of them has something shoved so far up their asses that I’m surprised they can still walk.

They’re all talking about their husbands, how amazing they are, how perfect their lives are, but I can’t seem to contribute to the conversation. I may be forced to be here by my husband but I’m not about to praise his name.

As I sip my lemonade, I let my mind drift back to where it’s been, repeatedly, constantly, for the past week. Ever since he left my home, ever since I ran into him outside just after midnight, the image of him has been branded into my mind. It doesn’t matter if I’m awake or asleep, I can see his face, his smile, the intense look in his eyes as he looks at me. I can hear him saying my name, voice low and rough, like no man has ever said it before.

I’ve dreamt of him, fell asleep every night to these fantasies that I can’t control.

They started off seemingly innocent, the two of us dancing, touching tentatively, doing nothing more than following the same steps that everyone knows, getting lost in the music as we stare into one another’s eyes. That innocence didn’t last long; it quickly escalated.

Last night had me writhing in my bed, needing friction, needing release, needing something far greater than what my fingers could offer. I worked myself roughly, imagining my fingers were his, imagining his cock was hard and inside me, pounding into me again and again, recklessly.

I was no virgin when I married Tomas, and although he would claim otherwise, my husband in full denial, that means I know what I like. Laying with Tomas is a chore, one that I have never enjoyed, one that never lasts long or gives me any sort of satisfaction. I know what I like in bed, what I like from a man, and I have no doubt that a man like Lord Cassian can give me just that.

Not that it would ever happen.

Of course. I am a lady, the wife of a renowned lord, and a woman of high society would never act so immorally.

I can dream, though. I can let those unholy thoughts fill my mind, imagine a man like Lord Cassian exploring every inch of my bare body while I fall into a state of utter ecstasy.

“Lady Nesta?”

My eyes snap up and meet the Lady Cresseida’s from across from me. Her smile is sly and I’m tempted to match it with one of my own, but I don’t.

“Are you well? You look a little flush,” she continues, mockingly.

“I am feeling a little under the weather,” I confess. A complete lie, but if they’re asking, I may as well take advantage of it. “Perhaps I’ll take my leave.”

They all nod in farewell, but I know that none of them care. I, however, am overjoyed at the excuse to leave. I make haste, wasting no time as I rise to my feet and stride out of the home in which the luncheon is being held.

The second I’m in my carriage, I call for my driver to take me home.

The long way.

But, it’s always the long way. I stopped asking a long time ago. Now, they just take me home the long way when I’m by myself. They just think I enjoy the scenery, find peace in a ride by myself in the quiet. Or, perhaps they know the truth, that I loathe my husband and hate being in his presence, in his home, our home, and they just keep quiet about it.

I wonder what the help talks about when they’re alone, when they’re in their own quarters, far away from us. I wonder if they truly hate me, if they hate Tomas. I wonder what they think of our marriage, if they know it’s as awful as it truly is.

I’ll never know. I’ll never ask. Either way, I’m grateful that they drive me the long way home.

As soon as the wheels begin wobbling down the cobblestone, I lean back against the bench and close my eyes. The velvet lined seats are soft enough to relax on, and the moment I’m comfortable, I let my mind wander.

Back to him.

His hands.

His cock.

I know I’m pitiful, know that these fantasies mean absolutely nothing and the reality of my life, my marriage, is still in shambles. But they’re a small reprieve, because if I cannot control my reality, at least I can control my thoughts to a certain extent.

Those thoughts drift to Lord Cassian.

We don’t know each other and we surely never will. Perhaps that’s what makes him the perfect candidate for these fantasies, for these wandering thoughts. He’s a stranger, one that I’ve gotten a feel for, certainly, but still a stranger.

I wonder what he looks like nude. I’ve tried to imagine it many times, have pictured what I thought, but I imagine it doesn’t compare to the reality of his body. He’s muscular, of that I have no doubt, and the part that matters most is long, thick, and wielded like a weapon.

I don’t even realize that I’m inching up my skirts until my hand has made its way into my undergarment and the tip of my finger grazes my throbbing clit. I circle it slowly, biting my lip to keep myself silent. I’ve touched myself more in the last week than I have in the last decade but I have no shame.

It’s hard to feel shame when your senses are alive and thriving.

Sex is not bad. It is not a sin to feel desire, although my husband would claim otherwise. In fact, he claims that women should find no pleasure whatsoever when it comes to sex, which seems to be the reason why the focus is never on me when he visits my room. No, he does what he likes until he gets off, having no idea how to truly please a woman.

Lord Cassian — the man I have made up in my mind this last week?

He knows how to please a woman.

He knows how to leave her gasping, screaming, how to make the eyes roll back in her head. He knows how to make her back arch, how to make her toes curl, how to make her cry out for the gods, the Mother, the Cauldron. He knows how to make that little feeling, wild and unruly, go mad in the pit of a woman’s stomach until she can no longer contain herself, until her heart is bursting out of her chest and she’s seeing stars.

He knows how to make a woman find release and he doesn’t stop until she’s found it.

I grip the plush velvet seat cushion as I squeeze my legs together, trapping my hand within. We hit a bump in the road and I jolt, but it only adds to the madness that I’m currently drowning myself in.

My other hand joins my first and I pump two fingers deep inside of me, working in tandem with the one still making joyous circles over that sensitive bundle of nerves. A long string of words falls from my mouth in a devout whisper, words that would bring shame to my husband and his name, words that no lady should voice but I cannot help it.

His face is in my mind, his smile unfurling behind my closed lids. His body is bare and his hands are roaming my body, every stripped inch of me. I call out his name and he urges me on, thriving on my indecent vocalization.

Within the confines of my coach, I throw a hand over my mouth to muffle what I cannot control while I find my release with those loyal, fervent fingers of mine. I keep moving until my body grows limp, that intensity that makes me feel alive fading into nothingness yet again. I smooth out my skirts and lean back against the bench, fighting to catch my breath.

I wonder if my driver suspects anything but find that I don’t care. No one would ever dare tell Tomas, would not dare anger the Lord Mandray.

No one would be that idiotic. It would be a death sentence, the messenger every bit at fault as I.

I can’t help myself. I laugh.

I break into such a fit of laughter that I fear I’m going insane, but oh, it feels so good to laugh!

I laugh until tears are rolling down my cheeks and my sides begin to hurt, and it’s only when I collect myself that I realize it was the first time I had laughed in a long, long while. It feels good to laugh, as mad as I may seem. There is something utterly triumphant about feeling pure, demented joy.

Staring out the window, I watch Velaris pass by as we make our way back to House Mandray. By the time we arrive, all of my wonderful, demented joy has faded.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Cassian

“What do you mean you’re not going?”

We’re sitting around Azriel’s dining room table, feasting on roasted chicken, when my brothers decide to insert themselves into my personal business, yet again.

“I’ve been to two balls this season.” I sigh, stabbing a carrot. “I don’t need to attend another.”

Azriel and Rhys look at one another, concern written plainly on their faces, but I pretend I don’t see it.

“Besides,” I continue, “none of the ladies have caught my eye this season. It is a waste of time.”

“But you love to dance,” Azriel says, the same time Rhys says, “but you love to drink.”

It’s true. I adore both of those things, but I know where the next ball is being held, and even I am not courageous enough to step foot into the Mandray’s house again.

Nothing untoward happened with Nesta and I in the garden, but it was inappropriate, nonetheless. I was a little tipsy after my closed door meeting with Tomas, but I still had my wits about me. I know that I should not have been alone with Nesta, but I couldn’t stop myself.

From the moment I saw her under the starlight, I was gone.

“I thought your meeting with Tomas went well,” Rhys pushes, buttering his roll. The same roll that he’d already been buttering for over a minute.

“It did,” I say, and leave it at that.

They, however, will not leave it at that.

“Then this has to do with the wife,” Azriel says, mouth full of potatoes.

It’s only the three of us.

Manners be damned.

Across from him, Rhys’ eyes light up and swivel back in my direction. “Ah, the wife. Lady Mandray. Did you come on to her again?”

I drop my knife and fork with a clatter and rub my temples. “No, I did not flirt with Nesta.”

“Nesta?” They both repeat in unison, and I instantly realize my mistake.

“Lady Mandray,” I correct myself using her formal title, “and I simply do not see what she has to do with my absence.”

“You have always been a terrible liar,” Rhys quips, clearing his plate. “But, if you wish to live in a state of deception, so be it.”

“I’m not—” I take a deep breath before I can let my frustration take control. I’ve always been prone to anger, as much as I loathe the fact. “I’m not lying. I simply do not wish to attend a party when I can be home, working.”

