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duskandcobalt · 2 months

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Stargirl: Part Four

Following her last vision, Elain and Azriel navigate the surprise revelation and the frenzy that comes along with it.

...

Well, well, well... my smutty little darling that was only ever supposed to be one part comes to an end. This last part was intended to be just a little dirty short thing but somehow it turned into a 6k word monster soooo???? idk i had fun writing this, I hope you have fun reading it and I'm so thrilled I could get this out just in time for the last day of @sjmromanceweek 💕💗💞

this can be read as a stand alone but if you'd like to see how elain's sexy little visions came to be, you can find the first part of stargirl here as well as all the other parts in my masterlist xx

18+ please, gratuitous smut and a little bit of breeding kink as a valentine's day treat 💌👀♥️

ENJOY XX

Read on AO3

Elain runs a trembling hand down the front of her dress as she takes a deep breath.

She’s wearing a beautiful ivory gown made of delicate lace that’s almost sheer. Only heavy clusters of floral embroidery cover her from the top of the bodice down to the middle of her thighs where it tapers off before picking up again to form a stunning train that trails dramatically behind her. The dress has long sleeves, also covered in embroidery, but her shoulders and decolletage are left bare - an intentional design choice that she and her seamstress had made with a certain someone in mind.

A veil is ever so carefully placed into the crown of Elain’s intricately woven hair by the practiced hands of the twins when a soft knock sounds from the bedroom door, interrupting the mindless chatter she’d been exchanging with Nuala and Cerridwen.

She catches sight of the male in the reflection of her mirror. His tall, lean frame occupies almost the entire doorway. He’s dressed in an immaculately tailored suit and a small dusk coloured rose is pinned to the lapel of his jacket. His violet eyes soften as they meet hers and the very corners of his lips turn up into a fond smile.

“He’s not going to know what to do with himself when he sees you.” Rhysand says quietly. “You make for a beautiful bride, Elain.”

Elain ducks her head in thanks. The warmth of a blush creeps up her neck and blooms across her cheeks as the nerves that she’s been trying to keep at bay all morning finally settle low in her stomach at her brother-in-law’s sincere compliment and at the reminder of the male waiting for her in the garden.

She couldn’t believe that this was actually happening. Couldn’t believe that she was about to walk down the aisle to her mate.

…

It had been two years since she’d had that vision that had hinted at a truth she hadn’t been prepared to receive. A vision that had shown her this day - a mating ceremony to a dark haired Shadowsinger instead of the son of Autumn as the Cauldron had once suggested.

That single vision had come out of nowhere and thrown her entire life into a spiral.

She’d never forget sitting up in his bed, turning towards him and whispering those words that had turned their entire world upside down.

You’re my mate.

Azriel had only stared at her, still as a statue, as she fumbled over her words in a desperate attempt to explain to him exactly what she’d seen.

The offering of cake. A black ribbon binding her wrist to his.

He’d broken down moments later after finally finding his voice and asking her a few carefully curated questions to understand exactly what she’d seen. He’d clutched her tight to his chest as tears trickled from his eyes and into her hair. She’d never seen him like that before but she understood immediately that the overwhelming feeling that coursed through him was relief.

Relief from the knowledge that he hadn’t been forgotten by the Mother or the Cauldron. From knowing that he hadn’t been deemed unworthy of a mate because of all the blood he’d drawn over the centuries.

They’d gone to Feyre first, clumsily explaining what Elain had seen only to realise they would also need to confess to already having been spending time together. They told Rhys next and though it was perhaps naive of them, neither she nor Azriel had expected that the High Lord would react so poorly to the news.

For all the times that Elain had wished she could be with Azriel without needing to hide from the others, opening themselves up to the wrath of Rhysand for daring to mess with intercourt politics had resulted in a world of pain. He’d torn into Azriel for even thinking of pursuing a mated female, let alone a female mated to an Autumn Court male. For daring to bed her while her mate slept in the same house.

At the time, it had seemed that no matter how many times Elain tried to make it clear that the bond in question wasn’t even a real bond - that she had pursued Azriel just as much as he’d pursued her, that they’d never risked sleeping together when Lucien was in residence - her pleas fell on deaf ears. Rhys had stormed out of his office without sparing her a glance, only giving a stern warning to Azriel to stay the hell away from her.

They hadn’t stayed away from each other, of course. They’d simply resumed what they’d already been doing - sneaking in and out of each other’s rooms in the dead of night and only barely avoiding each other during the days.

There had been countless tears and numerous arguments. An entire war had almost been waged over their claim that the Cauldron had been wrong. Iit had taken almost an entire year of working with various High Lords, priestesses, and other contacts and associates of Rhysand to confirm that something had indeed gone wrong when Elain was submerged in the Cauldron - that a spell had been cast in an attempt to hide her bond to Azriel and guide her in another direction.

It had been confusing and messy and terrible for everyone involved but they had somehow come out on the other end, still together and still hopelessly in love. Now, there was a brand new element to their relationship. A bright, glowing tether that connected their bodies, their souls - already so tangible despite the fact that neither of them had formally accepted the bond.

Azriel, usually so reserved and attention avoidant, had surprised her when he insisted on even having a ceremony. She’d had to talk him out of going down the same path as Nesta and Cassian and after going back and forth too many times to count, Elain had eventually relented and they’d compromised on having the small garden ceremony that had come to her in that vision.

The title of mates had never meant much to her. She’d have chosen him a million times over where there’d been a predetermined connection between them or not. But she knew how much it meant to Azriel, knew that he considered the bond to be a blessing unlike any other.

It was why she attempted to look past the, quite frankly, insane behavior he’d been exhibiting over the past few months. Azriel had turned into something reminiscent of the girls that Elain had grown up with. The ones that became obsessive over their nuptials the second a ring was placed on their finger.

Just because she’d given in to his desire to have a ceremony, it didn’t mean that she hadn’t enjoyed torturing him from time to time when he was difficult about place settings or flowers.

“Never should’ve told you about that stupid vision,” Elain would taunt him, if only to feel the delicious trickle of arousal slither down her spine at the way his shoulders would stiffen and the promise of punishment would spark in his eyes.

Not that he’d ever actually deliver on that promise.

It was the one true point of contention between them. The stubborn male was intent on not formally accepting the bond before the ceremony and would hardly touch her, let alone fuck her, for fear of accidentally solidifying the bond between them before they could have it blessed by a priestess. And though she tried, there was no amount of teasing and taunting she could do that would get him to break.

He even went as far as to refuse food made by her whether she handed it directly to him or not.

It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

Azriel had made up for some of it though, meeting her halfway by insisting on incorporating certain aspects of a human wedding - starting with a proposal that had come as a complete surprise a few weeks before they’d broken the curse.

They’d been in the garden one evening, Azriel more quiet than usual as he studied her from over the brim of a chipped tea cup that appeared like a dollhouse toy in the grasp of his large hands. She’d only looked up from her notebook when he gently lifted her feet from his lap and shifted until he was on his knees in the grass beside her.

He had said her name so softly, his eyes gleaming with an unfamiliar quality that they’d later identified as nervousness when they laughed together in bed later, recounting the moment while Elain lifted her hand above their faces until the low fae lights caught the surface of the sparkling sapphire that newly graced her ring finger.

…

That sapphire gleams brighter than ever on her finger as Rhysand steps towards her and offers her his arm.

“Ready?”

