#sjm fic
Note
Hi Saph! I was wondering if I could request a fic about a newly mated Lucien? I looked through your masterlist and I don't think there's one for him yet :) Thank you!
Took a hot second but finally did it! It's a spicy one but what to expect from a silver-tongued fox. Happy reading 😘
He wakes up engulfed in a warmth not even the radiant heat of a bonfire on a cold night could mimic. Lucien returns to the world of the waking, pleasant dreams waning away as they do so fleetingly. He tries to catch onto them, to keep them with him only to find them as reality. These dreams are not figments of imagination. He does not grow cold the moment the realisation hits and instead he is engulfed fully just like when he used to close his eyes. Nothing can fight the smile on his face and he certainly does not want to because when he opens his eyes, his gaze falls on the most wonderful view.
Curled up next to him lays the most wonderful creature he has ever encountered. Your eyes are still closed. Your features are peaceful. You have not a burden in the world right now. Lucien wants to see you like this in the waking world. If he has to move mountains to do so, his heart burns to do it. All to see you smile, to see you content. You stir lightly, shoulders tensing and relaxing as you let out a puff of air. Then your eyes open. Your beautiful eyes. He could never grow tired of them. If anything they might hold him captive like some trap and leave him falling through the world but all the same are you the grounding force that keeps him tethered.
“Hey.” Your voice still laced with sleep sparks in his chest.
“Hey.” He doesn’t know what else to say. For a fae of many words he is at a loss; completely and utterly captivated.
“It’s rude to stare.” You mutter raising yourself onto an elbow and looming at his side as you study his features. You even deign to grace him with your gentle touch, brushing your fingers along his collarbone back and forth. Sparks combust below the surface of his skin. Goosebumps form, awaiting the presence for more.
“Yet it is perfectly acceptable to admire the captivating.” Lucien retorts. Amusement graces your features as your fingers dance up the column of his neck, tracing the fading marks you’d left there the eve before. Tenderness still present is but an obvious reminder and he does not doubt should he take a glance in the mirror his neck and shoulders would be covered in such bruised markings. Your lips had explored his skin plenty and when he had made such lovely sounds when you paid careful attention, who were you to deny him these pleasures? It’s not like you didn’t have a great time. If anything he’s repaid you manifold. You made it clear you would seek to balance the scales.
“As quick-witted as always, my dearest Lucien.” You muse as your fingers brush aside some stray strands of copper. The praise and approval spreads warmth throughout his veins, not because of your words but the feelings that traverse that invisible string between you two. You press your lips to his. Your kiss is but a ghost and leaves him all too soon. You laugh at his disappointment even though he can very clearly feel your desire to deepen that kiss, to return to his lips, the rest of his body while at it and have yet another of those blissful moments you lose yourselves in.
“Your self-restraint is infuriating, my love.” Lucien breathes when your fingers brush through his hair and he sits up enough to finally be face to face with you. Inches apart seems too much still.
“I fear if I do not show self-restraint we might never leave this room again.” You chuckle when you feel his touch wander along the curve of your waist sending goosebumps across your skin even beneath the thin sheet that barely covers you.
“You say that as if it is a bad thing.” The fact he can feel your consideration, weighing his words leaves him wanton and such he acts. Lucien takes you by the hips and shifts you onto his lap, your legs on either side of his as your arms come to rest around his shoulders. He makes a point of tracing shapes on your now exposed flesh, dipping just a little closer to where you want him to touch you. Despite your presented attitude he can feel your arousal through body and bond. What a gift the mother bestowed him.
“While I intend to spend the rest of my life with you, I intend to extend that to outside the confines of this bedroom too. I would love a stroll down the river. A swim even perhaps.” He pretends to entertain the thought in disagreement but understands. While the thought to stay here forever is certainly entertaining, venturing beyond that threshold would not be the end of the world and going places with you, spending more time in your company will please him either way. The wicked look you give him however is mildly concerning.
“And perhaps…” You lean in, your lips trailing along his neck pressing light kisses to his skin like a fuse lit. “We can take however long we need to explore beyond the bedroom door.” Your teeth graze his neck somewhere between pain and pleasure.
“If it is up to me I will fuck you in every corner in this house before we make it outside.” Lucien moans and the sound only eggs you on to continue your ministrations until you are satisfied with his body’s response to you and let a hand wander down the planes of his chest, down his abdomen, grazing ever so lightly where you need him most.
“Why stop there? Plenty of places outside too.” With that you finally stroke him releasing a mewling sound from him and that satisfied grin on your face, he wants to wipe it off so badly. Lucien decides he will. In but one swift motion he has flipped the two of you. He takes your hand away from him, clasping it and bringing it to rest besides your head. His lips dart for that spot that he knows has you melt instantly. Just as predicted you do. Your little gasps are all the encouragement he needs. Nevermind the way you rock your hips into his touch when he lets his fingers slide down between your legs.
Lucien kisses down your chest, sucking and biting and licking, paying careful attention to all the things that make you tick. Your gasps and moans, the gentle cry of his name, the way when he finally lets go of your arm, your fingers lace into his hair and hold on, are encouragement enough for him to keep going. Then his lips trail down, replacing his fingers previously stroking and brushing. Your sounds of pleasure only increase until he has you panting, until you can’t take it anymore and pull his hair. He goes for another few seconds until he pulls away. You’re out of breath and given your gaze, pupils wide, he waits for your next move. You take a few deep breaths. Your gaze turns wicked and your hold on his hair loosens.
“Keep going.” You needn’t say more for him to dive back between your legs and the amount of time it takes you to cry his name sparks not just some male pride but simple satisfaction and pleasure of his own. He could be lost within you for days, weeks, months, years. This is only the beginning.
#lucien vanserra x reader#lucien x reader#acotar x reader#acotar x you#acotar#acotar lucien#sjm fanfic#sjmaas#sjm fic#lucien vanserra#lucien acotar
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A Heartbreak in Mid-December
Also on Ao3 | World's biggest thank you to @wilde-knight, my love, my light, my life, my beta reader <3
Synopsis: Lucien gets rip-roaring drunk after yet another failure of a Solstice and spends some time reflecting on the events that led him here. He decides that perhaps it's time to let go of the bond once and for all.
OR
CC couldn't stop picturing Elucien scenarios while listening to Neck Deep.
Highly recommend listening to December by Neck Deep before reading because it is screaming Elucien vibes to me.
Lucien crashed in through his front door, stumbling over his own two feet and slamming into the coat rack right within the doorframe.
Shit. Fuck.
He straightened it, blinking his eyes against the streetlight spilling into his dark apartment. The single, depressing Solstice candle he had lit before he left hours ago was still burning low. He fumbled his arm back behind him, searching for the door to slam it shut. It didn’t shut quietly, and he winced. It was very, very late–or, rather, early– and he hoped he hadn’t just woken his neighbors on a holiday.
The sky was lightening far off in the distance, and the copious amounts of liquor Lucien had drunk roiled in his stomach as he made his way to the kitchen. Rifling through his near-empty cabinets, he found some bread and hard cheese, choosing to save himself the pain later of having gone to sleep drunk as a jester on an empty stomach.
He chewed sloppily as he looked out the window to the brightening horizon of Velaris. It really was a beautiful city, the stars twinkling more brightly in the sky here than anywhere else he’d ever been. Every time he went into town, he was thrilled to find some new, fantastic oddity that kept his curious mind intrigued. He made friends with the shopkeepers, the artisans, the barkeeps, as he did everywhere he went. He truly could have seen himself making a home here. Except for the fact that every second of being here felt like rending his very soul from his body.
Three years. It had been three fucking years now. Three Solstice eves where he’d gone out on a limb, taking his very carefully chosen gift like an acolyte bringing a sacrifice to an altar. Three years where he would sit through an awkward dinner with a family that wasn’t his and never would be. He’d give her the delicately wrapped parcel in carefully chosen paper, and she would politely smile and then…nothing. Not a word or even a nod in return.
The bond might as well be a dead animal in his chest for the way it was rotting out his heart. She didn’t want him–couldn’t stand his very presence–and yet, he still tried, beating himself down and eroding more and more of himself in the process. He’d hoped, perhaps, this year would be a better year. He’d spent an egregious amount of time in the little tea shop in Day Court, combing through each of the hundreds of flavors and combinations available to choose the ones he felt she’d love. He’d bought a cinnamon, peppermint, and ginger mix, sharp and fragrant and interesting. He’d found a chai with milky ribbons of caramel that reminded him of Autumn. He’d found a breakfast tea there that hailed from the mortal lands, thinking it might be one she’d had before and warm her heart on the days that all the changes were too hard for her. Finally, he’d picked a lovely persimmon and lavender blend. It smelled like the flowers of her garden, and reminded him of warm days under the Spring sun. Rather than the physical gifts of the past two years, the enchanted gloves and the earrings, this was something simply for pleasure and enjoyment. He’d hoped this new approach would be appreciated, but just like every year, the placid smile graced her face and that was that.
He wished, just once, she’d open that bond in her chest–let him know even the smallest bit of what she was feeling. What was he doing wrong? Was this all punishment from that god awful first moment where he’d unceremoniously blurted in his shock that she was his mate? Everyone had judged it as a claiming, a declaration, when what it had really been was a soul-gutting, horrific realization that it hadn’t been Jes. Lucien barely remembered the following events of that night–his heart and his mind cycling rapidly and frantically between protect your mate and you’d been wrong–she died for nothing.
Lucien aggressively rubbed his hand down his face, sighing as he finished the bread, running water from the sink and sticking his face under it to drink. These were dangerous thoughts for a drunk mind. But with horrible lucidity, Lucien knew he wouldn’t be trying again next year. This had been it. As tortured as he felt about the constant rejections, he knew Elain must be tiring of his slow and steady attempts. He hoped that she could be happy here in Velaris, here in this fae body and fae life she’d never wanted, but three years of demurely rebuffed attempts had left him a ragged shell of self-hate. He couldn’t live this way anymore.
Lucien had decided, somewhere between bottles tonight, that he was going to let this go–he had to. There was only so much a male could take, and he couldn’t keep gently offering his heart up to her only to have her crush it beneath her pretty, unfailingly polite fist. His centuries of life had been filled with so much heartbreak and torment, and he’d fought–fought like hell–to stay good. But there are only so many times a heart could be cleaved entirely in two before a person broke. He was on the precipice. He rubbed his eyes painfully as they began to burn. She owed him nothing, but he owed himself peace.
Tonight, as he’d left the River House, kind words and hugs from Feyre, claps on the back from Cassian and Rhys, a cold side eye from the Shadowsinger, as always, he’d decided that he was going to go get rip-roaring drunk tonight. He’d allow himself this one night to drink until he forgot and wallow in his devastation, and tomorrow he would send a letter to Elain offering to sever the bond–urging her to.
Would he go insane? Maybe. Was he already insane for allowing this to be drawn out for so long when he clearly wasn’t wanted? Perhaps. He’d tried so hard to give her the space she clearly craved these past three years, especially after he’d known she wasn’t going to fling herself off the balconies of the House of Wind. He’d been a perfect gentleman, never pushing or pressing, never overstepping. He’d been patient, tried softly to get to know her where the opportunities organically presented themselves, but he’d been foiled, one way or another, at every turn. She hated his presence as much as she hated his presents.
He’d see her every so often around town when she was walking around Velaris. It wasn’t a large city, so they were bound to see each other on his visits. She didn’t notice him, but he always noticed her, the sound of her heartbeat echoing down the bond and calling out to him like a beacon whenever she was close. She would be shopping, or talking to vendors in the market, or on her way to fix the garden of a Velaris resident. Her dresses would always complement her pretty, porcelain, freckled skin, and her hair would always be shining in the sun. Lucien would wonder, against all common sense, what it would feel like to simply sit with her at one of the many restaurants along the Sidra. He wondered what it would be like to eat lunch with her, exchange stories, get to know each other better, maybe even cause her to laugh at something he’d said. But instead, he noted her presence and moved on–Lucien never wanted to be the one to make Elain uncomfortable.
His frustration led him to grab another bottle of liquor from the cabinet and drink straight from it as he collapsed onto the couch. What had he done in a previous incarnation to have earned such ire from the Cauldron? First, his family, then Jes, then Tamlin, now this? Lucien didn’t think he was a bad person. He’d made mistakes, sure, but he always tried to do the right thing, especially by those he cared about. But now he was here, in a city he couldn’t really call home with people he couldn’t really call friends. He’d barely bothered to decorate his apartment, choosing instead to put in a few small touches that reminded him of Autumn and Spring–an amber yellow woven blanket thrown over the back of his couch that reminded him of the maple leaves in late season, an aquamarine enchanted ceramic pot of ferns and hyacinths on the mantle from Spring. All just pieces of all the places Lucien had almost been able to call home once.
There was no reason to torture himself and do more. He only stayed here every so often, popping in to report back to Rhysand, catch a glimpse of Elain, and hope beyond reason this would be the time Feyre told him that Elain had changed her mind. It never was. Sometimes he would see her in the halls of the River House, where she’d give a little curtsey and disappear before any words could ever be exchanged. Lucien hated the baser parts of him that the bond brought out, but most of all he hated how much her scent affected him. Honey and pears and the light smell of clean linens line-dried in the sun haunted him through the hallways, even long after she’d fled.
Lucien swigged his harsh liquor and let the burn in his throat refocus him. He refused to lay here and think about how she smelled.
She wasn’t interested, and she never had been. Lucien was a smart male; he wasn’t stupid enough to not be aware of Elain’s care for the Shadowsinger. At least two years now he’d seen the shared glances, the stolen touches. He was sure that Rhysand trying to avoid tensions was the only reason they hadn’t gone public with their relationship, whatever it was. He had once hoped that eventually, as a fae, she might understand the depth of a mating bond and at least want to give getting to know Lucien a try, but he’d put a time limit on it, and that was tonight. If she’d shown even the slightest bit of interest, he’d have waited forever for her. But she had shown him, again and again through her actions, or lack thereof, that she wasn’t. He couldn’t make himself be someone that he wasn’t, and she hated him solely for being her mate. He’d been raised to believe it was a blessing, and she viewed it as a punishment. What else could he do?
Maybe it was a punishment. He’d spent centuries thinking it had been Jes, that he’d lost his one chance at real love when his brothers had cleaved her head from her shoulders and made him watch. His sweet, clever, mischievous Jes, with her kind eyes, and teasing words, and endless love for him. He’d never deserved her to begin with, and then his love had gotten her killed. A day hadn’t passed that he didn’t miss her. The worst part was, he actually thought Elain and Jes would have been fast friends–their care and love for nature and flowers and their gentle words. He could sense that Elain had a more mischievous side, not that he’d ever been allowed nor would he ever have a chance to see it himself.
Lucien’s vision swam thinking about it all, his heartbeat a dirge within his chest for the life he’d suffered through. He had to remind himself that he, against all odds, was alive. It was enough to be thankful for, and he’d convince himself there were better times still to come, even without either of them. He pulled that woven blanket that reminded him so much of his mother around his shoulders, closing his eyes and placing the half-empty liquor bottle onto the floor next to the couch. Tomorrow he would send the letter to Elain and return to his friends; even listening to Jurian and Vassa banter as foreplay until they inevitably hate-fucked each other would be better than this torture.
He’d leave Elain to her freedom–he truly hoped she would get whatever it was that she wanted from this new life she’d never asked for. The Cauldron had taken everything from her and left nothing she wanted in its place. Not her fae body, not her fiance abandoning her, and definitely not Lucien. More than anything, he hoped she found her way here and found a way to be happy despite all the horrors she’d seen. She could have her Shadowsinger and their little winged babies, and three brothers could have their three sisters, and Lucien could have some peace.
Perhaps breaking the bond would blessedly drive him insane, and he could be rid of this pain once and for all. This looming feeling of inadequacy would leave him, or at least he wouldn’t be aware of enough to know it existed in the first place. He had seen enough, and now it all felt like too much. Maybe being insane would be preferable to all this, he thought as he began to drift off.
Just as sleep began to take him under, he heard a light tapping. What was that? It happened again, three quiet raps on his door. He rolled over, pulling the blanket tight against the knocking and the dawn light beginning to pour through the windows. But the knocks came again, louder this time.
Shit, fine.
Lucien groaned and rolled off the couch onto the floor with a grunt, the knocks still ringing through his apartment like a thumping heartbeat. He swayed as he tried to get to his feet, moving the bottle to the table and stumbling to the door.
“Hang on, okay? I hear you, I hear you.”
