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theladyofbloodshed · 1 year

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Chapter One

My little brain worm has wiggled in with another Lucien x Nesta idea despite my many other projects.

This fic is set a few months after canon ACOSF. Nesta has doubts about her mating bond and life in Velaris. She feels as if she's drowning but nobody notices - except Lucien. Lucien sees Nesta cutting out parts of herself to please the Night Court and is reminded of his mother. He offers Nesta a lifeline to be a neutral party to vent to and a travel companion.

The theme for this fic is Would That I by Hozier!

Tea poured from the spout of the porcelain teapot, filling the cup almost to the brim.

‘Sugar?’

Nesta’s eyes swept over the tray. ‘Lemon?’

‘I’m sure I can find one for you.’

Her eyes trailed the male as he stepped into the kitchen that wasn’t his to find lemon for her tea. It was a noisy evening. The wine had been broken out long ago as stories were traded over raucous laughter. Elain had been part of it until Lucien arrived late, during the third course, so she had slunk away into the safety of Azriel’s shadows rather than risk a conversation with him. The two wraiths were keeping an ear out of Nyx whilst he slept upstairs and Nesta had wanted to sneak upstairs out of the way before Lucien had occupied the chair beside her.

It had been months since the ordeal of the Blood Rite, months since Nyx was brought into this world through Nesta’s intervention, and months since the lavish mating ceremony that she had thought would fix everything. It hadn’t. With every day that passed, Nesta felt less and less like herself. She glanced over at Cassian who had one leg slung over the arm of a couch and his head was in Mor’s lap while she squeezed his cheeks together, both laughing. Everybody was laughing, even Azriel. And Nesta sat on the outskirts of a group she didn’t belong to, as always.

‘Found one,’ said Lucien, as he brandished a wedge of lemon at her.

The juice dribbled into her tea as he squeezed it, but his eyes were also on the group. A crease appeared between his brow but he did not pass a comment.

‘How was the Continent?’

‘Enjoyable. I was in Rask.’

‘I don’t know it, I’m afraid.’

Lucien seemed to come alive now that there was an opening in the conversation. ‘It’s obscenely wealthy – worse than here. Their army is vast and all have gilded armour. The actual country is beautiful too. It has deep mines filled with jewels. Palaces built into the clouds.’

‘And the people?’

‘Like any nation. Intelligence is valued in Rask. There is no king or queen, but instead an elected council of strategists and dreamers who strive for greatness. The people vote every decade and there are year-long campaigns for positions on the council.’

It sounded unreal to Nesta. A place where birth right or a marriage of opportunity was not the only way to climb high in society.

‘I wanted to go to the Continent,’ she shared. ‘Years ago, when I was dreaming of a life away from our cottage, before all of this.’

‘You still could go,’ said Lucien.

There were still uneasy relations between Prythian and the Continent due to the war that happened five centuries ago. They had poor opinions of mortals – and some nations had almost allied with Hybern again during the most recent war. Nesta knew it edged too close to Koschei as well for her to ever be allowed to go there.

‘I don’t think Cassian or Feyre would be happy for me to go there.’

A strange expression twisted Lucien’s features then he let out a sigh. He brought his cups to his lips, deep in thought.

Elain’s eyes flickered to the pair of them, worry rendering her silent as if Nesta was spilling all of her secrets to her unwanted mate.

‘Would you like a glass of wine like the others?’

Nesta shook her head quickly. ‘It’s better if I don’t drink.’

‘Who said that? You or somebody else?’

Nesta’s lips pursed. Many people. Mor. Amren. Cassian. Feyre. Rhys. They all had their opinion on her life.

‘It’s better if I don’t.’

‘Then how about a drop of honey in your tea?’

She let out a soft exhale. ‘Sugar is not good when I’m training. Lacks any real energy.’

Lucien’s fingers tightened around the spoon, poised to dollop a spoonful into his own cup to sweeten it. ‘You’re not training now. If you want it, say so.’ He blinked a few times then dropped his voice. ‘They don’t sound like your words, Nesta. If you want it, have it. It’s a bit of honey, for goodness’ sake.’

She gave a stiff nod. The tea did taste better with it, far sweeter as she preferred. It was the only sugar she was likely to get in the next few days besides. Weeks earlier, Cassian had steered her away from a decadent new bakery overlooking the Sidra where everything was fried or pumped with cream or rolled in sugar. She was still dreaming of it.

In silence, they sipped at the tea, letting snippets of the group’s conversation meet their ears. The high lord and lady were being their usual nauseating selves by managing to slip innuendos into every topic. Their hands pawed at each other regardless of the audience. Even after all the time that had passed, it still made Nesta uncomfortable to bear witness to it. She was becoming used to the highly charged comments that seemed to be a currency in Prythian, but others were not as sex-obsessed as her sister and her mate. There was a time and place for that impropriety – the living room with everybody looking on was not it.

This could not be her life forever. Before Lucien had sat beside her, it could not have been more apparent that Nesta still sat on the fringes of this group. She had sat alone with only a book for company while they clustered together near the open windows, chatting with an ease she didn’t possess after dinner. She had tried so hard to fit in – to be like them. Nesta attended every dinner but when they became a nightly ritual to eat, drink, chat, she began asking Cassian if they could have time as just the two of them. He wondered if she had argued with her sisters. The idea that Nesta wouldn’t want to spend every free evening with his family was unfathomable to him. She had only wanted his company sometimes, not all of them. Nesta stopped asking. And for her sisters, Nesta visited them whenever they requested. She cared for Nyx but he spent so much of his time with the wraiths so Feyre and Rhys could remain locked together as they ruled their court. Elain could only talk of gardening and Feyre could only gush about her baby or her mate.

If Nesta did not have Gwyn and Emerie, she would have been so lonely. It was their company that kept her standing. These last few weeks had felt like trying to hold together a crumbling building – but she felt as if she was the only one who saw the damage. Cassian didn’t seem to notice how muted she was. Nobody asked her about training. They didn’t ask about her friends. There was no expectation for Nesta to do anything now except be Cassian’s mate. And she hated herself for having no goals for the future. This could not be her life, night after night, sat on the edge of a group she didn’t belong to, trapped in Velaris. There had to be more to it.

Lucien settled his cup down on the small table in front of their couch. ‘I’m quite tired from my journey. It was nice to talk to you, Nesta. I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you a lot previously.’

‘I was a viper before my mating.’

She had meant it as a jest, but part of Lucien’s expression fractured into something like pain. He nodded then made to say his goodbyes to the others.

‘I hope you don’t mind, but we’ve set up a room for you in the House of Wind while you’re here,’ Rhys said, a hand tangling in Feyre’s hair. ‘Nyx is cutting a tooth and he’ll keep you awake otherwise.’

Lucien shrugged to show he didn’t mind, but he added, ‘It’s not my house. Cassian, Nesta, if you don’t mind?’

‘No problem, Vanserra. You’re welcome to join training in the morning. The females can show you what they’ve been learning.’

‘Not for me, but thank you for the offer, Cassian.’

Rhys stood to winnow him. Nesta leapt to her feet too. ‘Can you take me too? I’m quite tired.’

It wasn’t unusual for Nesta to leave early. Often, she feigned tiredness or a late-night meeting in the library with Gwyn. She’d rather sit alone at home than sit alone here.

Cassian reached out his hand to summon his mate to him. He couldn’t stand up because Mor had her legs draped across him. Nesta pressed her wrath down and let him kiss her on the lips, even if she hated to do so in public. But he liked it. There was a lot that Nesta did to please her mate.

Rhys didn’t linger after winnowing them onto the roof. He gave a short goodbye before disappearing into the night. Lucien followed Nesta as she walked the lengthy corridors, peeling back doors to find which room had been designated for Lucien while he stayed a couple of nights in the City of Starlight. A plush room overlooking the city was his, complete with a desk and rug from Sangravah.

‘I hope it’s to your liking,’ she said.

Lucien’s fingers enclosed around her thin wrist. The heat from his skin sizzled like a brand against her own. Cassian would scent him on her when he came home.

‘How can you bear this?’ His voice was quiet, hurt.

Her brow furrowed at his question. Was he asking about the unbearably tender way his thumb stroked over her veins or her life in general?

‘What?’

‘This is your house, apparently. And I am a guest because the high lord decided it. Not you. Not your mate. How are you not angry, Nesta?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Do you like this? Any of this? You live in a fucking house you cannot escape from.’

‘The house is my friend.’

‘It is a house! You cannot leave without your mate allowing it. And still the high lord uses it for his official functions so it is not truly yours. He has put me in your home as a guest without your consent. None of these rooms were decorated by you. You own nothing here. You are a glorified prisoner.’

It should have made her angry. Her rage should have been a wild, violent thing but Lucien’s words had rattled around in her own head for weeks. She wanted a garden to potter around in when they had fair weather, a nook cut into the window to read her books in as the sun kissed her skin, a place for just her and Cassian that wasn’t a communal space. But in the last couple of weeks, she had wanted a space for her, without Cassian. She wanted a break from him sometimes. There was no joy to be found with him. Nesta no longer looked forward to him returning from lllyria – she dreaded it. Whenever their bodies weren’t slick with sweat from coupling, they had little to talk about. She listened to him speak of Illyria or Rhys, but she had nothing to share with him. He was with her when she trained, with her for dinners. The only time she had alone was when she was sent to work in the library or when she read – and Cassian didn’t care for books.

‘Do you even want to train?’

‘It makes Cassian happy when I do.’

‘And you?’ He stared at her in disbelief. ‘What joy do you get from it?’

Nesta tried to leave. He was throwing truths at her that she’d been trying so hard to ignore. That hand stayed clutching her wrist like an anchor that Lucien would not let go of.

‘Nesta Archeron, you changed your anatomy for that male after he made you march in the Illyrian mountains until you collapsed. They have torn out your claws and ripped out your fangs to make you more palatable. How can you not be angry when your mate has his head in another female’s lap? When he cannot even be bothered to say a proper goodbye because her legs hold him there. How are you not angry about the way he treats you?’

‘I am angry,’ she roared back, her rage flooding out of her in a wave she could not longer control. ‘I hate it. I hate all of it. I hate who I am – worse than before. I hate everything, Lucien. I feel like I am drowning and nobody can see.’

He gripped her other arm so he stood in front of her. ‘I see you. I see a female who is cutting out parts of herself to please others – and you will have nothing left, Nesta. Do not become my mother. What has Cassian changed for you? What has he altered in his life for you?’

‘Nothing. He has changed nothing. He has given up nothing. And I have given up everything for him.’

A sob broke out of her. She hated to cry, hated anybody else to bear witness to her pain, but Lucien wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him as she cried.

On the dawn of her mating ceremony, her stomach had been in knots. She’d wanted to call the whole thing off, but Elain and Feyre had convinced her that nerves were normal. If it was her wedding morning as a mortal, then she’d feel the same cold feet and reluctance so she had gone through with it. After, when Cassian danced with Mor and Feyre instead of her, she had cried on Gwyn’s shoulder. Nobody had noticed she was not even there for the final few hours. Emerie had told her that a mating ceremony was supposed to fill her with absolute joy – not dread – as she’d rubbed a hand along her spine. She had known a handful of people at the mating ceremony. They were all associates of Rhysand. Nesta had felt like a shiny trophy that was showed off by the Night Court; a prize that Cassian had finally won.

For weeks, Nesta’s mind played the same thing on a loop: not right, not right, not right.

Without Cassian, without the Night Court, Nesta had nothing. No money, no home. And she had lost her last home, lost the wealth that the High Lord of Spring had provided, lost her damn mortality due to the Night Court’s interventions. She had lost it once, lost it twice. There was no happiness here. Nesta couldn’t even say if she loved Cassian or the idea of him anymore. She could lose it all for a third time. Start again and try and find the happiness she deserved rather than the one she tried to give to everybody else by trading in the parts of her she had once liked.

‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.’

Nesta managed to pry her head from Lucien’s chest. She hadn’t shared those words with any – not Gwyn or Emerie – and shouldn’t have admitted those things to Lucien. A mating bond was supposed to be a happy thing. They ought to have been happy. But maybe Lucien knew better than any how wrong a mating bond could be.

‘Tomorrow, why don’t we take a walk in the fresh air? Consider me a neutral party to your woes.’

‘I have to train tomorrow.’

‘Have to?’

It was almost a year since she began the rigorous daily schedule laid out by her sister in that terrible meeting. Wake up, eat, train, eat, go to the library, eat, rest, repeat. She had barely missed a day. There was little variance to her days. It had panicked Nesta once, to think of a life without that steady, predictable routine. Now, she loathed it. It was a monotony that was slowly killing her.

‘In my personal opinion, it is better to step out now rather than one hundred years down the line. You do not want to look back and think of how much time you gave to people who did not deserve it. Time is the one thing we can never have again.’

His words made sense, but it was terrifying to go against the grain once more.