He’d come to them after they’d announced their intention to have a ceremony and asked if he could walk Elain down the aisle - a sign of peace and a way of offering them his blessing. Something that she knew meant the world to Azriel after the tense year he and Rhys had had.

“Ready.” Elain swallows, slipping her arm through the crook of his elbow.

Apart from Rhys walking her down the aisle, most of what she’d seen in that vision remains the same. A harp plays as Rhys leads her out to the garden. Bright blooms of flowers are arranged on either side of a makeshift aisle. The sun shines and the Sidra glitters behind them. Nesta and Feyre smile brightly, tears gathering in the corner of their eyes. Cassian gives her a bright smile before clasping the broad shoulder of the handsome male standing next to him.

Elain’s breath catches in her chest when Azriel turns and his eyes land on her. She tries to keep from crying but there’s little she can do to stop the tears from falling when Azriel gives her a smile unlike anything she’d ever seen before, his own eyes shining with tears and admiration for his bride.

The sight of Azriel in his leathers was something Elain often dreamed of when she lay in bed at night, but it only takes one slow pass of her eyes over his body before she realises that the only thing better than Azriel in his leathers, is Azriel in a suit.

The suit is perfectly cut to his body and is befitting of a royal prince - the sash draped across his body, the medallions pinned to his chest - she realises that in a way, he really is dressed the part of a high ranking member of the Night Court and something about seeing him proudly dressed like this for her, makes her heart swell.

It feels like an eternity before she stands in front of him, before Rhys kisses her cheek and gives Azriel a hug. Before Azriel’s wonderfully familiar hands clasp around hers.

“Beautiful.” He gives her fingers a gentle squeeze as his eyes roam over her dress - the delicate lace that frames her exposed neck and shoulders. The embroidery that conceals the part of her that only he would ever see. He doesn’t bother to conceal his satisfied hum of approval as his gaze tracks back up the length of her body to her face.

The priestess takes over then, welcoming all their guests and guiding them through a short ceremony that culminates in an exchange of vows that leaves both of them with happy smiles and tear streaked faces.

They exchange rings after their vows - an homage to Elain’s human heritage but also something she’d quietly insisted on because the possessive part of her wanted him to have a physical marker that made it clear that he was taken to any female or male that dared to set their eyes on him.

Before she knows it, Nyx is teetering over to them, a small plate that holds one cinnamon bun haphazardly cradled in his small, chubby hands.

It’s the final point of difference from her vision - a small change she’d intentionally made to incorporate Azriel’s favourite of her homemade treats into their day. A nod to the day this had all started that only the two of them would understand.

She bends down and kisses Nyx on the forehead, gingerly taking the bun in her fingers before standing and bringing it to Azriel’s lips.

“Eat.” Elain murmurs.

Azriel’s lips close around the soft bun, teeth sinking into the sweet pastry. He swallows and Elain swears she feels the bond between them intensify. Unlike the uncomfortable pull she’d felt once upon a time, this is different. This time it’s desire and admiration and pure love that she feels when it tightens around her ribs.

By the way Azriel is looking at her, she knows he feels the same.

The ribbon is the next and final part of the ceremony. Feyre and Nesta both step forward to wrap a length of black satin around the couple’s wrists - sheepish looks on both of her sister’s faces. Rhysand and Cassian take over from their mates- tightening the ribbon and tying it into a firm bow.

“Remember, Az,” Cassian's eyes shine with mischief. “This stays on until you make her come hard enough to cause an avalanche on Ramiel.”

“Cassian!” Nesta groans, pinching the bridge of her nose, at the same exact time Feyre clasps her hands tight over Nyx’s ears even as she and Rhysand fail to stifle their laugh.

…

They don’t last long after the ceremony. It’s only a couple of turns around the small dancefloor and a few congratulatory conversations before the pull between them becomes too much to bear and Azriel bends down, his lips brushing over the delicate point of her ear as he quietly asks if she’s ready to leave.

He laughs at the eagerness with which Elain responds but she can’t bring herself to be embarrassed - not when she’d felt the absence of his touch so thoroughly for over a month now.

She needed to be alone with him. Needed to get away before the desire got the best of them and put them at risk of doing something obscenely stupid like consummating their bond in the middle of this garden, in front of everyone they held close to their hearts.

After a very quick goodbye to their amused guests, Azriel whisks Elain into his arms and flies directly to the townhouse that Rhys had gifted them as a mating present, grumbling that they may as well have it seeing as they’d already spent the last year or two desecrating every part of it.

No words are exchanged as Azriel lands, still cradling Elain in his arms as he wanders up the path and opens the door, carrying her over the threshold once more.

It was funny really, when she looks back at how far they’d come since that very first time Azriel had flown her here, to this place they could now call home.

She’d been a shell of herself back then, clutching to her human life with a desperation that had almost broken her completely. Despite it all, she’d felt a split second moment of reprieve from the intensity of her grief when Azriel, little more than a stranger to her at the time, carried her over the threshold and set her down with such care before he led her out to the one place he somehow knew she might find some sense of normalcy.

She’d felt it then - upon seeing the kindness in his eyes and feeling the gentleness of his touch - the tiniest inkling of hope that maybe one day she could find happiness in this new place, in this new life.

Sure enough, that little drop of hope had been warranted because just a few years later, Elain is the happiest she’s ever been.

The signs had all been there from the start.

That single strand of hair that had snagged right over his heart should’ve told her all she needed to know.

He carries her upstairs, toeing open the door to the bedroom that once belonged solely to her and Elain’s jaw drops as Azriel finally sets her down and she peels her eyes away from his perfect face to take in the room.

She knew that Feyre and Mor had come by earlier to decorate but she didn’t expect all of this. Her usual lilac linens have been replaced by billowing white sheets. There’s blush coloured rose petals strewn across the bed that match the roses that had framed the aisle and candles were scattered around the room, casting the bed in romantic, flickering golden light.

Azriel’s free arm winds around her waist from behind and his lips follow the path of her shoulder up her neck as he pulls her back towards him. Elain tilts her head up to meet him halfway and his mouth travels along her jaw until his lips hover centimeters from hers.

She feels like every bit of her skin is on fire. She could never imagine that the level of her desire for Azriel would surpass what she felt for him in the past but she was sorely mistaken because what she feels in this moment makes her think that if he didn’t do something to quell the ache thrumming between her legs, she might just die.

“Azriel.” She breathes his name, turning towards him fully and breaking the silence that had settled comfortably between them.

“Elain.” He answers. His fingers press into the plush flesh of her hip, the very tips of them venturing low - teasing at the curve of her backside.

“My mate.” Elain says quietly, raising her hand to cup his face. Her thumb drags along his sharp cheekbone.

“My mate.” He repeats. The word is almost unfamiliar on his lips, like he still can’t quite believe the term is his to use. Azriel brings his lips to hers and her entire body is overcome with a desperate need. “My wife.”

Elain can’t help but whimper as her body curves into his by its own volition. She melts into his searing kiss.

“My husband.”

Azriel lets out a soft moan at that and a slight shift of his stance allows her to feel him hard against her hip.

Elain is suddenly nervous as she pulls away to look up at Azriel. She doesn’t understand why she’s suddenly shy, standing in front of him like an innocent, blushing bride even though they both knew that ship had sailed long ago. He stares back at her, candle light catching the flecks of green in his eyes.

She recognises the wonder there as he takes in the sight of her. It’s a perfect mirror to her own emotions. To the disbelief that they’d actually made it to this moment against all odds.