Lucien was not in a good place to deal with a neighbor complaining about the noises earlier, but he supposed he’d brought that upon himself. He undid the latch and threw the door open, the early daylight peaking in as he grimaced and covered his eyes.
But there, against the soft light of the rising sun, stood Elain. She was haloed by it, the light shining off her tousled hair, her cloak thrown hastily over her shoulders, cheeks bright red from the cold and her breath freezing into clouds in the chilly morning air.
“Elain–” he gasped out.
“Happy Solstice, Lucien.” He was at a loss for words, like every thought in his head had ground to a horribly abrupt stop and there was nothing left but empty space and confusion. “I came to check on you. I felt…well, I’ve felt nothing but anguish down the bond for hours. I’ve never felt so much from you, and I got worried.” She said, shyly.
He could have rammed his face through the wall; he was mortified beyond belief. For three years, he’d kept those carefully constructed walls up night and day to keep from torturing her. One drunk night and he’d plagued her all evening with his self-loathing.
“Elain, I am so sorry. I drank a bit much last night. I never meant–” She held up a hand.
“It’s quite alright. But are you okay?” This was more words than she’d spoken to him at once ever. Maybe more than she’d spoken to him altogether over the past three years. Strangely, she didn’t look put-upon–likely her years of training as a lady in society. His shame was oily and horrid, and he immediately went to reconstruct those walls around the twisting gold thread in his chest. She looked up at him, eyes wide and…disappointed?
“Uh, yes. I’m alright.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I didn’t even know you knew where I lived.” He tried to lighten the mood with a laugh, his default. He was still drunk and trying to focus when something so insane was happening was nearly impossible. Surely this wasn’t just a dream?
A blush painted over her beautiful, freckled cheeks.
“Oh, I actually do. I’ve come by a few times, but I’ve never had the nerve to knock.” A stiff wind could have knocked him clean out. She’d come here? She looked embarrassed to admit it, but Lucien was still trying to make sense of things, gaping and looking insane in the doorway. “Might I come in? It’s a bit chilly.”
“Oh, gods, Elain. Yes, of course. I’m so sorry.” He ushered her inside, kicking himself repeatedly for ruining this. “Can I get you some tea?” He was immediately ashamed of his apartment–everything so sparsely put together and nothing fancy for her. Without thinking, he tossed a ball of flame to the hearth, warming the room for her.
“No, that’s fine. I just wanted to come and check on you. When I felt some of the emotions coming through, I worried you might be in danger…I couldn’t just ignore it.”
“I am so sorry, Elain. Truly. I never intended for you to feel anything.” She looked down.
“I know, Lucien. You’re always very vigilant.” The words left her tongue with a bit more bite than he had expected, but it was enough to sober him.
Fuck the letter. He was doing this now.
“Elain, do you want to break the bond? I planned to write and offer you the option today, but since you’re here, I’ll just say it.” Elain’s eyes shot to his, her expression heartbroken and appalled, and Lucien suddenly got the first spark of feeling down that faded, dim tether that he’d ever felt. Devastation.
“Is that what you want?” Her voice was a whisper, but Lucien couldn’t help the laugh that barked out of him.
“Me? Gods, no. You. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“No, Lucien. It is not.” He felt like he was living in a fever dream. Maybe he’d fallen into the Sidra on his way home from the tavern and was slowly freezing to death beneath the waves.
“Don’t you want to be with Azriel?” It was her turn to huff a laugh out, looking incredulous.
“Cauldron, no. You know he’s mated, right?” Lucien did not know. “Yes, to Gwyn, Nesta’s friend. I mean, for full disclosure, at one point, there was some…tension. But nothing ever became of it. And it was a year ago.” Lucien had never been at such a loss for what to say as they stood in the entryway of his small apartment. He hated the relief he felt, hated even more than in his drunken state, she could definitely tell.
His mate was there, in his home, speaking to him. Laughing. Her scent filled every inch of space around him–he may never be able to sleep here again. Could he seal the doors and keep it forever?
“So, you don’t want to break the bond?” He asked, tentatively. She sighed, walking to the couch and dropping heavily down, her head in her hands.
“Lucien, I am so sorry. I have made such an incredible mess of this. I imagine you’ll never forgive me, and I understand if you’ve had enough. I never meant to make you so miserable, and I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am.” He must be hallucinating. How old had that liquor been?
“I was so lost at the beginning, so hateful and resentful. I had never wanted any of this, and for the longest time, every time I saw you, I was reminded of all that.”
“I reminded you? But I gave you space, I–”
“It didn’t matter! You were just so fae.” She gestured up and down at him as if that made it make sense. “Your bright, braided hair, your beautiful eyes, your tailored, colorful clothes. You were so unequivocally inhuman that I couldn’t look at you without remembering.” He guessed that made sense. Human men were incredibly dull, and Lucien had always prided himself on his appearance.
“After a long time, I just continued to push you away because I didn’t know how to fix the gap I’d made between us. I couldn’t admit I was wrong because it didn’t feel wrong that I’d been scared, but it did feel wrong to be apart from you. I just didn’t know how to fix it.” She got quiet at the end, and he came to sit on the table in front of her.
“To accept you would have meant I was wrong, but it would have also meant I accepted everything that happened to me. It wasn’t fair, but it was what happened. I hate how horribly I’ve hurt you working through it all.” Her eyes were rimmed with tears as he looked at her. Elain. Here. Sitting on his couch mere inches from him and pouring her heart out at his feet. She laughed, somewhat mirthlessly, and met his eyes again.
“You drove me mad. Bought me the most perfect gifts every single year. Not stupid, surface-level things, but things that told me you could see me when no one else could. The tea? How could you have possibly picked so many flavors and scents I love? You’re always there and you smell so good and it makes me want to act against every single thing I’ve ever been taught. I can hear the way your heart skips and races when you see me, and I hate that I know you can hear mine do the same. I hate to know that you feel how you affect me. I have no secrets; I have no defenses against you.” It had all come rushing out in a single breath, and she was left on the couch, panting and staring at him with wide eyes.
Lucien stood, dumbstruck, jaw hanging and unable to form a thought let alone a sentence. Was this a joke? A dream?
She stood too, pacing in front of the couch Lucien now stood next to, watching her like a male seeing the sun rise for the first time in his life.
“More than anything, I hated how you always knew me. Knew what I needed, sunshine and the sea, while everyone else wanted to keep me inside. You knew the gifts I would love, the space that I would need. I knew you’d be there waiting for me, too. And I took you for granted, and that makes me the worst of all.”
He wanted so badly to tell her it didn’t matter. If she truly felt this way, it didn’t matter. If he’d thought, even for a moment, that she’d just needed a bit more time, he’d have waited forever. He wanted to tell her he’d only offered to break the bond because he thought it’s what she wanted. He wanted to tell her he’d fall at her feet and stay there for the rest of their immortal lives if she wanted him. If she allowed him.
“Elain, I–”
“Do you know I have your jacket?”
“My…What?”
“The one you wrapped around me when I was thrown from the Cauldron. I saved it. I folded it into a small box in the bottom of my closet. Sometimes I bring it out when I have nightmares and hold it close to my face, and it feels like you’re there with me.”
Lucien was astonished, the beating of his heart and hers drowning out all remaining rational thought. Lucien hadn’t felt hope like this in centuries.
“It’s starting to not smell like you anymore, and I can’t bear it,” she whispered.
Her eyes flicked back to his, and she took the smallest step forward. If his heart hadn’t been thundering like the hooves of a thousand running horses, he’d worry it had stopped entirely. All thought left him, all sense. In two long strides, he was across the room to her, her jaw in his hand and her eyes closed.
“You smell like pine needles in the sun,” she whispered, her breath grazing his hand. He laughed through his grin, his thumb brushing across her cheek as she sighed and opened her eyes, soft brown like the leaves coating the forest floor in fall, to look into his own with a smile of her own.
“If I offer you the moon on a string, Lucien, will you give me a kiss too?” He laughed again, not knowing whether or not Feyre had told her that tidbit or if she’d Seen it herself. But she smiled at his laugh, and the effect was blinding.
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips, before he could change his mind.
Her lips were soft, soo incredibly soft, and her hands wound through his tangled hair immediately, pulling him closer. He was intoxicated with the smell of her, so close and unfiltered. It was Elain who ran her tongue along the seam of his lips, begging for entry as he used his hand to tilt her head slightly. The smallest noise left her throat, and Lucien had to call upon every single bit of restraint he’d ever mustered to hold himself back from tossing her over his shoulder. She must have heard the thought, felt it even, as he noticed his walls had crumbled down again. He felt a smattering of emotions from her, elation, relief, arousal. It was too much, it was not enough, it was perfect.
They might have kissed for hours, days, or minutes, but it tapered down into soft, quick presses of their lips against each other as they steadied their beating hearts.
“Would you like to get lunch with me today, Lucien?” Elain said, breathless as they pulled apart, but barely.
“I would like nothing more, my lady” she smiled against his lips, smoothing her hand over his chest. He felt as though every breath had been drawn out of him, his lungs simply existing in a void where he floated blissfully on a cloud.
“Then you better rest up. You’ve got about six hours to sleep, then I’ll be expecting you on the bridge by the market. We’ve got some catching up to do.” She pressed a small, wrapped parcel into his hand, then stood on tiptoes to give him another kiss on the jaw before walking back to the door, looking over her shoulder to say goodbye.
“Happy Solstice, Lucien.” She smiled as she pulled the door closed behind her.
Lucien hoped beyond reason that this wasn’t a dream, but her lingering scent swirled around him as he let himself drop back to the couch. He looked down at the parcel in his hand, wrapped delicately in white and silver tissue paper, folded neatly at the seams and wrapped in a bow of twine.
She’d given him a Solstice gift.
He undid the bow carefully, fully planning to save every single aspect of this present as long as he lived. He peeled back the carefully folded corners of the paper, making sure not to rip it. Inside the beautiful paper was a folded, cream colored handkerchief. He picked it up and unfolded it to find the smallest embroidered fox in the corner, the colored threads somehow catching the mischievous glint in its eyes. Beneath it was a round piece of glass–no–resin. Pressed within it were bright Autumn leaves, layered in yellows, oranges, and crimsons held at the peak of their color forever, suspended in time. A piece of his very first home to have here and hold close.
He’d never received such gifts in his life. They were both so perfectly him–things he would have been drawn to immediately at a market, but would never have bothered to purchase for himself. It made up for a million Solstices.
He laid back on the couch, holding the gifts to his chest and closing his eyes as he drifted off, the smell of pear and honey wrapped around him like the yellow blanket that reminded him of days spent running through the woods of Autumn.
I hope you get your ballroom floor
Your perfect house with rose red doors
I'm the last thing you'd remember
It's been a long lonely December
I wish I'd known that less is more
But I was passed out on the floor
That's the last thing I remember
It's been a long lonely December
December by Neck Deep
Cast me aside to show yourself in a better light
I came out grieving, barely breathing
And you came out alright
But I'm sure you'll take his hand
I hope he's better than I ever could have been
My mistakes were not intentions, this is a list of my confessions I couldn't say
Pain is never permanent but tonight it's killing me
#elucien#angst with a happy ending#hurt and comfort#acotar#sjm fic#elain archeron#lucien vanserra#songfic#oneshot
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azriel x reader
summary: azriel needs a haircut.
a/n: i’m sorry i haven’t posted in awhile, take this as an apology.
warnings: none (except for lack of proofreading as always!!)
for weeks, your mate had been complaining about his hair. he’d often come home muttering about how it “got in his eyes too much” or “felt gross after he trained”. azriel could be slightly dramatic at times, although you found it more funny than annoying.
unfortunately, azriel had been so busy with work he didn’t have enough time to go to the barber. he also didn’t enjoy relying on a stranger when it came to almost anything, but especially his hair.
so one day when you were talking in the kitchen you suggested you cut it for him, not being completely serious. he nodded his head like crazy and gave you a kiss on the forehead before running out of the room, “i’ll grab the supplies!” the last thing he says before dashing up the stairs. you sighed and shook your head.
he came down holding a hair of scissors in one hand and a towel in the other. “this good?” he asked as he pulled a chair from the table and dragged it to the center of the room. you nodded while he sat down.
you didn’t really have much experience cutting hair- only trimming your hair once in a while. “if i accidentally cut all your hair off, don’t say i didn’t work you.” you half-joked as you started combing through his hair with your fingers.
azriel’s hair was thick and fell down past his ears a bit, which deeply annoyed him. “your long hair is kind of sexy, az.” you said as you lay the towel on his shoulders. he snorted. “you’re just saying that because your my mate,” he replied, and you rolled your eyes and began.
you began by trimming his hair in sections, hands sweaty as you held the scissors to his dark hair. azriel sat still, humming a song he heard somewhere last week and relished the feeling of your fingers against his scalp.
“i’m so in love with you, sweetheart.” he whispered as you crouched in front of him, watching the scissors in your hands as you cut more hair in the front of his face.
“you’re just saying that because i’m your mate,” you mimicked. he smiled at you, unknowingly being a distraction.
you worked in comfortable silence for the next little bit, the only thing disturbing it was the occasional azriel shifting in his seat.
when you were done, black hair was scattered all around your feet and azriel was jumping out of the chair already to see his reflection in the mirror. you followed behind him to see his reaction.
“baby..” he trialed off, running his hands through his hair, examining the job you’ve done. you were slightly nervous when he opened his mouth to speak, sure you’d cut it uneven or too short.
“baby, i’m never going back to a barber shop for as long as i’m alive.” he turned around and pulled you to him. “thank you so much. you did such a good job.” he kissed the top of your head before pulling away enough to kiss your lips.
“you’re welcome for not ruining your hair,” you chuckled as you pulled away to look into his eyes. “but your cleaning up the mess.”
he groaned before laying his head on your shoulder, having to bend over to do so. “that’s only fair, i suppose.” he kissed your shoulder. “i love you though.”
#acotar#azriel x reader#azriel#azriel shadowsinger#acowar#acofas#azriel fic#azriel x you#fanfic#imabookadict#acomaf#azriel spymaster#sjm fic#imagine#azriel imagine#azriel and you#azriel fluff#fluff
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Rejection (Part 1 of 8)
Ship: Azriel x reader
Summary: Azriel is a mate but what do you do if he loves Elain and a particular soon-to-be high lord has his eye on you?
Warning: Just angst. Fluff towards the end.
The winter solstice was interesting to say the least.
Weeks ago I had figured out that Azriel was my mate when the bond snapped into place for me and I wanted to tell him even though he was with Elain. However, he had asked her to marry her and I couldn’t do that to them. I couldn’t tear apart their relationship but I had to try, for myself.
“Az? Can I speak to you for a second? Alone?” I put my shaking hands behind my back, trying not to shake at the thought that he might reject the bond, reject that we were mates. He nodded as he trailed me while I lead him to the hallway just outside the solstice party.
“I think you’re my mate,” I admitted once we were away from any eavesdroppers, I peered up at him through my lashes as he gazed down at me, his face an unreadable mask. “And?” He asked his tone was one of uncaring. “What do you mean? I’m your mate,” I repeated confused that he brushed it off so carelessly.
He sighed rubbing the bridge of his nose as he finally said, “I know. I have known for a while,” I froze, but he continued ignoring my reaction, “I rejected the bond, I am surprised that you haven’t felt it yet but I rejected it. I love Elain, she can bring me peace and I know that I don’t deserve her and I sure as hell won’t give her up. Even if you are my mate and my best friend,” he finished. I barely heard him over the roaring in my ear, I reached down for the bond, the tether in my heart but then I realised that there was nothing on the other side. He had truly rejected the bond.
“You didn’t think to tell me? To save me this- this rejection? My voice was unwavering steel as my vision blurred. I had been rejected by my mate. Mate. I hated the word, hated that my lungs felt constricted that I needed air, I needed to breathe. Storming off, I didn’t wait for a reply I stormed to the gardens as I sat down and wept. Sobs clanged through my body as the reality, the weight of it hit me. How could that bastard do that to me? How could he? My mate! Oh how the mother was so cruel. Soon, my sobs became quite as I sniffled occasionally.
The crunch of grass sounded behind me, I whirled towards the source, hand reaching down for the dagger strapped to my thigh under the skirts of my dress. There he stood. Eris Vanserra, heir to the high lord of the Autumn Court. Wiping my tears quickly, I tilted my head politely as he approached me. My mind reeled from the night’s events and I was too tired to tell him to shove off.
“By the cauldron, you look like you’ve gone through a cat fight? What the hell happened?” He remarked scanning my face. “Nothing happened it’s just not everyday your mate rejects you.” I joked trying my best to put amusement in my voice but I probably sounded miserable. Eris eyes sparked with interest as he asked me to tell him more. So there I did, I poured my heart out to what I thought was the cruelest male alive besides his father, he listened to every word.