‘Let’s say ten by the market. If you’re there, you’re there. If you’re not, I won’t be cross.’ Lucien finally released his hands from her body, and she felt suddenly cold without his warmth. ‘Nesta, do what is best for you. They surely will do the same for themselves.’

That night, she was unable to settle. Her mind churned with worries and possibilities. In the rare time that Nesta had ever expressed to Cassian the desire for more, he could not understand it. For him, Velaris was everything he needed. He was settled. He’d had five hundred years here and wanted five hundred more. That thought terrified Nesta. There was a whole world out there and she would never see it if she stayed here, confined to the secret city.

When Cassian came to bed, he stunk of wine. He lumbered through the doors with his heavy steps. If she had been asleep, the light streaming in from the open door and the noise would have woken her. Nesta forced out a breath to try and calm her before she snapped at him. It wasn’t uncommon for him to come crashing into their bedroom after drinking with Azriel or Mor, sometimes even Feyre and Rhys. It was fine for them to do such a thing. Of course, it was. She forced out another breath, trying to calm the waves of anger that had been coming more frequently recently.

A heavy arm landed on her, pinning her to the bed, then a wing. It had once been something she craved. Now, Nesta knew she had only wanted comfort. Cassian had provided release to her when all other opportunities were taken. His weight was too heavy, suffocating even. And as Nesta tried to sleep, two words rang out again in her mind: not right, not right, not right.

***

The quilt was slowly pulled from her body as Cassian attempted to wake her. Nesta had slept terribly, adrift with worries and stress. It had not been far off dawn when she had finally managed to close her eyes and sleep.

‘I drank half a brewery last night and even I’m up before you.’

‘You smell like it,’ she said, before she could jail it.

‘Someone woke up pissed today.’

Last night, Nesta had prepared reasons to excuse herself from training. They had ranged from feeling unwell, her cycle coming, having plans with Gwyn which would require her to race to the library and ask her friend to also not attend. All of them disintegrated. She didn't owe him - or anybody - a reason.

‘I’m not training today.’

Cassian folded his arms across his chest. ‘Why not?’

‘Because I’m not.’

Her mood was prickly already like she had been months ago. It didn’t matter how many times Nesta had cut off her spikes, they always grew back.

‘That’s not a reason.’

‘I need to be flown to Velaris this morning, please. Otherwise, I should begin taking the stairs.’

Cassian raised his brows, but did not say anything else. It almost disappointed Nesta because she had been hankering for an argument. That was their most effective way of discussion. When Nesta tried to breeze past him, Cassian stopped her. ‘Breakfast.’

Nesta was in that mood. It had been a long time since she had let herself feel that way. As they sat at the table for breakfast, the house deposited a bland bowl of porridge for her. It had become her staple breakfast. Occasionally, a handful of berries might appear in it too, but it was usually plain porridge with water – not even milk. She added a heaped spoon of sugar into her porridge, under Cassian’s watchful eye.

‘That much sugar is not good for you, Nes. You’ll have no energy.’

Nesta nodded, used to the lecture, and added another spoon of sugar because that mood meant she was ready for an argument.

‘I want sugar. Porridge is the most boring meal I could ever envision. At least some sugar makes it bearable.’

‘If you must sweeten it, try a mashed banana.’

‘If I must? Yes. I must, because it is my breakfast and my body, Cassian. You do not have authority over it.’

Cassian threw up his hands so Nesta knew the battle was already won. ‘Ask Az to take you to Velaris. I’m not dealing with you this morning.’

Another person in their house.

Nesta watched him leave, satisfied and angry all at once. A banana appeared on the table near her bowl. She frowned. ‘Don’t listen to him. I hate banana.’

The house reclaimed it.

Knocking on the bedroom that Azriel tended to sleep in was always intimidating. He never ever let Nesta see an inch of the room. He’d slip through the gap and stand in front of her, closing the door behind him or obscuring it was shadow. Her, Gwyn, and Emerie had once spent an evening wondering what nefarious things he might have inside of it to make him so secretive. Emerie was certain there was a body in there. Or several of them.

As expected, he quickly hid his room from view.

‘Please could you take me into the city?’

‘Where’s Cass?’

‘Not dealing with me this morning,’ she replied brightly. Not a single part of Nesta felt bad about irritating Cassian over breakfast either. ‘Can you?’

Azriel nodded. ‘I’ve just taken Lucien’s to Rhys. Do you need to go now?’

There was about forty minutes until Lucien’s suggested meeting time, but Nesta wanted out of this house. ‘You sound irritated about that.’

‘I’m not a delivery service,’ said Azriel.

Nesta gave a shrug of her left shoulder. ‘Then maybe I shouldn’t be forced to live in a house that I cannot enter or leave without assistance. And maybe Rhys shouldn’t invite people into my house who have the same issue as me.’

She clapped her hands together. The words were leaking out, words that she had spent months clipping and locking away so that she would be seen as nicer and softer and kinder and gentler. Nesta was sure the moment that Azriel came into contact with Cassian, the males would discuss how difficult she was that morning, because as soon as Nesta stopped being compliant to their every whim, she was difficult.

If Azriel was annoyed, he did not show it. Gently, he lifted her to his arms and flew her into the city. Flight still made her queasy. The sudden drop made her stomach lurch no matter how carefully an Illyrian flew. She was set down on a street where she could look up to the House of Wind cut from the mountain. ‘Should I collect you at a certain time or send Cass?’

‘I’ll figure something out. Thank you.’

Without lingering, Nesta turned on her heel to examine the streets that she rarely got to explore. It was a pretty city, undoubtedly, but a city did not feel like home to Nesta. Neither did a crumbling cottage in the woods. Home had existed for a brief number of months. It had been the manor provided by Tamlin that straddled the forest and society. Nesta had enjoyed stepping into civilisation as much as she had enjoyed taking a step back and savouring the peace and quiet that the grounds had allowed. She wasn’t likely to find that in the Night Court, although perhaps Illyria could provide that if the males weren’t so decidedly hateful towards females, and especially towards her. It would be a life of fear there. Nesta had stepped foot once in Illyria since the Blood Rite and it had almost sparked a war. None would listen to her pleas that she had not wanted to enter it, that reaching Ramiel hadn’t been a goal, but the only way for her friends to survive. She had needed to be whisked out of Windhaven as a mob grew. They claimed she had made the ground unhallowed. No, Illyria would never be home.

With every passing minute that Nesta had her own independence, she remembered how much she had loved it. Nobody barking orders at her. Nobody thrusting her into a hole that she didn’t fit through. No expectations, no judgements. Just her.

Although Nesta did not have her own bank account, she had access to Cassian’s, as his mate. Until it was time to meet Lucien, Nesta pottered amongst the shops, gazing wistfully at the items. If it was her own money then she’d have happily splurged on more, but she settled only for a notebook with a darling illustration on the cover. The market was busy so she kept to the edges, peering over shoulders or through the gaps of bodies at stalls. The rich scents of spices filled the air, making her long for the far-off places that she would never visit if her life remained this way.

‘You freed yourself of the shackles of the House of Wind then?’

Nesta rolled her eyes at the sight of Lucien’s grinning face. ‘You are a bad influence.’

‘I’m glad you’re here, all the same.’ Almost instinctively, Lucien moved towards her and placed a kiss on her cheek. It ought to have been nothing – she was used to such behaviour from mortal men though they tended to kiss a hand with quivering lips from the icy glares she would give them. Yet, Lucien’s touch kindled something in Nesta.

‘Have you eaten?’

‘I had porridge. Two spoons of sugar, much to Cassian’s annoyance.’

Lucien’s mouth dropped open. ‘You’ll cause a scandal. Sugar. Not training. Whatever next?’

Nesta rubbed her hands together with delight. ‘You see there is a recently opened bakery that my lovely mate forbade me from entering. He claimed there was no nutritional value in any of it. So, Lucien, I should like to stuff myself silly, if that’s quite alright?’

An arm was extended for her to take. ‘Have Illyrians never heard of eating food simply because it tastes good?’

‘If it’s not chopped from a dead animal, it’s not worth it.’

It was surprisingly easy to talk to Lucien Vanserra. Nesta could not help but think how well Elain would get on with him if she actually bothered to have a civil conversation rather than hiding, the wretch. He was well-mannered and personable, guiding her through the market while sharing details of his morning meeting with Rhysand. Nesta had to wonder if he shared it simply because he also had nobody else to talk to beyond Jurian and Vassa in the mortal lands.

The bakery was painted a navy blue with silver lettering broadcasting the name. As Nesta stared through the window, she made an audible groan.

‘There’s too much choice.’

‘Eat it all. We have time.’

Lucien led the way to a table tucked into an alcove, out of sight from prying eyes. The few customers had opted for tables outside in the sunshine, but he had joked that his eye would blind Nesta if the sun hit it at the wrong angle. She found that she liked his jokes. They tended to be at his own expense rather than hers.

For starters, they shared a pot of black tea with milk, a scone heaped with jam and cream that they cut in two and a slab of carrot cake.

‘Cheers,’ said Lucien, knocking the brim of his teacup to hers.

‘Not far from here is a tavern that I used to go to when I was the Night Court’s nightmare.’

‘And now you are their dream come true.’

Nesta grimaced then gulped down a mouthful of too-hot tea. ‘Not this morning.’

She explained how she had been happy to incite an argument with Cassian but he’d not quite risen to the bait, then had been brisk with Azriel. Lucien didn’t berate her for it or tell her to be grateful that they trained or who flew her. He just let out a soft, tinkering laugh. ‘If that’s how you feel, that’s how you feel. You shouldn’t have to constantly stamp on yourself.’

Nesta shook her head. ‘But I’m not a nice person, Lucien. After the Blood Rite, after what happened with Feyre and Nyx, I vowed to be better. I want to earn their love.’

Lucien made a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. ‘Earn it? Fucking hell, Nesta, you saved the high lord, the high lady, and the heir. And you think somehow you have to earn their love?’

Before Nesta could speak, Lucien held up a hand. His brows had bunched together. ‘What have they done to earn yours?’

‘They gave me a home.’

‘After they tore down your apartment and evicted you from it.’

‘No, I mean after I left the mortal lands.’

‘Because they meddled in your life. Because Rhysand promised to have guards protect you, but when it came to it, they were not there and you went into the Cauldron.’

When it was put that way, the altruistic side of the Night Court was tinged more with necessity. Nesta swallowed against her dry throat. A small part of her had known that the only reason the Night Court had extended the branch of friendship to her was due to Feyre’s mating bond.

‘I wasn’t in a good place last year, Lucien. They helped me.’

‘They put you in that bad place, Nesta. They locked you in a house to keep you safe but trotted you out into danger when it suited them. You were taken to one of the most dangerous places in Prythian – the Bog of Oorid – so please forgive me when I say, it was not about your safety. It was about keeping you where they could see you.’

Urgh. Curse this male for striking at the truths that Nesta pretended not to see so that her anger didn’t seize control of her limbs.

‘I was fucking anything that walked.’

‘You weren’t fucking the right male, pardon my crude language. It wasn’t about the other males, it was the fact it wasn’t Cassian. If it isn’t true then why couldn’t you train with Azriel? Why couldn’t he be your chaperone? Why did they trap you with Cassian who has had his eyes on you since the moment he met you? Why did they never help you to train your magic?’

Nesta shoved the last wedge of carrot cake into her mouth, to give her a chance to think of rebuttals to all of Lucien’s very valid points. When she could think of nothing, Nesta said, ‘You’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this.’

‘I have,’ he said swiftly. ‘I couldn’t sleep last night. I worried about you. You reminded me of my mother too much. It made my conscience restless.’

‘I was pissing their money away in taverns.’

‘And they are short of money.’

‘It’s not the point,’ Nesta said, sweeping her hand in the air. ‘It was not my money to spend.’

‘Except you fought in the war and told your story. Were you paid for those things?’

‘No.’

‘And now, you are paid?’

‘What should I be paid for? For exercising? No, Lucien. I use Cassian’s money.’

It all sounded ridiculous. It was as if she was holding up a sheet and Lucien was stabbing holes into it. Everything he said made sense so Nesta couldn’t understand why she was still trying to argue in support of the Inner Circle.

Lucien folded his fingers together, watching as the waitress took away their dirty plates with the promise of bringing macarons and biscuits for their next pot of tea.

‘So that I understand, you no longer have any income whatsoever. You are reliant on your mate’s money. You are reliant on your mate to come and go from your own house. You follow the same schedule every day with no room for deviation. because it might upset your mate if you want more.’

A bland smile was plastered on her face. ‘That sounds about right.’

‘How can you be happy with a life that is so…’

‘Shit.’

The male choked on his laugh. ‘I was going to say stagnant.’

‘It is shit, Lucien. I know that. I am so bored already and I have an eternity of it, of being Cassian’s pretty, docile mate. I am losing my mind in this city. I hate it. I hate it. We have already run out of conversation and we haven’t even been mated for a year. The only thing he talks about is Rhys or Mor or Feyre. I want to scream.’