“Not sure how we’re supposed to consummate anything with our wrists bound together.” Elain frowns, her voice shaking slightly. “I won’t be able to get you out of this suit.”

“I think it’s more of a symbolic thing.” Azriel smiles, kissing her once more to ease her nerves. His fingers slip from her waist to their wrists, deftly plucking at the knot of black satin until it comes loose and their hands are freed. He sets the ribbon down and fixes her with a look that sends a shiver down her spine.

He motions for her to turn and then his hands are in her hair, gently removing pins until her hair falls in a gentle, albeit slightly messy, golden wave down her back. He gathers it to the side and more kisses are placed to the sensitive place where her neck meets her shoulder.

Azriel’s fingers find the buttons that run down the back of her dress and he begins to undo them slowly. Elain knows that he’s doing it on purpose. That even on this special day, he wouldn’t dream of missing the opportunity to have her beg.

But Elain, for once, won’t let him win. She somehow finds the will power to hold still as he undoes her dress and drags it down her arms and over her torso until it falls to the floor and she’s left standing in front of him in nothing except for the very expensive scrap of ivory lace that covers her sex and the shiny rings on her finger.

She reaches for his suit jacket and helps him maneuver out of it and then she steps around to his back to undo the buttons of his shirt around his wings. And maybe, just maybe, during the process of ridding him of his shirt, she lets her knuckles smooth over a part of the delicate membrane that has him gritting out her name in warning.

Elain grins, moving back around to his front to reach for the buttons of his fine pants - slowly undoing them as he kicks off his shoes just in time for her to slide his trousers and undershorts down his legs.

She can’t help the way her eyes linger on the proud length of him. On the small bead of moisture gathered at the tip that gleams in the glow of the candles, practically calling for her to put her lips on him. She’s so distracted that she barely even registers Azriel reaching back for the ribbon he’d placed on the desk a few minutes ago.

“I can think of better uses for this ribbon.” Azriel’s eyes flick up to meet hers as he smooths out the ribbon and dangles it from his fingertips.

“I can think of something even better.” Elain plucks the ribbon from his hands and backs him towards the bed with a single finger against his chest until he’s laying down. His eyes shimmer with amusement as she motions for him to put his hands above his head but he silently follows her instructions.

She kneels next to him, leans down and tries so very hard to ignore the sweet press of his lips to her sternum as her fingers make quick work of wrapping the ribbon around both of his wrists before securing the remaining length to the wooden posts of her headboard.

“You have the rest of our lives to touch me whenever and however you’d like. Let’s see how long you can last before you’re begging to touch your wife.”

She moves to settle herself on his lap but he stops her with a slight shift of his knees that sends her sliding further up his torso.

“On my tongue first.”

Elain bites down on her lower lip, her core already tightening in anticipation as she shifts further up and carefully places a knee above each of his shoulders, mindful of his wings.

“Look at you.” Azriel’s eyes are fixed on the damp lace covering her center. On the gleam of arousal that covers her inner thighs. “Such a mess already and I haven’t even begun.”

“So much talking.” Elain grumbles, her face flooding with heat at just how wet she was for him when all he’d done was take her dress off.

“Make me stop.” Azriel challenges. She huffs but slowly lowers her hips until the defined tip of his nose brushes over her, dragging her soaked underwear over her clit in a delicious slide of friction.

It’s far from the first time he’s had her like this but it is the first time he hasn’t been able to use his hands. It’s in this moment that Elain realises just how much she relies on him to guide her down to his face. To pull her hips closer and closer, to help her rock against him as she rides him. With his hands restrained, it all falls back on her to gain the confidence to use him like this.

“Sit.” The single word is laced with pure demand and she can sense that Azriel’s patience is slipping. His need to get his mouth on her overruling any of the previous gentleness he’d shown her this evening.

She does as she’s told and her hands fly out to grasp for purchase on her headboard at the first pass of Azriel’s mouth over the lace that covers her. He doesn’t give her a moment to catch her breath before he uses his teeth to tug the lace to the side as best as he can and then his tongue is on her, eagerly tasting her, consuming her with long, effortless strokes.

“I’ve missed this.” He groans against her skin. His tongue dips inside her. “ I’ve missed you.”

She doesn’t have the words to admonish him. To tell him that he could’ve had her this whole time if only he hadn’t been so stubborn. But a month without having him like this has taken its toll and Elain finds that she’s utterly incapable of forming any words or sounds that aren’t a simple keening moan as she rolls her hips and chases the sensation quickly building low and intense in her stomach. Her thighs tremble, her fingers clench around the wooden posts of her bedframe and before she knows it, the wave of pleasure crests and she slumps forward - the already precarious rhythm of her hips falters as she comes hard and fast on his tongue.

Azriel’s mouth doesn’t stop working her until she pulls off of him completely but even then, she isn’t granted a single moment of reprieve besides a couple seconds to catch her breath.

He calls in his shadows and icy, invisible hands are firm around her waist, guiding her back down to where she’d started. Her hands find his cock as his shadows stay with her, slipping in between her legs and over her breasts in feather light caresses that have her aching for more despite just having come mere seconds ago.

Elain raises her eyes to look up at Azriel as she lowers her mouth to his cock. At the first slide of her tongue over his head, a particularly daring shadow slips inside her. The feeling of it is one she knows well, so similar to Azriel’s own fingers.

Elain pulls off of him for a second, glaring up at him. The menacing look she’d been going for is cut short when she gasps as the shadow still inside her presses hard against her upper wall.

“You said,” Azriel starts, eyes squeezing shut when she takes him in her mouth again. “You said I couldn’t touch you. You never said my shadows couldn’t.”

“Not fair.” Elain mumbles around the length of him, unwilling to stop the movement of her lips and tongue. She only takes him deeper, relishing in the way his hips lift to push himself further down her throat.

“Did you think I’d forgotten?” More of his shadows are in her hair now, tugging at her roots with delicious pressure. “All those times you’ve taunted me this past month? Did you think I would forget?”

She gives him a subtle shake of her head, hollowing her cheeks around him all the while.

She’d been praying that he wouldn’t forget, that he’d catalogue all those moments until he could finally deliver on that promise of punishment she’d seen gleaming in his eyes each time she’d deliberately taunt him with her words or actions.

“Touch me.” She doesn’t know how the tables have turned so quickly. How in a split second, she’s pulled off of him and has relinquished all control to him - begging him to touch her instead of the other way around as she’d initially planned. “Azriel, please.”

His shadows aren’t enough and too much time has passed. They’ve put it off too long and the thread between them has grown too taut. She wants his hands. His fingers. She wants him inside her.

Elain blinks and Azriel’s hands are free. She blinks again and she’s on her back in the exact spot he had just been. His hazel eyes burn into hers as his hands - those glorious, beautiful scarred hands - smooth over every inch of her body that’s within their reach.

“Please.” She begs again, unsure as to what she’s even asking for. All she knows is that there’s greater forces at play and her wants and desires are careening dangerously out of control.

“Okay.” Azriel nods and suddenly it’s clear as day to her that he’s experiencing the exact same thing on the other side of the bond glowing between them. There’s a new sense of urgency to his words. To his actions. His calloused thumbs drag over her nipples. “Okay, my love.”

He moves a hand inbetween her legs and pushes her thighs further apart and then she feels him, hot and heavy against her sex. He drags his cock over her twice, coating himself in the arousal he’s pulled from her. A moment later he’s inside her and Elains swears it’s the best thing she’s ever felt in her entire life.