Drinking in solitude is more like it, but that’s beside the point.

“Work is all well and good but you must allow yourself to have fun every now and again,” Azriel says, his tone as skeptical as Rhysand’s. “Besides, haven’t we established that it’s about time you marry?”

“If it’s time I marry, it’s time we all marry,” I grumble.

Azriel suddenly looks horrified while Rhys chokes on his wine. I know that neither of them are ready to be a husband, although we are all quickly approaching our third decade of life. Rhys sometimes pretends that he is, but when it comes down to it, I cannot even imagine him with any of the women of the ton.

No young lady could handle Rhysand.

Azriel is different. I cannot tell if he’ll ever marry. It’s not that he has never been in a relationship or that he is incapable of love. He loves stronger than perhaps anyone I have ever known. I’ve always felt that is the very reason why he keeps himself so guarded. The only people he’s ever truly let get to know him are me, Rhys, Mor, and Amren. There was a time when he pined after Mor, but that was so long ago.

“I am perfectly content as I am,” I go on, trying to convince them or myself I am not certain. I pick up my silverware yet again and make another attempt at finishing my supper. My carrots have gone cold. I hate cold carrots.

“Back to the ball,” Rhys says, sitting back in his chair and stretching out his legs. “You’re going.”

“I am not going.”

“If you’re not going, then we do not go. If we do not go, we will be sad.”

“Your sadness is none of my concern.”

“Now you’re just being mean.” Rhys pours himself another glass of wine while Azriel’s eyes swivel between us. “If this is about Lady—”

“Lady Mandray is none of my concern.” Perhaps I should have waited for his sentence to end before mine began, but I have never been good at holding my tongue.

“If she is none of your concern, then you will join us,” he says, smoothly, and he knows he’s already won before I even begin to resign. “We will drink their champagne and dance across their perfectly polished floors until sunrise while we are still young enough to do so.”

Azriel finally finishes his third plate of food and sits back with a groan as I sigh. “You’re intolerable.”

“He takes that as a compliment, you know,” Azriel murmurs, and I’m afraid he’s correct. There’s always been a darkness to Rhysand. Not an evilness, never evil, but a certain…edge. A certain slyness, a manipulation of sorts. In another life, I’m convinced he ruled his own kingdom.

Kingdoms.

“I will join you,” I say, at last, and Rhys grins as he dwells in his victory.

I, however, feel nothing but unease. The thought of seeing Lady Nesta again so soon both excites and revolts me. I haven’t been able to get her face out of my mind, haven’t been able to shake that feeling that I had when I spoke to her.

Even though I was lost and she surely thinks me a fool.

No matter. She can think me a fool as long as she’s thinking of me.

The Mother knows I’ve been thinking about her.

#nessian #period au #regency au #19th century au #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #acofas #fanfic #fanfiction #au #sjm

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fieldofdaisiies · 9 months

Text

gwyn x balthazar | 1,5k words | warnings: mention of post trauma | masterlist

~three months before~

She has been running for only the Mother knows how long, her feet and calves aching fiercely. Her footsteps crunch on the forest ground, and she comes to a stop. For a moment, it is only the rustle of leaves and the chirping of birds that surround her.

For a split second, the priestess allows herself to pause, listening to the sounds around her, the warrior's clothes she had taken earlier weighing heavily on her, the shoes too big for her feet.

She can hear the ragged breaths that leave her, her chest heaving with deep inhales, her heart rapidly hammering against her rib cage.

Gwyn bends a little at the waist, hands braced on her knees in order to regain her strength.

In the corner of her eye there is a sudden movement, she can’t make out what it is, but a twig snaps and makes her alarm bells ring. And Gwyn is immediately on high alert. A surge of energy courses through her body, and makes her forget about the pain in her legs.

She straightens her back, rolls back her shoulders. Gwyn turns to look around her, trying to make out any possible danger that could be coming for her, but there is nothing.

So, the young priestess allows herself to draw in a deep breath, and then her eyes fall to the bracelet on her wrist — it is glowing. Memories of how they made them, of her friendship to Emerie and Nesta, bubble inside of her, and despite the chaos that unfolds around her, she finds herself smiling.

This bracelet has power that is beyond her. The bracelet shows her where she needs to go, it guides her, it leads her back to her friends. But not only the bracelet. There is also the tug on her chest, this pull, that is guiding her into a direction she follows. It came as a little shock at first, but the Mother knows what she is doing. The Mother won't fool her, she knows this, she can rely on her, so she follows.

Gwyn sets out once again. She is running, and in that moment Gwyn has never been more happy and fortunate to have the long legs that she does, helping her manoeuvre through the forest. Despite the warrior’s clothing, Gwyn's lithe figure displays nothing but power and elegance, her expression eager and determined, as she races through the area surrounding Ramiel.

Her and her friends will make it out alive — she knows this. “We will make it out”, Gwyn tells herself, her voice a hushed whisper to not attract any attention. “Emerie, Nesta and I will make it out alive. We will have more sleepovers, and we will prove our strength to the general and the shadowsinger.” Their proud faces flash in her mind for a second and Gwyn saves the image in her memory.

Determination fills her entire being, and is etched upon her features. Her hands form fists, as she keeps running. The young priestess propels herself over the tree trunk, fuelled by both anger and anxiety over being in her, yet driven by determination to get out.

Time seems to slow for a second, her feet are in the air for too long. She has not seen the small slope behind the trunk, has jumped without thinking, doing her best to put as much distance between herself and what was back where she had come from, her instincts guiding her every move. But now…she is falling. Falling and Falling.

Until—

Gwyn's breathing halts, her eyes closing when her body collides with a wall of muscles.

She crashes into an unsuspecting male, their bodies colliding with an impact that sends them both flying towards the ground. The harsh landing never comes for Gwyn, the male beneath her cushions the impact, a low groan parting his lips.

Gwyn's heart pounds, she tries to lift herself up, pushing off his chest but a strong arm wraps around her shoulders.

Gwyn's alarm bells start to ring, blood rushing in her ears, as her heart speeds up. Her mind becomes a whirlwind of panic and fear, his arm so strong, his chest so hard.

Anguish settles into her gut, making her feel helpless for a moment. But still, despite the chaos around them, she hears his voice — low, and husky, almost velvety.

"Stay down," he cautions, his hot breath fanning her face.

There are loud footsteps nearby, but slowly they get calmer, fading into the distant noises of chirping birds and the wind blowing through branches and leaves.

Gwyn squeezes her eyes shut, trying to implement the Valkyrie breathing techniques. She draws in a deep breath, holds it, exhales. She does it again, but her mind won’t let her rest. She exhales, and finally opens her eyes to look at who she landed on.

The first thing she sees is the gash down the male's face who is beneath her. It looks painful and quite terrible, making Gwyn wonder how he is still alive, how his head is still attached to his body.

But then, her senses alert her once again.

She tries to suck in a sharp breath, tries to hold it, blowing it out again, but her chest trembles, her fingers shaking. Nothing will change the fact that she is pressed against the front of a male, his arm around her.

Her heart is beating rapidly in her chest, a mix of nervousness and angst coursing through her veins.

She feels his protective arm tight around her, offering comfort and a sense of security amidst the danger that surrounds them. But it does not comfort her. It only makes a ton of memories bubble up inside her mind. And even despite his boyish charm, and the kindness etched upon his features, she is scared of him.

He is just an Illyrian brute like all the others — not like Azriel and Cassian. More like the bad males, those who mean harm, those who…

The male beneath her must sense her discomfort and slowly pulls back his arm.

"You saved my life," he breathes, his eyes full of admiration and wonder as he glimpses up at Gwyn. "You saved me." Gratitude laces his voice, his lips parted, as his chocolate brown eyes trail over Gwyn's face.

His words reach her, stirring emotions she didn't expect. Her breath catches, and she shivers. Anxiety gnaws at her, panic blooming in her chest, the closeness to a stranger awakening memories of the past within her. Memories so dreadful and so…

Her mind races, thoughts whirling…there are so many and so much pain. She feels the hurt all over her body.

"Calm down, we are safe."

The male turns his head a little, the footsteps and all other sounds gone now.

But Gwyn can’t calm down. There is nothing about this situation that would calm her. And him saying this, a male telling her to be calm, to just… It brings up all the memories, and makes her body shudder.

She wants to get up, gain control over the situation. Her need to break free intensifies. She musters the strength to push up a little bit, knees wobbly, hands shaking.

And in the tumult of her mind, danger still lurking behind every corner, her thoughts are abruptly cut off by the Illyrian brute, "Your eyes remind me of the ocean. They are stunning, endless and deep, beautiful."