‘Scream then.’

Her grey eyes scanned the quiet bakery. ‘What, here? Just scream?’

‘Why not?’ he teased.

‘You are insane.’

‘I’m not the one giving up on myself to please people that do not care.’

Their heated discussion was interrupted by their second course of desserts. In silence, Lucien poured a fresh cup of tea for them both that Nesta dunked a biscuit in so aggressively that tea spilt over the edge onto the pristine, white tablecloth.

‘I’m not giving up on myself,’ she muttered.

‘Where are your dreams, Nesta? This cannot be your forever.’

‘I know,’ she said with a desperate plea in her voice. ‘What would you have me do? Nobody liked me when I was a viper. You didn’t like me.’

‘I never disliked you. You terrified me, yes. I admired that unbending spirit, the fact that you didn’t care who you stood up for yourself against, whether it was mortal queens or Rhys or my father. They have smoothed all of your sharp edges. The moment that they find another thing that doesn’t fit their perfect ideal, they will remove that too. Nesta,’ he sighed, ‘get yourself out of here.’

‘But Cassian’s my mate and I can’t just give up on that.’

‘He is five hundred and unlikely to change his ways. Do you want to spend every evening watching him with his arm around Mor?’

‘No. I wanted to gouge their eyes out yesterday.’

‘Me too. I nearly asked them what they thought they were doing.’

The thought made Nesta smile. Maybe there was somebody else in her corner rather than her alone. ‘Whenever I raise the topic, I’m brushed away. They’re just friends. They’re like siblings. Do you see me giving Elain a foot massage? I don’t feel good enough for him, Lucien. I can never compare to Morrigan.’

A thumb brushed against her cheekbone. There was real hurt in Lucien’s expression. ‘You are worth ten of them.’

Once they had both hit a wall with the amount of sugar they could ingest, they took a laboured walk along the river’s edge. Nesta kept one hand on her protruding stomach. ‘I am so full.’

Lucien murmured in agreement.

They followed the curve of the river all the way until the outskirts of the city where they crossed over one of the final bridges still within the boundary of Velaris then began their return on the other side of the Sidra for a different view. Nesta shared with him that this city did not truly feel like a home. And how could it when it wasn’t a home she had chosen? Not even a damn pillowcase was chosen by her. Their trailing feet led them to the sprawling river estate belonging to the high lord and lady of the Night Court. They’d have to scrounge a return to the House of Wind that way. Somebody would have to winnow or fly them both. If it annoyed them then good, Nesta thought, it annoys me that I cannot get into my own house.

‘I’m off again tomorrow for a few days. There’s a place for you to accompany me – if you’d like it.’

‘Where?’

‘Dawn Court. It’s safe. Still Prythian.’

Her body gave an involuntary twist of worry. ‘Cassian wouldn't be happy with me going with another male.’

'We're just friends. Tell him that, just as he and Mor are just friends.'

'You play a dangerous game,' she warned. 'Cassian won't-'

‘Fuck Cassian. What do you want?’

‘What’s in the Dawn Court?’

‘Only one dreary meeting with their emissary who is about as old as Prythian itself. Beyond that, golden hills and white sands. Beautiful plants, the brightest minds, and I’m sure lots of bakeries.’ Lucien threw her a wink. ‘Please, consider it. If you have to lie that you want to be emissary again or it’s for Gwyneth’s research, do it. Get out anyway you can.’

She felt her lips twisting into a rare, true smile. ‘To the Dawn Court then.’

#lucien vanserra #nesta archeron #lucien x nesta #nesta x lucien #be consumed by the flame

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wolfnesta · 1 year

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The way I can ship Nesta with ANY character and it’s a banger

#nesta archeron #she’s just a multi faceted queen #she’s just perfect #nesta x lucien #banger #nesta x azriel #great #nesta x cresseida #amazing #nesta x eris #the best #nesta x rhys #interesting #nesta x jurian #I need #nesta supremacy

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ae-neon · 1 year

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Anyways more Lucien and Nesta

They definitely ride together on horseback like @toast-com said. They'll ride to a shady spot by a stream or lake and Nesta will read while Lucien fishes.

When it's books about Fae topics she'll ask him about it, and Lucien knows now to give her long detailed explanations because Nesta loves deep diving into topics and once went on a week long research rabbit hole on Fae astrology because she just couldn't figure out what any of it meant.

When it's books about human topics she'll tell him everything she knows.

"Did you know in Bharat people believed salt would protect them from Fae so they lined their thresholds with salt and eventually it became custom to..."

"The first king of Scythia only ruled for 3 months because it rained on the day of his coronation and didn't stop for 4 weeks. People believed it was an omen and when..."

"There's a spot in the trade routes called the Siren's Pass that only pirate ships pass through because it's so dangerous, ten years ago 4 ships..."

Lucien is a bit skeptical of Nesta essentially adopting monsters who've wandered out of The Middle but Nesta shrugs and leaves out bowls of bloody meat before going to bed.

(@aho-dapa) Lucien braids his confessions into her hair without telling her. It's an Autumn Court tradition that holding a belief in your heart while braiding your or your loved one's hair will hold that thought there. So he sometimes braids "I love you" and "I want to be with you always" and "beautiful woman" into her hair.

Nesta isn't as poetic but she's there and talkative and she laughs and loves and he feels it. Sometimes he doubts but then, like she knows, she'll hold his hand in bed or bite his shoulder or spend the day with him with her hair loose and curling down to her waist and he'll know.

It's been 67 years since the War and they're doing okay. Twice a week Lucien will winnow them to some obscure eatery in a different court to have Nesta try authentic foods from different Fae cultures. Once he even took her to an Illyrian kitchen of a family he knew.

He's learned to cleave wards (that's how he just winnows into and out of courts without anyone noticing) and he suspects the truth about Helion even if he doesn't say. Nesta does too since she spends so much time with them both it's easy to see.

They're big fans of and friends with Tarquin and Cresseida and are honorary members of his council (before he is voted High King). Lucien plays a key role in building the InterCourts Alliance which implements continent wide laws (Nesta, Thesan and Helion proposed a Constitution) and the Mortal Lands are counted and represented as the 8th Court.

They become actual members of his High King's council around 154 years after the War. Nesta serves one term of 20 years before she decides she likes theory better and dedicates herself to scholarly pursuits instead.

#acotar #nesta archeron #lucien vanserra #acotar headcanon #lucnes #nescien #nesta deserves better #lucien deserves better #nesta x lucien

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zinniax · 4 months

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I just read that SJM wanted nesta x lucien but decided to go with cassian. As much as I love nessian it would make since for nesta to be with lucien or Eris and elain be with Tamlin… but I don’t think she wanted the sisters to go after the same guy and since spring court fits elain better and lucien has made that his for for hundreds of years it makes sense but I can’t stop to think how nesta and Lucien would balance eachother out and then there’s that whole an oldest daughter marries the youngest son (obviously they aren’t related/in the same family) which they are and now I’m thinking like fuck we could’ve gotten a 3way between lucien x nesta x Eris like cmon TWO FIRE DICKS!!

#lucien x nesta x Eris #nesta archeron #lucien vanserra #eris vanserra #nesta x eris #nesta x lucien #acosf #nesta acosf #a court of silver flames #acotar

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bittermuire · 2 years

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A woman in the walls

Having left Velaris nearly a decade ago, Lucien returns to spend the winter season with the Inner Circle. He’s having a nice time being wined and dined and yet can’t help but notice the absence of Nesta, who seems to have disappeared altogether.

Lucien’s mother used to tell him that winter is when the world ends: that the first snow is the first fissure, the warning, the lighthouse.

He steps down from the coach onto the dark street and holds out a hand. A snowflake spirals onto his finger then melts upon touching it. He smiles. He’s forgotten most of the stories and winter is so beautiful, anyway. He looks up at the front of the townhouse—how long has it been since he last stayed here? A decade? More? He hasn’t seen Feyre since her belly was swollen with promise, then he received a letter, a short one, that informed him briefly of the loss. We had a name picked out, the messy letters spelled out. It was a boy.

The door opens, golden light spilling out around that familiar frame.

“Lucien?” says Feyre, smiling. “By the Mother, is that you?”

He grins, taking up his trunk, and takes the steps two at a time to grab her in a hug. She laughs into his shoulder then pulls away sharply with a gasp.

“It’s snowing!”

He nods, looking over the blurred yellow lamplights. “The first snow.”

“Come on,” she says, and picks up his trunk. “Let’s go in. We’re having dinner. I’m so glad you’ve finally arrived!”

Lucien follows her into the foyer, when she pulls off his coat and he unwinds his scarves in the sweet warmth of the townhouse. Laughter bounces up every now and then from the kitchen, the living room, and he wonders how much has changed. He turns to Feyre. He wants to ask how everyone’s fared, but he stops short. In clear light she’s very… different, isn’t she?

Skin that’s stretched a bit too thin. Saucer-like eyes that are a distinct shade of cornflower blue, no others, no melting together of hues. A familiar throw of freckles, but less. Fewer.

“Feyre,” he says thoughtfully, and she turns to him, brows high. “Are you alright?”

She frowns, a high laugh pitched from her mouth, dry and cracked. “Just fine. Are you alright?”

He swallows a protest and they share a smile; they join the others.

II.

The letter he received, three months prior:

Dear Lucien,

How have you been? It feels like years since we’ve seen each other. I’ve never been too considerate about keeping up decent correspondence—my apologies.

Anyway, I’d be delighted if you would come spend the winter with the rest of here in the townhouse. It’s the same people as always. You know us all! I think it could be rather fun, and we’re throwing our annual Solstice party. I have all kinds of plans.

Write back and let me know!

Your friend, Feyre Archeron

He splashes water on his face long after the rest of them have gone to sleep, musing over the words in that letter. The same people as always. In fact, it is. Mostly.

Rhys and Cassian and Azriel and Mor and Amren and Elain and Feyre. They sit in the living room and put their feet in each other’s laps and laugh hysterically and get drunk. They’re more fun than they used to be—maybe it’s Lucien who’s changed, who’s loosened up. He can appreciate their company but he’d like to know, he’d like to ask:

Where’s the scorpion?

The frightful witch, with the spine of iron.

Cassian has circles beneath his eyes and he doesn’t laugh as hard. Mor has a new hardness around her mouth. Elain and Feyre sit on opposite sides of the room. Azriel looks over his shoulder; he has shadows for that, spies for that. There’s a dark glitter in the indigo of Rhys’s eyes. That’s always been there. It’s never made Lucien concerned, shaken, like this, splashing water on his face, wetting his face again and again.

These things he collects, puts in his pockets. They can’t have to do with her but he collects them anyway.

Where is she? They don’t say her name. For some reason, he’s afraid to, he keeps forgetting to.

Where is Nesta?

III.

A long day, a good day, comes to a restful end. He’s had breakfast with Rhys and Feyre, went to a game with Cassian, helped Elain prepare a late lunch, sat with them all on the veranda and watched the snow fall in silence. With each person he wants to ask about Nesta but it’s physically difficult, like his tongue has forgotten how to make the shape of her name.

He pushes back the sheets and shivers—his room is rather cold. Has it always been this cold? He shakes his head and pulls the comforters up to his chin. It’s freezing—

Thunk.

He jolts up. It’s like something has crashed into the window. He listens for something else, but there’s nothing.

Thunk. Scrape.

Muttering a curse, he gets up and pushes aside the curtain. It’s a tree branch, bare and heavy, moved by the night wind to rouse him from sleep. Damn it all.

So he ignores the sounds, the cold, and he repeats a rhyme in his head until he drifts off, drifts away.

IV.

(He sits across from her at a cafe. She is not how she usually is. She is how he’s begun to know her as. Her hair is long and down, a bit frizzy, and she sighs with irritation when the wind off the river blows it up and she has to push it away from her face. She has, always has had, a magnificent face. He finds it all the more magnificent when she smiles; that smile defies nature. A face like hers doesn’t smile and yet she takes a long sip of her coffee and sighs contentedly, and,

Smiles.

Lucien smiles too and looks over the river. This is a routine. They understand each other. Something in their bones is conducive to this. Something in their hearts is the same.)

He’s drowning.

With a strangled gasp he sits up, the comforters clenched in his hands. His nightshirt is drenched in sweat.

Nesta—

What was he dreaming of? It’s on the tip of his useless tongue. He just had it.

Wearily he runs a hand over his face. There goes the branch again, in an ugly rhythm, slamming angrily against his poor glass window.

Elain sits like a little girl’s doll in the coach, rosy-cheeked and nestled in blankets. If he once was enamored with her, something in her marrow enchanted to pull his eyes, now he would rather look away. She looks unreal. Beautiful, surely.

“Ah, thank you,” he says, as she stretches the blanket over his legs.

She smiles. “How have you been? I realize I haven’t asked you that, not really.”

He smiles too. He looks out at the city as the driver clicks his tongue to the horse. “Oh, fine. The years have treated me well.”