“It feels…” She can’t finish her sentence. She’s too overcome by a wave of emotions so intense that it wracks through her body. That thread between them that had seemed so tangible for the past month had suddenly solidified into something else entirely. She could feel it in her blood. In each and every nerve. Could feel him. Each of her emotions - all the joy and the pleasure and the relief - it was all amplified. Doubled. Because she could feel his twin emotions on the other side of this new connection.

It had snapped. The bond had finally snapped into place once and for all.

Elain laughs, high and bright, and full of disbelief because each time she had thought that what she felt for him couldn’t possibly be topped, she had been proven wrong.

“I know.” Azriel sweeps back the hair clinging to her sweat slick forehead and keeps his eyes on hers.

“It just…” Elain gasps, fingernails clawing at his back in a desperate attempt to get even closer to him. To feel even more of him.

“I know.” Azriel repeats, lowering his mouth to hers in an all consuming kiss that renders her utterly useless. “I felt it, too.”

Azriel continues to whisper sweet nothings into her skin as he takes her, his hips meeting hers as he delivers long smooth strokes that have her crying his name.

“Want you to come with me, okay?” He says gently, waiting until her eyes focus on his and she nods that she had in fact heard him before he bends one of her knees to her chest and picks up his pace.

The new position has tears forming in the corner of her eyes from the sheer bliss that courses through her. It’s a feeling that’s only heightened when he brings a hand in between their bodies to thumb at her clit.

“I meant every word.” Azriel murmurs, his forehead pressed tight to hers. “You’re my sun, Elain.”

The smooth movement of his hips stutters and she knows he’s close.

I spent the first part of my life shrouded in darkness with only shadows for company. I thought I’d learnt what it was to live in the light of day again but I didn’t truly know what it meant to feel the warmth of the sun until you looked at me for the first time.

The beautiful words Azriel had said to her earlier in the garden echo in her head and she can’t stop the sob that escapes her at the reminder of the vows they’d made. At the promises they’d sworn - the declarations to love and to cherish each other for the rest of their long, immortal lives.

“I love you.” Her hands land on either side of his face and she holds him to her, kissing him deeply as he spills inside her. Her muscles contract around him, an endless pulsing sensation that makes her ears ring and her eyes go blurry.

He says it back to her - three words chanted over and over again in combination with her name as he fills her.

Her blood pounds through her veins and her heart feels like it’s going to explode out of her chest. No amount of reading and research into mating bonds would have prepared her for the magnanimity of what she felt in this moment.

It isn’t until Azriel pulls out of her and kneels in between her legs that her eyes focus and she regains any sense of who or where she is. He gently pries her legs further apart and his eyes darken at the sight in front of him. She watches as he takes two of his fingers and collects the come smeared on her thighs. It coats his fingers and the sight of a small bit of it sliding off the knuckle of his middle finger and landing over the gold band on his ring finger is so beautifully filthy that it has her holding back a moan.

“Back where it belongs.” Azriel says the words with a satisfied, purely male smirk and Elain’s breath hitches as he slides his fingers back in her, fucking his spend back inside her. She shivers at the sensation of cold metal grazing her skin.

“Sometimes when I see you like this - your pretty cunt so wet and swollen, so full of my come that it drips out…” He pauses for a second, eyes fixated on the easy slip of his fingers in and out of her. “I wonder why I still take the tonic every morning.”

Elain summons the energy to prop herself up on her elbows so she can look at him. She’s shocked at his admission, at all that it entails.

“If you want me to call you daddy, Azriel, all you had to do was ask.”

It’s a weak attempt at humour, a pathetic attempt to buy her some time as she tries to figure out what to say.

Azriel’s head tips back and he laughs in that way that makes her heart ache with love for him.

“I’m serious, Elain.” He gives her a soft smile, his fingers still moving within her. “If you want that with me, I… I’d be honoured.”

“I need,” she gasps when his fingers curl inside her, pressing against the spot he knows will get her where he wants her to be. “To think.”

“Okay.” He agrees. “Whenever you’re ready. If you’re ever ready.”

“After this…” Elain’s back arches off the bed and her legs threaten to close but Azriel holds her open for him with his other hand.

“After the frenzy.” He completes her thought for her and watches, completely enamored as her head tilts back and her slender fingers frantically clutch at the sweat soaked sheets.

“With a clear head.” She barely manages to get out the words. “We’ll talk about it.”

She’d need a clear head to discuss that particular subject because right now, with how unbelievably aroused she was at the idea of his fingers pushing his come back inside her - back where it belongs - she’d do just about anything he asked of her.

Azriel only leans forward, crowding her body with his as he once again sends her falling over the edge. Her moans are swallowed eagerly by his mouth.

“Always take me so well.” He praises her. “So beautiful each and every time you come for me.”

When she finally settles, utterly spent against the mattress, Azriel moves to pull back but Elain clambers to keep him with her and she finds herself startled by her own automatic reaction to him moving even a fraction of an inch away. She buries her face in his neck, drawing in the scent of him - that cedar scent that is now completely intertwined with notes of jasmine and honey- and the depth of her desire terrifies her.

Elain can’t fathom that there will be a time where she won’t need to feel the weight of him on top of her. Couldn’t imagine that there’d be a second of the foreseeable future in which she wouldn’t need to feel the warmth of his skin under the tips of her fingers. The possessive quality that already lived deep within her bones had grown into a whole new monster because even though she’s been told over and over again that it’s the males who get territorial once a mating bond has been accepted, the way in which she needs to have Azriel all to herself makes her feel confident that she could rip someone to shreds if they looked at him for even a second too long.

“I never want to leave this bed.” Elain sighs, fingers slipping down the expanse of his back as she arches upward, her breasts pressing against his chest. She’s delighted when the shift of her body allows her to feel him hard against her stomach again because despite her sore muscles and the tiredness seeping into her bones, she’s somehow immediately ready for him. Desperate to have him inside her once more.

“Too bad.” Azriel’s lips skate up the column of her throat until his lips are right over her ear. “Because I intend to fuck you on every single surface in this house.”

He sinks into her again and Elain is convinced once and for all that this frenzy might never end.

#elriel #elriel fic #sjmromanceweek2024 #elain x azriel #elain archeron #azriel #so very nervous for this to go out bc i've been putting off finishing this for far far far too long #my writing #acotar fanfiction

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tellmelater · 3 months

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sjm romance week day 1 - first date

nesta and eris would go dancing… duh

@sjmromanceweek

#no idea where this pairing came from #just didn’t fancy any of the canon-almost canon ships #i don’t really ship acotar 🤷🏼‍♀️ whatever sjm writes i’m like hm yes this is fine #digital art #artists on tumblr #my art #acotar #a court of silver flames #acosf #nesta archeron #sjm art #sjmromanceweek #sjmromanceweek2024 #eris vanserra #neris #nesta x eris

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moodymelanist · 3 months

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happy WIP Wednesday 🫶🏽 here’s a little something I’m working on for @sjmromanceweek 2024!!

“I’m sorry?” Nesta eventually said. She hoped she didn’t look as out of breath as she felt.

“You’re not in trouble,” Azriel repeated. He had a healthy serving of breakfast in front of him, and her stomach panged with hunger once the smell hit her. “You’re not expected at training today.”

“What?” she replied, taking a few hesitant steps closer to the table. He had no reason to lie to her, but a large part of her didn’t quite believe what he was saying. “Why not?”