He looks into her eyes, but Gwyn can't hold his gaze any longer, too many memories bubbling up, filling her brain and every fibre of her body. She thinks, her head pounding fiercely, filled with too many thoughts. And within this whirlwind of thoughts, there are Emerie and Nesta – she needs to find them. She needs to be reunited with her friends. With her family.

But then—

The male's hand slowly lifts again, landing on Gwyn's lower arm, squeezing. This is when her alarm bells start to ring even louder, her heart speeding up.

"Thank you so much, really," he says again.

Gwyn's whole body convulses. It is too much, too many thoughts, too much pain that comes back to her and mingles with the memories of the war.

"Tell me your name, please?" His voice is only a whisper then, and Gwyn can barely hear him over the blood rushing in her ears. "Am I allowed to know your name?"

But Gwyn rips her arm out of his hold, jumping up onto her shaking legs, tumbling a little, nearly toppling over and when a sob parts her lips, she starts running.

One last time, she looks over her shoulder. "I can't," she whispers, tears streaming down her cheeks, the tug at her chest, so harsh and fierce she is worried that her rib cage will break into two halves. But she keeps running, pushing past her limits. To finally get where she wants to. She has been watching the beast of the Illyrian mountains for so long, now wanting to make use of it, to save her friends. To save her family.

~~~~~~ tag list: @a-frog-with-a-laptop @brekkershadowsinger @moonlightazriel @callmeblaire @headcanonheadcase @waternymphia @autumndreaming7 @devilsfoodcake22 @readercacau @sv0430 @bubybubsters @cyntia-ktn

#gwyn berdara #gwyn x balthazar #balthazar acotar #acotar #acosf #acourtoffateandhealing #acofah

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julemmaes · 5 months

Note

prompt for nessian: nesta and gwyn come to pick up emerie from a frat party (idk why) but the only way for them to leave is for nesta and gwyn to beat eris and balthazar at beer pong. cassian wants to tell eris to fuck off but nesta has it handled

The way I've been playing with this prompt in my head since you sent it it's embarrassing. The amount of ideas I got for this, stop me rn

Also I posted another Nessian lil thingie yesterday night in case you missed it

Word count: ~2.3k

The loud music coming from inside the frat house was making the windows shake and the faint rumble of the glass had Nesta grimace in disgust.

She didn't hate drunk people, she certainly loved music and she'd have kissed someone's feet if there was even the slight chance they could free her from the awful torment that finals week was just so she could freely attend a well-organized party. But frats, on the other hand.

There had been a time during her first year where Greek row had been her home, she'd lived and breathed their parties, made pacts with the devils—only to be brutally rejected by everyone she'd called a friend after she broke up with her ex.

Nesta hated frats, despised them. And it was personal.

Reaching behind her and taking Gwyn's hand in hers in a silent agreement not to let go, she walked right into the beast's den, welcoming the stench of testosterone, alcohol and smoke.

The air was stifling and the heat was already making her sweat. The floors were sticky and Nesta remembered all the mornings she'd been put on cleaning duty.

Entering the wide living room, she went up on her toes, searching the faces for a familiar one that didn't give her shivers.

Emerie had texted them that her dd had bailed on her and left her behind and she was lucky both Nesta and Gwyn had been studying in the library and not already asleep.

But she wasn't picking up her calls and Nesta was getting antsy, so here they were.

"Let's check the backyard!" Gwyn shouted over the music after looking for Emerie in all the rooms.

A few people in passing said hi to them, even seeming surprised to see her in the house. Nesta didn't stop for a single one of them, she just wanted to get her friend and leave.

The moment they walked out back, fresh air hit her face and she took a deep breath. The music was somewhat muffled here and only a few small groups where outside, chilling as the party was coming to an end.

"C'mon, Ems, you told me you'd play with me tonight. You can't leave."

The sentence snapped her attention to the pool, where Eris Vanserra was standing next to Emerie, blocking her way.

From their standing point, Nesta could perfectly see her friend's face when it crumbled into utter revulsion.

"Oh boy, did you just call me Ems?" She asked, scoffing. "Do I look like an ambulance to you?"

Gwyn snorted next to Nesta as they started walking towards the pair.

Eris' laugh made Nesta irrationally furious, but nothing compared to what his next words roused.

"Listen, you made a promise. You're not leaving until you beat me."

Oh, fuck no.

Nesta was almost to them, ready to push the fucker into the water and be done with whatever the fuck this was, but someone else piped in.

A low, gravelly voice, belonging to the man of the hour. It was hard not to recognize his timbre when he personally invited the entire university to attend his team's games every other hour through the speakers scattered across their campus.

"Leave the girl alone, Van Boy. You sound a word closer to a restraining order."

Nesta's eyebrows shot up. Cassian Navarro helping her friend out against his teammate wasn't in her 2023 bingo card.

He was sitting on the benches around the stone brazier, some other recognizable faces with him. He had an arm on the back of his seat, his head turned back to look at their small circle.

"Thanks, cap, but I've got this." Eris sounded annoyed by Cassian pitching in and Nesta relished in it.

Emerie laughed, shaking her head. "You so don't, and I will throat punch you if you don't move out of my way. I wanna leave."

Eris grinned, "Your friend left you here, isn't that right?"

Nesta was one second away from stepping in, but, if she had to be completely honest, this little theater play was unfurling quite amusingly. Plus, she knew Emerie could hold her own.

"Cut the bs, Vanserra," Morrigan Nevin, honorable the cheer squad, stood up, crossing her arms on her chest. She nodded towards Nesta and Gwyn and said, "And Little Miss Archeron over there looks ready to fight, so I'd recommend you let her friend leave and call it a night."

All eyes turned on her in a beat. She wasn't surprised Morrigan knew her name. After all, her younger sister had just started college and from what little they'd shared, Feyre seemed to be fitting right into this crowd.

Nesta's eyes though—treacherous fuckers they were—landed perfectly on Cassian. He, too, was staring at her and, with a cheeky smile, he lifted his hand in greeting. She pressed her lips together.

Eris faced her then, his mouth curling even more at her dead serious expression.

"Look what the cat dragged in," he mused. "Hadn't seen you in a hot minute, thought you'd stopped whoring down Greek Row a while ago."

Gwyn stepped forward, her face red with immediate anger. "Fuck you, you don't know what you're talking about."

Nesta loved her friends, she truly did, but this piece-of-shit-no-one didn't deserve their time or attention.

"Em, let's go."

Emerie stepped around Eris and he didn't say anything as she neared the pair. Didn't even glance at her, only kept staring at Nesta.

They were about to turn around and leave when Eris spoke again.

"You used to party with us all the time. Guess Tomas really did fuck you up, at least that's how the rumor has it."

Nesta stopped walking and glared daggers into him and she was seething when she spit at him, "I never partied with you. Even when I hang out with the scum that Tomas' close group is, I wasn't stooping as low as you."

Eris' face dropped. And Nesta wasn't done talking.

"They might all be assholes who don't give a shit about anyone but themselves, but they would have never held someone from leaving a party cause they can't find a better pastime."

"Your friend made a promise," his stupid reply was.

Nesta glanced at Emerie, who shrugged and rolled her eyes at the sky, "I told him I'd play beer pong with him at the end of the party if he left me the fuck alone."

She turned back on Eris, her face mockingly pitiful. "Can't find any friends unless you coerce people into spending time with you?"

"Aw, poor thing," Gwyn deadpanned.

"A promise is a promise."

"Fucking hell, Eris." Cassian called, "why do you always have to be so difficult?"

"They're just afraid they're gonna lose. It's a simple request to play a game. Don't understand why it got all of you so worked up."

Afraid? To lose at beer pong?

Nesta knew she was playing right into his mind game, but she was stressed out because of finals, fed up with the way he'd treated her friend and she could've used the satisfaction that came with knocking him down a few pegs.

"Okay," Nesta said, "let's play."

Eris smiled, content that he was getting what he wanted.

She jerked her head toward the house. "Go set the table."

Cassian Navarro had stood up in the meantime, he'd walked closer to them and was now nearing her, his eyes fixated on her face. Nesta was—for whatever reason—excited about the prospect of him talking to her. She was waiting for it like one waited to get to the plot twist of a book.

She hadn't even noticed Eris walking inside, nor Morrigan joining Cassian, not until Emerie pulled on her elbow.

"Great move, now let's get out of here."

Nesta jerked towards her friends, confused. "What? No, I wanna play."

Gwyn frowned, "Why?"

"He said we were afraid to lose."

Emerie snickered, eyes wide.

"You're nuts, Nes. Let's just leave."

"You know," his voice rumbled through her head. Nesta tensed marginally. He sounded so close. "You can go, you don't really have to play against him. He's just a harmless dickhead."