“It’s been quiet for you?”

“Yes. For you as well?”

She blinks, eyelids smooth over the doe-brown of her eyes, spidery lashes long and thin. “Yes,” she says.

He can remember like it was yesterday those long months; days upon days of waiting in corridors and standing in the cold, wanting more than anything a glimpse of her face, the brush of her skirts against his leg, a piece of her silhouette, a piece of her. He would have taken discarded letters or a hint of stolen laughter, a whiff of her perfume. It wasn’t love. It was manufactured by a thing that the world is losing faith in. There are universities now—there are students who write papers and publish articles in the daily news, and they speak of something they call science. Not the ancient sciences, not—not witchcraft, but something concrete, absolute. Something of evidence.

Lucien reads those articles. He looks at Elain; he knows, it wasn’t love. It was fear. A need for structure. A cauldron brewing love potions.

It wasn’t love, but now it’s concern. She blinks again. He wants to grab her shoulders and shake her, pull something unrehearsed.

What’s going on in this mind of his? So muddled up. There had to have been a reason he proposed they take a ride around the city. He sucks in a breath and thinks, thinks.

Clop clop, go the horse’s hooves. He looks down a darker alleyway, the pathway to a dirter Velaris—wasn’t that where—

In a moment of clarity he bursts, “This might seem a strange question, but might I ask, where is Nesta?”

A blink. Her lips pull back from her small, pearly teeth.

“Lucien,” she says, like he’s a child. “What could you possibly mean?”

VI.

(She’s crying. Her hands clutch his arms and he rests his chin on the top of her head, murmurs meaningless things, hushes her, dread in his heart. She cries so often and for no apparent reason. It frightens him, that she, with an iron spine, with claws for nails, would spiral like a storm from that townhouse and come to him and sink to his floor and cry. He never goes to the townhouse anymore. He didn’t like to see them tear into her—Feyre promised, promised him, that she and her mate and their friends had stopped. That they had an understanding with her. That they loved her, they were on better terms.

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” he whispers to her. “Please tell me.”

She holds him tighter. There is a gold ring on her finger, embedded with rubies. It’s a ring of promise. She’ll have the ceremony in the next month.

She cries.)

A ghoulish wind wakes him, whisking through the walls. He sits up and listens and rubs his eyes blearily.

It doesn’t sound like the wind, it sounds like a woman, a girl—crying—

The sleep falls from him like a cloak and he’s alert, he remembers the dream like it’s real, like she’s here. He gets up and goes to the door, puts his hand on the knob.

“Nesta?” he murmurs, breath against the wood. “Nesta?”

The room goes cold. All three windows are closed. Locked tight.

VII.

Rhys holds up a necklace, blood rubies and diamonds. “How is this? Would Mor like it?”

Lucien nods. He has no idea what Mor likes. He’s tired—he never managed to get back to sleep last night, plagued by nightmares of all kinds of gruesome deaths, drowning and choking and getting burned on a stake, flames licking at his feet.

“Wonderful.” Rhys looks over it once more. “How are you sleeping, Lucien?”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you sleeping well?”

A cold wind shakes the stall. Lucien stands still as stone, then plays at a smile. “As well as I’m able. There’s a horrible wind at night, isn’t there?”

Rhys’s eyes are jewels, glittering, twisting, catching light and grinding it up. He smiles also and hands the necklace to the vendor without a word. “Oh, yes. Don’t mind it.”

VIII.

Cassian wears a ring on his finger. Lucien looks at it often. He stands in the townhouse and laughs at their jokes, drinks their wine, says to himself over and over, I’m not insane. I’m not insane. I’m not insane. It hasn’t been that long. Cassian wouldn’t remarry. Cassian’s whole body belonged to her—to Nesta, why does her name slip from his mind every time? Why does he have to search for the pieces and string the letters together, one by one?

Cassian’s heart and mind and soul were hers even before the bond.

He still wears the ring. Lucien stares at it. Something ugly has begun to take shape in his mind, something vague like a monster in the doorway, breath on the back of his neck. There is something here and he’s grabbing at it and he’s missing it every time.

IX.

Lucien.

He gasps awake, wiping the dried line of drool off his face. The bedroom is dark, unnaturally dark, like someone has placed a blanket over his head while he was dreaming. He blinks over and over again.

Lu-cien.

The sound comes from somewhere near.

He gets up and goes to the door, turning the knob. “Hello?” he murmurs. And on a whim: “Nesta? Who’s there?”

No response.

Creeping down the hallway, he follows the clicks, the whispers, the innocuous sounds, with some subconscious layer of thought. His eyes are strained for light and his ears buzz with the suffocating silence, punctuated every so often with the rhythms, the placements, of this thing here, this thing that knows his name. Lucien, it rasps, and he thinks this must be another one of those strange dreams.

He awakens in the main hall, staring up at the filmy lines of Feyre’s unfinished (long finished) painting. Of her, of Elain, their mother and father. He squints and raises a finger to the dried paint. It must be a trick of the light…

The surface shimmers, shifts. He must be mistaken. Because Nesta is there, in the painting like she never was, beautiful, perfect, with that thin-lipped smile and regal posture. Her ears are curved. Her face is human.

He stares. He puts a finger to her face, faint as it is.

“Nesta?” he whispers, and the smile leaves her face, her hands are moving, they come up to touch his, and her skin is sandpaper against his. He frowns. He’s dreaming. He must be dreaming. They must be putting something in his food, his wine—he never dreams like this.

Lucien, is the word her mouth shapes.

Lucien, the air scrapes.

Lucien, Lucien—he can almost hear her voice, low and hard and even, so familiar he could weep, pull her from this painting—

“Lucien?”

The room fills with golden light and Nesta fades from his fingers. He turns to see Azriel, who’s holding up a candle and squinting furiously.

“Ah,” he says, a little shakily, “I think I’ve been sleepwalking.”

But Azriel doesn’t smile. “You need to go back to bed.”

“Actually—”

“Now.”

Overcome, overwrought, Lucien bursts helplessly, “Where is Nesta? Where is she? Why does no one speak of her? Tell me, or I’ll—”

He falters; his throat closes. The last sight he sees before he falls is Azriel’s creased brow and lightless eyes, the silhouette that rises over the spymaster’s shoulder, the velvet brush of night and a heavy ringed hand.

He wakes to three feet of snow outside his window, a blue morning, light streaming in through the windows.

He didn’t dream at all. In fact, he doesn’t remember going back to bed, falling asleep—he doesn’t remember anything before yesterday’s luncheon. This was the most restful sleep he’s had. The room is pleasant and bright and he pushes off the sheets and gets ready for the day.

“Ah, good morning,” teases Feyre, who sits at the table. “You had quite the sleep! It’s nearly noon.”

He smiles cheerily. “I slept wonderfully.”

“Good. You’ll have plenty of energy for the Solstice party this evening. I trust you brought a suit?”

“I’d be insulted if you thought I hadn’t.”

She laughs. “Come here. I need your opinion on these garlands I’ve set up.”

He follows her to the main hall, looking to where she points, silver and gold entwined over the doorway, the stairwell, beneath the—

Painting.

Frozen, Lucien finds himself in front of it again, staring. Something unrolls, clicks, opens a door and he remembers everything like it’s happening now. He searches feverishly for her—Nesta! Nesta!—but she’s nowhere, the space she occupied last night is empty and empty and it can’t be empty, wasn’t she there last night? Wasn’t she? Alive and reaching for him, speaking his name?

“Lucien?”

He blinks. “What?”

Feyre is peering at him, frowning a bit. “Are you alright?”

He takes in a long breath, squeezing his eyes shut. Feyre’s hands come around his arms and rub up and down consolingly. “Feyre,” he says.

“Yes?”

“There is something wrong and I need someone to tell me the truth.” He opens his eyes to hers, so familiar, so horrifically different. This is not the girl in Spring. She is wholly different. Every bit of her is different.

A maternal kind of smile splits her face as she says sweetly, “I will tell you the truth, Lucien.”

“Where is Nesta?” he asks under his breath. “What happened to her?”

Feyre’s smile falls.

He pulls away. “What did you do to her?”

“How do you…” she shakes her head, putting a hand to her face. “You shouldn’t… it’s not something you need to worry yourself over. Please don’t worry, Lucien. Just enjoy yourself tonight.”

“Where is she?” he pleads. “Feyre, I trust you. I know you’re kind, and good. Please don’t lie to me, just tell me—”

“What’s going on here?”

Rhys materializes over his mate’s shoulder with a twist of his mouth.

“Nothing, Rhys,” says Feyre shakily.

“You’re rattled. Darling,” he cooes, raising a hand to her hair, “you can speak with Lucien later tonight.”

Feyre goes under his arm and they disappear up the stairs.

XI.

He’s straightening his tie when a horrible crash comes from downstairs.

“Cassian!” someone shrieks.

Lucien runs down to the living room—Cassian is crumpled on the floor with bloodshot eyes, hands clenched around his neck, squeezing, squeezing tighter. Mor kneels beside him and grabs at his hands. “Help,” she gasps, seeing him. “Please help me.”

He falls to his knees beside her and does his best but the great warrior’s hands are like that of a beast’s. There’s no hope. He grimaces as Cassian chokes by his own volition, until—

“Stop,” orders Rhys, striding into the room. “Stop it.”

And Cassian does.

Lies still on the floor, staring up at the ceiling without life. His dry mouth moves in vague shapes, and then, almost mystically, he whispers, “Nesta.”

“No,” Rhys demands.

He coughs weakly, then turns on his side, props himself up on his elbow, levels the red eyes at his brother. “What did you do to her? What did you do? I thought she…”

“Stop with these delusions, Cassian. Please.”

XII.

(“Are you sure you’re happy?”

She smiles, a ray of light. In the seamstress’s fitting room, in the magnificent gown of white, she looks like someone she isn’t, not anymore. “Trust me, Lucien. You don’t have to worry about me.”

All his bags are packed. He decided to leave last month once she seemed like she’d reached a stable place, when she wasn’t coming to him for hours to relax and get away anymore. He’s not worried, not really, but he does want her to be happy. He’s not sure she is.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” She presses a light kiss to his cheek. “I promise.”)

XIII.

“Cassian,” Lucien says, leaning close to where the general lies, still weakened. “Where is she? Do you know where she is?”

Rhys sighs. “Don’t encourage him.”

“What’s wrong with him? What happened to him? Where the fuck is Nesta?”

XIV.

(A letter, on his kitchen counter. From her.

Messy letters, frantic words.

I’m afraid.

I have such strange dreams.

I’m so afraid.

They’re going to kill me.)

XV.

The room goes ice cold, falls to darkness around their shoulders, all of them, in this frigid townhouse, clutched together like frightened children. Only Rhysand stands apart. He looks into the dark with ferocity and rage. It isn’t his night. It doesn’t belong to him.

And then, like in the painting…

The darkness collects itself into the shape of a woman.

She seeps from the walls, has arms, has legs, has long hair that falls free from her undulating head. She has a mouth that smiles, a smile that shows teeth.

She doesn’t have eyes.

She has a tongue; it hisses—

“He killed me.”

And she lifts a finger, points it at Rhys.

XVI.

It rushes back to Lucien. All of it.

Every miserable bit of it.

The marriage, the mating ceremony, the letters she sent him. That they were dragging her around again. That this time she was really afraid. That Cassian wasn’t himself. That the war kept reappearing in her dreams. That her body, she couldn’t control it. That Rhys would steal her away and interrogate her, sure that she would snap and kill them all. That she woke up in the night screaming and Cassian couldn’t hear her.

That the world was falling to pieces and only she could see it.

And then,

Nothing.

It was blank. Silence. Silenced.

Where her name had been, stamped like a wild horse’s hooves on every corner of the world, beautiful Nesta, intelligent Nesta, horrible Nesta, kind Nesta, Nesta, Nesta, Nesta—

Nothing.

XVII.

“Get behind me,” Rhys rasps, an arm coming in front of Feyre.

The woman laughs. “Are you scared?”

“You witch.”

“Indeed,” she says, nodding earnestly. “You poor frightened thing. You killed me and now you’ve been living with the consequences.”

Feyre chokes on a sob, a hand clenched to her mouth.

“Little Feyre.”

“Don’t speak to her—”

The woman, midnight and blurring stars, sick darkness, whirls on Rhysand. “Don’t speak to my sister? My little sister?”

“My mate,” he snarls.

“My mate,” Cassian gasps. He reaches up for her. “Please.”

“And you. You let him kill me.”

He shakes his head hard. “No. I didn’t. I swear I didn’t. Please, come back.”

She laughs, sand sifting in the wind. “I can’t come back, don’t you see? I’m dead. That’s what happens when you get murdered.”

Lucien sits on the carpet, paralyzed.

It’s her, isn’t it? Who else?

Nesta.

“Nesta,” he whispers.

XVIII.