“Azriel rejected you and you are crying about it?” If I were you I would be rejoicing to the mother. Glaring at him, I took my dagger out and flung it at him. He managed to dodge it just in time as it soared through the air and dug itself into a tree behind him. “Woah, woah, woah. Calm down. I’m just saying that with your talents, what you do, you are being wasted at the night court. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life sorting through the high lady’s, also known as your sister’s, papers?” Considering his question for a moment I realised that I didn’t want to do that for the rest of my life. I wanted to fight, I wanted to lead and I wanted to be my own person, to not hav other people to command me when they like if it was convenient for them.
Shaking my head I glanced at him. “Then what do you propose, Eris? Whatever you are doing it’s obviously because you want something.” He snorted as he heard my words. “Well since your mate has rejected such a strong beautiful female,” he smirked as he stalked closer to me, “Y/N Archeron will you do me the esteemed honour of becoming my wife, and future high lady?” A ring flashed in the palm of his hand as he offered it to me, waiting.
And, maybe I was a terrible person and maybe I was going to burn in hell for the rest of my life, but thinking about how I may be appreciated by Eris, no matter his reputation. I needed this, I could lie to myself all day but I would prefer this marriage, to rule the Autumn Court then to watch Azriel and Elain get married. To wait for my heart to break while watching that.
So cauldron damn me but I reached for that ring, studying the ruby on it and the Autumn Court symbol engraved on it as I took it from Eris, weighing it in my palm for a second before finally slipping it on my finger. For him, that was answer enough. grabbing my hips he lifted me from the ground as he twirled me around laughter pouring out from him.
“Y/N Vanserra,” I tasted the words on my tongue as he finally put me down, nuzzling my neck as we stood in the middle of the townhouse gardens. “My high lady, my wife,” Eris finished for me. I grinned as the pain of rejection, of grieving the mating bond, faded away into sheer bliss and adoration for the male beside me.
Part 2 is out now!
#azriel#acosf#acotar fandom#sjm fic#sjm#azriel x reader#eris x reader#azriel angst#azriel and elain#feyre acotar
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Mild angst, a college au. Rated T. 2.4k words
Feyre Archeron is just trying to get through the end of the semester and move on. Rhysand Nox has spent the past year reeling from the breakup that shattered his heart. The last time they saw each other, things ended in disaster. As fate would have it, they meet again. Part 6/7.
Main Masterlist | Fic Masterlist
This one is for @reverie-tales! thank you so much for your love and encouragement on this fic, especially for cheering me on this last chapter!
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Bit by bit, Feyre recounted the anniversary party, the distance between them, and all the memories that had haunted and hurt her. Her voice was raw from holding tears back by the time she was done. She didn’t get to break down crying, not when she had already shed so many tears over this.
Laying it all out to the person she had hurt opened the parts of the wound she thought were scabbed over. She had been so wretched, so lost, and she thought she had made her peace with the person she had been – the person that still made up parts of her - but she couldn’t stand the devastation in Rhys’s face.
Throughout her story, his anger had melted away. Now he looked like he had gone through their breakup all over again.
Looking back with hindsight, it all seemed so…inconsequential. Her insecurities, his horrible family. With better communication on both sides, they could have talked things out. She could have started therapy sooner. A million little things could have been different, and then she wouldn’t have lost him.
She braced for his anger to return, for him to tell her how foolish she had been, for him to storm out and crush the remaining shards of her heart.
But he didn’t – he stayed. Quiet, processing. Red-rimmed eyes never leaving hers. In the time since she had started speaking, darkness had fallen, casting the lamp-lit room in shadows that cut across his angular face.
She took a breath and voiced the words she had already spoken so many times in her head.
“I’m so sorry, Rhys. Sincerely. I’ve regretted treating you like that every day since it happened. I got it in my head that I had to make a clean break before you could leave me – and it was so stupid and immature not to communicate.”
“Thank you,” he responded softly, voice raspy and face damp. “Thank you for saying that and telling me everything. You hurt me a lot, but I know there’s blame to share too. You’re right, I was distant. I was so focused on my family’s approval that I didn’t know what to do when they treated you so…so horribly. But I would never have suggested we go if I had known how terrible they were going to be.”
He paused. “Well – that’s not completely true, I suppose. I knew they could be terrible, but I was hoping that somehow, things would have changed and they would see you for the wonderful person you were – are. But they didn’t, and I reacted poorly on your behalf.”
“You were cold, distant…was it just because of them? Or was there something I had done?” She had to know, once and for all. She had to put the pounding question to rest in her mind.
“Feyre, I swear, it was nothing you had done. I was in my head about my family’s approval and what I would do if they were assholes, and then they were, and I hadn’t prepared myself for the fallout.”
He bit the inside of his cheek, an endearing habit he had never been able to break. It meant he was thinking.
“What?” she asked.
“I’m not sure if telling you this makes things any better, but I did give them hell for it after we broke up. My father…didn’t take it well. It’s why I'm still in Velaris and not being trained in as the next CEO of Hewn Tech.”
The lump in her throat was making it difficult to keep the next wave of tears down. He had gone to bat for her, even if it had been too late and she hadn’t warranted it by then.
“Not that giving up that position was much of a sacrifice,” Rhys admitted with a strained, raspy chuckle.
“You did spend a lot of time trying to sway him from making you join the company,” she agreed, feeling the semblance of a smile on her lips for a moment.
Though they were joking about it, she knew it would have been a more difficult decision than he was letting on. True, the family company had never been his passion, but it was about more than that. He had walked away from his family name, money, and the opportunity to influence the technology he had been passionate about.
“Thank you for defending me, even after everything.”
“It was what I should have done all along. I should have been better at communicating, too. How can I blame you for being so uncertain when I didn’t open up either?”
“I don’t know if this matters to you either, but in the interest of being honest, I have been working on things. I know how terrible I was at opening up and expressing my fears. And a few months after I ended things, I had really spiraled. Things were…they were bad,” she trailed off, slipping back into the memories of those dark, dark months.
Rhys’s expression changed again, concern immediately lining his features. It hurt her heart to see it. He braced his arms on the side of the chair as if he was going to get up and come to her, but seemed to think the better of it. Or she was just reading too much into things.
“Feyre –“
She cut him off. “Hey – I’m still here, aren’t I? And I don’t need to unload all of it now, but I realized I couldn’t let things keep going the way they were, because I didn’t see a light at the end of the tunnel anymore. Long story short, I started going to therapy, and it’s a process, but I’m doing so much better now.”
Outside, the wind continued to whip through the city, rattling her windowpanes, and Feyre shivered.
Rhys released a long, deep breath. “I’m so glad to hear that.”
“Me too,” she agreed softly. Such a small, simple thing, and yet it was one of the most difficult things she had experienced. Wanting to live for oneself, even with all the regret and pain.
Silence fell between them, more awkward than Feyre wanted to admit.
“Why didn’t you leave me at Rita’s the moment you saw me?” she asked. “I assumed you hated me. Nobody would have expected you to offer me a ride.”
Rhys raised his eyebrows. “Honestly? I told myself if I ever saw you again I wouldn’t give you the time of day, but I think I always knew it was a lie. Losing you destroyed me for months. Mor can attest to that. But I’ve never hated you. And I’ve never walked away from you willingly.”
Feyre winced at the subtle barb, and Rhys seemed to realize what he had said.
“Sorry,” he rushed, turning a bit red.
“No, I deserved that,” she admitted, turning over his previous words. Would she ever know what these last twelve months had been like for him?
“But I’m glad I didn’t leave today. Because we had this conversation, and I got to see your painting.” He gestured to the painting she had almost forgotten about, set on the coffee table in the heat of their earlier argument.
That small affirmation was all Feyre needed to hear – at last, after all the hurt, she knew that he didn’t hate her. And something broke in her with his words, because she started crying all over again.
Fuck – it was so embarrassing. What was she even crying over this time? She buried her head in her hands, rubbing her eyes fiercely to clear away the tears.
Even through her sniffles, she heard Rhys’s breath catch, as if he was unsure what to do.
“What’s wrong?”
She scrubbed at her eyes some more and looked up again. “Nothing – I’m sorry – it’s just…this is a lot. It’s overwhelming.”
“You’re right – it is. This morning, I thought I’d never talk to you again. And now…” he trailed off.
“Now?” Feyre asked hesitantly. Where did this leave them? In all her imagined apologies, she had never gotten this far. Even her daydreams couldn’t fathom Rhys doing anything better than laughing in her face after she spilled her emotions out before him.
There was one final thing – one thing she still hadn’t confessed.
Before she could weigh the merits of that final admission, Rhys spoke again.
“Do you still have my number?”
She nodded. Even if she had the strength to delete it, it wouldn’t have made any difference. It was an easy one to remember, she had it memorized.
“Text me sometime?” He asked tentatively. “I missed having you in my life, Feyre. Not just as my girlfriend. But as one of the people who understood me best, who I could talk about anything with.”
“I’d like that a lot. I’d like to try to be in your life again, in any capacity. As slow as we need to take it, if you’ll have me.”
“Just promise me one thing,” he insisted, face turning completely serious. “Promise me we’ll talk our problems out from here on out. I can’t go through last December again.”
“I swear it. Never again,” she replied. “I know this doesn’t make what I’ve done any better, but I never stopped loving you.”
There it was – that final admission, out before she realized she was saying it.
His eyes snapped to hers, lit with a fire she hadn’t seen in so long.
“You still love me? Truly?” He sounded breathless.
It seemed so obvious to her, but, like so many things between them, it hadn’t been.
“I do,” she murmured.
Faster than she could fully track his movement, he was out of his seat, then crossing the floor, then pressed up against her.
Before they touched, he paused, arms braced on either side of her, giving her just enough time to push him back or wriggle out of it.
She didn’t, and she gasped as his lips met hers for the first time in a year.
His hands were roaming all over – up her thighs and sides, cradling her face, tangled in her messy hair.
At long last, he was here with her again. Rhys, Rhys, Rhys.
A distant part of her felt self-conscious of her messy, unwashed hair, and the hoodie and leggings that were about as unsexy as she could get.
But Rhys had seen her at her lowest, and after the whole lot, he had come back to her.
It felt so right, his body against hers after so long, that she started laughing through the sticky tears still damp on her cheeks.
Rhys broke away, confusion and amusement sparking in his eyes. “What?”
“I just missed you,” she answered, smiling. “So much.”
The expression on his face said it all, and Feyre didn’t give him time to say anything as she leaned back in, snagging his bottom lip gently with her teeth.
He reciprocated the feeling, clearly, as he pushed her back in the chair, hands cupping the side of her face –
Until he broke away again.
This time, it was Feyre’s turn to be confused as Rhys picked himself up, moving out of the chair where he had basically been on top of her.
“Rhys?”
“We should probably slow down,” he murmured sheepishly, running a hand through his tousled hair. Hair she had tousled, she remembered, with no small amount of satisfaction.
All the same – “You’re right,” she agreed. “We just agreed to take things slow.”
“To be fair, you said you’d take things as slow as I needed. And while a large part of me is insisting I don’t need to take things slow at all, it might not be a bad idea.”
She almost made a joke about him rarely being right, but it still felt too soon.
And really, he had a good point.
“Then we’ll listen to that little voice in the back of your head telling us to slow down,” she agreed.
“So…where does this leave us?” Rhys asked, a faint blush rising to his cheeks.
“For now? Let’s take it one day at a time.” She felt only truth in her own words – no masked uncertainty, no lies. She had lost Rhys once. If they were meant to find each other again, they could handle taking things slowly at first.
“I’ll call you, then?” Rhys asked as he got to his feet, picking up his coat from the chair he had slung it over.
“That sounds great,” Feyre agreed, escorting him the few paces it took to get to the door, hoping if she kept moving it would squash the urge to kiss him again.
From the way Rhys paused and looked at her, she could have sworn he was thinking the same thing. He reached for the tarnished door, undoing the lock with practiced familiarity.
“Well, goodbye for now.”
“Wait!” Feyre cried, scrambling back into the other room. “I almost forgot!”
When she returned back around the corner, she held Rhys’s commission.
“I know it’s bizarre and horribly sad, but it is yours if you want it. No hard feelings if not,” she added quickly.
Without a word, Rhys leaned in and carefully took the painting from her hands, taking a long moment to look at it again.
He smiled ever so slightly. “I’ll call you soon.”
“Bye,” Feyre replied and didn’t stop him as he turned the knob and left, leaving a stark silence behind.
Half in shock now that she was alone, Feyre dazedly walked back to the living room and sank back into her chair.
It all felt like a fever dream. Had it only been a couple of hours ago that she had gotten a flat outside of Rita’s? And to think she had nearly skipped coffee and gone for an energy drink in the back of her fridge instead.
Thank God she hadn’t.
Feyre let the full weight of the day crash into her as tears of joy and relief started streaming down her face, with no end in sight.
Maybe this would turn out to be nothing. Maybe it would change her life. But at the very least, Rhys was back in her life, and that felt like everything.
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AN: If you've stuck around this long, thank you for reading! We just have the epilogue left to go. Thank you to all of you wonderful people for your patience and love for this story!
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@thron3ofbooks @the-lonelybarricade @swankii-art-teacher @ghostlyrose2 @brieq @cretaceous-therapod @live-the-fangirl-life @achernarlight @reverie-tales @starfall-spirit @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @highladysith @areyoudreamingof
#feysand#feysand fic#acotar fanfic#pro feyre archeron#rhysand#kat's writing#kate's writing#the last time#sjm fic
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Azriel Week Day 4: Bat Boys
Drunk Confessions. 950 words
Azriel sits on the floor of Rhys’ office in the River manor, his head lolling back onto the plush seat of the sofa at his back. Burying his scarred fingers into the warm rug beneath him, he watches the flames as the fire crackles in the hearth.
Cassian stretches forward from his perch atop the couch where he lounges, long fingers reaching for the ornate decanter of amber liquid they’ve been sipping on all evening. Refilling his crystal tumbler and Azriel’s, he then hands it off to Rhys who is sprawled on the velvet armchair opposite them. His long legs are stretched out before him, and wings spill out across the floor; a show of utter ease for the High Lord.
“I still don’t know why we couldn’t go,” Cassian grumbles for what feels like the hundredth time that evening.
“Let it go, Cass. It’s been hours. They just wanted a fun ladies’ night,” Azriel moans, truly exasperated, having repeated the mantra numerous times already.
“And what, I’m not fun?!”
Pure indignation laces Cassian’s voice as he squawks those words from behind him.
Azriel sighs heavily, angling his face towards the heavens, seeking the patience required to deal with his petulant brother from the Mother, or the Cauldron, or whoever is listening.
“No, you’re just not a lady.”
“Technicalities…” Cassian grumbles again, his toes digging into the arm of the couch where he kicks at it impatiently as he lays sprawled across the deep leather cushions.
Rhys chuckles before a wistful look crosses his features and utters, “They deserve it. A night out.”
Cassian and Azriel pause their bickering for a moment, both staring longingly toward the ceiling, lost in their own thoughts, before replying in unison, “Yeah.”
“They deserve it all.”
The three males all still, their minds filling with thoughts of the Archeron women, and what their lives would have consisted of if they had never crossed paths. If fate had never been so serendipitous to allow the three Illyrians the honour of knowing them, loving them.
Their little rabble-rousing trio had only had each other to depend on for so long; centuries, really. Even though they’d hated each other at first, they'd grown to be closer than brothers, truly proving its the family you choose rather than the one you are born into that defines you, lifts you up, and loves you. It was no wonder that these indomitable females had managed to ingrain themselves in their lives so thoroughly that they couldn’t imagine a life without them. They had always been destined to be here, with them.
Cassian clears his throat thickly before rasping, “Nesta, she does this thing in the bath—”
“Caaass,” Rhys groans, “We don’t want to hear about you and Nesta in the bath.”
“It’s not like that, you prick.” He throws a beaded cushion, Feyre’s pick no doubt, at the High Lord before continuing. “I have this damned spot, right between my wings that I can never properly reach. She always scratches it for me. Every day, whether its itchy or not. She saw me struggling one time… that’s all it took.”
Rhys smiles at his brother faintly, taking another sip from his glass and allowing the liquor to further warm his insides. The thought of Nesta being so soft was still a side of her he had yet to make acquaintance with, but he suspected she preferred it that way. All the same, he was glad his brother had found happiness with her.