She spun on her heels slowly, tilting her head back to be able to look into his eyes, assessing his neck and the tattoos peeking from his shirt.

The silence stretched for seconds, minutes, hours before she found the words. She could only muster a sure whisper, his vicinity affecting her way more than she liked to admit.

"I have this under control, don't worry. And I honestly wanna play."

Cassian's mouth opened in a sweet smile and his eyes didn't move from hers as he gestured for them to lead the way. His entire group had gotten up and now the ten of them walked inside the house.

Nesta heard Morrigan talk to Emerie, ask if she was okay and found herself smiling lightly at the flirty response her friend gave the blonde. Give it to Emerie to look for a hookup at this moment.

A significant amount of people had left the party and now only the fraternity boys and whoever they were gonna fuck tonight were sitting on the sofas and the floor. The music had died down and someone was ushering the remaining partygoers outside, someone else screaming about cheating boyfriends and fucking alcohol.

They reached the ping pong table in the hall, only a couple making out in the corner of the room.

Nesta and Emerie stood at one end of the table.

Balthazar Saraiva sauntered to the opposite side of the table, winking at both the girls like they'd been friends forever.

Nesta breathed out a laugh. She was going to destroy them.

"What rules are we playing with? Bounce, no bounce? Who dunks can continue playing or we taking turns?" Emerie asked.

"No bouncing, only direct shots. And we're taking turns." Eris replied.

Nesta nodded, humming.

An imposing figure stood next to her, like a giant statue. His arms crossed over his chest made his muscles look bigger and Nesta would be lying to herself if she didn't admit that it was distracting.

"Ladies first," Eris drawled, "I'm giving you the starting advantage."

"No need," Nesta smirked and took the shot, dunking the ball on the first try. Eris stopped smiling.

Cheering broke around them, but Nesta only heard the satisfied comment from Cassian, his glimmering eyes on her.

"Atta girl."

She couldn't have stopped the shy smile from spreading even if she'd tried.

The game went on shortly. Eris was missing every shot he could, getting purposely distracted by Azriel Behar and Rhysand Almeda. The two guys were really putting so much effort into making it difficult for him, walking behind him every time he had to shoot or calling out to him at the least appropriate moment.

Nesta would have asked them to stop in any other circumstances, wanting an honest and clean win, but seeing the way it was working Eris up, she couldn't bring herself to.

They won the game in less than five minutes, Emerie only missing one shot, and when Gwyn came behind them and lifted both of them up in an improvised victory dance, Nesta felt lighter.

Emerie smacked a kiss on her cheek and then started screaming profanities at Eris.

"Looks like you need the ems now, uh? Cause you definitely got burned!"

Nesta cringed as everyone around them started laughing.

She'd already been somewhat tipsy and chugging the four cups of beer Balthazar had managed to dunk had pushed her into drunk territory. Always the lightweight, their dark skinned friend.

Gwyn dropped her to the floor again and as she laughed carefree at the ceiling, someone touched her arm.

She turned quickly to her left, lifting her gaze up, up and up, until warm brown eyes met hers.

"I get it you're driving?"

The question took her by surprise. She frowned, nodding skeptically.

Cassian cleared his throat, scratching his cheek. He almost looked… nervous. "Then I guess my plan to offer you a drink is bound to fail."

Her face relaxed, she forced her lips to stay put, her eyes to not widen. He was looking at her expectantly, waiting for a reply.

"I—" her voice came out scratchy. "Yes, sorry. Driving."

She couldn't utter a fully formed sentence, apparently, but he seemed amused by it.

"Raincheck, then? Maybe Friday night?"

Nesta was on cloud 9. What the fuck was happening right now?

"Like a date?"

Cassian smiled, "We can call it whatever you like, sweetheart."

Nesta sobered up at that. She shook her head. "Don't call me that, that's for sure."

His interest only grew with those words and Nesta saw the challenge flash behind his eyes.

"So, what do you say? Drink with me on Friday night?"

Nesta studied his face a beat longer, trying to gauge his real intention. Was he playing with her? She was literally wearing sweatpants and a stained sweatshirt. And yes, she knew she was still beautiful in library attire with no makeup whatsoever, but he'd only spoken to her twice in the four years they'd attended college.

And Nesta, well, she remembered that first time pretty vividly. She simply didn't want to dwell on it, because she knew it wasn't the same on his side. It had to be that way.

Cassian's smile faltered. He took a step back, drawing a tight breath in.

"Forget I asked." He whispered, still loud enough to be heard over the noise of their friends shitting on Eris in the background. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable–"

"Yes." Nesta interrupted him, closing the distance again. "Yes, I'll come out with you on Friday. For drinks."

Cassian reeled back, surprised. His smile came back full force and he nodded once.

She nodded back, offering a weak smile in turn. She could do this. She just needed to hold back the excitement until she was in the car with her friends.

He looked at her, running a hand through his long hair, and sighed.

"I'll come pick you up then. At 9."

"Sounds good, I live–"

He grinned, "Oh, don't worry, I remember."

Nesta's lips parted.

His smile widened.

He remembered.

acotar taglist (if you wanna be removed or added just dm me or send an ask)

@my-fan-side @superspiritfestival @simpingfornestaarcheron @the-regal-warrior @live-the-fangirl-life @sayosdreams @rowaelinismyotp @swankii-art-teacher @bookstantrash @lordof-bloodshed @nahthanks @sannelovesreading @courtofjurdan @imagine-me @moodymelanist @dread3r @sv0430 @mariamuses @leiawritesstories @thewayshedreamed @duskandstarlight @letstakethedawn @perseusannabeth

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #prompt #acotar #acosf

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estellaluna · 5 months

Text

when words fail, music speaks

Gwynriel college au

Warnings: None just pure fluff

Summary: Gwyn asks Azriel for a big favor.

words: 1.7k

"A hundred bucks. Take it or leave it."

Azriel smirked as he shook his head, making Gwyn roll her eyes in frustration. It has been 45 minutes since Gwyn started persuading Azriel to sing with her at an open mic event at the cafe near their campus on Saturday.

“Gwyn, love, look. If you’re going to have me sing in front of many people, probably even in front of some people we might know from campus. I might need a lot more than a hundred bucks,” Azriel said, propping his chin on his hand as he looked directly at Gwyn’s teal eyes.

“Fine! Name your price,” she replied.

Azriel stared a little bit longer, a few seconds to minutes until he finally opened his mouth again.

“I’ll think about it,” he said with a low chuckle, earning him a frustrated groan from Gwyn and a loud come oooon. He just smiled before turning his attention back to his computer.

Azriel and Gwyn have been friends since freshman year in college. They used to be only acquaintances from high school but when Cassian and Nesta started dating in their first year in college, the two became closer and soon became best friends. Gwyneth Berdara’s name is sort of a big deal around the university. She’s always known for her looks and her angelic voice. She is always viewed as the sweet girl, which is true most of the time, but not entirely from Azriel’s point of view.

Being friends with Gwyn made Azriel learn a lot about Gwyn’s personality. First, she is unbelievably competitive in any way. She also talks a lot about her favorite bands, her favorite books, her secrets, and hobbies that people are not aware of. She is really supportive of her friends. She sleep-talks quite often—Azriel has an album in his phone full of videos of her sleep-talking. All of these little things Azriel knew about Gwyn made him a little proud in some way.

“But are you really going to do it?” Gwyn asked once again, her head popping up beside his laptop screen.

“Yes, Gwyn.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

“Don’t let me down,” she said.

“I won’t let you down. You know I’m always true to my words,” he replied, looking at her. There is a huge smile etched on her face as he utters his words. He loves that smile—probably more than anyone else.

“You’re the best. I love you. See you later!” she said before leaving the study room they were in. He was left dumbfounded inside the study room recalling what she just said. Saying I love you to each other was normal to them, except recently when Azriel found himself yearning for her and her I love yous.

~~~

It was Saturday, and just like what Gwyn and Azriel talked about, they met inside the cafe for the open mic event. There were quite a lot of people, some were familiar faces, some were probably just there for the coffee, and some were probably there just to watch. The staff of the coffeehouse were preparing the little podium with two microphones and two guitars.

“I already signed up our names,” Gwyn said.

“You good?” Azriel asked as he pulled her cold hands towards him. Gwyn nodded.

Last night, they decided to change the songs they were going to perform. They both decided to sing the song Gwyn made not long ago. It was a silly song about friends falling in love with each other.

“You remember the chords?” Gwyn asked.

“G, D/F, E minor 7, C add 9.”