She turns to him, moving like a ghost, wisping feet catching on drafts of darkness. Eyes trace themselves into her face and she regards him slowly, bending to him.

“Lucien.”

“Hello, Nes. It’s been a while.”

Her mouth softens. She smells of a night wind, of a silent midnight snow.

XIX.

She puts a blurring hand on his cheek and it jolts into him like lightning—everything. Everything.

XX.

(She wakes that night in her own bed, as she always does, drenched in sweat and shaking from the terror that waits for her in sleep. She wakes that night with a knife to her throat. Unrelenting indigo eyes are fastened on hers.

“How long have you been waiting here?” she murmurs. She moves her eyes to the figure beside her. “Does he know?”

Rhys follows her eyes. “He has some idea.”

“Ah.”

“You know why I have to do this.”

“I don’t know why. But I know you.” She swallows, closes her eyes. “So on some level I always knew.”

She doesn’t feel the knife.

But she wakes in some half-way place, bodiless, floating, in the walls of the townhouse and without a heart to love, without a mind to remember how. She sits in paintings. She moves between times, hours, relives memories, relives a world that drove her to madness. Without a heart and without a mind she sits and kills them, over and over. She stalks them through the house and suffocates them and haunts their dreams. She learns what he did. What Rhys did.

She learns that he went into all their minds and scrambled their thoughts around. That everyone in the world who ever knew her no longer knows her. That she doesn’t exist. That one man can do that. That one man can kill her while she lies in bed with her mate, her husband, and make her nothing.

She is yanked from the world by her neck, by a knife.

That there are only five people who know: Rhysand, Azriel, Morrigan, Amren.

And Feyre.)

XXI.

“How are you here?” he says to her.

Rhys takes a step forward. “Get away from it, Lucien.”

But Nesta—what a beautiful name—she presses a cold kiss to his cheek. “Promise me you’ll leave. Now.”

He reaches for her but his hands pass through her like smoke.

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

She curls from him with a sigh. “Go,” she breathes,

And he jerks to his feet, possessed by the order in her voice, half dreaming, sure he’s dreaming, and runs, runs down the hall and out the door into the snowy city, the snowy city falling to night. And the townhouse cracks, the foundation crumbles. Lucien doesn’t dare to look back.

Go, he hears, a whisper on the wind, again and again and again.

Lucien runs.

clearly there’s a lot to be explained here but I’ll leave it up to interpretation

#nesta x lucien #are they bros or in love? idk #also up to interpretation #nesta archeron #lucien vanserra #nesta archeron fic #anti inner circle #anti rhysand #the amount of em dashes in this is horrifying im so sorry

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goforth-ladymidnight · 3 months

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Foxglove

I'm researching flowers and their meanings for Flower Language Day for Tamlin Week, and I just found more proof that Nesta and Lucien were originally endgame. (Of course SJM said as much, but it's there in the text, too. And not just because of the flames on the dresser.)

It almost makes me angry at how perfectly they were set up, only for it to be discarded in favor of... what we got. Here's why:

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FOXGLOVES: "insincerity"

Every time foxgloves are mentioned in A Court of Thorns and Roses, they're directly (or indirectly) associated with glamours.

[Nesta] sneered at the pillar of foxglove I'd painted along the edge of the table—the colors too dark and too blue, with none of the white freckling inside the trumpets, but I’d made do, even if it had killed me not to have white paint, to make something so flawed and lasting. ~ch. 2

I approached a bench in an alcove blooming with foxglove when the sound of steps on shifting gravel filled the air. Two pairs of light, quick feet. I straightened, peering down the way I’d come, but the path was empty. ~ch. 8

Nesta reached into her pocket and tossed something onto the churned-up earth. It was a chunk of wood, as if it had been ripped from something. Painted on its smooth surface was a pretty tangle of vines and—foxglove. Foxglove painted in the wrong shade of blue. My breath hitched. All this time, all these months … “Your beast’s little trick didn’t work on me,” she said with quiet steel. ~ch. 30

In folklore, foxgloves are associated with the Fair Folk, who may have given foxes the flowers as gloves to sneak up on their prey, in addition to wearing them as hats or gloves themselves.

In case my point isn't already obvious, the character in ACOTAR most associated with faeries and foxes and sneaking about is, of course, Lucien.

The stranger whirled with fluid grace. His mask was bronze and fashioned after a fox’s features, concealing all but the lower half of his face—along with most of what looked like a wicked, slashing scar from his brow down to his jaw. It didn’t hide the eye that was missing—or the carved golden orb that had replaced it and moved as though he could use it. It fixed on me. ~ch. 6

Then, in ACOWAR, we finally learn what Lucien's eye can do.

“This eye …” Lucien gestured to the metal contraption. “It can see things that others … can’t. Spells, glamours … Perhaps it can help me find her. And break her [Vassa's] curse.” ~ch. 33

Nesta can see through glamours. Lucien can see through glamours. Lucien wields fire. Nesta (eventually) wields silver flames. The narrative parallels are so perfect it breaks my heart. Even the painted dresser pointed to SJM's original plan:

I slung off my outer clothes onto the sagging dresser—frowning at the violets and roses I’d painted around the knobs of Elain’s drawer, the crackling flames I’d painted around Nesta’s, and the night sky—whorls of yellow stars standing in for white—around mine. ~ch. 2

In summation, SJM laid everything out in the text for her original endgame couples. I still don't know who Elain was originally paired with, but I'm okay with not knowing. That's what fanfiction is for, after all. And at this point, I'm more interested in Feyre/Tamlin and Nesta/Lucien.

I know the dresser also points to F/eysand as a couple (and the night sky symbolism in the text is not lost on me), but in the first book, Tamlin was the Rose to Feyre's Thorn, and Lucien was the Fox to Nesta's Glove.

I mean, yeah, it sounds funny to say it that way, but gloves are symbolic in their own way, as well. Gloves in Victorian times, for example, were symbols of a woman's purity. And what does Nesta's name mean? PURITY.

Do I need to go on, or have I made my point?

#it shouldn't make me mad #but it does #i think it's the wasted potential of this series #i like the first book #most fans don't #and that's okay #but as a writer #the fact that these poetic details were there #and then scrapped #it hurts my heart #we could have had it all #lucien x nesta #nesta x lucien #lucnes

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sirendeepity · 2 years

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I'm not officially saying I'm planning/going to write anything yet but this transition is the anthem of that Nesta x Lucien fic

#the progression #and the lyrics #I mean #I meeeeeean #nesta x lucien

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lorcandidlucienwill · 6 months

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Look, I have no problem whatsoever with Nesta learning how to fight. I think she has a warrior-like spirit, and I love the Valkyries as well, they're her real chosen family not the IC. It's not that aspect of it exactly that irks me. It's the intention behind her learning to fight. For one, it was forced on her as a "therapy" tactic by people who hate her yet act like they know what's best for her. For two, the whole idea of it was to water down Nesta and change her into someone who is correct for Cassian, which is so forced and icky (also what was with them calling her "Illyrian at heart?" You mean sexist with fragile af egos??? God no.) And it completely ignores the fact that Nesta's greatest tool is her words. Keep in mind Nesta was initially meant to be Lucien's mate. Lucien is very good with courtly stuff. I genuinely think Lucien and Eris are the only males in this series who could handle Nesta, because they grew up in the Autumn Court (which Nesta was practically made for, are you kidding me?) and are both incredibly witty. I've seen countless people compare Elain to Elide, but I honestly felt like Nesta was an upgraded form of Elide (Elain is more like Yrene). Both women are compared to witches several times in their respective series (hmmm I wonder why), are very cunning, are masters of intimidation, got men on their knees, have a casual grace about them, and have a ruthless streak. Don't believe Elide does? Ok, read how she spoke to Lorcan in EoS and KoA. Read the scene where she kills those ilken, and is proud of herself for it (Elain deflected her kill of the king of Hybern to Nesta). She let Vernon suffer, and Vernon had also said "Ruthless. The witch-blood ran true after all." And she, too, was angry at herself for feeling helpless many times, just like Nesta. Once she got so angry she observed Lorcan catching fish and eventually copied him and caught one herself. But Elide didn't become a warrior. She didn't do anything she didn't want to do. She wasn't watered down to fit anybody. She's the Lady of Perranth, as she should be. She was born to rule. As was Nesta. Nesta is 100% High Lady material. She should NOT be deferring to that idiot Cassian, or that ass Rhysand.

#the valkyries #pro nesta archeron #nesta archeron #pro nesta #nesta stan #nesta x lucien #neris #pro eris vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #anti cassian #anti rhysand #anti inner circle #elide lochan #yrene towers #lorcan salvaterre #lady of perranth #high lady nesta #autumn court males have fire in their veins and f*ck like it too

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sunbrightheart · 5 months

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ARE YOU GUYS READY FOR SOME WHOLESOME NESTA AND LUCIEN SHENANIGANS?????? I’LL GIVE YOU GUYS A HINT FOR MY UPCOMING ONE-SHOT.

#࿓ brightheart.#cant go out anywhere with them two #nesta x lucien #lucien vanserra #nesta archeron #acotar #elucien

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thehighladywrites · 4 months

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“TWITTER VISUAL LINKS” - acotar characters

warnings: nsfw, sex, toys, straight up porn tbh

summary: down right nasty visual links with your favs👀

do you have trouble seeing the posts? - in order to see the links, you have to have an account on X, former twitter, and remove safe search:

amara’s note: don’t mind me, just sharing some visuals with my favs

ᯓ★ RHYSAND

⟢ getting stretched out on his thick cock !

⟢ mutual masturbation, handjob + fingering !

⟢ rhys putting his angel mate in a mating press !

⟢ rhys taking his time, eating you out !

⟢ rhys giving you a creampie !

⟢ afternath of said creampie !

⟢ laying on top of rhys while he fingers you !

⟢ showing rhys your newest lingerie set !

ᯓ★ CASSIAN

⟢ fucking yourself on cassian’s cock !

⟢ cassian fucking his sweetheart sideways !

⟢ struggling to take cassian’s massive cock !

⟢ getting deepstroked by him !

⟢ cassian having your legs spread, playing with your pussy !

⟢ daddy cassian holding hands and rewarding you !

⟢ topping cassian and riding hard !

⟢ cassian’s pov of fucking you in missionary !

⟢ feral cassian can’t get enough of his girl’s tits !

ᯓ★ AZRIEL

⟢ getting pounded from behind !

⟢ sitting on his dick and riding !

⟢ riding azriel’s face !

⟢ azriel absolutely destroying your back !

⟢ hair pulling + doggy style with azriel !

⟢ temperature play with azriel !

⟢ modern az fucking you in the backseat of his car !

⟢ azriel sucking on your tits !

⟢ daddy plays with your pussy !

ᯓ★ ERIS VANSERRA

⟢ bending you over and giving your pussy slaps as punishment !

⟢ holding you bridal style and fucking you mid-air !

⟢ sitting in his lap while he rubs your clit !

⟢ eris sucking on his girl’s nipples !

⟢ being obsessed with eris’s fingers and developing an oral fixation !

⟢ handcuffed and rawdogged by him !

⟢ eris eating you out !

⟢ your little brain goes crazy bc of overstimulation !

ᯓ★ LUCIEN VANSERRA

⟢ lucien showing you his headgame !

⟢ 69’ing with his mate !

⟢ getting your tits sucked while riding him in the morning !

⟢ softly making out mid sex !

⟢ giving lucien a blowjob !

⟢ getting punished with ass slaps !

⟢ lucien fucking your boobs and cumming all over them !

⟢ riding + nipple play !

ᯓ★ FEYRE ARCHERON

⟢ french kissing feyre !

⟢ getting your clit sucked and licked by her !

⟢ eating her out while fingering !

⟢ getting topped by touchy feyre !

⟢ teasing you through your panties !

⟢ feyre’s eyes rolling into the back of her head as you rub her g spot !

⟢ feyre using a paint brush to stroke your clit !

⟢ sitting in feyre’s lap and makin out !

⟢ tounge play with feyre !

ᯓ★ ELAIN ARCHERON

⟢ sharing a double ended dildo with her !

⟢ nipple play with her sweet girl !

⟢ distracted when baking a cake !

⟢ having an obsession with elain’s tits !

⟢ bouncing on elain’s strap !

⟢ sitting on top of her and making out !

⟢ morning kisses with elain !

⟢ scissoring session !

ᯓ★ NESTA ARCHERON

⟢ dom mommy nesta using a wand on you !

⟢ going dumb on her strap !

⟢ nesta puts her hand down your skirt !

⟢ creaming on her fingers !

⟢ getting your pussy licked by her !

⟢ “put it in my ass please” trying anal fingering with her !

⟢ riding nesta’s strap !