“Feyre calls me best daddy—” Rhys murmurs before abruptly halting as Azriel splutters, choking on the sip of drink he had just taken, and Cassian sprays a mouthful of whiskey all over Azriel’s head through pursed lips at Rhys’ admission.
“Not like that, you assholes!” Rhys interjects, scowling at his brothers’ horror-struck faces, throwing the beaded pillow back at them.
“With Nyx. She knows the kind of father I had. None of us had good role models in that department. She knows, that it’s a point of…trepidation. That I’m terrified I’ll become like him, or my child will fear me, resent me. I always hear her talking to Nyx, calling me the best daddy. I love it. I— I hope she means it.”
“She does,” Azriel utters simply, having recovered from the asphyxiation he briefly suffered, his face conveying nothing but the truth of the words he had spoken. For out of all of them, it can be argued that Azriel’s father was the worst monster of them all.
Azriel tilts the glass between a thumb and finger, his eyes downcast as he murmurs, “Elain will always capture my attention from across the room and smile. Every time her eyes meet mine, she gifts me with that smile. No one has ever been as happy to see me as she is. Every damn time…” he trails off.
Rhys peers from Azriel’s love-struck face, to Cassian’s, who is sprawled behind the Shadowsinger in a tangle of long limbs and large wings. A look of quiet elation permeates across the General’s face, feelings of shared contentment for his own brother’s long-awaited bliss.
Silence fills the study for a beat of several moments before Rhys raises his glass in a toast. His voice is hoarse, thick with emotion, both for himself and the life his brothers have been granted through the twists of fate that some higher motion of power bestowed upon them. Their chosen females providing that last divine piece of the half-a-millennium old puzzle.
“Here’s to those strong, stubborn, stunning Archeron women. May they never figure out just how much better they could have done than our sorry asses.”
“Cheers to that,” Azriel quietly agrees, clinking his glass with Rhys and then Cass.
They all drink deeply, contemplating their incredibly good fortune, before a shadow passes Cassian’s face once more.
“I still think they could have invited us though…”
*******
@azrielweek2022
tagging my general tag list: @offtorivendell @fawnandshadows @the-laughing-bubble @swankii-art-teacher @pagemasters @tswaney17 @sakurakittypeach
#azriel week 2022#drabble#bat boys#azriel#azrielweek2022#cassian#rhysand#t writes#acotar fanfiction#azriel shadowsinger#sjm fandom#prompt fill#drunk confessions#acotar drabble#acotar fic#sjm fic#nessian#elriel#feysand
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I Hope She Makes You Happy
⋆ ✶ ★ ☾ ★ ✶ ⋆ Lucien Vanserra x y/n
summary: You and Lucien have been friends for some time now. You’ve got feelings for the red head. But does he feel the same?
words: 2.9k
TW: mentions of alcohol, language, implied smut, it gets a bit steamy 🔥, fluff, a bit of angst
note: English is not my first language, so apologies for any mistakes
🦊
It was a normal weekend in Velaris, which means that me and my two best friends got ready to go to Rita’s. I wear a black long sleeved laced crop top, with a black bralet sewn into the top, a floor long black skirt that started just shyly above my navel and had a thigh high slit on both legs, and black glitter high heels. Maybe today I could finally get a male to turn his attention to me. I don’t want to say that I was desperate, but by the Cauldron…
“Y/n, have you got any make up?”
“Yeah sure. Just right over there in that tiny bag”, I pointed over to a chest of drawers. On top was a mirror and my make up bag. Admittedly, there wasn’t much in there but enough to keep me going. My friend, Kyara, applied some red lip stick and mascara. I did the same but added a black line of kohl on my upper eye lid. I just like how my y/e/c sparkle even more.
“Are you two finally ready?” Ophelia questioned us while taking a long sip from her wine.
When she arrived at my apartment she was already fully dressed and dolled up. Basically just joining so she can empty my wine cupboard. She goes back into my kitchen and pours each of us another glass of wine. As Kyara and I move over to her, she gives us our glasses.
“To a lovely girls night out! And hopefully some willing males as I really need to get fucked!” I roll my eyes at Ophelia’s speech and we toast our glasses together. After we emptied our glasses we make our way to Rita’s. As usual we have to queue but luckily it’s summer and it goes rather quickly. As soon as we’re inside we’re being greeted by loud music, flickering lights and all scents imaginable - sweat, arousal, alcohol,…
We make our way through the crowd towards the bar, (un)fortunately we don’t make it that far. There, leaning against the wall of a booth, he is standing. His red hair all flowing openly around his shoulders and back, some strands have been braided back tightly. He is wearing a casual white shirt and green pants, coupled with brown shoes. No boots this time then. Ok. He is holding a glass of red wine in his hand and seems a bit bored, being honest. He doesn’t seem to be engaged in the conversations the others have. Nor does he look at them. It nearly seems as if he’s having a secret conversation with his wine.
So I take my chance.
“LUUUCIIII!!!” I yell as loud as I can, open my arms wide as I walk just a tiny bit faster over to him. He puts his glass down and embraces me in a tight, warm hug.
The scent I know all too well and love the most engulfs me: bonfire, fallen leaves and apple. Am I addicted to it? Definitely. Maybe. No, definitely. My hands go straight for his face, holding him while my thumbs caress his beautiful jaw line. Lucien wraps his arms around my hips and seems to be holding me impossibly tighter. Even after that hug he doesn’t let go of me and his hand lingers on the small of my back, while my hand lays flat on his chest, trying to savour his warmth and the feel of his muscles underneath.
Lucien leans down slightly and whispers in my ear “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” I can’t help the bright smile crossing my face.
He shortly lets go of me to go behind me and takes Ophelia and Kyara in a warm hug as well. They exchange short hellos and how are you’s before Lucien returns to me. Being honest I don’t pay much heep to the other people on that table, even though I know that it’s the High Lord and Lady and their Inner Circle.
“Why didn’t you let me know you’re visiting?” I ask him while pouting and making puppy eyes.
“I didn’t plan on it. Rhysand told me just yesterday.” He gestures over to the High Lord. I turn my head towards all of them, nod my head in greeting and return to Lucien. Nevertheless I didn’t fail to see the look on their faces. Thousands of questions. Emotions written all over their faces. That’s not everything. I feel talons scraping at my mental shield, but I block them.
Nice try, my High Lord. Come back when you’re less obvious trying to spy information from me.
I hear a low growl and know exactly that this did not please him. I couldn’t give a damn about it. Lucien has told me enough for me to not ever wanting to be a part of their elite circle.
“How long are you going to stay?” I ask Lucien while my hand rests on his biceps. Not trying to make it too obvious that I’m more than just interested in this male.
“Let’s go over to the bar.”
All four of us leave the Inner Circle behind and make our way over to the bar. Tye, the bar keeper, already knows us and what we’re drinking: three white wines and one red. After that we go over to a round table with four chairs, sit down and start to converse.
Lucien and I met a while back. Right after the war with Hybern. Ever since we’ve grown to be friends and I introduced him to my friends. So he’s very familiar with Kyara and Ophelia. The conversation is flowing smoothly. I’ve got the feeling this is what Lucien misses with the others. With us he can be more of his own self than with the Inner Circle. As we’re talking I can’t help but notice that we both are stealing glances of the other one. I mean, who could blame me? Lucien is by far one of the most beautiful males I’ve ever seen. If not the most beautiful. As his hand is resting on one of his thighs I take is hand in mine and with my thumb I start drawing small patterns on his palm. He on the other hand slowly strokes my arm with his other hand. If he continues like this I’m going to fuck him right here on this table. In front of everyone.
A small giggle escapes his lips and I turn my head to him.
“What’s so funny?”
He leans over to me and whispers in my ear: “Don’t think I can’t smell you.”
My face goes all red and I bite my lower lip.
“Didn’t get enough last time it seems.”
Last time… We were having a small gathering at my place and played Truth or Dare. I took dare and had to kiss the most beautiful person in the room. Which to be fair was an easy choice. But ever since that day my dreams are filled with his soft lips. The taste of him. His scent.
I throw him a raspberry at that and try to calm myself down. This male radiates too much heat. In all meanings.
“So, how are Vassa and Jurian doing? And the mortal lands? When are you taking us?”
Lucien laughs at Kyara’s questions but goes to answer her: “Everything’s fine. The two are bickering all the time but won’t admit that they fuck. Didn’t think through that I can hear and smell them.”
We all laugh at his admission. Although I can’t fail to see the bit of hurt in his eyes. I know he wants someone he can love, cherish, worship. But I’m not sure if he can after everything that happened with Jesminda. She is also the reason I don’t jump straight onto Lucien’s cock whenever I see him. Or why I haven’t shared what I feel for him with him. I want to give him time. And I’m not even sure about the Elain situation. Elain. His mate. Who is hovering after another male as if she’s a bitch on heat.
“You have to take us with you at some point”, I say after we’ve all calmed down from laughing.
“I’d love to. But are you three sure you want to go to the Mortal Lands?”
“Why not? I’m sure they won’t bite.”
“They may not bite, but they can do other things.”
I see the memory playing in his mind and try to change the subject: “How about we all finally hit the dance floor. I mean that’s what we’re here for.”
I grab Lucien’s hand even tighter and drag him with me to the dance floor. I just love dancing. Although I never would claim I’m good at it. Lucky for me Lucien, Kyara and Ophelia don’t make any fun of me. The songs are really good this time and I let my body flow to the rhythm of the music. Not caring about anything around me. That is until I feel two strong hands and arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me closer into a hard, muscled chest. I can feel the heat rising inside of me. I swear that sweat is starting to form on my forehead. I want him. I want him so badly. Especially now as Lucien’s hips are pushing impossibly closer into my backside and I can feel his hardened cock rubbing against the fabric of my skirt. A little moan escaping my lips. I lean my head back into his shoulder while his hands keep tracing up and down my torso. Ever so slightly leaving small trails around my breasts. I take one of his hands in mine and we interlace our fingers. My other arm and hand wrap around his head, playing with his red locks. I ankle my head to the side, my nose lightly pressing against his lower cheek. Mother boil me! I want to kiss him so badly. While looking into his russet and golden eyes, I have to bite my lower lip to not act on my feelings. Lucien leans down, our lips so close, not even a hair would fit through it. Before I can say or do anything his soft, delicious lips meet mine and he turns me around. I place my hands around his neck while his hands wrap around me hips, one of them going down to my bum, squeezing it ever so slightly. His tongue licks along my lips, asking for permission. I part my lips for him and in one swift motion our tongues are tangled. Oh Cauldron! This male just tastes so delicious. At the sensation of finally having this, my heart beats like crazy, my breathing is staggered. I’m totally and entirely lost in the moment. I got no idea how much time has past. Only when we let go of each other, lips all red and swollen, I manage to take in the others around me. The Inner Circle. Dancing, but still throwing daggers at me with their eyes. I look at Lucien. To my friends. I feel so embarrassed at this moment. Did Lucien only kiss me to make Elain jealous? To get any sort of reaction out of her? I let go of him. My arms falling slack beside me. I can’t breathe. I’ve got the feeling I’m drowning. I need to get out of here.
Without turning to my friends or Lucien, I just make my way outside. I got the feeling that the world is spinning. My mouth dry. My throat clenching together. I walk as fast as I can. Not wanting to see any of them. Thoughts racing through my mind. How could I’ve been so stupid? How could I’ve ever thought that he, Lucien, son of the Autumn Court High Lord, would feel the same way for me as I feel for him? How could I have not noticed his mate being on the dance floor before he started kissing me? I’m pretty sure that right at this moment he’s either making fun of me for being so easy and naïve or shoving his tongue down Elain’s throat. I can smell the salt of my tears. I feel how they are running down my cheeks. I don’t care. I just want to get home. Want to be curled up in my bed under my blankets.
I make my way up to my apartment and smell him. The scent that always drove me crazy. Now it’s just a sign of my utter stupidity. It probably still lingers on my clothes, my skin. I desperately have to wash it off as soon as I’m home. I open my door and stare at the figure in front of me. Of course he winnowed inside of my flat.
“Get out.” I say as calmly as I can, still my voice is filled with bitterness.
“Y/n, please. It’s not what you think.”
“GET. OUT.” My face is covered in tears. I ball my hands into fists. I can’t decide whether I’m sad or angry. Probably both.
Lucien just stands there. Leaning against the kitchen counter. His arms crossed in front of him. I make my way to my kitchen, not because of him. I need a drink. A strong one. Especially now that he’s here. I walk past him and don’t even look at him.
As I go through my cupboards looking for my favourite whiskey, Lucien starts talking.
“I came to Velaris for two reasons, okay three. First I have meetings with Rhysand. But that’s unimportant. Second. I came here to talk to Elain. I basically broke the bond. Officially. I talked to her yesterday. I don’t have any feelings for her. I can somewhat still feel that bond, but it’s basically dead. She doesn’t desire me. I don’t desire her. Not anymore.”
At that I pour myself a big glass of whiskey and empty it half way. It burns its way down my tongue and throat, right into my stomach. Just what I needed.
“And the third reason. I met someone. She’s from Velaris.”
I cross my arms over my chest and try not to explode. Is he seriously going to tell me this shit now? After everything that happened tonight?
“She’s … She had my heart from the second I saw her. She’s the most intelligent, most funny, caring, loving person I’ve ever met. I lost my heart to her. She is the one I want to spent the rest of my life with.”
I can’t stop the tears from falling. I just want to get out of here. My heart broken. Shattered on the floor and he’s stumping on it. I take another sip from my glass, put it back down on the counter and try to make my way to my bedroom.
I stop for a second, looking up at him and say “I hope she makes you happy.”
“You do. You do make me happy.”
Am I going mad? Did I just hear that right?
I openly stare at him. My mouth forming an ‘o’, my eyes wide.
“Y/n. It’s you.” He wraps his one arm around my waist and pulls me closer. His other hand goes to my cheek, wiping away some of the tears. Lucien brings his forehead to mine. I can feel his breath on my face.
“It’s been you since the second I saw you in that book store.” A kiss to my nose.
“From that moment on all I could think about was you.” Another kiss to my forehead. “After we kissed during that stupid game”, a kiss to my one cheek, “all I could think about was your scent. Your lips. Your taste.” A kiss to my other cheek.
“To have my arms wrapped around you. To feel your heartbeat. To smell you at day and night.”
He kisses my lips. I can’t control my breathing. My heart seems to be jumping out of me chest.
“All I could think about was how you’d be the first I see in the morning, and the last I see at night.” Another kiss to my lips.
With my hands I reach up to cup is face. Placing a small kiss to his lips.
“For you to be by my side. For you to follow me, for me to follow you no matter where our future will lead us.”
“Lucien…”
He kisses me again while pulling me even closer to him. My fingers trace the scars on his face. I wanted to touch them for so long. Letting him know how much I love everything about him. Lucien leans is head down to nozzle my nose.
“It’s always been you.” His voice merely a whisper. Before he can kiss me I slightly jump up, wrap my legs tightly around his waist and my arms around his neck while his hands grab my thighs. I place a passionate kiss onto his lips. Nibbling them slightly before I let go. I put my forehead to his and say softly “It’s always been you.”
Relief seems to be trailing through his body at my words and at that he embraces me in a long kiss. Lips parting to let the other one in. Savouring the taste of each other. The kiss is filled with passion, lust, wanting, love, desire.
All this time. All this time we’ve been two idiots in love. A love stronger than any mating bond.
“I’m sorry.” I say after we’ve kissed each other breathless. “I’m sorry for how I reacted.”
“No need to be sorry, sunshine. But if you like you could show me just how sorry you really are.” He winks at me as he carries me into my bedroom.
Needless to say I was in for a long night of ‘apologies’
#acotar#sjmass#sjm fic#lucien vanserra#lucien acotar#lucien x reader#lucien vanserra x reader#anti inner circle#anti rhysand#best friends#friends to lovers#two idiots in love#jesminda#elain archeron#mating bond
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In The Stars (5 - The Secrets)
Hiii, let me know what you think of this, i'm very proud of it:')
Az x TOG!OC
Words: 3.1k
Warnings: a little angst if you squint, mentions of scars, mentions of cairn, mentions of torture, azriel and asteria having an actual conversation??????what??????
The cold had never bothered Asteria, in fact, it’s what she’d always preferred.
There had always been something she found comforting about the stillness of a freezing, winter night. Like she’s the only person left in the Realm.
She hadn’t always liked being by herself, but she had gotten used to it over the centuries. Asteria had driven herself mad in isolation enough times that she had to bring herself back. She’d gotten good at it, and now, whenever she’s surrounded by people Asteria finds herself craving the comfort she’d found in being alone. She likes it.