“Let’s do this?”

“Let’s fucking do this,” Azriel answered and Gwyn smiled.

They both made their way up to the little podium with neon lights all over. There was a sign behind the podium that said open mic night. Some of the people, mostly students from the campus recognized Azriel, and some were shocked that he was at an open mic event. He was also quite popular because of his friends. Although he was infamous for being cold and his unwelcoming aura. Unlike his other friends, Rhys and Cassian, Azriel is the only one who has a sort of unpleasant reputation.

“Hello everyone!” Gwyn said with her usual bubbly tone that earned her some greetings from the people as well. Azriel passed her the other guitar and placed the capo on the 3rd fret.

“My name is Gwyn…” Gwyn said, looking at Azriel beside her.

“And I am Azriel, her best friend.” The crowd cheered, some were whistling.

“Uhm…I actually just dragged him here tonight to sing the song I wrote recently,” Gwyn said with a chuckle.

“What’s the title of your song?” someone from the crowd asked.

“It’s called I don’t want to fall in love unless it’s you. It’s a song about…” Gwyn took a deep breath as if preparing herself to say something she had been meaning to say for a long time. “It’s about a girl confessing her love for someone special to her,” she added.

The crowd cheered once again. She heard someone ask if the song was about him but she just smiled and started strumming. She closed her eyes and the memories from the time she was writing the lyrics burst into her. She pictured the beautiful face of the man sitting beside her right now, playing the guitar.

Truth is, she asked him to come with her tonight to formally let him know what she has felt for him for quite some time now. She tried to tell him, but words always intimidated her, and she realized that the only way she could say her feelings out loud was through music. She imagined the time they became friends, the times he comforted her every time she got upset with academics or things about her life, the times he stayed up late to study for her exams, their shenanigans, the many times she told him I love you, hoping he would get the deeper meaning of it.

Her heart beat a little bit louder as they approached the bridge of the song. There is quite a long guitar solo at the bridge of the song, and she thought it was the perfect time for her to tell him, and everyone in the coffeehouse tonight, to say what she wanted to say.

“I hope everybody’s enjoying the song right now. Before I end this song, I just want to tell you something very important.” She switched her gaze to Azriel who was now very much confused but he continued to strum the guitar. She flashed him a smile before taking a breath in.

“Do you know a quote that goes, ‘When words fail, music speaks?’ To the person who asked earlier if this song is about this beautiful man beside me right now, my answer is yes. I am the type of person who always falters with her words, and music is my escape.”

Gwyn kept her attention to the crowd. “So, Azriel I know you are looking at me right now like I am the biggest idiot for confessing this way, but bear with me a moment until I finish this song…” she said and continued strumming and singing her heart out.

There was a pause after she finished the song then it was the people in the coffeehouse cheering and urging Azriel to say something. She looked at him, her face almost red, her heart racing unusually fast, her hands shaking as she put down the guitar.

Please say something, she prayed.

Azriel cleared his throat. “The reason why I agreed to this is because she bribed me with her ‘name your price’ tactic. But because I always liked teasing her, I told her that I’d think about it.”

He shifted his eye to her. “I guess I’m ready to tell you my price,” he said.

“What is it?”

“Gwyneth Berdara, go on a date with me. And what I mean by that is not only one date. Not two, not three. Go on a date with me until we’re both sick of it. Are you down?”

The crowd grew louder. “Fuck yeah! My lovesick brother finally had his balls!” Cassian, who suddenly appeared from the crowd shouted. Gwyn laughed and covered her face.

Azriel gently removed her hands from her face and whispered something. “Please say something, Gwyn.”