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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years

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STEEL & FLAME - Chapter 15

Spicy 18+ chapter

For once, Jurian gave them peace in the dining room. Nesta sat in the chair adjacent to him, watching as he spooned sugar into her cup then poured the tea. The stream of steam curled over itself into the air. The last days of winter were waning. Snowdrops had burst to life in the forest along with purple crocuses. They had taken a walk the morning after he’d returned with their hoods up to hide their ears though they’d encountered nobody. Lucien had tried to talk then but Nesta had deferred it to the house, her face pensive.

‘I promised to tell you everything,’ he started, ‘but I have had a long life. Perhaps if you have questions, we could start there.’

‘Would you have picked me?’

Lucien blinked. ‘If you were not my mate?’

Nesta nodded, never taking her eyes off the teapot as if too afraid to look at him and see the truth on his face.

‘I cannot rule on a hypothetical. Perhaps I’d have taken your irritation with me as a challenge, perhaps I’d have seen it as a sign to leave you well alone. You are beautiful, clever, and witty. But mate or not, I saw a female who’d gone through horrors that the rest of her family expected her to nurse alone and I couldn’t allow you to fade. You burnt so brightly - I didn’t want to see you dimmed. I don’t know if I would have picked you, but I would have ensured your safety and well-being regardless of if I saw you as a lover.’

‘The woman you loved before - would you tell me about her?’

Lucien swallowed. This was the moment he had been dreading. ‘Jesminda was a lesser fae. Wild and teasing, she threw apples at me from a tree the first time we met. She acted indifferent towards me, flirted with my friend to make me jealous until I was nearly crawling to her to beg for a kiss. I was the seventh son, but I was still an arrogant high lord’s son used to turning female’s heads.’

‘So modest.’

He chuckled at Nesta’s comment. ‘I wasn’t used to being ignored. She wasn’t the first female I’d been with, but she was certainly the first who meant something. It was passionate and fleeting. Only three turns of the moon, yet it etched a place in my history forever. Who can say what would have happened to us if my father had not executed her?’ Lucien blew out a breath. It had been a predominantly physical relationship, lost in the forest of the Autumn Court, falling hard and quickly for a lesser fae hundreds of years older than he was. ‘We loved each other, we made love to each other, but we argued too – a lot. She was fiery and I can be when I want to. I’m calmer than when I was a young buck.’

‘A young buck?’ Nesta scoffed, lifting her mug to her lips. He couldn’t help but stare at the curve of her lips as she blew the surface of her drink before sipping at it.

‘I’m a full-grown stag now,’ he winked, heart leaping at the smile tugging on Nesta’s lips. ‘I suppose the point I am making is that history writes the tragic love story of the youngest son of the high lord watching his lesser fae love killed by his father and glosses over any troubles we had. Jesminda did not deserve that fate. Nobody does. I thought a mating bond would snap for us; I was so utterly enchanted by her. But it wasn’t always smooth sailing, we argued and fought, she made me jealous as often as she could to flare the passion between us. I was young and thought that was how love was supposed to be. I watched my parent’s cold, unfeeling marriage and believed that, because my relationship was full of fire, so different to theirs, I knew what true love was.’

He remained quiet for a long time. There were truths there that he had tried to bury to not tarnish Jesminda’s memory or make their relationship seem less than it was. He and Jesminda hadn’t been friends, only lovers. He couldn’t have imagined working at a table on a report while she tidied around him or sitting together to play card games as he did with Nesta. It wasn’t to diminish what he had once had, but now he knew how a mating bond felt. A future with Jesminda was always impossible; he wasn’t naïve enough to imagine having her seated beside him at Beron’s table, but their future was always a blur without structure. Maturity had given Lucien the clarity of what he wanted in a future; he wanted children, wanted to settle somewhere and now he had a mate who he only wanted to encourage to grow. And he had that, had her.

‘Thank you for telling me the truth.’

Lucien dipped his head, but Nesta caught him by the chin, holding his gaze. ‘I missed you so much when you were in Velaris.’

‘I missed you too.’ He kissed her hand. ‘Any more questions?’

‘What did Eris mean when he said I wasn’t your usual sort?’

A hard laugh left his lips. ‘Eris spouts hot air more than truth. He only saw Jesminda the day she was executed. As for usual sort, he’s never met any other female that I’ve been with. Please, don’t ever listen to anything that Eris says. He is extraordinarily talented at getting under people’s skin. Honestly, I am shocked that he hasn’t been assassinated yet.’

‘I shan’t deny Azriel that honour.’

‘I don’t plan on telling you that I know best about relationships, but it is healthy to discuss rather than shutting the other out.’

Nesta nodded, eyes flinching down to her mug again.

‘It wasn’t a reprimand. We are both growing together, learning together,’ he took hold of her hand, unable to stop touching her after days apart. ‘I’m glad to grow alongside you.’

***

A hole burnt in Nesta’s chest. Since their absence, she could never be sated. Jurian had remarked they were making him sick because she and Lucien were entwined constantly – not their bodies, but a general nearness. Nesta never wanted a moment alone, never minded if Lucien lay on the bed watching her braid her hair or if she entered the bathroom while he bathed just to chat. They were both happy to carry on with their own activities in close proximity.

They had taken to playing cards as a group; Jurian was an awful cheat and Vassa an even worse loser yet Lucien seemed to win every game so Nesta wasn’t even sure why they played. Most nights would result in the mortal queen throwing her cards across the living room and Jurian laughing her out of the room with his rasping voice.

When night did fall, Nesta had moved permanently to Lucien’s bedroom. Night after night, they’d spend hours kissing until one of them was too sleepy to continue. Nesta grew more daring with her roving hands too, touching Lucien’s warm skin with familiarity. The male had seen all of her and hadn’t balked, hadn’t tried to mould her into something she wasn’t. Lucien even watched her frequent verbal spars with Jurian with a smile from the arm chair, knowing he didn’t need to leap to her defence.

A couple of times, Lucien had taken her with her on his visits as emissary. The first was to the Dawn Court, where Nesta spent three days working alongside one of Lucien’s acquaintances. She was an elderly fae whose eyesight was failing but she had an enormous book shop filled with as many ancient texts as cobwebs. There was an opportunity to work with her to earn an income, Lucien explained. He would winnow her daily and she could spend her days surrounded by dusty books – which was oddly appealing.

It had been fun helping to organise the wobbly piles into an order and to sweep away all the cobwebs. By the second afternoon, Nesta had mastered the art of catching spiders in a pewter mug and depositing them outside rather than squealing and trying to drop a book on them. The female, Hedia, was happy for Nesta to take a look at the ledgers too since her own eyesight was growing steadily worse.

When she had been cleaning the glass of the display out the front, one male had remarked that he had lived in the capital all his life and hadn’t known the book shop was even open – or indeed a seller of books as many believed it to be housing ancient artefacts.

It was a place that she would be happy to spend her days, for wages or for free. Change was slow but visible. Only one, small section had been prepared fully in three days of work, so Nesta promised on her departure that she would return to work there.

‘How do you know an elderly Dawn Court fae?’

Lucien shrugged a shoulder. ‘I have many friends.’

‘Because you’re so charming.’

He gasped and pressed a hand to his heart. ‘You think I’m charming?’

And the second trip was to the Winter Court. She’d almost said no to that invitation, having had enough of the mortal winter and savouring the spring days that were rolling in, but Lucien had promised to make it worth her while. They’d taken a carriage ride through the snow drawn by massive, velvet-horned reindeer. Bundled up in thick furs, they’d burrowed against each other, awed by the snow-capped sights of the Winter Court. There had even been a festival celebrating artists who sculpted ice into wondrous creations. Throughout, Lucien was on hand to provide fire in his hands to keep Nesta warm or he’d draw her against his body and embrace her tightly, flooding her with heat. It seemed his body was always warm which Nesta was grateful for. She was happy to take hold of his hand, to declare that they were together.

Their room in the Winter Court palace was heated beneath the floor with water from underground thermal springs so when he was busy with meetings, Nesta delighted in languishing in a toasty room curled up with a book that made her brows raise more than once. It was a book she had found in the dusty, old stacks in Hedia’s store – and Nesta was shocked enough that the elderly fae possessed such a novel.

‘I’ve been reading something interesting today,’ she mused once Lucien had returned from his dinner with the high lord of the court.

From the sultry tone, Lucien halted half-way through the door. ‘Should I lock the door then?’

‘And soundproof it,’ she said, throwing him a wink that she knew would make his blood heat.

The male settled beside her, reading the passage over a shoulder with a grin already flitting over his features. He made a strange noise at whatever he’d read then adjusted his trousers.

‘I’d like to try that,’ Nesta said boldly, trying to ignore the colour inevitably flooding her cheeks.

‘And what is it that intrigues you about such a thing, my lady?’

Nesta’s breath hitched in her throat at the address. ‘The logistics. I don’t understand how it’s possible. I don’t believe it’s possible.’

In a swift movement, Lucien had prised the book from her hand, tossed it to the bottom of the bed and stroked her hair back from her face. His lips brushed against hers in a featherlight touch. ‘Should I show you?’

Nesta only managed to nod. The sensation of his lips on hers, the quiet rumble in his voice, it all had her igniting with desire. In between kisses, Lucien lifted his shirt over his head then unlaced his fawn-coloured breeches. A silent thrill ran though her blood; Nesta had a plan for tonight and Lucien was unsuspecting. He’d willingly walked into her web.

He took her hand and wrapped her fingers around his length, guiding her movements until Nesta’s confidence grew enough to move independently. Lucien’s hands were roving over her body, and his lips crushed against hers.

There was a pressure on her legs as Lucien encouraged her to open them. Soothing kisses pressed against her neck as Lucien’s thumb traced delicate circles through the thin fabric of her underwear. Involuntarily, Nesta’s body jerked from the touch.

‘Very sensitive tonight,’ he whispered in her ear. Just that act alone made Nesta tremble again.

Since his return from Velaris, they had not explored each other’s bodies properly. Lucien seemed to guess that Nesta would try to make it up to him that way and had put a stop to every advance, being happy to hold her to him at night in bed or kiss in empty rooms when Jurian was in another part of the house. But Nesta was ready – Nesta wanted him so badly, she hadn’t been able to concentrate all night. It wasn’t an act of apology, it was a base want, a need so demanding it scorched her core.

‘You are all I’ve been able to think about.’

He pulled her underwear to one side and trailed a finger slowly up the soft skin. ‘And what have you been thinking about?’

‘Everything I want you to do to me.’

Nesta had come into this evening with a plan, but Lucien was unravelling it with the efficiency of slicing through a knot with a blade.

‘First, the demonstration from your book,’ he said, tipping her forwards at the same time he was sliding beneath her.

More kisses met her inner thighs as Lucien worked his way closer to her sex then he pressed one to her core, tasting the wetness gathered. Her knees pressed into the thick, feathered duvet, her body hovering above his.

The tone of his voice changed, as Nesta remained frozen on top of him. ‘We don’t have to do this if you’re nervous. We can stop, Nesta. It’s alright.’

No, she wanted to. She wanted all of him. In answer to his words, Nesta dragged her tongue up his hard length. She had tasted him before, on the balcony in the Summer Court, and it was blissful. It was all the signal that Lucien needed for his own tongue to drag up her core. His fingers spread her sex wider so his tongue could flick at the sensitive skin.

Nesta worked her mouth up and down on his cock, hollowing out her cheeks as she sucked. Each time, Lucien gasped and paused, it encouraged her to continue learning all the ways to make him stutter and falter. She opened her mouth wider, flattening her tongue to take all of his length. Saliva soaked it; the sounds of greedy slurping seemed the most effective way to cause Lucien to lose concentration with his own mouth.

They both were determined to make the other come first. They were lost amongst giving pleasure and receiving it. Yet for every time Nesta managed to elicit a moan from Lucien, he was still winning. Her jaw had gone slack and it was a conscious effort to keep her hand wrapped around the base of his cock as her thoughts began to disintegrate into stardust.

With swollen lips, Nesta sloppily took the head of his cock to the back of her throat but she was a writhing mess on top of her mate. Lucien had the advantage of years of practise. The fingers of one hand dug into the curve of her ass and the other massaged the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Nesta tipped into it slowly at first then all at once, she was tumbling. Her thighs quivered around Lucien’s face and her moan came muffled around his cock. It was the incentive he needed. His hips jerked upwards as a hand splayed out on her back, fingernails digging into the skin as Lucien spilt his seed into her mouth.

In a splintered mess, Nesta curled onto her side on the blankets. Her legs were still trembling from the shockwaves that Lucien’s mouth had caused. His body nestled itself behind hers and the male pulled one of the furs from the bottom of the bed over them. At the touch of his lips on the back of her neck, Nesta shuddered once more.

‘My Nesta,’ he murmured, wrapping his arms around her.

Their room in the palace was so high up that Nesta hadn’t bothered closing the curtains once darkness had fallen. Her eyes tracked the sprinkling of snow falling past the window. A thin wedge curved up one of the panes.

‘Lucien?’

In response, Lucien kissed her neck again.

‘I love you.’

He squeezed her tighter and Nesta imagined the smile spreading across his handsome face as he said, ‘I love you too.’