After returning home from Rita’s Asteria had slipped away from the Inner Circle, who insisted on continuing their revels with a bottle of Rhysand’s most decadent wines. Cassian, a stumble in his step, had gotten a hold of a butter knife, reverse grip, and had been trying to imitate Asteria’s moves from earlier in the day on a loaf of bread.
Quietly, Asteria made her way outside, snow crunching under her boot as she moved around the grand home, finding herself a quiet patch of snow covered grass in the yard beyond the training ring and sitting down.
A soft wind wraps around her and lifts the pieces of silver hair that had freed themselves from her braid, her neck craned up so she can look at the infinite night sky above her. When she’d woken up, trying to escape the very house she now has a room in, she’d been stunned by the view of glorious night. But she hadn’t been able to take it in then, Rhysand quickly distracting her with an offer of safety.
Asteria didn’t know it at the time, but she’d been longing for another glimpse at the stars. She wanted to count them, and for a few minutes she’d tried, only to give up almost immediately, overwhelmed by the amount of them, as well as their sheer beauty.
The Realm is captivating in every aspect, but Asteria remembers what it had said to her when she first let her magic surge into it; I am not yours. You are not mine.
She had let too many people down over the course of her immortality, she doesn’t want to add more to that list. She would make this Realm trust her, and she would prove to Rhysand that she is more than what he’d seen behind her shields, and more than the assassin the Shadowsinger somehow knew she once was.
Asteria raises a bare palm, glove held in her other hand. Her magic gathers there in a golden, shimmering ball of light, whisps of it fanning out in different directions. An easy flick of her wrist sends the magic around her hand, and she shifts it between her fingers before she gently lowers it to the earth, the glow of it simmering through the snow before it disappears into the ground, her fingers coming in contact with the grass.
‘You are not mine,’ The realm sneers, the voice in Asteria’s head just as harsh as it had been before, but somehow weaker, like it had lost strength since the last time it had spoken to her.
Asteria sighs, “I know. You’re not mine either.”
‘You do not belong here.’
“I know that, too,” Asteria mutters quietly, her fingers stinging with the cold of the frozen earth, “You’re hurting, Rhysand says the war made you sick.”
‘The High Lord of Night knows nothing. He shouldn’t have brought you here.’
Asteria’s brows furrow, “What do you mean he brought me here?”
‘You were falling,’ The Realm says, ‘The High Lord’s power slowed your descent between worlds. He saved you,’ There’s a pause, ‘I would not have showed you that same mercy.’
The silver-haired female doesn’t flinch at the harsh words, she sinks her magic deeper, prodding it to grow where it cannot be seen, “I don’t want your mercy. I want you to survive.”
‘That is none of your concern.’
“That is my only concern,” Asteria gently whispers, “Like it or not, I want to help you.”
‘You are not my Realm Reader.’
Shaking her head, Asteria allows her fist to clench, withdrawing both her hand and her magic, the light moving beneath her skin back to the well within her that she’d pulled it from.
Asteria had faced cruelty before, two hundred years of it consecutively, and she’d earned her thick skin, no matter how many scars it bears.
But facing this strange Realm is different. Her entire life her home world had been kind to her, and loved her. Every time she’d wanted her immortal life to end, her Realm had coaxed her off the ledge. It had given her direction, and purpose. It had always been steering her in the right direction with a hand on her shoulder since she was a child.
Without that warm presence, that well of power, and most importantly, that relationship, Asteria can’t help but feel a different kind of loneliness than what she’s used to. It’s as if she’d been plunged under frigid waters with nothing above, below, or around her. The cold seeps into her, and no matter how hard she swims, she can’t move.
She’s sinking, and no one is around to save her.
Asteria is huffing out a warm breath into the numbing skin of her bare hand when she hears soft footsteps in the snow behind her.
She stiffens, turning to see Azriel a few feet behind her, a blanket hanging over his arm, and an open bottle of wine in his hand.
Asteria had noticed his scars long before he’d approached her at Rita’s, but she hadn’t gotten a good look at them until he raised his drink to his lips. She didn’t care about them, she’d know better than anyone that scars don’t define someone. What she is interested in, however, are the gems that he and Cassian always seem to be wearing.
“It’s cold out here,” Azriel says, his own way of greeting.
Asteria looks up at him, his height making her cran her neck all the way back, “I don’t mind it.”
Nodding, Azriel tosses the blanket aside, “Guess I brought this out for nothing, then. May I join you?”
“Sure,” Asteria says, her eyes finding the night sky just because she knows that if they didn’t, she’d stare at him until the sun rose with morning light.
A few moments of silence pass between the pair, and she can feel Azriel’s intense gaze on her, “Wine?”
Nodding, Asteria reaches out with her gloved hand, her bare one tucked under her leg. Her finger’s brush Azriel’s as she takes the bottle, and despite the barrier of the leather between them, she still can’t help her shiver. Or maybe it’s the cold finally rattling her.
She brings the opening to her lips, taking a long sip before offering it back to the male, and when he takes it, one of the shadows that seemingly always surround him zips up her arm, and excitedly darts to her hair, swirling around the length of her braid to earn a gasp from her before moving back down her arm and returning to Azriel.
Asteria’s eyes are wide when she meets Azriel’s, who shares her expression, “Does that happen often?” She asks, a light chuckle punctuating her question.
Seemingly bewildered, Azriel shakes his head. He wasn’t expecting it either.
“No,” Azriel says, after a moment, clearing his throat, “They don’t usually react to much. Sorry.”
Asteria waves off the apology easily, and she takes special care of inspecting the shadows surrounding the male like whisps of black smoke. They peer at her from over his shoulders, a few of them stretching out, almost like they’re reaching out to inspect her before shrinking back to Azriel. Curious things.
“Do they sing to you?” Asteria can’t help but ask, watching as Azriel takes a swig of wine.
He swallows, shaking his head.
“So, you sing to them?”
“What if I told you there’s no singing involved at all?”
Asteria huffs out an airy laugh, the corners of her lips involuntarily turning up into a ghost of a smile, “Then I’d tell you how deceptive your name really is, Shadowsinger.”
“What about you, Realm Reader?” Azriel asks, offering her the wine again with a teasing smirk, “Who reads to who?”
“The name is literal, I read the Realm,” Asteria says, taking a long gulp of the wine before sighing, “Although this one doesn’t seem to want me to.”
“No?”
“No,” Asteria says, drinking from the bottle again before handing it back to Azriel, “Before you came out here, the Realm was just telling me how it would rather me be dead than talking to it.”
“Sounds like a delightful conversation.”
“Truly riveting,” Asteria says sarcastically, her tone light, a result of the wine she suspects. It changes in an instant, though, a frown suddenly on her lips, “I don’t know how I’m going to make it trust me.”
Azriel’s hazel eyes gleam at her when she looks at him, and she swears she can see the idea as soon as it occurs to him, “Have you tried telling it a secret?”
She feels one her brows quirk itself, a habit of hers that she’s long past trying to break, “A secret?”
“You know, something you’ve never told any-”
“I know what a secret is, Azriel,” Asteria scolds, narrowing he eyes and making the winged-male chuckle to himself, “Why would I tell it a secret?”
“Secrets have a way of making you vulnerable,” Azriel says lightly, truly honest, “People, or I guess Realms, trust vulnerability.”
Asteria hums, reaching out and snatching the wine bottle from the Shadowsinger, “I think I’m vulnerable enough.”
“Why’s that?”
The silver haired female can’t help the smirk from her lips, “It’s a secret,” She teasingly utters, taking a long swig to punctuate her sentence, trying not to break out into a grin when Azriel smiles, chuckling at what she’d said.
“Well, secrets are my specialty, you know.”
“What are you implying, Spymaster?”
Azriel shrugs, holding his hand out for the quickly emptying wine bottle, and Asteria takes another drink before handing it over to him, “I’m implying that I’m good at keeping secrets, and if you want to-”
“What? Practice? Tell you all my secrets?” Asteria asks, searching for some semblance of a joke on the Shadowsinger’s face, but she doesn't find any. He’s looking at her, his smile fading and face holding the serious expression he always seemed to carry, one not far off from her own, “You act like secrets are free.”
“Aren’t they?”
“Of course not,” Asteria says, “Nothing is.”
“What do they cost then?”
Asteria considers the question, thinking carefully about her wording, “Equal trade-off, an exchange.”
“A secret for a secret?”
“Seems fair to me,” The silver haired female looks to the bottle of wine, and she lets herself look over Azriel’s scars, ignoring the feeling of his eyes on her face as she does. She swallows before speaking, “If I give you one now, you would have to grace me with two. I told you a secret earlier tonight.”
The male nods, the wing closest to Asteria twitching before falling still yet again as he recalls what she’d told him when she was suddenly overcome by the presence of musicians and their instruments, upbeat melodies erupting through her core, “Two hundred years without music. What was it like?”
“I hated every second of it. But that is not the secret I want to share with you,” Asteria says honestly, ignoring her own trembling as she removes her hand from where it had been tucked under her leg, slowly using it to remove her other glove.
Her movements are slow, her own breath hitching as she takes off the brown leather, setting the gloves in front of her with care, suddenly feeling as though she’d crumble beneath the heaviness of Azriel’s gaze.
“This is,” She whispers, lowly, showing him her hands.
Hands that are just like his.
Her pale skin is covered by ragged, fierce burn scars. They extend to the tips of her fingers and disappear under the sleeves of her tunic. Some of the first scars she’s received from Cairn. They were his favorite. Each time the healers saved her, reset the canvas for the sadist fae male to paint red again and again, Cairn made sure to thoroughly burn her hands. Each and every time. He couldn’t get enough, and Asteria is filled with shame because of it. Shame, because she was his plaything.
Azriel’s gaze feels scorching as he hesitantly reaches towards her, his own marred hands gentle as he flips one of her wrists, examining the patterns permanently embedded on the pads of her fingers
Despite sitting in the cold, his skin is warm, and Asteria feels as though she might break out in a nervous sweat when Azriel brushes his thumb over her palm.
When he speaks, his voice is a heavy, low whisper, nearly a growl, “Who did this?”
“His name is Cairn. He’s a torture-master and a goddamn sadist,” Asteria mutters back, meeting the alight embers of Azriel’s hazel eyes, “We served the same Queen. I started to find ways around her orders, I defied her constantly, and she hated it. So, she gave me to Cairn when she didn’t need me,” Asteria pauses to breathe, hating the sting behind her eyes that comes with his name, “And he did this to me, again and again.”
Azriel doesn’t release her hands, his shadows having grown thicker, if possible. They make the night around them seem darker, as though her has the power to blot out each of the stars if he desires.
A few of the shadows carefully dance around their joined hands, moving between Asteria’s fingers and around her wrist in a gentle caress. When they brush her skin, she can feel them, just slightly. The whisper of something tangible.
Azriel’s face turns to a mask that Asteria can’t read, though she desperately wants to. She wonders if showing him was a mistake, if she should have kept this part of her hidden a little longer. But the talk of secrets, the looseness of the wine, the quietness of the winter night, and the very presence of a male she never wants to stop looking at makes her feel…. Safe, almost. Like the Realm is truly empty besides the two of them. Like for once, she doesn’t have to hold in the things that trouble her.
Asteria is staring at Azriel’s impassive face, wishing that she hadn’t been the one to bring it on. When his mouth parts, she holds her breath.
“I didn’t see the sun until I was eleven years old, and when I finally did, I hated it,” Azriel says after a few moments, ending the heavy silence that had fallen between them. So heavy that Asteria thought she’d suffocate if it wasn’t broken, “Only for a couple hours. But still, I’ve never told anyone that when I first felt the sun, I wanted to go back to this dark, cold cell I’d lived in my entire life.”
“Have you felt that way since?” Asteria asks, her brows drawn down at her curiosity, every part of it directed to the fatally beautiful male in front of her.
Azriel takes his time drawing in a breath, and takes even longer exhaling, one of the corners of his lips drawing itself up, breaking the unreadable mask and making Asteria let out a relieved breath, “Not even for a second.”
“That’s quite the secret,” Asteria says, “You owe me another.”
He falls serious again, thought stirring in his mind, and Asteria wonders how many secrets the spymaster has, and how crucial they are. And she also wonders why she wants to hear each and every one of them fall from his lips.
The Shadowsinger leans forward slightly, about to speak, and Asteria doesn’t know what to expect, what luscious knowledge he would share with her.
“I hate strawberries,” Azriel finally deadpans, his voice dreadfully serious despite the slightest hint of mischief having graced a normally unreadable face.
It takes a second, but Asteria can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes her, one of the hands that the Shadowsinger had been holding flying up to her mouth to cover it, as if she’d been surprised the noise escaped at all. That was not the kind of secret she’d been expecting.
Azriel, seemingly proud of himself, chuckles, a smooth and low sound, and Asteria has to take a second to compose herself, quieting her laughter and putting a leash on her smile, smothering it down to a ghost of a thing.
“Why strawberries?” The female finally manages.
The Shadowsinger shrugs, “I don’t know, I’ve just never liked them. Feyre’s sister makes this fruity parfait thing for everyone some mornings, and it’s mostly strawberries. I have to choke it down every time. I don’t have the heart to tell her I hate it.”
“Gods, you’re so brave.”
Azriel lets out a shout of laughter himself, shifting to his feet and standing, using the hand of Asteria’s he still holds to help her up as well, “It’s nice that someone finally knows, that’s been weighing on me for five centuries now.”
“An incredibly heavy burden to bear,” Asteria teases, smirking, “I don’t know how you’ve managed for so long.”
“Sometimes I don’t either,” Azriel says, finally releasing Asteria’s hand to bend down and pick up their near empty bottle of wine, the blanket he’d discarded, and the female’s leather gloves, “We should probably head inside. I heard Cassian mention early morning training.”
Asteria huffs out a breathy chuckle, “I’m sure the hangover he’ll have will convince him otherwise.”
Azriel smiles, tilting his head in agreement and taking a step back, giving Asteria an expectant gaze. A silent question about whether or not she’d be joining him.
“You go ahead, I’ll head inside soon,” Asteria says, gesturing up to the night sky, “Stars like these should never be ignored.”
“Then you may have trouble ever sleeping in this court. They get better every night.”
Asteria sighs dreamily, “The exhaustion will be worth it, then”
The Shadowsinger nods, eyes gleaming in the dark, “Yes, I suppose it will be,” He says, reaching out and handing the silver haired female her gloves, which she takes and tucks under her arm, “Goodnight, Asteria.”
“Goodnight,” Asteria says with the tilt of her head.
Azriel turns, heading back inside the house as the female turns her eyes back to the sky, the triumphant stars gleaming there, feeling a little less alone than she did before.
----
Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added:))
@bionic-donut @hollyismentallyillhelp @younxii @feyretopia @hideing @eat-cake
#acotar#azriel fanfiction#azriel x oc#azriel shadowsinger#azriel#shadowsinger#acotar fanfiction#acotar oc#acowar#azriel fanfic#inner circle x oc#acosf#azriel acotar#in the stars#acomaf#azriel x reader#inner circle#sjm fic
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instagram
"light it up"
#hoeab#house of sky and breath#bryce quinlan#hunt alathar#house of earth and blood#sjm fic#sarah j maas#crescent city#book flatlay#bookworm#book lover#bookstagram#bookstalove#Instagram
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for the prompts candlelight fluff with helion??
Ask and you shall receive! Tooth rotting fluff. 😘
Unlike the season courts Night, Dawn and Day adhere to the rules of this world. They do not remain a constant. As such the nights grow longer and the days colder. The rays of the sun become rarer and more distant. The radiant heat does little to warm cold bodies and when the light fades, what more is there to illuminate the darkness? Thousands of lanterns light the paths most often traversed. Candles litter the hallways and chandeliers in the homes and palaces casting that warm golden glow. Despite what Prythian might expect, the people of Day welcome the colder days. Where the sun is lacking they bring warmth of their own. Their High Lord is no different. He finds when the cold settles within him, when his glow is less bright, there you are, like the will o’wisps guiding the lost back where they belong.
Even now, Helion has been hitting the books from dawn to dusk, until the words dance before his eyes and he can see no more the scribbles of ancient texts. The keepers of the palace have begun their journey, replacing the old lanterns and candles, and lighting those still usable. He rubs his eyes, pushes back from the stacks he collected and rises. His back hurts, his neck too and his head rings with a dull pounding. He hears your warning echo through his head. You’d told him to move every once in a while, to get up and put the books aside. Instead of heeding that warning he had binge-read what he could and couldn’t remember when he last got up from that chair since dawn. You’d give him hell for it. Helion missed your company and he supposes even your scorn would be a relief at this point. He’ll bear it. Not that you’ll be mad at him, nor will you remain upset. You’ll be more likely to look at him with a hint of exasperation. Nothing a kiss can’t fix.