“You needed the rest,” Azriel told her mildly. Despite his gentle words and the softness with which they had been delivered, she could tell he wasn’t inviting any argument. “I told Cassian you’d be back to training tomorrow.”

“He let you?” Nesta blurted out without thinking. Cassian never let her miss a day of training no matter how exhausted she looked each morning, so the fact that she’d gotten to sleep in today almost felt… wrong. Like she was getting away with something that she shouldn’t be.

“He doesn’t let me do anything,” Azriel replied, his tone a little cooler now. “I’m my own person, same as you.”

#sjmromanceweek2024 #Nezriel #acotar #acosf #nesta archeron #azriel shadowsinger #nesta x azriel #story snippets #moodymelanistwrites #WIP Wednesday

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theladyofbloodshed · 3 months

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SJM Romance Week - Day 1 - First Date

@sjmromanceweek

With a fear of flying gripping her tight, Nesta just wants to be left alone to spiral in her panic - that is until a swaggering man holds her hand during take off.

The sweating had begun the second she reached the security line which was never a good sign. Nesta tried to act calm, tried not to keep glancing over her shoulders at the security agents as they scanned bags and bodies. Every damn time she made the machine bleep despite ensuring she had no metal on her, as if the machine knew she was panicking and wanted to enhance her worry. True to history, the machine went off and she stepped onto the painted feet for a guard to wave their wand over her. She didn’t know why she was so worried about the security part; Nesta wasn’t smuggling drugs.

Two hours of agony followed.

The duty-free shops didn’t hold her appeal although she’d toyed with buying alcohol to take the edge off things. She’d taken a Xanax already and mixing wouldn’t go well. A book. A new book to keep her occupied, that would do. She checked her gate, double checked it then triple checked it. Lurked near it way before it was boarding time with her new book clutched in her clammy hands. Nesta mentally catalogued her day. She’d watered the plants, Gwyn already had the spare key to water them when needed, she’d turned everything off, locked the door because she’d checked multiple times, had her travel documents on her phone and printed, had only taken hand luggage so it wouldn’t be lost. Everything would be fine. Of course it would be. She was a planner. But she couldn’t plan who was piloting the plane. Couldn’t plan the weather. Couldn’t plan if a freak bolt of lightning struck the plane and zapped them off the face of the earth. Nesta swigged down mouthfuls of sparkling water. She hated it but it made her burp and that alleviated her churning stomach.

When the agents called for boarding, Nesta was first in the queue. Priority boarding had been purchased so she could panic in her seat. Her legs trembled up the metal stairs to board the plane. Planes flew every day. Hundreds of them. All crisscrossing across the sky. And she’d be on the unlucky anomaly. Because of course she would. Nothing ever ran smoothly in her life.

With an eye mask on and a mindfulness podcast blaring in her ears, Nesta tried to block out the rest of the boarding. She was vaguely aware of bodies moving down the aisle or slipping into seats behind or in front of hers, the judder of chairs or slam of the overhead storage. When an elbow knocked into her to take the seat, she didn’t react, just kept listening to the soothing voice telling her to focus on her breathing.

Fingers tapped on her arm repeatedly until she peeled off her mask.

A man with dark-hair tugged into a loose bun at the nape of his neck was gesturing to her headphones. An air steward was watching, life jacket held aloft for the display. ‘Switch to airplane mode or turn off your devices for take off please.’

Nesta fumbled with her phone, hands trembling to change it. She listened to the safety warnings, terror soaking in.

‘Can we swap seats? I don’t want to look out of the window.’

‘Sorry, sweetheart, but I need to leg room in the aisle.’ The man gestured to his broad thighs and long, muscled legs.

Nesta knew well enough that if she even dreamed of closing the hatch on the window, a flight attendant would snap it back up so she could see just how high they were. Once the safety demo had finished, Nesta plugged back into her bubble. Her belt was on but what use was that against a plane crash?

As soon as she felt motion, Nesta was gripping her seat belt as if clinging onto it might save her. Her hands trembled, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth in her fear as the plane approached the runway.

Then a hand reached for hers. Calloused fingers slid against her own.

Nesta ripped her mask and headphones away in one fell swoop.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘You seemed nervous. Thought you’d want a hand to hold.’

The man’s hazel eyes fell to their hands, still entwined then Nesta yanked that away too.

And then the plane was barrelling along the runway, the force pinning her to her seat so she grasped for that hand again. He gave a low chuckle and cradled hers with both of his. Nesta screwed her eyes shut, not wanting to glimpse the moment they took flight or the way the land below would become more and more distant. At Emerie’s encouragement, she’d watched take offs on YouTube, had even tried to play a flight simulator but both of them had freaked her out just as much.

‘Is it just take off or landing too?’

Her words wouldn’t come out. The whole thing was traumatic. The only reason she was flying was because her sister was due to a drop a baby boy any day and Nesta had agreed to be there for the delivery and first couple of weeks of his life. Without a maternal figure, Feyre had decided that Nesta was the closest thing – ignoring the fact neither of them had a clue about babies.

‘What does that beeping mean?’ she hissed.

The man just brushed his thumb in a circle against the back of her hand. ‘It means we can take our seat belts off, sweetheart.’

Reluctantly, she forced open her eyes. People were already releasing their belts and heading to the bathroom. She had held her own urination on every flight. Only poor planners didn’t go before take-off. It would be just her luck that a plane would meet a fiery end whilst she was sat on the toilet.

He leaned over to slide the hatch down, hiding the outside world from view then his fingers headed towards her lap. Nesta was too stunned to react even as he undid her belt.

‘And what happens if this plane starts to plummet from the sky?’

‘I’m sure you can figure out how to put your belt back on,’ he replied, an easy grin on his face. At her terse look, he added, ‘Relax. This plane has never crashed before.’

Nesta busied herself with her book despite the undercurrent of fear threatening to drown her every time she thought too deeply about how the plane remained airborne. The man next to her read the in-flight magazine then began drumming on the fold-out table.

‘Do you mind?’

‘Have you got a request?’

Nesta’s brows drew together. ‘Stop drumming. It’s irritating.’

When the trolley of beverages was a few rows away, he turned to her. ‘What are you having?’

‘Nothing. If I drink, I will need the bathroom. I am not getting up or going there and tempting fate.’

He gave a bellow of a laugh. ‘You’ve thought of everything. You know if the plane crashes, it will make no difference if you’re sat by me or on the toilet.’

Her face must have paled because he added, ‘But it will fly safely to our destination.’

A handsome, swaggering smile was offered to the air stewardess when she approached. ‘Two coffees, chips, M&Ms and whatever drink has the most sugar.’

There was a veritable feast laid out in front of him, but a coffee was placed on the little table that he unfolded at her seat. The M&M pouch was torn open and shook in front of her face.

‘Go on, treat yourself.’

‘Do you just fly around the country and trap women in airline seats so they can’t get away?’

He ran a hand against his black hair. ‘Should I have gotten the peanut ones?’

Nesta took a few and tipped them into her mouth.

‘Careful, sweetheart, you don’t want to choke while the plane is crashing.’

‘You are not funny,’ she complained.

‘When they need to identify your body, what name will go with it?’

This time, she nearly did choke on her handful of M&Ms. ‘Are you serious? Is that how you’re asking my name?’

He spread out his hands, evidently pleased with that terrible line, awaiting her answer.

‘Nesta.’

‘Cassian.’