When Nesta sat, Lucien blinked up at her, a satisfied expression settling on his features. Her hair had become loose from its braid and fell down to her waist. ‘Lucien, you cannot fall asleep yet. I have other plans.’

‘Other plans?’ He echoed, mind racing with possibilities.

‘Show me everything.’

He threatened to engulf her. His body eclipsed hers on the bed, meeting every kiss, every fervent desire with his own.

‘Tell me to stop,’ Lucien urged as his lips pressed where the strap of her chemise had been before warm hands had slipped it over her shoulder.

‘I can’t.’

Lucien raised his head to look at her. An electric moment passed between them then their lips were pressing to each other again. The heat of his body could be felt through the thin material of her night gown.

‘Say you want this.’

Nesta swallowed. Her finger traced the scar marring his cheek. ‘I want you.’

Her pulse fluttered in her neck in anticipation as Lucien lay her softly onto the pillows like a princess from a story. He fluffed them up around her head so she was cradled and comfortable.

The white chemise was tugged from her body - and when Nesta tried to hide her nudity, Lucien’s hands were there to prevent it.

‘You’re so beautiful. Let me see all of you.’

It was an automatic response to try and protect her modesty despite what had just occurred between them. The male beside her on the bed was staring at her as if she was crafted by something magnificent. To ease her nerves, Lucien gestured to his own naked body, allowing her to examine him. Her breath came out shakily through her pursed lips as she took in the sight of her mate naked before her. The golden-brown skin was toned and warm, inviting her to run a hand along the taut muscles of his abdomen.

Lucien swallowed and Nesta caught the tremble of his own fingers as he traced the bend of her arm.

‘Are you nervous?’

‘A little,’ he admitted. ‘I want to make this good for you. I want to make sure it’s right. It will hurt for a moment. Tell me to stop or slow down.’ Lucien kissed her forehead before moving into position. His hips pressed into the meat of her thighs as he settled between her legs. She felt the head of his cock press against her entrance as he moved it into place. ‘It’s best to do it fast. Are you ready?’

Lucien’s whisper was gentle and Nesta was thankful that he was still providing her with the chance to stop. She didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to stop exploring who she could be with him. Because Lucien had changed her life; Lucien had seen her about to take that step into oblivion and reached out his hand.

‘Yes.’

Lucien pushed in, determined and sure. There was a moment of pressure then Nesta gasped at the pain - like an elastic band stretching until it snapped.

Her mate kissed her forehead softly, not moving his body until she could adjust to him. When her breath came shakily, he soothed with shushes like a balm on a raw wound. ‘Do you want to stop?’

‘Will it be painful?’

‘It will feel better soon,’ he reassured her. Another kiss to her forehead. ‘Stop me if you want to.’

Hesitantly, Lucien drew out slightly, never taking his eyes from her so he could see the slightest difference in her expression, but the charged look made her pulse race. Then he was sliding back in, the sensation of being filled up made Nesta moan with surprise.

‘The benefit to being fae,’ he whispered, ‘Is fast healing.’

Again, his hips drew themselves away from her body then back in. Again, and again, and again. Each time felt easier - enjoyable even. And she found that every time he began to draw out from her, she needed him back inside. Nesta couldn’t help the moans each time his cock thrust inside of her.

‘Stop turning your face. Look at me,’ she begged.

Reluctantly, Lucien faced her fully so his scar was on display. She brushed her fingers delicately along it again. He had a habit of turning his face slightly to hide the scar from view. ‘I love this. Please don’t hide it from me.’

A hand swept the rogue strands of hair from her face so they could look at each other properly. Lucien was all she could ever want. There was no other male for her.

Rather than laying there and feeling awkward, Nesta traced her hands up the smooth planes of his back, feeling the muscles shift with his movements. To adjust the stiffness beginning to settle in her hips from having her legs splayed as wide as they’d go, she wrapped her legs around Lucien’s waist.

He groaned at the movement, pressing his forehead to hers. For a moment, his rhythm was off then he staggered to a halt.

‘Did I do something wrong?’ She wondered aloud.

When Nesta began to move her legs back to the mattress, a warm hand gripped at her thigh, holding it to his body. ‘You feel so good. And like this,’ he explained, ‘I can go deeper.’

To demonstrate, Lucien thrusted deep enough for Nesta to throw her head back into the pillows while a moan tore itself out from her throat.

‘It’s difficult to go slow. You feel incredible.’ His breath came out jagged. ‘I’m in danger of peaking too soon.’

‘Show me how you like it.’

Lucien shook his head. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

Nesta steeled her voice to show Lucien just how stubborn she could be. ‘Try it.’

A low, animalistic growl left his throat. It was so rare for Lucien to display the fae side that the other males frequently did, that it made Nesta’s stomach flutter with excitement. A fang grazed against her neck, just over the pulse point, reminding her that for all his manners and graces, Lucien was a warrior too. With one hand, he’d seized both of hers and pressed them above her head. He took her harder, not breaking eye contact as his cock sheathed itself as far as it could go inside of her.

This was her male, her mate. She cast her eyes down their bodies, watching her own take his cock with fascination. The corner of his mouth tipped upwards victoriously.

‘Do you like watching me fuck you?’

She’d never heard such vulgar words from him. The quaking that ran up her spine was evidence that she enjoyed hearing it.

It went from feeling comfortable to feeling euphoric. The worry of what to do with her limbs faded and Nesta was gripping at Lucien’s hair, lifting his mouth to meet hers, sharing moans on their lips.

When Lucien’s movements became more intense, the speed picking up, it felt as if the air was being forced out of Nesta’s lungs. But still he watched for any sign of discomfort, for any tell that Nesta wasn’t enjoying it.

Her mate came inside of her and Nesta held his body to hers. The press of their chests had their heartbeats answering each other like two songbirds singing a melody only they knew.

***

Lucien had cleaned Nesta and tucked her into the blankets. She’d spied the blood and panicked, so he’d reassured her it could happen her first time and wasn’t anything to be ashamed of. Worry still niggled at her features. It hadn’t been his intention to bed her that night – he should have said no, should have stopped and thought rather than running away with desire as the elder and more experienced of the pair.

‘Are you alright?’

‘I’m a little bit sore,’ she admitted.

‘Sorry,’ he said cupping her face. ‘Where do you hurt?’

Nesta indicated to the inside of her thighs where his hips had ground against her. He kissed the skin delicately and willed time to pass quicker so it would heal and not give her any more pain. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.

‘Lucien, I… I haven’t taken any contraceptive tea.’

‘I take it. I always take it,’ he said quickly, internally grimacing that they hadn’t had that discussion beforehand.

‘Just in case your mate called you to her bed?’ She teased, lightness washing over her like the first rays of sun after a storm.

‘The Vanserra fortune is vast. Beside my good looks, you might want me for my money.’

‘I might want you for both.’

Sleep was beginning to pull at Nesta as she settled beside him in the bed, her cheek resting upon his bare chest. How did he get so lucky in life? So lucky to be loved and wanted by a female as brilliant as Nesta. He listened to the even rhythm of her breathing, grateful to hear it. A maidenhead shouldn’t be something that was valued or guarded, but he knew that Nesta had grown up believing it. She had trusted him – wanted him – enough to give herself to him. There hadn’t been the opportunity to discuss if Nesta had regretted it but by the way she had tucked herself against him, kissed the point above his heart, and whispered again that she loved him, he did not think it was the case.

Lucien would ensure that Nesta never doubted she was loved. It was his life’s goal to drown her so thoroughly in love, she never wanted for a moment. He was happy that she wanted to work alongside Hedia in the Dawn Court; it would give her purpose and a sense of pride. For Nesta Archeron, Lucien would move mountains.

#steel & flame #nesta x lucien #nesta archeron #lucien vanserra

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utterlyotterlyx · 1 month

Text

Moth To A Flame

Summary - Azriel has a new friend in the form of a diary to talk to, and you are completely enchanted to find out exactly what they talk about.

Warnings - F L U F F F F F F F F F F, pining, wholesome all round

Word Count - 4.1k

Based on this ask

Winter Solstice was a magical time of year, one that had become even more meaningful with the additions of your ever-expanding family.

Before Feyre, it had just been you decorating the house and instructing Cassian to help you, scolding him when he would inevitably pop open a bottle of wine and find a nice couch to perch on whilst he barked unhelpful comments in your direction. The only good thing about Cassian's laziness was that Azriel would always show up to help you, whether that be resting his hands on your hips to keep you steady as you strung up the garlands, or getting on a ladder himself to reach the higher points that were beyond your reach, he was always there to assist.

Since Feyre, you were gifted with a band of women who wanted to help, Feyre reached the highest corners of the room, Elain made fresh garland rings from whatever she could find in the gardens of Velaris, and Nesta was meticulous in the placement of all of the decorations. Wine flowed and music played, and your heart had never felt so full and content.

That solstice had marked Nyx's fourth year within your special little family, and each year, the gifts had become more extravagant for the little one.

You had opted to stay in that morning and skip the annual snowball fight, choosing to watch it from the window with Elain as you both spent the morning preparing the meal you were going to feed to three huge Illyrian bats a few hours from then. Lucien had also opted to stay behind, his reason being to make sure that your wine glasses stayed full which earnt him a teasing glare from Azriel before his eyes flickered to you in silent conversation.

Snow floated down softly from the skies and you watched with a quiet giggle as you noticed Nyx reaching his little limbs upward to the sky in Feyre's arms, grasping at the flakes that were just in reach for him to capture. Then your watchful eye moved to Azriel, the male you were so irrevocably in love with who had no idea of your affections.

It was odd, for Azriel, a male who dreamed of a mate so badly, of real true love, to not see what had always been right in front of him. Though you had to give it to him, you weren't exactly forthcoming with your feelings in fear of being rejected.

Presents had been neatly arranged in piles, thanks to Lucien, and you had made sure to make everyone aware that each person had a certain coloured wrapping paper, you had told them it would make life easier since the family was too big now to spend time reading labels. Rhys had rolled his eyes at you, but pecked your cheek with a smirk at your usual perfectionist antics before agreeing and stalking off to make sure it was imperative to your plans that they do as told.

Life hadn't always been so perfect.

You had come from nothing, no family or title were bestowed to you, and you had unfortunately found yourself being sold to the Illyrian camps to entertain the males there before Rhys and his brothers had found you and taken you in. There was something about you that captivated them, and the more time they spent with you, getting to know you, the more they fell in love with everything that you were. Kind. Selfless. Loyal. Fierce. Their family wouldn't feel nearly as complete without you in it.

Azriel had smirked when they had re-entered the house, basking in the glow of another victory whilst you barked the exact place where they all needed to sit in front of their towering piles of presents. You had gone overboard again, you always did every year, showering them all in gifts which you never expected to be returned. That was the gift of you, all you wanted was for everyone else to be happy.

The house smelt divine. Baked chestnuts and cranberries, pine and candied oranges, and whatever honey you had put on the meat. All of their mouths were salivating at the thought of sitting down at that table and turning into feral beasts at the platter you had spent weeks planning and preparing.

A seamlessly planned gap had been created, a perfect moment for you all to sit down together and open your gifts before you bolted back into the kitchen and ordered Rhys to keep your wine topped up. It was the least he could do after all.

Your pile was nestled between Azriel and Mor's separate towers, the space on the deep seated sofa between them left free for you also. Azriel's eyes roamed your figure as you dipped into the kitchen and returned with a fresh glass of red wine, your bare feet padded along the floor and the short silver chrome dress that you had chosen to wear swayed with each step, grazing against your naked thighs.

Azriel thought that you were absolute perfection, to pure for their world, too pure for him to foolishly believe that he stood a chance with you.

Your scent drifted past him as you shimmied through the gap between his knees and the table, molten caramel apples and basil, a smell he could scent from any place he stood, no matter how far or near he was from you.

All of the piles were as you had ordered, in specific coloured papers, and the beaming smile on your face made all of the hassle of running about town worth it.

Everyone began opening their gifts in turn. Mor had flung her arms around you when she had opened a glittering red floor length dress that you had custom made for her. Feyre was beyond happy at the paintbrushes that you had inscribed her name into, Nesta was thrilled with her books, and Elain's bright eyes sifted through the cookbooks and ornate garden tools you had imported from Dawn. Another jewel for the firedrake and she was content, Cassian was audibly grateful for the armour you had gotten him which held a bit for flare than his current leathers, with golden sockets for his siphons which melted into the taut black leather of the skin.

Azriel shouldn't have been surprised when you went as far as to import delicacies from the Spring Court for Lucien, an assortment of baked goods and herbs that almost brought a tear to his eye. You knew how much Lucien missed being able to have a home, and you knew that Spring was the closest thing to a home he had ever had bar Elain.

Rhys howled in laughter when he unwrapped his matte black lint roller with a violet handle, promising to use it often before opening his real gift, a piece of art you had commissioned of himself, Feyre and Nyx at Starfall a year prior, covered in stardust and smiling brightly. Thoughtful as always.