Wandering among the familiar halls is but a haze, his mind has floated off somewhere far beyond and he is but a ghost stuck in the same routine until that familiar door comes within sight. No light bleeds from under the crack. No sound emits from beyond that carved mahogany. It’s just dark, light and lifeless. Still Helion wanders in, the door falling shut behind him. Was he not so familiar with this space the complete darkness might have had him tumble and fall over the furniture but this had become a habit, was it not for his exhaustion or whenever you had yourself occupied with his lips, your fingers in his hair and your legs wrapped around his waist as he held you. He’d become quiet used to navigate the space without the need for sight. This time it was not your glorious being that required him to use that memory. This time Helion finds himself without the energy to make it to the bedroom and instead unceremoniously allows himself to drape over the couch, making himself comfortable among the pillows as much as possible. He lets the darkness carry him off and dreamless sleep enter his soul for some rest at last.
You were late. You got carried away in some ongoings and plannings for the upcoming months, dealing with correspondence and ambassadors who did not so much adjust to your schedules it seemed but still you handled yourself graciously. You’re tired and glad to finally be on your way home. If anything, you don’t know how he does it. Helion doesn’t know you took on more of the tasks set out for him but you’d seen him struggle between helping his friends and running his court. You might not be as well-versed in the ways of healing or be able to pick the exact book you need off of any shelf within those endless libraries, but you know you can put up with people and so you did, for his sake. He’d been so engulfed in his research he hadn’t even noticed the passage of time, let alone the seemingly endless list of responsibilities suddenly needing less attention. You’re glad for it.
It is days like these where you follow the lanterns until you enter the palace. The staff and residents have long since lit the candles that line the halls creating the every lasting golden glow you’re used to, now even more prominent in the darkness of night. In a way it reminded you of the muted glow you’d woken up to on many occasions, when that power of Day bled through the restraint its wielder kept. It never failed to bring a smile to your face. You know at times he’d do it on purpose if only to see that very smile and it had simply remained an unspoken truth.
You approach the doors you’re all too familiar with but do not see that golden glow from within. Instead you see a basket of candles set out at the door, some wicks too. You shake your head to no one in particular as you pick up the basket and are met with darkness. You have the mind to light one of the candlesticks from one of the flames outside, that very source of light being the only one to illuminate your path. You don’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary and thus simply make your way through. Setting the basket on the side table the glow of that singular candle illuminates the fae shape on the couch, the peaceful features and gentle rise and fall of the chest.
Helion is fast asleep. You kneel down to brush some hair from his face and take the blanket from the back of the couch to gently drape it over him. Quietly you make your way around to the other side of the room and light the candles already set out and replace the burned out ones, collecting the wax remnants in the assigned bowl. Slowly but surely the room is cast in that same golden glow you’re used to. The cold air begins to grow warmer. Every once in a while you’ll cast a glance over your shoulder to still see the High Lord fast asleep. You hum to yourself as you move through the room until your task is complete.
A gentle melody guides him back to consciousness. No more does he feel that night cold within. Even behind closed eyes Helion notes the light that was not there before. The air feels different, more alive and more welcoming. The smell of melting wax and firewood enters his senses. With a satisfied sigh he opens his eyes. Your steps are featherlight as you illuminate the path you take, candles sparking to life in your wake. When you turn and see him, eyes as golden as the glow around you smile and Helion melts inside. You set the last candles. Alight like a halo behind you, like a truly angelic being you close into him as he rises onto his elbows. You catch onto his slight wince as he rises.
“What did I tell you about reading for too long like that?” You scorn playfully.
“I will better heed your warning next time, my love.” He all but grumbles, sleep still heavy on his voice. You chuckle as he sits up fully and you sit next to him letting your fingers lace with his as a mere force of habit. He brings it to his lips and kisses your hand watching the flush spread through your cheeks. Beautiful.
“Promising words yet no true promise I hear.” You retort. He looks at you through his lashes in a way that admits guilt. “Move over. Turn your back to me.” You order. Helion raises an eyebrow you just roll your eyes. He does as he’s told either way. You have half the mind to mutter ‘good boy’ but keep your comment to yourself lest this turns a certain way before you get to do what you intend to do.
“While I’d prefer to see your face, I’m curious to see-“ His words are cut off by his own moan when your skilful fingers work the muscles of his back, starting right between his shoulder blades. Damn does it feel good. He can feel the tension release as you go, working down his spine, across his shoulders and up the back go his neck into his hairline where you hit just the right spot that makes him feel lightheaded.
“Please don’t stop.” Helion breathes when your hands pull away.
“Not so opposed now, are you?” He can hear the smile and satisfaction in your words. The candles dance in his vision, their warmth and light pulsing with his own and it takes him a second to realise he is glowing too. When he goes to snuff the flame within him you stop him.
“Opposed to your touch? Never.” He muses with a deep sigh. You keep working, untangling every muscle that burned throughout the day, washing ease and calm over him until his shoulders slump and head hangs lower. Only then do you stop. He makes a sound of disappointment but is quickly sussed when you get up from your spot and push him back among the pillows on the couch. Your hand on his shoulder, he takes your wrist.
“Now rest a little while longer.” You go to step away but he keeps his hold just light enough to make it noticeable. With a gentle pull, You sit on his lap and feel his fingers dance up and down your spine. You’re not opposed to his advances, in fact you welcome them but you do grumble when you bring your lips to meet his, when his arms wrap around your waist and hold you close until you’re laying on top of him. Even when the kiss ends and he tucks your head beneath his chin, where you can hear the ease of his heartbeat, when you melt into his warmth, he glows like the candles and so do you.
#helion x reader#acotar x reader#acotar#helion x you#helion spell cleaver#helion acotar#high lord helion#a court of thorns and roses#sjmaas#sjm fic#sjm fanfic
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ClimbTheMountain's Masterlist
Find me on Ao3
Hope of Spring | Ao3
Tamlin x OC, Modern Girl in Prythian
Remains of Spring | Ao3
Tamlin x OC, Tamlin POV oneshots from Hope of Spring
Flame of Autumn | Ao3
Eris x OC, arranged marriage, allies to lovers
A Heartbreak in Mid-December | Ao3
Elucien, Angst with a Happy Ending, oneshot
Pages Turned | Ao3
Nesta, Character Study, oneshot for Nesta Week 2024 (Metamorphosis)
(Haphazard and Mid-Learning) Art by Me
Moodboards
#Climbthemountain#climbthemountain2020#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#masterlist#hope of spring#flame of autumn#sjm#sjm fic#acotar fic#fanfiction#art#beginner artist#moodboards
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scars and all
summary: you meet azriel in a doctor’s office who specializes in treating scars.
warnings: curse words, mentions of abuse (whipping, burning) scarring, trauma
you sat idly in the waiting room of the newest doctor in velaris. a week ago, a doctor specializing in treating scars arrived in the city, claiming to be able to erase scars, no matter how ugly.
you knew it was most likely crap, but you wanted to try anyways. you’d try anything to get rid of the hideous scar on your back; caused by years of living with your father and a belt.
although you had been waiting for about ten minutes now, the room was empty. or at least it was until a dark haired illyrian entered it.
you made eye contact with him as he walked by to the seat a few down from your own. what could be so disgraceful about this gorgeous male that he’d be willing to waste money on this bullshit doctor just to erase it?
but when you noticed his hands, the skin all permanently smudged from burns, you realized he was the notorious spymaster. apart of rhysand’s inner circle.
you felt his eyes on the side of your face as you stared down at your shoes, suddenly intimidated by his presence.
“where’s yours?” his deep voice startled you, interrupting the silence. you looked at him, taking in all his beauty and couldn’t help but wonder why he would think he’d need to erase the imperfections on his hands. he’s perfect everywhere else.
“my back,” you responded, not sure whether to say anything else. after a moment, you added “i’m y/n.”
a little smile curved the side of his mouth. “i’m azriel. it’s nice to meet someone who feels at least a little shameful of their scars.”
your face flushed. “i never said that.”
he chuckled. “well, you’re here, aren’t you?” his gaze softened, and you could feel the connection between the two of you. the draw you had to each other. “how did you get them?”
you were not expecting that question. very few people knew about your father, you had never told anyone else out of fear he’d do something to them to keep it quiet. but you felt a sudden trust with azriel, who was barely more than a stranger. and he could definitely handle himself against your father; he was a warrior, after all. “my father liked his belt,” you forced out a small laugh, trying to mask how much the memories still affected you. “how about you?”
“my step brothers got creative with their.. game.” he looked down at his hands, as if reliving the memory, and you caught the look of disgust in his eyes. at himself or his step brothers, you weren’t sure. “it sounds like your father and my step brothers would get along well.”
you chuckled. “it seems like it.” you knew you were overstepping boundaries by what you wanted to say, but you felt like azriel needed to at least hear it. “i know it’s certainly not my place to say this to you,” your eyes wandered down to his hands and then up to his face, “but you shouldn’t get them removed.”
his face lost all emotion once the words were out of your mouth. you thought you might have angered him, but when he spoke his voice was soft and slightly vulnerable. “why?”
“i think they’re quite.. pretty. maybe a morbid sort of pretty, but pretty nonetheless.”
“you think they’re.. pretty.” he repeated flatly.
“yes,” you could feel the blush in your cheeks. “and i think they make you yourself. they’re proof that you survived your asshole brothers, and i don’t think you should get rid of that.”
you could see your words sink into azriel by the way his shoulders loosened, and a small smile bloomed on his face as he looked at you with appreciation.
he was not sure why your opinion mattered so much to him, you were barely more than a stranger, yet he suddenly felt like a small weight had been lifted. less shameful of his hands.
“how about this,” he said. “i won’t erase mine if you don’t erase yours.”
you hesitated. the scars had always felt like a burden, the last bit of your past you can’t seem to quite wipe away. but getting rid of the scars didn’t mean getting rid of the memory; it would always be there no matter what. the scars were worth keeping if it meant azriel would keep his. and you didn’t want to be a hypocrite either.
“deal.”
azriel nodded, not having felt this at peace with himself for a long time. he knew you were the cause, which is why he asked “would you like to go somewhere together instead of this place?”
he had a thing for asking you unexpected questions, but you felt giddy at the idea of spending more time with this gorgeous male. “of course.”
azriel offered you his arm, and you walked out of the doctors office together, scars and all.
#acotar#azriel x reader#azriel#azriel shadowsinger#acowar#azriel fic#azriel x you#acofas#fanfic#acomaf#angsty#azriel spymaster#imabookadict#imagines#sjm fic
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hi. i just came here to say this is the best acotar fic i've ever read. i literally tore through it in 2 days and i never start wips.
i love the way you describe young rhys. i love how you've written the overarching relationship he has with his parents, but i especially love how you've decided to portray his mom. i motherfucking adore cassian and azriel. and i could never have imagined loving another female lead character, but i get lilah. to my core i understand her and love her to death.
i don't know how you made all these characters or how you backtracked from rhys being 500 years old in acotar to 25 years old in the prequel, but it's better than sex. thank you.
this is so beyond kind, flattering, nice, unexpected, crazy to read. pick any of the above words and you have how i felt reading this.
so much love to u. xx
#Ask Han#rhysand#acotar fanfic#acotar#azriel#cassian#rhys#acotar fanfiction#heir of night#the bat boys#SJM#sjm fic#sjm universe
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Mild angst, a college au. Rated T. 2.9k words
Feyre Archeron is just trying to get through the end of the semester and move on. Rhysand Nox has spent the past year reeling from the breakup that shattered his heart. The last time they saw each other, things ended in disaster. As fate would have it, they meet again.
Main Masterlist | Fic Masterlist
-
Feyre scanned the apartment herself, conscious of all the things that had changed since he had last been there – the last time they had spoken. Many of the same paintings and furniture adorned the room, but the pictures had been swapped out or removed altogether. The frame that once held the two of them carving pumpkins was now a picture of her and Lucien. Other pictures of him and his friends had been swapped out for different friends, people he wouldn’t recognize.
She wouldn’t tell him for anything that none of her new friends ever made her feel quite as home as his did.
She carefully looked over at Rhys. If he noticed these small differences, he didn’t say anything. His hands were buried in the deep pockets of his coat, hiding his tells.
“Have a seat,” Feyre said, gesturing awkwardly. “I put the painting in storage somewhere. It’ll take me a minute to go find it.”
Rhys nodded but didn’t sit down, just leaned back against her countertop. He was making it clear he had no intention of staying long or making himself at home, even though he was the one who had insisted on this. He didn’t point out that her apartment was tiny, she could hardly have lost it. There were only so many places it would fit.
Feyre disappeared down the hall into the safety of her bedroom. She had lied to Rhys. She knew exactly where the painting was, but she needed a minute to compose herself.
Rhys was back here, in her apartment. And that was fine. That was okay.
Deep breaths, in and out, she coached herself.
No matter that she regretted how things had ended up, perhaps this could be the last little bit of closure for the both of them. Maybe being back at her apartment together would help. It was where so many of their firsts had happened.
She glanced at the unmade bed.
Including –
One year and six months ago
Feyre stumbled through the door with Rhys behind her. He pushed the door shut and reached for her. Their lips met again, Feyre sucking on his lower lip as his hands found her waist.
She was a bit of kindling, and he the fire that ignited her. And she wanted to burn.
Months of dancing around each other, flirting and sly comments, and being pressed up against each other in a darkened living room.
It all narrowed down to now, to Rhys pressing kisses to her mouth and jawline as she backed towards the bed, pulling him with her.
Her hands tugged at the hem of his black t-shirt, a silent request. He pressed another kiss between the juncture of her jaw and neck before pulling away just enough to shuck off the shirt with her help.
The short black bodycon dress was much sexier and more revealing than her typical going-out attire, but she had never been gladder for Mor’s insistence as Rhys’s gaze roamed her body up and down. He leaned back in – another kiss as their lips met – and his hand traveled down to the curve of her ass and squeezed.
Then, Feyre decided, it was time for the dress to come off.
She spun around, pulling her hair out of the way and giving Rhys what she knew was a damn good view of her backside.
His hands found the zipper of her dress. It slid down her body and fell to the floor, leaving her in her lacy black bra and underwear.
Rhysand looked ravenous, and with another hungry kiss, Feyre was consumed.
In the morning, when the frenzy had passed between them and Feyre woke intertwined with Rhys, she didn’t dare move, lest she disturbed him. Instead, she studied the way the light fell across his nose and cheeks through the slanted blinds.
She couldn’t help the grin that crept up on her face. Months of dancing around each other had finally led them here, and Cauldron, had the wait been worth it.
He looked so peaceful – and she felt it, in her bones. For once, all her nagging doubts were quieted. Maybe it was the eye of the storm, but at that moment, with his sleeping body against hers, it felt like she was untouchable, impenetrable to her fears and doubts. It felt like she and Rhysand could last forever.
Present Day
Well aware of the heat rising in her cheeks, Feyre fanned herself, hoping the color would go down.
Rhys was the best she ever had, yes.
That first night had been the one that heralded them into an official relationship. Six months of bliss. But that was months ago, and absolutely not relevant to the current situation.
Turning around to glance in the mirror, Feyre tossed her coat on the bed and took a second to smooth down her wind-tangled hair. She surveyed her paint-stained hoodie – not that mattered, but she didn’t need to appear like she didn’t know how to do her laundry. She shucked off the hoodie and the t-shirt underneath, reaching into her drawer and pulling on a clean shirt one with the Velaris University logo on it.
She didn’t look great – being halfway through finals did that to a person. But it would have to do. She headed to the closet, where the painting was stored.
It had been hung up for a while, first in her room and then in the living room. That had lasted all of a week before she had shoved it in the back of her closet. It was a beautiful piece, some of her best work, but it wasn’t meant to be displayed on her wall. She had almost burned it, but Lucien had done his best to convince her she could use it for portfolio reviews one day. She knew she would never use this piece for something like that, but she let herself tuck it back in the closet and put the matches away.
Moving aside some shoes and boxes in the cramped space, Feyre found it right where it had been left, wrapped in a plastic garbage bag to avoid damage. After a bit of maneuvering, she got it out of the cramped space. She carried it back out to the living room, crinkled black plastic and all. As painful as it would be, she resolved not to shy away from the truth she had held. Rhys deserved to see it, and it wasn’t as if she could make things any worse.
Maybe, in seeing this, he would understand all of the things she hadn’t been able to say.