Gwyn just nodded, unable to formulate her words. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him as tight as possible, not wanting to let him go anytime soon, but they were still on the podium. She felt him kiss the top of her head like he always does but this time it felt different. It felt better.

~~~

After their performance, they both decided to get out of the coffeehouse to stroll around the college town. Azriel couldn’t keep his hands off her which she didn’t protest to. Gwyn likes his touches. His fingers intertwined with his fingers as they stopped below a sidewalk lamp.

“You said earlier something like until we are sick of it,” Gwyn said looking up to meet Azriel’s gaze.

“Hmm?” he murmured, tucking some strands of Gwyn’s hair behind her ear.

“I don’t think I’m ever going to get sick of going out with you.”

“So do I, Gwyn,” Azriel said, planting a kiss on the tip of her nose.

His other hand went to hold her nape. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, barely a whisper.

She only nodded before he planted his lips onto hers. It was quick and soft. Her heart began palpitating. He never fails to make her heart burst into happiness and she loved every bit of it. His hand went up to her nape only to capture her lips again, this time deeper and with much more fervor.

Gwyn pulled away, giving Azriel a smile.

“You’re a great kisser, Azriel. I wonder how many girls you kissed to be that good.”

“Are you kidding me? Are you really curious about that now?”

“Gotta thank them because damn I get to kiss all of that every time? For me alone?” she laughed.

Azriel chuckled. “Sure you do. All of this is yours alone, love,” he said gesturing his body from head to toe.

Gwyn laughed again before diving in for another kiss.

#gwynriel #gwyn berdara #gwyn x azriel #azriel #gwynriel headcanon #pro gwynriel #gwynriel au #unbeta'd

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lady-riel · 1 year

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"Gwyn the Baby Whisperer" - Gwynriel one-shot

This scene has been sitting around in my google docs for a long time and I decided fuck it I'll post it.

Summary: Only Gwyn knows how to make Nyx stop crying.

Also some Elain/Lucien interaction. And Lucien is Gwyn's father. Yep.

Read on AO3

Gwyn the Baby Whisperer

Nyx’s wails could clearly be heard on the floor above where the court, plus Lucien, was gathered in the living room before their weekly dinner, which had started to become a tradition these days.

“Sorry for the noise,” Rhys muttered wearily, rubbing his eyes. “Elain’s with Nyx now; he just won’t settle down.”

“Is she…torturing him?” Gwyn asked, glancing up at the ceiling.

Rhys and Cassian both snorted, while Feyre shook her head exhaustedly. “He’s just been fussy the last couple days for no apparent reason. Rhys and I were up all night with him.”

“Why doesn’t she bring him down?” said Gwyn.

“Yes,” Mor interjected eagerly, “Bring him down. I want to hold him.”

Rhys shrugged. “Well, if you don’t mind the screaming…” His eyes turned glassy for a moment while he spoke to Elain in his mind. He nodded. “She’s coming.”

Footsteps sounded on the stairs as he spoke, Nyx’s wails growing louder. A moment later Elain entered the room with the bawling baby in her arms. Elain glanced around, studiously avoiding Lucien’s gaze.

Mor bounded up from her spot in the chair by the fire and took Nyx from Elain, who sat down as far from Lucien as she could get. As Mor rocked Nyx, she made cooing noises into his red face. He only cried harder, his little wings fluttering uncontrollably.

“You’ve got a real touch there,” joked Cassian. Mor made a face at him, shifting the baby to rock him on the other side.

“C’mon Nyxie,” she said into his screwed up face with a syrupy, sing-songy voice, “Be good for your Auntie Mor.”

Gwyn pinched the bridge of her nose like she had a headache coming on, and Azriel swept the curtain of her hair to the side and stroked his hand down the back of her neck soothingly. He glanced up to find Elain watching him. A dark look on her face.

On his other side, barely audible under Nyx’s wailing, Azriel could hear Nesta mutter under her breath to Cassian, “I don’t know that I’m ready to have children yet.”

Cassian smirked back at her. “Maybe ours won’t scream.” Nesta gave him a dubious look.

Abruptly, Gwyn stood, pulling out from under Azriel’s arm. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I can’t take it any longer.” She moved swiftly toward Mor. “Give me the baby.”

Mor opened her mouth to protest, but Gwyn swooped in without waiting for an answer and took Nyx from her arms.

She cradled the baby against her chest expertly, one arm around his bottom and the other hand rapidly tapping against his back, just below the wings. “Shh,” she murmured to Nyx, bouncing him in her arms.

Almost immediately, his screaming ceased, although low whimpers still slipped from his spit-shiny lips. He looked up at Gwyn with wide eyes, fisting a handful of her bright copper hair.

Gwyn gave Mor a fleeting look, ever so slightly frosted, matching the blonde’s own face, before turning away. As Mor slunk back to her seat, Gwyn made gentle soothing noises into Nyx’s forehead as she continued to bounce him.

In the sudden ringing silence, Feyre burst into exhausted tears.

Gwyn whirled around at the sound. She snapped her fingers at Feyre to get her attention. “No crying,” ordered Gwyn. “Pull yourself together.”

Feyre stopped out of pure shock. Rhys opened his mouth, looking back and forth between the two of them as silent tears still dripped down Feyre’s face.

“I mean it,” Gwyn said firmly, “You have to keep it together. Babies take their cues from their parents. If you cry, he cries. If you’re unhappy, he’s unhappy. Do you understand?”

Feyre wiped the tears from her face, nodding jerkily.

More whimpering came from Nyx. “I know, I know, it hurts,” Gwyn murmured to him in a sympathetic voice, “Let’s see what’s going on in there.”

Still bouncing him rhythmically, she moved towards the lamp on the side table, turning so the light shined into Nyx’s open, dribbling mouth. She angled her head to look inside, one hand on his chubby chin.

Turning away from the light, Gwyn took a step towards Azriel and reached out her free hand towards him. “Whiskey,” she said. His brows went up, but he held out his glass toward her. She dipped her pointer finger into the amber liquid, tapping off the excess against the side of the glass, and then stuck her finger into Nyx’s mouth, moving it in circles to massage the whiskey into his gums.

“Are you…planning on getting him drunk?” Rhys asked uncertainly. Cassian sniggered.

Gwyn’s lips tightened with mirth. “A drop isn’t going to get him drunk. But it’ll ease the pain, and probably help him sleep.”

At Rhys’ startled look she said, “He’s teething, and at least one is about to breach. He’s probably been in pain for days. Rubbing some whiskey into it and letting him chew on your finger will help.”

Even as she spoke, Nyx was happily gnawing on her finger, one little hand holding onto the side of hers. His other fist still tightly gripped a lock of copper hair. He babbled excitedly, smiling at her around the finger.

“The other thing you can do,” Gwyn continued, smiling down at Nyx at the same time, “is dip a clean damp washcloth in a few drops of whiskey and let him chew on that.”

Feyre’s tired, lined face was painted in anguish. “How did you know he was in pain?”

Looking at her, Gwyn opened her mouth and then closed it. She glanced down at Nyx still chewing happily around her finger. “I know you’re new parents,” she said carefully, “but you need to learn to distinguish the cries. The cry of pain is different from the cry of hunger, which is different from the cry of being wet, which is different from the cry of being tired. You have to listen carefully and learn to differentiate between them.”

Feyre and Rhys both looked dumbfounded.

“I didn’t—I can’t—” Feyre stuttered. “They all sound the same to me.”

“Me too,” muttered Rhys.

“It’s your first kid.” Gwyn’s voice was gentle. “You’ll learn. But you have to listen.”

They both nodded, somewhat chastened.

“How do you know so much about children?” Rhys asked.

Gwyn shrugged. “A great deal of experience. There were many children at Sangravah.”

She kept up an easy rhythm bouncing Nyx in one hand, who had cuddled closer against her body, his miniature wings drooping. Azriel felt a chord plucked deep inside of him, watching Gwyn holding a child like that. Especially a winged child.

A movement in the corner of his eye had him briefly tearing his gaze away from the sight. Elain’s face, he saw, was now twisted up with rage, her usually pretty features clenched into ugliness, and for once she was looking directly at Lucien, who was staring at Gwyn with a soft look, the corners of his mouth turned up. For all Elain’s protesting that she had no interest in her mate, Azriel thought, Lucien’s attention on another female clearly angered her. Even if that female was his daughter. For the thousandth time, Azriel thanked the Mother that Rhys had stopped him from kissing Elain that Solstice night. From starting something he knew now that he’d deeply regret.

He looked back at his own mate, his heart swelling at the sight.

Gwyn pulled her finger out of Nyx’s mouth, who had fallen fast asleep against her chest. “He’s out. Do you want to hold him?” she said to Feyre, who nodded and held out her hands eagerly. Gwyn gently set the sleeping baby into his mother’s arms before sitting back down on the couch beside Azriel and curling beneath his arm, her long legs folded under her.

“Do you…”—Rhys glanced at Azriel before looking back at Gwyn—“...want children of your own?”

Gwyn’s copper brows raised. She pointed upwards and said, “You mean, in addition to the thousand we already have?” Humor coated her voice. Azriel snorted as the shadows swooped down to swirl around her excitedly. Thrilled with the designation she’d just given them. Gwyn tickled a few of them before waving them back to Az’s wings.

“Do you?” asked Lucien, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees.

“Want children? Eventually, I suppose. I need a good long break before that.”

“I love children,” Elain said suddenly. “I would have them as soon as I could.”

Lucien’s gaze shot to his mate, but her eyes remained on Gwyn, shifting briefly to Azriel then back.

“And how many have you raised?” Gwyn asked dryly, not missing the way Elain’s eyes slid to the shadowsinger.

The look on Elain’s face faltered. “N-none,” she conceded.

Gwyn gave her a small smile. “I love children too, but it looks a whole lot different on the other side of fifty.”

“You’ve raised fifty kids?” Nesta exclaimed astonishedly, sitting up straighter.

Gwyn’s eyes flickered across the ceiling for a moment, like she was counting, before she looked back at Nesta. “At least. It might have been more.” Her mouth tightened. “A half-century of war made a lot of orphans. Many of them were sent to Sangravah.”

Nesta pouted at Gwyn. “I wanted us to have kids together.”

“Then you’re going to be waiting a while,” Gwyn replied with a grin.

“What’s a while?”

Gwyn sighed. “I want at least a year—”

“I can do that,” Nesta said immediately.

“—for every kid I’ve raised,” Gwyn finished.

Nesta groaned and slouched back on the cushions.

Cassian’s eyes were wide as he gaped at Nesta. “You’re going to make me wait fifty years?!”

Nesta lifted her palms upwards before letting them drop back down to her lap. “Gwyn’s in charge,” she said matter-of-factly.

Leaning over Azriel, Cassian rounded on Gwyn. “You’re going to make me wait fifty years?!”

Gwyn rolled her eyes. “I’ve been raising children since I was seven and need a break. You can start any time you want.”

Cassian grumbled, “Nesta just said you’re in charge. You think I’m going to be able to argue with that?”

Gwyn smiled sweetly. “That sounds like a you problem, not a me problem.”