They chatted as the plane continued on its journey, drinking their coffee and eating his snacks. They shared the can of coke, her inhabitations well and truly lowered by the Xanax if she was willing to swap saliva and drink from the same can as a stranger. At the first signs of turbulence, Cassian was there to hold her hands and murmur embarrassing stories about his friends to stop fear paralysing her.

Once the cabin crew had swept through to collect the final few items of rubbish on the short flight, Nesta was clamming up again. She knew what was to follow.

‘Cabin crew, prepare for landing.’

Clouds streamed past the window, adding to the turbulence. Nesta was too scared to even reach for her mask which had fallen on the floor.

Cassian wound his fingers into hers. ‘I’ve got you, sweetheart. It will be okay.’

Every bump had her gritting her teeth so hard, it was a wonder that one of her molars didn’t crack. Cassian just kept talking in a low voice about inane topics to try and shave the edges off of her fear. His arm wound around her shoulders, forehead touching her temple, whilst his other hand still held hers.

‘This is the nicest first date I’ve ever had.’

That snapped something in her. ‘This is not a date.’

The nose of the plane dipped and her stomach lurched from the motion.

‘We’ve had coffee and snacks. We’re holding hands. You’ve shared your deepest fears of dying in a blazing crash. To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die.’

Nesta ground out, ‘I hate the Smiths.’

‘Everybody does,’ he said.

With a bump that made her squeeze Cassian tighter, the plane landed. It sped down the runway and Nesta kept her eyes firmly shut for the entire duration until Cassian murmured that they had stopped.

‘You see, a safe flight after all.’

‘Fortune was cruel enough to put me next to you. A crash would have really tipped it over the edge.’

Cassian lifted her bag down for her, his black t-shirt rising to expose a strip of his taut muscled stomach. His own was a well-used duffle which he slung over his shoulder.

They walked together towards the airport building.

‘Do I get your number then?’

Nesta cocked a brow at his boldness. ‘Absolutely not. I’d rather be the one that got away.’

‘Every flight I’ll think of you, wondering if you’re stealing another man’s snacks.’

Nesta pressed her fingers to her lips and blew him a kiss as they parted into two different lines at security.

The man had to be mad, she decided as she passed through passport control. No sane man would just start holding a stranger’s hand – and she was an idiot for reciprocating that touch. But it did sting a bit that he’d accepted her refusal so easily. After how tactile and caring he’d been, she thought maybe Cassian would have pestered her again for her number or her socials. Whatever. His loss.

Her fear of flying meant that she’d sweated through her deodorant so she hurried into the bathroom to change her top, clean her arm pits with a baby wipe then slather on more deodorant to appear a little less dishevelled. Nesta spotted Cassian waiting at the baggage carousal for more belongings to come rolling around so she scurried past, avoiding his attention. Fantasy was more fun than reality. Maybe he’d be her one that got away.

After passing through anything to declare, Feyre was waiting for her. The huge belly wasn’t a surprise but it was still a shock to see her little sister so heavily pregnant.

‘Wow, look at you!’

‘I am peeing every ten minutes,’ she replied, holding up her belly.

‘Hi, Rhys.’

‘Nesta,’ he said, swooping to press a kiss on her cheek.

They’d met once. And it had been awkward as hell when Nesta realised he was eight years older than her. He wasn’t the sort of man she’d ever choose, but Feyre seemed happy. They were on “Christmas Card closeness” usually so Feyre’s call asking her to come and be close for the birth had meant a lot. Meant enough that she was willing to fly two days later.

‘Where’s the rest of your luggage?’

‘I had it sent ahead.’

Feyre patted Rhys on the arm. ‘Nesta hates flying. Everything is planned to an inch of its life. No detours, no unnecessary waiting. On the plane, off the plane.’

Even being in an airport, with its constant business, had Nesta itchy. ‘Shall we go?’

‘Do you want to head to the car, ladies? I’m worried about you standing for so long, darling.’

Feyre shook her head, golden hair cascading from the motion. ‘I’m fine. Cassian won’t take that long.’

‘Cassian?’

Nesta could practically hear the alarm bells ringing in her head.

‘My brother,’ said Rhys.

‘He works on an oil rig but he’s home for a couple of months now so you two can argue over who is the best uncle or auntie,’ teased Feyre.

There he was, striding through the doors, duffle bag slung over one shoulder while pushing a cart loaded with three more bags. His eyes snapped straight to her, a slow grin spreading over his face.

They said their greetings, Nesta and Cassian pretending that she hadn’t just been clinging to him in terror on the flight here then they fell into step together, walking slightly behind Rhysand and Feyre.

‘Fortune favours you,’ he murmured.

‘Did you know who I am?’

Cassian gave a hearty laugh that had Rhys glancing his shoulder at them. ‘Not at first. You looked familiar then you said your name and I realised you were Feyre’s sister.’

‘Lucky me,’ she grumbled.

With one hand pushing the trolley, he slung the other arm around her shoulders. ‘So, about that second date.’

#nessian #sjmromanceweek #sjmromanceweek2024

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 3 months

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Should've Worshipped Her Sooner (ao3)