Rhys looked up from his phone as she re-entered. He was still leaning against her counter, ready for a quick escape. Still, it looked a bit posed and dramatic, as was everything he did. As if he was expecting her to take a reference photo or sketch at any turn. He had been that way since they met.
Ridiculous. This had been his idea.
He didn’t say anything, only raised his eyebrows at the garbage bag.
Feyre unceremoniously held out the large parcel to him, and he hesitantly took it.
“May I?”
She nodded wordlessly, fighting the urge to snatch it out of his hands before he got a glimpse. She hadn’t looked at it herself in a good six months, surely, he didn’t truly need to see it –
But then he had set it on the counter and was carefully tugging the garbage bag off the canvas, revealing the painting inside, and she didn’t know if she wanted him to understand all of it or write it off as nonsense.
She had put so much of both of them in the piece.
Please, understand, she silently begged. She didn’t deserve that kind of understanding, but she desperately wanted it.
Rhys’s breath caught as he took it in.
It depicted two intertwined hands that were unmistakably his and hers – Feyre’s made evident by her tattoos and Rhys by his fancy rich-boy rings and the thin scar on his thumb.
In the background, she had painted a splotchy, impressionist sky. If you looked just right, you could make out other details woven into the night sky – a paintbrush, a swirl of lines reminiscent of one of Rhysand’s tattoos. The outline of a can of soup – a reference to one of their first dates – and a wolf.
The only thing marring it was the dark black splotches covering parts, dark storm clouds across the night sky. They felt jarringly wrong, looking at it now. This was supposed to have been a happy piece, but she had been the furthest thing from happy when she finished it.
The longer she looked at it, the more she hated those dark splotches.
To anyone else, it might have appeared to be just a painting. But to them, back when they were dating, it would have said everything.
The way the hands were intertwined, the love in the small details - all of it said I know you. I know your dreams, and they are mine.
What a wicked liar she had turned out to be.
Rhys didn’t say anything for a long moment. Feyre was caught between him and the painting, embarrassment, and fear.
Shit, this had been a huge mistake. To think she had let him see every vulnerable inch of this painting, inadvertently revealing all the regrets she had along the way -
She cleared her throat to steady her voice. “Like I said, I finished parts of it after we broke up. I didn’t think you would ever see it, so…catharsis. It wasn’t meant to be so depressing originally. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I showed this to you -”
Rhys shook his head, turning to face her head on. “No – it’s beautiful. Nobody has ever made anything so beautiful for me,” he insisted, but she caught the pain in his expression.
She managed a tight smile. “Thank you. I wish –“ she cut herself off. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“You wish what?”
“Nothing.”
Rhys sighed, a long-drawn-out sound as he shoved his hands back into his coat pockets. “So, finishing this was catharsis for you? After you ended things?”
She nodded.
“I wouldn’t have thought you needed to work through things that badly.”
You have no idea.
“What do you mean?” she asked carefully.
“Well, you made it clear how you felt about me and my feelings towards you,” he said, voice frosty again as he crossed his arms.
“I...I said a lot of things I didn’t mean.”
Rhys was silent for a long moment. “When you said we didn’t have enough love to make things work, did you mean that?
She froze, the memory of the words crashing into her like a tidal wave. She had been so cruel.
“It was what I believed back then,” she said softly. “I said all the wrong things. Things I know now were wrong. And there were so many other things – things I should have said, but didn’t.”
“Clearly,” Rhys said, voice frosty this time. “Maybe if you had talked to me, we could have worked through things together.” He gestured to the painting. “After all, isn’t that what this is all about? Us, together? Unbreaking?”
Feyre fought back the all-too-real tears this time. “I knew this was a bad idea.”
“Why, Feyre? Why is it such a bad idea?”
His words dug into her skin, burrowing deep like barbed wire.
“Because I know you didn’t want to see me. And I’ve been trying to get over you, but I don’t know how, and you’ll never know how sorry I am for everything I said,” she confessed, words pouring out in a torrent.
“I loved you, Feyre. I thought it was enough for you.”
“I know. I…” her voice caught on the words, as they always did. “I loved you too.”
“And yet you decided to tell me what I felt for you. As if you could have imagined – “
“That’s just it! You were growing so distant! How was I supposed to know you – you felt differently?”
She would not cry. She wouldn’t, she wouldn’t, she wouldn’t.
She had worked through this, she was past this.
“When you were painting this, did you know you were going to break it off?”
“No, Rhys! No. When things started to feel wrong, I couldn’t work on it anymore. And then I didn’t touch it until we broke up, and I didn’t think you would ever see this.”
Rhys’s gaze darkened, and she was aware again of how tired he looked, like someone who had too much to bear at that age.
“Then…why did you end things? Were there other reasons?”
She had told him, hadn’t she? Explained exactly why they couldn’t give each other what they needed, why she had to do it?
Maybe not in so many words. That night had been so hard. And she had been too cruel, because she had been afraid, and didn’t know how else to let go. To make him let go.
She didn’t respond for a beat too long.
“Maybe this is why,” Rhys said, voice ragged as he gestured to her. “You never told me anything because you’re so afraid of what might happen. I could tell, back then, but I kept hoping you would trust me, and you would open up –“
Shit, he was completely right. This was what she had hated about herself, what she had spent months in therapy trying to fix after they broke up. He had been distant, too, but he had tried to reach out. She wanted more of him, but she hadn’t given the rest of herself.
“You’re right,” she blurted out, cutting him off. “You’re completely right. And I’m sorry. I didn’t say it then, but I’m saying it now. What I gave you back then wasn’t an explanation, and you deserved one, after everything we went through. I realized that, but by then months had passed and I didn’t know if you’d still want to talk and – “ She cut herself off before she could ramble anymore. “Would you want to sit down? I know you’ve probably had more to do with me than you want today but…if you want, I can try to give you an explanation that you deserve.”
“You don’t need to placate me,” he said, still with heat in his voice.
“That’s not my intention,” Feyre responded steadily. “Look, I’m not going to hold you hostage here. But you deserve a long-overdue explanation, and if you still want it, I’ll try to give it to you. That’s all I can offer.”
He looked taken aback, but wordlessly, he sunk into the worn blue armchair he had migrated to during their spat.
She took the cue to sit down across from him, sitting on the edge of the couch to avoid being swallowed up in the plush fabric.
Where did she even begin? She had rehearsed this conversation in her head when she thought she would never have it, but now it was right in front of her. Rhys was still watching her, not impatient, but waiting.
-
AN: thank you for reading!! two more parts to go :)
taglist:
@thron3ofbooks @the-lonelybarricade @swankii-art-teacher @highladysith @ghostlyrose2 @brieq @cretaceous-therapod @live-the-fangirl-life @achernarlight @reverie-tales @starfall-spirit @starswholistenanddreamsanswered
#acotar#feysand#feysand fic#acotar fic#acosf#feyre archeron#rhysand#sjm universe#sjm fic#kat's writing#the last time
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Where’s darkness, there's light
⋆ ✶ ★ ☾ ★ ✶ ⋆ Tamlin x Aelia (OC)
The Dawn Of A New Chapter
summary: After being in the Spring Court for some time now, Aelia finally made connections to rebuild her dear beloved Court.
words: 1.9k
TW: nothing
note: English is not my first language, so apologies for any mistakes
In the tranquil expanse of the Spring Court, amidst the delicate blooms of scarlet roses and verdant sage greenery, Aelia stood resolute, her heart pulsating with a fervent determination to resurrect Rosehall from its desolate slumber. It was a quest that demanded both tenacity and grace, a mission that had become the beacon of her purpose within these vibrant, colour-rich lands.
Having traversed the trials of uncertainty and unsteady footing, Aelia, with a steadfast resolve, had discovered her place within the tapestry of the Spring Court, where the vivid hues of the red roses danced in harmony with the gentle sage green of the surrounding foliage. No longer a stranger to its whispers and secrets, she had woven herself into its fabric, becoming an integral thread in its resurgence.
With an unwavering vision for Rosehall’s revival, Aelia had negotiated alliances and forged bonds with the remaining denizens of the court, aligning their aspirations with her own, much like the interplay of mauve-hued flowers interspersed among the verdant tapestry of the landscape. Together, they envisioned a haven reborn, a sanctuary restored to its former grandeur, adorned with a palette of rich, vibrant colours.
The dawn of a new chapter had arrived - a day suffused with promise and purpose. It was the day artisans, craftspeople, and skilled labourers assembled at the threshold of Rosehall, bearing their tools, their talents, and their dedication. Each stroke of a paintbrush, each meticulously placed brick, and every artisan’s touch promised a renaissance, an homage to the vibrant hues that adorned the Spring Court’s landscape.
As the sun ascended to its zenith, casting a golden glow upon the landscape tinged with the resplendent shades of red roses, sage greens, and mauve blooms, Rosehall stirred with anticipation. The air thrummed with a symphony of endeavour - a chorus of hammers striking, saws carving, and artisans meticulously crafting the foundations of a new beginning, blending hues and tones into a vibrant tapestry of renewal.
Amidst the whirlwind of activity, Aelia stood, a silent orchestrator, her gaze a reflection of unwavering determination and quiet pride. She observed the bustling courtyard with a mixture of anticipation and gratitude, knowing that each brick laid and each stroke of creativity was a testament to the kaleidoscope of colours that adorned the heart of the Spring Court.
The day wore on, and as dusk descended upon Rosehall, there emerged a transformation - a metamorphosis akin to a canvas awash with the myriad colours of a sunset. What once stood desolate and forlorn now radiated with newfound life—a testament to the vibrant hues and shades that intermingled, painting a portrait of resilience and rebirth in the Spring Court.
As the last rays of sunlight caressed the newly restored walls adorned with the rich red of freshly blossomed roses, the muted sage greens of restored wallpaper, and the soft mauve hues of meticulously tended flowers, Aelia’s heart swelled with a profound sense of fulfilment. Her journey, entwined with the destiny of Rosehall, had reached a crescendo - a testament not only to her unwavering resolve but also to the kaleidoscope of colours that brought life to the collective efforts of those who believed in the promise of renewal.
In the serene tranquility of the forest, where the dappled sunlight played amidst the verdant foliage, Aelia stood, enveloped by an uncanny sense of presence. Though she couldn't yet discern his figure among the shadows, the unmistakable aura of Tamlin lingered, a haunting echo amidst the rustling leaves and the subtle fragrance of earth and forest.
Her senses, finely attuned to the subtlest nuances of the natural world, detected his nearness long before her eyes could confirm his arrival. The whisper of his presence danced on the breeze, a blend of musk and the raw essence of the forest, weaving a tale of a visitor yet concealed.
Yet, there was more to this unspoken encounter than mere proximity. Aelia's instincts, honed by the essence of the land itself, hinted at a deeper truth - Tamlin remained cloaked in his beastly form. She could feel the thrum of his power, the restless energy that pervaded the air, and the lingering imprint of his transformation into the primal creature he had become.
As the moments stretched, anticipation hung heavy in the air, mingling with the subtle rustle of leaves and the symphony of the forest. Aelia's thoughts wove a tapestry of wonder, speculation veiled in curiosity. Would he, in the privacy of these enigmatic woods, cast off the guise of his beastly form before revealing himself to her, baring not only his true nature but also the vulnerabilities it entailed?
The minutes ebbed and flowed like the gentle rhythm of the forest, a silent witness to the unspoken dance of anticipation between two beings, connected by fate and tethered by the intricate threads of their shared existence within this realm.
And then, with a delicate shift in the air and a subtle alteration in the tenor of the forest's symphony, Aelia sensed the imminent change - a transformation stirring in the shadows, a metamorphosis poised to unfold. The air seemed to shimmer with the anticipation of an impending revelation, a moment of profound significance poised on the edge of existence.
A rustle among the leaves, a fleeting whisper of movement, heralded Tamlin's approach. As the shadows parted and the last rays of sunlight painted a mosaic upon the forest floor, a figure emerged—a silhouette bathed in the fading light, a form transitioning from beast to Fae.
Aelia, her heart attuned to the symphony of nature, witnessed the transformation unfold - a testament to the interplay between primal instincts and the essence of the Fae. Tamlin stood before her, his figure now adorned in the elegance and grace of his Fae being, the remnants of his earlier beastly form fading into the ether.
Their eyes met, a silent acknowledgment passing between them - an unspoken understanding that transcended the barriers of form and appearance. In this fleeting moment of transformation, amidst the hallowed embrace of the forest, a delicate equilibrium had been restored, and a profound connection forged between two entities, bound by destiny and the enigmatic dance of the natural world.
From the towering edifice of Rosehall, bathed in the fading hues of twilight, Aelia’s gaze traversed the expanse of the grounds, drawn toward the figure that emerged from the shadows - Tamlin, the enigmatic presence whose emerald green eyes held untold depths, a reflection of the intricate complexities that defined him.
Their meeting, amidst the tranquil splendour of the evening, held an air of unexpectedness—an unscripted encounter between two souls, each grappling with the weight of their own burdens. As Aelia’s scarlet locks danced in the gentle evening breeze, she locked eyes with Tamlin, a silent acknowledgment passing between them - a brief moment of connection before her attention returned to the expanse before her.
“I didn’t think you would make an appearance,” she ventured, her voice carrying a mixture of curiosity and a tinge of relief, breaking the contemplative silence that hung between them.
“Me neither,” Tamlin responded, his tone carrying an unspoken weight, a tacit understanding of the uncertainties that lingered between the realms of expectation and reality.
“The workers have gone home,” Aelia observed, her words laden with a quiet understanding. She sensed the reluctance in Tamlin, the hesitance to confront the inhabitants of his Court, a trust shattered and a bond fractured. The task ahead of rebuilding trust, of rekindling the fragile flames of allegiance between High Lord and his people, loomed like a daunting horizon - a slow, arduous journey that demanded patience, dedication, and unwavering commitment.
Aelia, her heart a wellspring of determination, knew the weight of responsibility that rested upon her shoulders - a commitment to the revitalisation of Rosehall, the resuscitation of the Spring Court’s spirit, and the restoration of trust that formed the foundation of Tamlin’s reign. Yet, intertwined with her fervent aspirations was a hopeful yearning, a silent plea that Tamlin too would share in this endeavour, that he too harboured the same steadfast commitment to mend what had been fractured.
As the evening breeze carried the whispers of the surrounding woods, a fragile pause hung between them - an interlude pregnant with unspoken hopes and lingering uncertainties. Aelia, with her fiery locks cascading in the evening wind, turned her gaze once more to Tamlin, her eyes a mirror reflecting a blend of determination, hope, and a silent plea for solidarity in the tumultuous journey that lay ahead.
In that ephemeral moment, amidst the quietude of the twilight, the unspoken pact between Aelia and Tamlin resonated—a vow unspoken yet understood, a shared commitment to navigate the labyrinthine path toward redemption, trust, and the rekindling of the Spring Court’s fading splendour.
In the gentle embrace of dusk, amidst the fading hues of twilight, Aelia took a resolute step forward, her heart resonating with the weight of responsibility, determination, and an unyielding sense of belonging. With each deliberate stride, she traversed the grounds of Rosehall - a sanctuary that had become, over the span of a year, more than just a mere abode; it had transformed into her haven, her cherished refuge within the embrace of the Spring Court's verdant embrace.
For Aelia, the Spring Court was not merely a dwelling; it was a repository of memories woven into the fabric of her being, a sanctuary that offered solace, purpose, and a sense of belonging - something the distant and elusive Night Court could never provide.
In her wake, Tamlin followed - a silent shadow amid the fading light, a figure wrought with uncertainty and hesitation. His careful steps echoed the weight of his emotions, a tapestry woven with threads of caution, insecurity, and the lingering spectres of a court ravaged by the tempestuous actions of the past.
As Tamlin trailed behind her, his conflicted emotions swirling like a tempest within, the sight that greeted him - the remnants of his once majestic court, scarred and marred by Feyre's devastating actions - stirred a maelstrom of rage, anger, and the profound ache of disappointment. The wounds inflicted upon his beloved domain were a testament to a past fraught with turmoil and shattered trust, a legacy he struggled to reconcile with the hopes of restoration.
Aelia, attuned to the tumult roiling within Tamlin's conflicted soul, sensed the tempest brewing just beneath the surface. As she felt the weight of his emotions, a torrent of unspoken turmoil threatening to engulf them both, she halted her steps, turning to face the tormented High Lord.
"I am here," she declared, her voice a steadfast beacon amid the brewing storm of emotions. With an outstretched hand, she bridged the gap between them, intertwining her fingers with his - a gesture laden with reassurance, solidarity, and a shared determination to navigate the daunting path of rebuilding what had been torn asunder.