Cassian let out a huff of air, scrubbing his hands over his face and flopping back onto the couch. Azriel smirked at him. Cassian muttered, “Oh shut up.”

#gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel #cassian #nesta #nessian #rhysand #feyre #nyx #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #mor

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bearbluebooks · 4 months

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prompt! gwyn was excited about a new training technique and bursts into azriel’s room only to see him…

My FIRST PROMPT!! First of all thank you so much for this. I was struggling with writers block and this made me so excited to start writing again. I truly hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it <3

The Shadowsinger’s Secret(s) - Day 7 @sjmromanceweek

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4044

Read on AO3 or under the cut.

Snow slowly drifted from the night sky.

The icy cold created treacherous layers of ice on the stone floor of the training ring. Despite Cassian’s incessant pleas to “Respect the sacredness of the training ring”, several weapons were still scattered throughout the wide expanse. Before Gwyn picked up one of the discarded daggers, she rubbed her hands together in a desperate attempt to create warmth. Tonight’s temperatures were so low, that small white clouds escaped her already numb lips with every exhale.

Afternoon slowly made way for the darker colors of night. Gwyn always believed there was something calming about the obsidian cover of night. As if magic became more palpable when stars brightened the sky. Constellations, falling stars, and infinite mystery left unexplored- what could be more magical than that? Gwyn still pondered the question when a demanding voice pierced through the quarry, “Don’t stay out too late, and don’t you dare become better at dagger throwing than me.”

Nesta and Cassian had even more pressing plans. Tonight was Lupercalia, a human holiday that celebrated love. As soon as Elain casually dropped its existence during dinner last night, Cassian’s excitement was palpable, “Nes, I will finally take you to my favorite restaurant,” his puppy dog eyes the perfect show of his elation. Nesta’s gaze showed less excitement and more indifference, “Buy me a present and I’ll come.”

“Oh, come you will. I’ve been reading, too,” he countered, “And tonight, I will be your present, when I feast on you like Sherman Steelborn in a Dragon’s Tale.” Gwyn’s stomach churned at the vivid imagery Cassian’s statement evoked. They had just read that book in their weekly Smut Sisters book club. “Leave some mystery for the rest of us, Cas,” Gwyn begged before she rolled her eyes at the smug look on Cassian’s face. The whole scene made her almost happy she didn’t have a Lupercalia of her own tonight. Almost.

Gwyn shook the memory off when she averted her gaze from the sky to her friend, “We both know that ship has already sailed.”

“You should be the one to stay longer,” Gwyn challenged over her shoulder.

Her friend paused in the door with a hand on her hip, “Or maybe I should be getting private lessons from the Shadowsinger too,” Nesta exclaimed before the door closed with a heavy thud.

All smart retorts left her brain, only her mouth remained open.

Shit.

Gwyn’s cheeks flushed red. And this time it was not because of the icy cold.

Training sessions had become more frequent in the last couple of months. And she did find herself counting down the minutes until she could see those hazel eyes assessing her every move. Or when she could feel those strong hands demonstrate how to position her hands for the best trajectory- during which she (allegedly) feigned inexperience once or twice, just to feel those calloused hands on her bare skin. To feel those sparks of electricity erupt over her entire body.

One of those nights Gwyn fell into his strong arms after a particularly difficult combination of movements. When they were so close they shared a breath. The longing and vulnerability in his eyes was something Gwyn couldn’t stop thinking about.

At night, under the safety of her blankets, she replayed that moment often- the way his hand felt on her waist, or how his eyes darted between her eyes and her lips, when his mouth curved up slightly, and how his cedar smell ingrained itself in all of her senses.

All of which happened under the cover of night. When everybody was long gone- or so she thought.

Gwyn forced herself to move on. She could think about all of that later.

She would undoubtedly hear about it later too.

Busybodies.

Tonight was for training.

Tonight she would finally learn how to beat the Shadowsinger.

Tonight she would win the bet and rub that arrogant smile off his face.

Every training session ended in Azriel either hovering over her, strapping her hands to her back, or pinning her body beneath his. It had its advantages. Heat still rushed to her core at the memories. But Gwyn was nothing if not determined. And tonight she was determined to win.

Every trick he taught her, he could anticipate.

What he didn’t anticipate was her discovery of an ancient book with knowledge not even the Shadowsinger was privy to. Knowledge so secret not even Merril knew about it.

Earlier that day, Gwyn had ventured to the fifth floor in search of one of Merril’s books ‘The Multiverse and its Animals’, when Gwyn’s eye caught something even more interesting, ’50 ways to slay your opponent’. The urgency in Merril’s voice made Gwyn pause for a second before she reminded herself I only know 15 ways to slay an opponent and grabbed the book.

As soon as she finished her work for the day, curious eyes studied the book until she reached the page titled ‘Paranza Corta’. The section stated a fighting technique that focused on short thrusts. The trick was to let your opponent get close enough to let them think they had the upper hand before you would hit them from below with a multitude of targeted strikes.

She knew in her bones it would finally allow her to beat the Shadowsinger.

She could see the surprise in his beautiful hazel eyes become replaced by awe.

She could already see him become speechless- not because of his usual preference for silence, but because he couldn’t find the words to speak.

She could already taste the victory.

Those thoughts fueled her.

They set her body aflame despite the icy cold threatening to numb her fingers.

Still, all evening this particular technique proved difficult to master.

Impossible even.

She couldn’t figure out how to get close enough without getting killed in the process.

Every practice run stopped before she could even reach the target.

Irritation seeped into her bones. She couldn’t figure out why it wasn’t working. It made her wonder if Azriel would have been able to figure it out. Of course he would have, she thought to herself with an eye roll and a smile.

He had centuries of knowledge and experience on her.

But she had determination.

Hours passed without any improvement.

Cold snowflakes slowly turned liquid on her overheated skin. Frustration threatened to burn all rationality until nothing but ashes of failed determination remained.

With one steady breath in, one pause and one exhale, she turned the anger into fuel when she focused on her strengths.

Before she started again, investigative eyes took in the scene unfolding in front of her. Muscle wasn’t the problem. Nor was speed.

Suddenly it clicked.

Without wasting time she took up her starting stance a few feet away from the target. Quick and careful steps brought her closer and closer to the wooden puppet taunting her. Just before she got close, she dropped low, putting all her weight on one foot as she slid towards the wooden monstrosity. Then she channeled all her weight into both legs, as she pulled herself upwards, and stabbed, stabbed, stabbed the puppet.

A laugh so maniacal any sane person would call question her sanity resounded in the wide open space.

Then the steadying pull of reality replaced the overwhelming sense of euphoria.

Azriel didn’t see it- he wasn’t there and neither were his shadows.

Suddenly it didn’t feel like a victory anymore.

The clunk on the floor signaled her exit before her mind clued her into her movements.

Gwyn still couldn’t completely wrap her mind around an omniscient house, yet she was very grateful for it now.

“Where is Azriel’s room?” she asked as she turned her gaze towards the ceiling, then the walls, and the empty space around her, before she accepted that omniscient probably meant omnipresent too and steadied her gaze in front of her.

A familiar miniature Pegasus suddenly appeared in front of her. A loud squeal was the only welcome she could muster before the little creature started walking into the corridor. Soft clicks of hooves filled the silence in the hallway, then down a pair of steps, until it finally stopped in front of a huge door.

When it reached its destination it disappeared into a pink cloud of smoke.

Gwyn was sad for its quick exit before she remembered her mission.

Without knocking she stormed into the room where she exclaimed “I DID IT” with her arms raised high into the air.

Shadows swarmed her vision in seconds.

A desperate plea in a familiar deep tone resounded “Gwyn what are you-“

When the shadows slowly cleared, no awe was to be seen in those hazel eyes she so longed to see. Instead, she saw shock, shame, and confusion staring back at her.

“I’m sorry!” Her hands mirrored the statement as she placed them in front of her eyes to offer him belated privacy.

She clearly interrupted some kind of private moment.

She was ready to turn around and leave as fast as she came, but curiosity was a hard trait to ignore. Especially when one found themselves in the same room as an enigmatic Spymaster with an apparent secret.

Slowly, she lowered her hands to reveal the dark-haired male who was lying in bed with his wings splayed widely on both sides. Soft candlelight made it difficult to see, but not impossible. The walls were as black as night, and the multiple knives covering the walls gleamed like silver stars. The bed was huge. Big enough to fit three Azriel’s and maybe one Gwyn.

“A Pirates’ Search for Love?” She tried to say in her most serious voice. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t help the laugh that erupted from her small frame. The feeling was so unbridled and intense that she couldn’t remember the last time she laughed like that.

“I thought you didn’t like smutty novels?”

He implied as much every time he intruded on their sleepovers, with his arms crossed in front of him as he leaned against the doorframe in such a way he could be the main character in one of their novels.

“I don’t like Selyn Drake, I never said I didn’t like the genre,” he countered. “Males read them too. They can be useful,” he challenged with a smirk that confirmed every word of his previous statement. Cassian had proved as much yesterday, she had just never expected Azriel to be one of those males too.

When her eyes drifted lower to look at the author who apparently doubled as an instructor, her eyes caught the large hand covering an even larger body part.

Her eyes grew as wide as the hazel ones looking back at her.

“Shit. Shit shit shit I didn’t mean to-“ Azriel stammered as he jumped out of the bed with hurried movements, unsuccessfully trying to close his pants in the process.

Suddenly, another melodic laugh just as heartfelt filled the room. “Were you practicing immediately?” she asked in between laughs.

Azriel’s eyes looked equally hesitant and intrigued.

“I was,” he answered honestly. His eyes remained determinately focused on hers. As if her next words would decide his actions- not his own desire, not his own hopes and expectations, but her.