Cassian can't sleep because he's too busy simping over Nesta. A drabble partially inspired by Hozier's Take Me To Church. (Happy day 5 of @sjmromanceweek! The trope here is just... Cassian being a simp. That's it. That's the trope. Absolutely no plot.)

~~~~

The light was a glint of silver moonlight, dawn a still far-off whisper lurking beyond the edges of the horizon. And in that comfortable darkness interrupted only by the shaft of moonlight slipping between the gap in the curtains, Cassian lay awake, unable to sleep.

But he didn’t mind.

Even though he needed to be up with the dawn to leave this bed, the thought of how tired he would be tomorrow simply wasn’t enough to make him close his eyes. How could it be, when to fall asleep was to abandon this— the sight of his mate, sleeping peacefully in his arms.

Nesta’s heart was steady, an even beat that would have lulled him to sleep had he wished, but the moon turned her golden-brown hair to silver, her pale skin to porcelain— his north star, nestled against the pillows and pressed tight against his side. He wanted to savour it, this moment, not waste it by closing his eyes.

There was nothing in the world he could ever have wanted more than this— the woman he loved asleep against his chest, the whisper of cotton sheets as she shifted in concert with the steady rhythm of her breathing.

The most perfect thing in the world.

In centuries past, Cassian used to stand on the House roof and watch the sun set, or wake up at dawn to see it break above the horizon. He’d always thought it the most beautiful thing in the world, to watch the moment the day yielded to the night, the sun to the moon. He’d thought that the glitter of the stars, pinpricks in the gathering black, were the most wondrous thing the world had to offer, a sight so humbling it could bring him to his knees.

How wrong he had been.

He knew now that there was only one thing that could ever truly bring him to his knees, and her eyelashes fluttered now with her dreams, her fingers curling gently against his bare chest. Softly Cassian’s hand smoothed down Nesta’s shoulder, skating across her arm as his other hand wrapped itself more firmly around her waist.

All the wonders of this world paled, now.

The sun was at its most beautiful only when it danced across her face, its most wondrous when its light gilded her skin. The stars were their most glittering only when they were reflected in her eyes, and though the night still held so many myriad wonders and beauties untold, it was in her arms that Cassian found he loved the night best.

And it wasn’t in the skies that he now looked for that once-breathless sense of awe. Instead, he found it every when he opened his eyes and found hers, silver-blue, looking up at him from beneath thick, dark lashes that he, every damned day, wanted to brush with his lips. Every day he woke and every day he asked himself how he gotten this lucky— how the Mother had seen fit to give him to Nesta fucking Archeron as a mate.

How he got to be the one curling around her in the dark, his body cradling hers as sleep took them both.

In those moments, quiet and serene, when there was nothing but a tired, peaceful kind of silence, Cassian often found himself linking his fingers through hers, feeling her palm brush his as sleep began to beckon. The cool brush of the ring on her finger - the one he had put there the day of their mating ceremony - always made his heart kick, and in the quiet now, Cassian reached for her hand, the one she had resting above his heart, fingers searching until he found that ring, the silver glinting.

Together, they were a fire. Blazing and burning, a love that scorched him right down to the bone. He loved it, loved her, exactly as they were— a tempest of emotion. But there were moments like this - quiet, peaceful, comfortable - that he loved too. When there was not a soul to disturb them, when they could lie together in the silence and find comfort in one another. When he could hold his sleeping mate in his arms and forget about the world outside.

Lady Death and the Lord of Bloodshed, wrapped in cotton, sheathed in the dark, clinging to one another as they slept.

It was the purest kind of peace Cassian could ever have imagined.

And as Nesta shifted once more in her sleep, Cassian dropped a kiss to the crown of her head, smiling at the murmur it elicited from her lips. Her eyelashes fluttered, close to waking, and Cassian drew her closer to his chest, his wing extending and curling around them both.

“Sleep,” he whispered.

A mumble was his only response. A sound of untold softness from the woman who had endured so much horror, who had once cut the head from the shoulders of a king.

Cassian smiled, his heart swelling to the point of pain. His thumb brushed the band of the ring he had given her before he linked his fingers with hers— fingers that had held countless blades over the centuries, and spilled so much blood they could never be clean again. And yet somehow Cassian felt all of it diminish in her presence, like each and every one of his sins was absolved by her touch alone.

Silent, he squeezed her hand.

“Sleep,” he murmured again, feeling his own eyes grow heavy.

And there, in the place that they had made their home, Cassian closed his eyes at last, knowing he’d never need anything more than this— the peace found in his mate’s embrace.

#nessian #sjmromanceweek2024

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fieldofdaisiies · 2 months

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Of Birds and Bees

Lucien stopped.

Elain's forehead, coated in a thin film of sweat, lies in furrows and her lids lazily flutter open, her eyes glazed over with passion and desire. In her fully blissed-out state it is hard to form coherent thoughts, even harder to voice them.

Lucien is only looking at her, one hand, broad and veiny, braced next to her head, the fingers of the other tracing over her face. But his hips are no longer moving, his cock remaining buried deep inside of her, filling her perfectly. His heart swells with admiration and pride over his mate - this wonderful female is his. Only his.

"Wh-why did you stop?" Elain eventually asks, voice nothing more than a breathy whisper.

Urging her hips upwards, she hopes her mate will move again. Lucien truly follows her beckons, a low, sensual chuckle rolling over his lips.

"I got distracted by how beautiful you are, and momentarily by body stopped functioning." A sheepish smile is plastered on his face, tanned cheeks now a deep red, twin flames burning in both his russet and his metal eye. "I love you, my mate."

Lucien's mouth claims hers in a hungry, almost ravishing kiss, leaving both of them breathless, lips still tingling after they part.

His hips pick up in pace again, at first meeting Elain‘s gently, then he starts to move faster. His lips glide from her mouth down to her jaw, pressing searing kisses to her soft, and slightly damp skin. He descends further down on her, to her cleavage, then her breasts, flicking his tongue against the hardened peak before sucking it into his mouth. It elicits a whimper from Elain, accompanied by the arch of her back, perfectly bending to Lucien‘s will.

He sometimes can be a proud and cocky male, and a groan of pure delight leaves his mouth. "Such a good girl," he purrs against her sensitive skin, his eyes dropping to where his length disappears into her body. "Look how perfectly your cunt is hugging my cock."

His fingers dig into the soft flesh of her hips, definitely leaving marks she will see there the following day and wear with pride. His hands radiate heat, making her skin feel even tighter, hotter.

Elain is his, only his and everyone can and should know that. Everyone has to know it and so leaving some markings on her is always good.

"I can't wait to fill you up, Elain." Lucien pushes his hips into her and she mewl. His tongue darts out, licking over her salty skin, up to the exposed column of her neck. "Watch this pretty belly of yours grow and let everyone see you are mine." He sinks his teeth into her flesh, hearing how his mate cries out - not in pain but in pure pleasure.

He pounds into her, setting a relentless rhythm that makes Elain move up on the mattress, her hips meeting his with every deep thrust. "Yes, yes!" she cries out, eyes shut, head tipped back. "I want that."

The sound of smacking flesh and a bed groaning under the impact of a couple fully engulfed in pleasure fills the room. They are nothing but heat and love, desire and lust.

Lucien chases his mate‘s lips, his kiss deep, passionate. "You want my come leaking out from your pretty cunt? You want my scent to be on you for weeks?"

Elain merely mewls, her mind and body already entering oblivion, release nearing in waves of delirious lust.

But Lucien has none of that – he wants to hear her pleasure-drunken voice, the breathy hue of it.

He clicks his tongue, thumb pressing down on her nipple before gives the sensitive flesh a flick. "Words, my lovely flower. I need you to say it." His lips press a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Tell me what you want."

Her nails dig into the skin of his back, leaving crescent shaped markings there — obviously everyone also needs to see that he is hers.

Elain blinks open her eyes, nothing but swirling pits of heat in them when she meets Lucien’s gaze. "I want you to fill me up so nicely your come is leaking out of me…" She swallows, cheeks burning. Only Lucien can manage to make her say such indecent things. "Put a baby in me. Make my belly swell with our child. Fill me up so much your scent won’t vanish for weeks." She sucks in a sharp intake if air. "I need you harder, Lu."

She lifts her legs, curling them around her mate, heels digging into his ass. The angle allows Lucien to drive even further into her, fucking her with newly found vigour — what she has said, how she said it and the hunger in her eyes, loosened all his restraints. His need is fully unleashed, hips snapping against hers. His pace isn’t brutal, his priority to make Elain feel good, but it brings an enormous amount of pleasure. Sex is, in the first place, always about her. Lucien knows that for him it feels good automatically. Making love to his mate, fucking her, can only bring him utter pleasure and delight as well.