Then you turned to Azriel, noticing he had opened most of his gifts apart from the ones that were clearly from you by the state of the perfectly wrapped edges and cobalt blue ribbons. He felt your eyes on him, pools of adoration he always found himself searching for, and he met your gaze as you handed him a small square box that rested in his palm.

Unwrapping it, navy velvet welcomed his eye and he looked at you with a small frown, listening to your silent urge to open it to find a thin onyx leather bracelet with a hot white glass pendent at its centre. The light swirled and danced like it was alive, growing more active as he inspected it. "What is it?"

Smiling, you took the bracelet from the box and secured it around his wrist, your touch alone sending electricity coursing through his veins, "I've been experimenting with my power," you told him softly as the room continued unphased in its own conversation like neither of you existed, "It's a piece of my soul," your fingers rested on his wrist and he felt his heart thump in his chest, "It's just so you know that you know I'm with you to light the way whenever you need it."

Azriel exhaled with disbelief, feeling unworthy of such a gift. A piece of your soul. So that you would always be with him.

"Y/N," he breathed, "This is- Thank you," he would give anything to be able to lean forward and capture your lips in his, but instead he restrained himself and reached for your own gift from him in your pile, wrapped in shiny silver paper with intricate embellishments of flower petals.

You hadn't opened a single gift yet, too entranced in everyone else to take a moment for yourself, but you obliged the man you adored so much and ripped open the paper that encased a long box.

Opening it, your eyes widened as you took in the blade in your fingers, an exact match to Truthteller but with a hilt of diamonds and beautifully forged embellishments, "I realised that you didn't have your own, I hope you never have to use it but just thought you'd like one," your stunned silence made him fidget with his fingers and he watched you carefully pick the blade up and turn it in your hands, "Do you like it?"

"I love it," it was beautifully lethal, just like you, "Thank you, Az. Really."

The afternoon continued and you couldn't stop glancing to the open lidded box on the table as you sat nestled under Azriel's wing, sipping from your wine as he opened his last gift, from Nesta, who was busy placing the new hairpins you had gotten her into her staple coronet. Azriel tore open the paper and tilted his head, looking up at the eldest Archeron sister who raised a brow and smirked, "It's a diary, Az. People use them to write down their thoughts and feelings, some people draw in them," you snorted at the condescension in her tone to which Azriel nudged your knee playfully before thanking her and thus wrapping up the present exchange.

It had shaped up to be the most perfect solstice any of you had ever seen.

In the weeks that followed solstice, the snow melted away to give new life to the earth below, and the sun peeked out from the mountains to cascade Velaris in its heavenly glow.

During those weeks, you noticed a subtle change to Azriel, how he would fly away at dusk with his diary secured to his side, to only return an hour or so later seeming lighter and more determined. The subtle changes and the increases of his affection only made you more intrigued to find out exactly what he was writing in that book.

He had caught you far too many times tiptoeing into his bedroom, curtly telling you with a smirk that the diary was nowhere to be seen before pecking your forehead and sending you on your way.

Azriel had been much more attentive since solstice, he rarely took off the bracelet that you gave him, and you liked to think that the glow of your soul coaxed him into sleep, a thing you knew he struggled with often. Even Rhys had told you that Azriel had left his door open one night, only slightly ajar, but enough to Rhys to see him reaching to the ceiling and looking longingly at the pendent which contained your essence atop his pulse.

It was frustrating for your family to see it, to see your mutual pining but watch the other be clueless to it. Azriel had brought you flowers, brought back trinkets from his travels, he would brush up behind you and allow his shadows to feather across your lower back, he'd even cooked for you, something no one had ever seen before. Then there was you, giving a literal piece of your soul to the male, and even that wasn't enough for Azriel to see how in love with him you were.

"I'm calling it," Cassian panted as he rested on the stone pillar of the training ring beside Nesta, watching Azriel jog to catch up with your retreating form and his shadows drawling over your shoulder, "They're mates. They have to be."

"You're too late to that bet," Nesta quipped, wrapping her mate's hands up tighter in the leather straps, "We've all put money in, we bet on how long it would take for them to realise and for the bond to snap."

"And you didn't tell me?!"

Nesta scowled playfully, "You'd cheat," she prodded his armoured chest with her finger, "It has to be natural. They deserve that much."

Weeks ticked by and the group were getting restless, even Nesta, who was stubborn to let the pining play out, was getting annoyed.

Nesta knew exactly what Azriel wrote about in his diary each day, he wrote of you, she had caught a glimpse of a passage when he had stupidly left his diary in the library one night and he had sworn her to secrecy since then, but also sought her out to speak about you, about what he should do.

And Nesta no longer saw a problem in nudging him in the right direction.

"Is she still sniffing around your diary?" Nesta had asked, they were splayed across the seating area in the River House whilst you and Mor had disappeared to Rita's for the evening.

Your essence glowed on his wrist, he heard the whispers of your voice emit from it and sighed with a faint smile on his lips, "Everyday," he told her, looking upward at the ceiling and wondering what you were doing in that moment, "She's too good for me, Nes."

Humming in disagreement, Nesta sat up and craned her neck to look at her friend who was clearly thinking of the woman dancing the night away in the centre of Velaris, "Azriel," she deadpanned, "Y/N gave you a piece of her soul so that she would always be with you. Show her what you wrote. I assure you it can only go in the way you want it to."

Hint? No. Spelling it out for the dumb Illyrian? Yes.

Realisation hit him and he bolted upright, he gathered his diary in his fingers and raced upstairs, stumbling past a confused Cassian who stared after his brother before turning to his mate, mouth full of one of the cupcakes you and Elain had baked that morning with wide eyes and a accusatory tone muffling his words, "You cheated!" Crumbs flew from his mouth and Nesta flipped him off.

"You know the money is ours right?"

Cassian flopped down beside her with a grin, "I knew there was a reason why I loved you."

Painful throbs growled at the balls of your feet as you walked up the path to the house with your heels stabbing at your thigh. Intoxication hadn't found you but you still had an amazing time dancing the hours away with Mor and Feyre, giggling and talking about men until you were all talked and danced out.

Golden firelight greeted you, and your dreary eyes scanned the room to find Azriel sat before the fire but turned toward the door where you stood in a floor length black dress, with two long slits that kissed your mid thigh and a plunging neckline held up by two thin ropes.

Azriel's hair was tousled, his hazel eyes were warm pools that beckoned you to dive in, his skin was golden and glowing in the light, and he sat there with a look of wonderment that you had never seen before.

"Az? Are you alright?" You closed the door behind you and made you way over to him, noticing his neck crane to keep his focus on your face as you approached him.

Azriel had pulled the table toward him and a familiar black leather bound book lay open on the table in front of him, "Come here," his voice was low but soft, pleading but not commanding, he patted the space beside him and you sank down into it, "I wanted to show you something. I know I've been hiding this from you, but I want you to see it now."

The book was soon in your hands, and closed, the thing you had been after for so long, "Are you sure?" The idea of his diary in your hands felt wrong, like a delicious invasion of privacy.

"More sure than I've ever been," he nodded downward, giving you the permission you needed to open it.

The pages were filled with words and charcoal sketched, and you took a moment to flick through the filling book before you focused on certain pages.

Bright eyes, unbound hair, and a toothy smile greeted you over a two page spread, your eyes followed the curves of black, and you gasped when you noticed what, or who, you were looking at. It was you. Azriel had drawn you on the pages of the diary Nesta had gifted him. In the time he had disappeared at dusk to be alone with his thoughts, he had chosen to let them wander to you.

You looked to him and noted how he had shuffled closer to you, the warmth of wing draping over your smaller form and his shadows dancing across your shoulders.

"I think in a way this diary is for you," he urged you to carry on, watching carefully as you flipped through to the beginning and scanning the words he had littered on the pages.

To anyone else, they were just a bunch of randomly littered words across the page, a waterfall of sayings and phrases that had come from your lips. Words and phrases that you said often enough for Azriel to take the time to write them down.

On the next page was two lists, one of the things you loved and another of the things you hated with small scribbled beside certain ones depicting when exactly Azriel had noticed.

Flicking through, it dawned on you that the entire diary was full of you, your jokes and mannerisms, the things that made you laugh, passages of your favourite poetry, drawings of you.

"Az, I-"

"Keep going."

So you did, you kept flipping the pages, allowing your fingers to graze against his written word as you read through his thoughts until you reached one page in particular.

Y/N,

I may never have the courage to tell you how I feel, and maybe writing it down will give me the courage to let you finally see what I have been hiding.

I tried to remember the day when everything in my life began to make sense. I went so long feeling lost and alone, of feeling destined to a life of solitude, and then you happened. You brought a joy to my life, to all of our lives, that we didn't know we were missing. I don't think you realise just how amazing you are.

I am in love with you, Y/N.

When you're around I know everything is going to be alright, and when I'm away, all I think about is you. I look at that damn bracelet all of the time, hoping that it was just some thoughtful gift, but a sign of something more. You are fluent in me, you speak my language in ways that even I cannot, and I can't walk this earth without you by my side. I refuse.

I may not tell you everyday that you mean the world to me but you do. The day you entered my life, even when you were petrified, you changed my life into something so beautiful and meaningful, you make me feel seen. I may not be the first man in your life but I intend to be the last, I intend to be the only one who can make you feel loved to your core.

There is nothing I wouldn't do for you. I will love you in your weakest moments and brightest of days, I will love you when you don't love yourself, I will love you even when you don't want me to, I will love you until the earth swallows me and even then I will follow you to the next life. There is nothing on this earth that can take me from you, not even death can force us apart.

Between universes, oceans and moons, I am so lucky that I got to step onto the same land and dream under the same stars as you; and I'd choose you in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of any reality, I would find you and I would choose you.

I love you, Y/N. I'll write it and say it as many times as you need me to, whether that be verbal or not, in whatever way you need me to say it, I will.

You have me, until the last star in the galaxy perishes, you have me.

You didn't realise that you were crying until you saw your tears splatter onto the page. In an instant, Azriel was cupping your face in the hands that only you found comfort in, brushing his thumbs against your cheeks as he felt your longing and love flow through him.

Felt your longing and love flow through him.

Azriel tensed, his eyes went wild and wide as he searched your soul for a sign for anything to confirm what he had just felt pang in his chest. The pressure was building and his actions confused you, he was panting, his chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm.

You reached for him, resting your fingers over his heart and feeling the world flip on its axis at the singular contact, energy exploded around your forms, white oceanic waves rippling with intertwining shadow, shrouded in a golden shimmer.

The sight was beautiful, so beautiful that it stole your attention and you watched as your essences danced with one another, and his shadows rallied to join in the celebration. Azriel's breath was warm against your cheek and you tore your gaze away from the display above your heads to meet his tearful eyes.

"We're mates," his voice was soft, so gentle, and he ran his fingers down the side of your face, sighing with a smile when you nodded.

"Nesta is going to be thrilled that she won the bet."

Azriel threw his head back and laughed, tears of pure happiness spilling from the corners of his eyes as he fell back to your level, "Bet?"

"They all betted on how long it would take us to realise that we love each other. They thought I didn't know."

"Beautiful smart creature," Azriel purred to you and you felt a blush creep to your cheeks, a blush that was soothed by his shadows curling over it, he slowly closed the gap between you, his lips hovering just before your own. "How rude of us to keep them waiting."

Azriel noticed your line of sight flicker between his eyes and downward at his lips, "Extremely," you breathed and Azriel wasted no time in pulling your face toward him and connecting your lips in something that could only be described as universe shifting, like the entire galaxy was holding a collective breath and watching you fall into one another.

There was a hunger behind it as his tongue danced with your own, you felt those golden threads snap into place, you heard the string connecting your souls hum in appreciation and yearning for what was no doubt going to occur behind closed doors.

Just as Azriel was about to scoop you into his arms and take you somewhere more private, a shuffle of feet and a groan sounded by the stairs.

Pulling apart, you saw Cassian stood there with giddy eyes, "GUYS! NESTA WON!"

The house and its inhabitants collectively snarled, "FUCK!" Rhys cursed from somewhere upstairs followed by Nesta's victorious chuckle whilst Cassian wiggled his eyebrows at you both, you buried your head into Azriel's chest to contain your red cheeks.

Azriel shrouded you with his wings, forcing you to look up at him, "Let's get out of here? I'd like a night alone with my mate."

"Say it again."

"Mate," he kissed you, "My perfect, incredible mate," he mumbled onto your lips with a smirk, cradling you to his chest and growling at Cassian for whatever crude remark he had made before soaring into the sky with you pressed to his chest with plans to make you his over and over again.

Authors Note

Got a little carried away but this has given me life x

I'm drafting the next parts to some of my series tonight for tomorrow, what do we want prioritised? New Pages? A Fate Inked In Starlight? Can't Keep My Hands To Myself? When I Kissed The Teacher?

Let me know x

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