Life was dynamic. Gwyn knew growth was equal parts bravery and devotion. Just like her time spent in the training ring, learning the Paranza Corta. Where one day frustration fueled her veins at her inability to wield a seemingly straightforward concept. When- even though she felt the desire to succeed in the deepest part of her soul- she failed. So she tried again. And failed, again. When doubt started to creep in and threatened to affect her self-worth. When she could see herself succeed, but something prevented her at every turn.

Until one day something clicked.

Her relationship with sex was much the same way. Only what clicked was reuniting with Azriel on that same roof, many years ago.

Bravery and devotion, she reminded herself once again.

“Can you show me?” Her feet already took her closer to where he was standing next to the bed. Two of her hands covered his previously occupied one, as she repeated “Show me.”

“Gwyn-“

“Show me.”

With a whisper, she added “Please.”

His eyes remained determinately focused on hers. She knew what he would find. Nothing but equal resolution and confidence, just like he saw in the training ring every night.

There was not a male in the world she trusted more. Not a male her body craved more. Not a male who made her feel as safe as the one standing right in front of her- who looked at her with the trepidation and vulnerability he expected to see reflected in her eyes.

One of her hands moved to cup his cheek, she knew it was not her who needed reassurance at that moment.

“I trust you.”

His eyes turned contemplative. As if he was finally considering her request.

“I want you.”

That last sentence seemed to thaw some of the icy walls he had built around himself. As if her words were the fire that allowed some of the coldness to disappear.

Her other hand moved to the part she knew he was trying to hide.

“Show me.”

When she slowly moved her hand up and down the bulge in his pants, his breath caught in his throat.

His gaze roved over her body- to the tightness of her Illyrian leathers, emphasizing all of her curves. To her chest, which she slightly uncovered in the training ring when heat threatened to overtake her concentration.

The intensity with which his hazel eyes observed her, made her dare to move closer to the point where they were standing so close they shared a breath. “Show me,” she whispered before she placed a soft kiss on his neck.

He tilted his head slightly to match her height. His gaze slipped to her lips.

She would only have to reach up to do what she dreamt about more times than she cared to admit- the way his lips would feel against hers (rough) the way their lips would fit together (like puzzle pieces) the way he would take her breath away (literally and metaphorically).

What she didn’t expect was the satisfied sigh that escaped her mouth when she finally returned to earth.

When she looked into his eyes to assess if she ruined the moment, she saw nothing but surprise and awe.

Before she could fill the silence he placed a large hand behind her neck and pulled her closer. Another searing kiss turned the world to black in a way his shadows never could. A world filled with wonder and perfection.

Nothing else existed except for his lips and that moment. Where eternity seemed to exist, whilst no time passed at all.

It started chaste and delicate. Before it turned more hungry and desperate. She pushed him to the bed with one determinate hand. The moment it took to land on the bed was much too long, and she already missed his lips.

When she looked into his eyes, intrigue and lust stared back. Which made a heat she’d never felt before spread through her body- like a flame and he held the match.

Nothing else existed in the world except for him and her instincts.

With confident strides she walked over to where he hungrily observed her from the bed, his eyes grew so big, that his pupils overtook the hazel she loved so much. His back was firmly pushed into the mattress. Gwyn moved to the bed where she placed two of her legs next to his hips. She felt powerful. And with the way his eyes took her in, she felt desired too.

She took one of his fingers in hers and allowed him to trace a path from the opening of her Illyrian leathers up, to her mouth. His eyes tracked every movement. When she put his thick finger in her mouth, she made sure to suck on it lightly, before she let it go with a loud pop.

Azriel was speechless, save for the heady groan that sent electricity up Gwyn’s spine.

There was something else she wanted to do tonight. Something else she wanted to see, to touch, to feel.

In one swift movement, she took up the space next to him where she sat on her knees, assessing the gorgeous male before her.

His pants were still unbuttoned. She allowed her hand to roam freely. “Gwyn.” Her name was a pledge and a prayer on his lips. “Azriel” she answered in equal devotion. She allowed her fingers to trace the patch of obsidian hair down towards the edge of his underwear.

His hands forcefully fisted the sheets next to his hips in a way that made them turn white. It was as if he didn’t allow his body to act on the same instincts that guided Gwyn in all her movements. Her hands slightly shook, as she removed the iron grip on his sheets, and took his much larger hands in hers. She could feel the grooves that graced his hands. One of her fingers softly traced them when shame colored his eyes.

It made her wonder if he was ashamed of his hands. It seemed impossible because she loved his hands.

Defiance and adoration made her lift his hands to her mouth and place soft kisses on every groove. Every mark of shame. Whilst she wished she could do the same for his heart, his soul. She wished she could soothe every horrible thing that ever happened to him, and pray to the altar of his past whilst she made a promise to always be there for him in the future by choosing him every day.

His eyes slowly shifted from shame to a calmness she rarely saw reflected in his eyes.

Before she continued she placed another kiss on his lips.

His hands moved to cup her cheeks- to keep her steady.

When his tongue darted over her lower lip, she happily complied. The kiss was deeper. More ravenous than before. As if he finally allowed himself to have her just like he wanted to.

Without breaking the kiss, she moved her hand lower. She felt his body slightly shiver with the suddenness of the touch before he leaned into it. She traced a path from his abdomen to the edge of his underwear.

“Is this okay?” she asked before she continued her path down.

“Y-es,” he stammered as his hips bucked into her touch.

Her heart leaped in her chest. She could feel her excitement resound in the increased beats of her heart. With uneven breaths, but steady hands, she moved her hand to slide into the softness of his underpants where a less soft cock greeted her.

Her eyes widened in surprise and admiration. His cock was huge. She could barely fit it in her hand.

“It must have been a good book,” she smiled as she looked up at him.

His voice was low when he finally found the words to answer her, “That’s all you.” A corner of his mouth lifted when he ended the sentence with a wink. She didn’t need a mirror to know a red flush grazed her cheeks at the way his words made her feel. Or the warmth it spread throughout her body.

“I haven’t even done anything yet,” she teased.

“My cock says otherwise.”

Intrigue and fascination made her wonder what else she could do to his cock. She tightened her grip around his cock, as she lowered her head to rest next to his ear as she whispered “What is it saying now?”

He moved his head to look into her eyes, his voice was even lower as he forced out in between hurried breaths, “That you know me well.”

Her movements were restricted by his pants.

Even though it was the last thing she wanted to do, she removed her hand from his hardening cock when something akin to a whine followed her abrupt exit.

“Was that a whine?” she said in between laughs.

With a shrug of his shoulders, he answered without any hint of shame, “Me and my cock love having you close.”

With a playful roll of her eyes, she signaled to his pants.

“Oh.” Skillful hands removed his sweatpants in less time than it took for him to utter the single syllable.

Only his underpants and t-shirt prevented her from seeing his entire naked glory. Her hands moved on their own accord when they took hold of the underside of his shirt and swiftly lifted it up.

Many nights she wondered what hid under the carefully constructed armor. Some days, when it was especially hot, hints of swirling tattoos were uncovered. Maps of obsidian art she memorized as if they were Merrill’s research. Then there were his tight Illyrian leathers which hinted at muscular arms, ones she often fantasized about.

She allowed her eyes to rove over his body- to take in every muscle. Every swirling tattoo. Every patch of obsidian hair. Wherever her eyes roamed her finger followed. His body slightly shivered under her touch. “Beautiful” she whispered.

His eyes lit up and the resulting smile made him even more beautiful. Gwyn’s heart grew to a size she didn’t hold possible. It made her want to give him every last piece of her.

There was only one last barrier between them. One she uncovered with shaky hands. Larger ones found hers in an instant. Although his hands had a slight shiver too, they provided a steadiness Gwyn hadn’t realized she needed at that moment.

Slowly, so slowly, they pulled his underpants off, and within seconds his half-hard cock sprang free.

Azriel’s gaze didn’t wander towards his large member as Gwyn’s eyes did, instead, they remained determinedly focused on her.

Words escaped her. So she took his hand in hers and guided him towards his cock too. “Show me,” she repeated her earlier words.

His grip tightened, as he moved Gwyn’s hand up and down his cock in rough strokes. His breath hitched at the movement.

When she had as good a grip on his preferences as she on his cock, she lowered down to whisper in his ear, “Let go Az.” She didn’t know if she meant his grip or his restraint either. Maybe she meant both.

His eyes remained focused on her before his hands moved to cup her ass. Her lip darted out to lick her bottom lip. His eyes tracked the movement with such hunger it made her bend down and kiss him again.

When he used his strong grip to knead her ass, and said “I have been wanting to do this for a long time”, she couldn’t help the moan that escaped her lips. He swallowed the sound with another searing kiss that sent electricity to her core.

A desire to give him equal pleasure overtook her body. In equal curiosity and wonder, she lightly used her fingernails with her next stroke up and down his shaft. “Fuck,” Azriel groaned into her shoulder. It made his cock twitch in her hand.

Interesting.

It made her wonder what else she could do.

She closed her hand around his cock fully and made sure to pump him with as much force as she thought he could handle. “Fuck, I’m close, let me-“

“Let me,” she repeated as she seductively bit her lower lip.

His eyes widened with a desire so overwhelming it made the ache between her legs grow to an almost painful degree.

He was so close too- his breaths turned panting, more desperate.

With her other hand, she slowly lowered her zipper, revealing more and more naked skin until her breasts were freed from the constraints of the Illyrian leathers. His eyes caught the movement. His gaze turned ravenous, desperate, euphoric.

His hips bucked into her hand but her movement never slowed, as his head fell into her shoulder, and his hair tickled her in the process.

“FUCK,” Azriel groaned so loudly Gwyn was sure there was no room for any secrets tonight. But that didn’t matter.

Tonight was for victories.

And this victory, Azriel did see.

#gwynriel #gwyn x azriel #acotar #gwyn acosf #gwyneth berdara #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #a court of silver flames #ao3 fanfic #acotar alternate universe #valentines day #sjmromanceweek2024

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