In that poignant moment, amidst the ruins of Rosehall and the fading light of day, Aelia's gesture spoke volumes - a promise of unwavering support, an unspoken pledge to stand shoulder to shoulder with Tamlin in the endeavour to breathe life anew into their shared home.
With her hand clasped firmly in his, Aelia led the way - a silent procession towards a future forged in resilience and hope, their footsteps resonating with the unspoken promise of unity, redemption, and the indomitable spirit that sought to reclaim the faded glory of the Spring Court.
#tamlin acotar#tamlin x oc#tamlin fanfic#tamlin x aelia#pro tamlin#tamlin deserves love#tamlin deserves better#acotar#sjmass#sjm fic#anti feyre#anti inner circle#anti rhysand#anti night court#tamlin is a cinnamon roll
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In The Stars (3 - The Inner Circle)
Guys I’m learning how to work tumblr (I have a taglist now, let me know if you want to be added to it;)). The love that I got in the last chapter makes me so BEYOND happy, and I’m grateful that people are giving both me and Asteria a chance. ily. Let me know what you think of this one:)
Az x TOG!OC
Words: 3k
Warnings: none, i think. Will az finally make an appearance in this extreme slowburn fic? who knows? i do. hehe.
Also posted on my ao3 (fortheloveofstark)
In a place dubbed the Night Court, Asteria had been surprised to see the sun rise in the morning.
She hadn’t slept, so when the sun peered over the triad of mountains on the horizon, the female tracked its entire path upwards, unable to get her mind to quiet long enough to rest.
Asteria can’t ignore what she’d left behind; Her brothers, the Realm she’d been deeply connected to since the day she was born over three and a half centuries ago, her entire way of being, and a war.
She’d helped to start a war, and now it’s raging on without her. The Realm she called home, and called her dearest friend, would suffer the damages of it without Asteria there to heal it. Instead, a strange realm, a strange court, needs her help. And the Realm refuses her.
Asteria had sent her magic through the house and channeled it down to the earth again, gritting her teeth from the effort as she did. She only has a small fragment of her magic left, a bottomed out, shallow well of power that she feels confined in.
Feeling the bottom of it in a strange place made her want to break everything in the room, and even so, she reached out, and the Realm didn’t even dignify her with a response.
There was only silence.
With a dagger in her chest Maeve had called Asteria the most powerful full blooded female on the planet. But she was wrong. Asteria was the most powerful fae of the Realm. Nothing and no one else compared. Her magic knew no limit. Her well of power had no end. By exiling her, sending her to her death, Maeve had changed the course of the war completely and turned it to be in her favor.
The thoughts about the Fae Queen made Asteria restless, and she paced across the room she’d been provided so fervently that she’s surprised she didn’t put a rut in the floor.
That’s how Rhysand finds her in the morning, knocking before he enters; dressed in a wondrous black shirt, jacket, and pants.
“I take that you slept well,” Rhysand says, a brow raised and a feline smirk adorning his features, eyes tracking Asteria as she continues to pace, unwavered by the High Lord’s entrance.
Asteria spares him an unimpressed glance, “I slept for seven days, Rhysand, I’ve rested enough.”
“Well then I guess I can’t ask if the bed was to your liking.”
“I’m sure it’s great.”
“What about the room?”
Asteria huffs, “It’s fine. Thank you.”
If she wasn’t in the middle of a downwards spiral about her own power and the fact that she’s stranded in a strange Realm, she would have told the High Lord that the room is the most luxurious thing she’s ever been provided. Asteria had been utterly speechless when she’d first seen it, taking in the silk of the sheets and the closet full of garments for her to wear. The blades she had on her person when she fell had been on the dresser, freshly polished and sharpened.
When she had been hiding some of her daggers and smaller blades around the room, the house had made a meal appear out of nothing, and when Asteria finished it, the plates and cutlery had vanished.
Now, she has her beloved broadsword, a dangerous onyx blade that she’d named Querencia, strapped to her hip, a dagger sheathed on the opposite thigh, and Asteria had dressed herself in black pants and a navy blue tunic, both items found in the grand closet amongst others like them, as well as at least three dozen different gowns.
She’d been sure to pull on her brown leather gloves as well, hiding what lay beneath.
“The inner circle is here, waiting in the office to meet you,” Rhysand says, hands clasped behind his back, “There are some things to discuss first.”
Asteria allows her pacing to slow, raising a brow to the High Lord, silently urging him to continue.
“I think we should hide the fact that you aren’t from this world.”
Asteria’s pacing stops, and she slowly nods, folding her arms over her chest, “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that you are not the Realm Reader,” Rhysand explains, “Instead, you’re a seer, sent here on my request from Miryam and Drakon.”
“You want to withhold the truth.”
“I think it’s for the best. The idea of the existence of other Realms outside of ours is a frightening one,” Rhysand says, “One that has the potential to cause panic, and an existential crisis like the one you’re having.”
Asteria huffs a breath through her nose, a fraction of a laugh, “I’m not in crisis.”
“So the pacing was you being calm?”
“How about you get stabbed in the chest and exiled from your home after helping to start a war,” Asteria counters, “Let’s see how you react.”
“I imagine I’d handle it with my usual charisma.”
“And the deception of whoever you encounter?” The female adds.
Rhysand sighs, “Asteria, I-”
“You’ve been in my head,” Asteria says, cutting off the High Lord and stepping closer to him, “You’ve seen my life, and you know that I’ve spent nearly every day of my immortal existence with someone else holding my tongue. So I don’t really care if your people have a crisis over who I am, or where I’m from. I won’t deceive them. I won’t lie. And if you want my help, you’ll tell them the truth too.”
Rhysand stares at the female, those night-filled violet eyes piercing her with something she can’t place when there’s a timid knock at the door.
The door opens, and in walks a blue eyed, golden brown haired female that Asteria immediately recognizes from Rhysand’s memories.
Feyre Archeron, the High Lady of the Night Court.
The Female eyes her mate, suspicion in her gaze as she moves towards the pair in the room. Asteria knows they speak in each other’s minds often, having felt it when she walked through Rhysand’s mind. She has no doubt they’re doing it now.
After a moment, Rhysand’s lips quirk up in a devilish smile at whatever Feyre has communicated, and he turns back to the silver-haired female, “Asteria, this wonderous female is Feyre, my mate and the High Lady of the Night Court. Feyre, I present to you, our disturbance from the night of the solstice.”
“Rhys,” Feyre scolds, slapping the High Lord’s arm.
His smile grows, his hand finding his Mate’s back, “This is Asteria Relridaar. The Realm Reader of Erilea.”
Asteria eyes Rhysand, finally able to place how he stared at her before Feyre entered the room.
He was looking at her with admiration.
“It’s a pleasure, Feyre,” Asteria says, lips quirked up in a small smile as she bows her head slightly.
The High Lady smiles, and Asteria decides she likes her immediately, “Don’t let Rhysand push you around,” Feyre says, “He’s more bark than bite.”
“You would know my bite, Feyre Darling,” Rhysand smirks, earning an elbow in his side and a stern glare from his wife.
Asteria huffs out a small chuckle, she definitely likes the High Lady.
Feyre takes a step closer to Asteria, her smile nothing but welcoming, and the silver haired female notes that they’re roughly the same height, “Are you ready to meet everyone?”
Asteria nods, looking to Rhysand as he says, “No lies.”
“No lies,” The female responds.
Following the High Lord and Lady into the hallway, Asteria lets her eyes wander across the walls, noting high quality, detailed paintings that she makes a mental note to look at closer once the meeting is over. Her pace doesn’t falter, though, and when they turn a corner and reach a set of elegant double doors of dark oak, Rhysand swings them open easily.
Inside, Cassian stands near a expansive book shelf, flipping through a thick tome, Mor, the blonde female that Asteria had nearly sent through a wall, lounges on a beautifully crafted couch with a goblet of wine in hand, and beside her, another female with dark hair and a set of menacing eyes.
Upon their entrance, the conversation in the room stops, and Cassian snaps his book closed with a satisfying clap.
“I see most of you are on time,” Rhysand greets, “An achievement on its own. Where’s our dear Shadowsinger?”
“Following up with a friend of his near the boarder,” Cassian dismisses, shelving the tome and crossing his arms over his broad chest.
Rhysand chuckles, turning to Asteria and beckoning her closer with a lazy wave of his hand, “No sense in keeping secrets. Our Spymaster is in a meeting a spy of his, I’m sure he’ll be with us soon.”
Asteria nods, stepping closer to the High Lord and his confident grin, watching as the females rise from the couch they’d been lounging on.
Rhys gestures to the shorter of the pair, “This is Amren, our second in command.”
Asteria looks over the raven haired female, and doesn’t quite know what she sees. By sight, she’s standing before a fae, much like Asteria herself, but there’s something else. The way she holds herself, narrows her eyes and tilts her head as if trying to deduce things on her own, is different. Older. Both primal and ancient at the same time.
“You’re different,” Amren observes, making no effort of discretion while she scans over Asteria’s muscle packed form, blood red lips held in a knowing smirk.
Asteria quirks a brow, “So are you.”
With nothing else said, Amren saunters back to the couch, sitting down and starting to run her fingers over the massive rubies that lay on a chain around her neck, her stare sending a shiver over Asteria’s spine.
What she is, or what she once was, Asteria isn’t sure that she wants to know.
Luckily the blonde steps forward, holding her wine and extending another goblet towards Asteria. She takes it, holding it carefully in one hand with a grateful nod.
“This is my cousin, Morrigan,” Rhysand introduces, “Third in command and overseer of our courts.”
“I’m also the one you landed a mean kick on yesterday,” The blonde says with a kind smile, clinking her glass against the one she’d handed Asteria, “You’re forgiven, by the way. Nice to meet you.”
Asteria raises her glass in sync with the female, sipping the decadently flavored wine in an attempt to avoid apologizing for her behavior.
“And you should call me Mor,” The blonde adds, “Welcome to the Court.”
Asteria swallows, “Thank you,” She says with a meek smile.
Looking back to Rhysand, Asteria realizes there’s one last person in the room. One that she’d already introduced herself to. Huffing out a loud sigh as the General steps forward, Asteria raises her goblet and downs the rest of the wine, hearing both Mor and Feyre chuckling at her actions.
“And I assume you remember the General of the Illyrian Armies, Cassian,” Rhysand says, clearly amused by the silver haired female.
“I’m glad you had your fun yesterday, because it will never happen again,” Cassian drawls, a confident smirk resting on his lips.
Asteria lets out her own huff of air in response, remembering how fast she had the massive winged male pinned beneath her. The corners of her lips quirk up on their own, “You sure about that, General?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Cassian says, jutting his head up in a challenging nod, “Brave enough for a rematch?”
“Are you?”
“While that does sound entertaining, and we’ll definitely be heading to the ring to see Cassian take yet another loss, we have some matters to discuss first,” Rhysand says, moving to lean on the edge of a grand wooden desk, “Now that you’ve met her, I ask that you brace yourselves for her introduction.”
Asteria clasps her hands behind her back, feeling a reassuring hand rest on her shoulder, turning to see Feyre beside her wearing a kind smile.
The High Lady clears her throat, bringing the inner circle’s eyes to her, “This is Asteria Relridaar, and she fell from the stars the night of the Solstice.”
“The stars?” Cassian echoes, brows raised.
Asteria nods, Feyre giving her arm an encouraging squeeze before the green eyed female continues, “I am not of this Realm. I was exiled from a place called Erilea, and I don’t know how it happened, but I landed here, in your Court.”
Morrigan is the next one to speak, “Why were you exiled?”
“Sorry, hold on,” Cassian interrupts when Asteria opens her mouth to speak, “Are we not going to acknowledge the existence of another Realm?”
Asteria looks towards Rhysand at the General’s panicked question, his gaze declaring; I told you so.
With a sigh, the green eyed female looks to Cassian, “There are an infinite number of other Realms,” Asteria says, goosebumps flooding over her arms beneath her tunic. She remembers the feeling when she was pushed, when she was falling. Before she’d passed out there were flashes of other places. Worlds with buildings that stretched high into the sky and bright lights, others filled with with only ocean and civilizations beneath its surface, and some with no life at all. But then her eyes closed, and she was met with nothing but darkness.
Then she landed in Prythian, and she considered herself lucky.
“Travel between them, however, is impossible unless an extreme amount of magic is used,” Asteria continues, “That much magic is only accessible by one being in that Realm, usually-”
“A Realm Reader,” Amren finishes, fingers still tinkling with the gems on her necklace, “You’re a Realm Reader, aren’t you?”
Asteria nods, “Yes,” Seeing the question on both Mor and Cassian’s face, the silver haired female takes another breath, “A Realm Reader has a deep connection with their Realm, and is able to access its well of magic as well as their own. Realm magic is endless and capable of anything, including opening the door between worlds.”
Mor nods slowly, “And that’s what you did?”
“That’s what I was forced to do,” Asteria confirms, “When I was young I swore a blood oath to a cruel, and wicked Queen. She controlled every aspect of my life for nearly three and a half centuries, two of those centuries she made my every move, every breath, a living hell. It took those two centuries for me to summon enough magic to shatter the blood oath on my own. And when I did, I ran.
“I followed a friend of mine to a different part of the continent and entered the service of a long lost heir with a mission I believed in. She wanted a better world. I fought beside her, and called her a friend when the Queen sent her forces after us, and we started a war in the Realm. The Queen had an armada engage us at sea, and when we made it to the beach, she was there. She had a member of our Court hostage, and brothers of mine still bound to her through the blood oath. I couldn’t fight her because she had that leverage over me.
“I handed her the dagger she stabbed into my chest, and when she ordered me to open the door between worlds, I refused. But she had my brothers. So I forced all the magic I had into the Realm and when I opened the portal she pushed me through. I was the most powerful fae Erilea had ever seen, and the Queen knew she’d lose the war if I opposed her, so she wiped me off the board completely. I was supposed to fall through worlds until I died, but instead I ended up here, in a Realm that apparently needs healing, with a sliver of the magic I had before.
“I wasn’t exiled for my actions, or as punishment. I was exiled because I was seen as a threat,” Asteria finishes. Behind her back, her hands shake, one holding the other’s wrist, and that fist clenched violently. Her story is nothing but a story. She isn’t the hero, or the villain. She isn’t sure what her place in it even is.
That’s why she shakes.
She knows all the eyes in the room are on her, and that they had hung onto her every word. They’d heard her, and she didn’t realize how afraid she was that they’d turn her away completely until they nodded in understanding.
“Asteria is under the protection of our Court while she tries to heal the realm,” Feyre says, making Asteria turn to her, seeing blue eyes lined with tears, “And after, if you want to stay, we’d be honored to have you.”
Unclasping her hands, Asteria reaches out her still-shaking hand, taking the High Lady’s and squeezing it, voice breaking as she whispers, “Thank you.”
“I sent word to the Summer Court for permission to work on the land, until then, we just need to know what we can do for you, Asteria,” Rhysand explains, his tone low, as if testing Asteria’s very wellbeing after her confessions.
“To be honest with you, I don’t know that there’s anything you can do until we can get to the battlegrounds,” Asteria shrugs, releasing Feyre’s hand and speaking directly to the High Lord, “It’s up to me, and me alone to gain the Realm’s trust.”
Rhysand nods, processing the silver-haired female’s words, and she can see him mulling it over when Cassian claps loudly, making Asteria raise a brow to him.
The winged General takes a step forward, “In the meantime, you owe me a rematch, Realm Reader.”
Asteria can’t help herself, giving Cassian a loud bark of laughter, “You’re on, General.”
Just then, the doors to the office creak open, and close with a quiet snick, the room feeling a little darker than it had just moments ago.
“You’re just in time,” Rhysand cheerfully greets, “This is Asteria, she’s about to put Cassian on his ass for the second time.”
There’s a deep, throaty chuckle, a foreign voice sending an involuntary shiver down Asteria’s spine, “I look forward to it.”
Rhysand’s smile grows, “Asteria, meet Azriel, the Spymaster and Shadowsinger of the Night Court.”
And when she turns, Asteria is met with the most devastatingly beautiful male she’s ever seen.
-----
Taglist:
@bionic-donut @hollyismentallyillhelp @younxii
#acotar!oc#acotar fanfiction#azriel#azriel x oc#azriel fanfic#azriel shadowsinger#tog!oc#oc#feyre archeron#inner circle x oc#inner circle#shadowsinger#azriel x reader#acomaf#acowar#acofas#acosf#sjm fic#azriel fanfiction
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