She is squirming, the pitch of her moans rising at least an octave. Lucien once again finds himself fully enthralled by her - damp tendrils of hair curling around her face, cheeks flushed, her body covered in a thin film of sweat, breasts bouncing in the same rhythm of his hips snapping against hers. Lucien knows that his mate, that Elain Vanserra, is truly the most outstanding and stunning female to ever exist in this world. And she is his. Not only through the mating bond, but by choice. She has chosen him. Has chosen to accept the bond, to be with him. She is his and he is hers, by the bond and by choice. His Elain.

Despite the lust and pleasure boiling inside of him, a huge wave of gratitude and love washes over Lucien, making his eyes fill with tears. He leans in, chasing her mouth, kissing her deeply, softly, with nothing but love and affection. "I love you so much, Elain." He speaks against het mouth, his own lips barely parting, his chest pressing against hers. But it isn’t her breasts nor her hardened nipples he is feeling - it is her heart, beating in the same rhythm as his, singing the same melody. The one melody of lovers who at last found each other. "I love you."

Elain tilts her pelvis, arms curling around Lucien‘s neck to keep him close. "I love you," she answers him. "More than words could ever express." The last part she screams, because Lucien slams in to the hilt, the crown of his cock brushing every oh so pleasurable spot deep inside of her. His hand slides down her abdomen, pressing down gently, and it elicits a cry of pleasure from his mate, that he knows, if they had neighbours they would have heard.

"We are going to be parents, Lu."

"We are," he hums and realisation settles upon him. He will be father. Earlier or later he will be a father.

Lucien’s pace turns from fast to sensual, affectionate, hips rolling gentler against Elain’s, his thrust now deep and long, languid, making her feel every glorious inch of his cock, massaging her walls.

Her breathy moans, and the delicate curses leaving her are like music in the Vanserra male‘s ears. He loves it, could bottle it up just like the sound when she laughs.

Lucien slides his hand into hers, interlacing their fingers, and kisses her deeply. "Say you’re mine," he whispers against her lips, voice low, guttural.

"I am yours, Lucien. And you’re mine." Her voice is nothing but a breathy whisper, the promise in it yet clear and steadfast.

"Fucking hell, I am. All yours, my love." His tongue glides into her mouth, brushing her gums, then meeting hers in a dance for dominance. "Equal, mate, husband, and soon the father our children."

His words and the feel of his cock buried so deep inside of her, set fire to her abdomen - autumn Court males have fire in their blood after all and whenever they make love Lucien proves this to her.

Pleasure builds, her skin prickles, her inner muscles tighten around him and when her mate rubs his thumb over her swollen clit, circling the sensitive bud, it is her undoing. She grips the sheets next to her tightly, the other hand on Lucien's shoulder, nails digging in, and falls apart, shatters.

Her soul floats, leaving her body, explodes in colourful sprinkles. Her walls flutter around his cock and Lucien feels how heat pools in his lower back. He is close.

Elain’s eyes roll back, her powerful and glorious mate towering over her, but she can barely make out his features through her blurry vision, shockwaves of pleasure gripping her body. But she knows it. Knows that Lucien is grinning - as bright as the sun. He made her come once again and he is proud. And happy. She has to giggle, the sound breathy, joyful.

Lucien follows her soon after, the blissed-out appearance of his delicate mate after her climax being his undoing. It tips him right over the edge, and so do her noises. With one last, powerful thrust, he spills into her.

The growl that leaves him when he comes, doesn’t only make the cutlery in the kitchen below rattle, but also the windows of the bedroom. The entire house.

"Gods," Elain expresses, air whooshing in and out of her lungs, limbs spasming, chest rising and falling. She brings a hand up, folding it over hear forehead, mouth agape.

Lucien stays buried inside of her a moment longer, broad hands braced next to her body, hips rolling against hers gently, letting her come down from her high slowly. "My love," he whispers, bending down so he can kiss her brow, lips resting on her skin.

Elain meets each gentle rolls of his hips with her own, milking every last drop of his seed.

Slowly, he pulls out of her wet heat, his come truly leaking out of her, coating the insides of her thighs and the mattress below Elain.

Using two broad fingers, Lucien scoops up his hot release, pushing it back into his mate, not able to avoid the smirk from appearing on his lips. "You’re going to be even more beautiful when you're pregnant," he whispers, kissing her bent knee.

Once done with his work, Lucien cleans his digits with his tongue, groaning deeply at the taste of his mate, devouring her once again. He debates if they should just go another round, really wanting to have her come on his tongue this time, but he decides against it. Elain looks exhausted and fully content.

It is perfect to stop right here. So, he hooks his hand under her knee, gently lowering it to the bed. Leaning in, he pampers the soft skin of her belly with gentle pecks, the her breasts and cleavage up to her neck. "Bath, my mate?"

Elain turns her head, kissing Lucien‘s cheek. "If you carry me to the bathroom."

She smiles at him tiredly when he gathers her in his arms, climbing off the bed.

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

Elain bounces on her toes, one hand placed carefully over the small bump of her belly, the other on Lucien‘s pectoral. Her eyes are wide open, her voice hushed, cheeks rosy, when she says, "They will all know that we…had sex."

That draws a whole-hearted loud laugh from her mate, his eyes squeezed shut, his head tipped back.

In Elain’s ears her mate's laughter is the most beautiful sound in the whole entire world, but right in this moment she can’t fully enjoy it.

Lucien sees the expression on her face, and gently grasps her hand, taking it into his. "My love," he says, "after accepting the bond we disappeared for two weeks, don’t you think they already knew then that we are doing more than just holding hands." He kindly smiles at her.

Elain purses her lips and chuckles. "Och, you are right, but it is still weird, now it is like we officially announce to everyone that we—"

"–are soon going to be parents to a wonderful child." He lifts his hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles.

"Can you believe it?" Elain asks, her chest filling with anticipation that lets warmth spread through her entire body.

Lucien smiles, and shakes his head. His hands cradle her face, and he leans his brows against hers, their breaths mingling in front of their faces. "It feels surreal, doesn’t it?"

"I can’t believe we get so lucky. That it worked so fast." Elain is beaming, her smile so bright and radiant, it warms Lucien‘s skin. And his heart. "That conceiving worked so fast. That we will be parents soon."

"Mhm," Lucien hums, his heart swelling with anticipation and their mixed joy. He can't believe it himself. It truly feels surreal, but the anticipation about them becoming parents might be one of the best things he has ever felt.

"Lucien!" Elain expresses and he opens his eyes, meeting her gaze full of radiant happiness. "We are going to be parents!"

Her mate‘s hands slide down to her hips, pulling her just an inch nearer, but so close their chests are touching. "We will provide the best childhood for our little wonder." Lucien’s voice is a little hoarse, eyes glistening with memories of his own childhood.

"We will," Elain assures him, and kisses her mate‘s cheek. "Nothing but love, and understanding and kindness for our little babe." Her arms slide around his shoulders, around his neck, and she brings Lucien in for a tight embrace, his own arms naturally curling around her waist.

"It is cruel," he says after a moment, still holding her tightly. He's almost lifting Elain up at that point. She is standing on her tip toes, atop his toes.

"And it should be forbidden."

"What?" Elain hums, pressing a kiss to the column of her mate‘s neck. Goosebumps appear on his flesh - he is just so sensitive there and Elain loves it.

"That being pregnant makes you even more breathtaking. You are as radiant as the sun, my love."

He means it, he truly does, she can feel it through the bond. And it does something to her. To her heart. To her eyes. She wraps her arms around him tighter, face buried in his shoulder, Lucien‘s lips finding her exposed shoulder, kissing it.

"I love you."

Later when the whole family is gathered around the table at the Riverside Estate, enjoying the lovely dishes Elain has cooked, Lucien finally lifts the protective shield he has kept over his mate the past weeks, allowing everyone to know about their little secret.

Nesta is the first to whip her head into her little sister’s direction. Tears glisten in her eyes when she searches Elain's gaze, her lips parting.

Her younger sister slowly bows her head, a sheepish, yet happy smile appearing on her face.

Then Elain gets up, reaching for Lucien‘s hand. She places their intertwined hands on her small bump, and a big grin, one that reaches from one ear to the other, spreads over the male‘s face.

"There is something we need to tell you."

Cassian’s eyes dip to his sister-in-law's belly, and grinning, he leans back in his chair, on hand always carefully holding his daughter who sits on his right thigh, playing with a little doll. And of course the doll has little wings, she was a gift from aunt Emerie.

"Go on, Laney," Cassian says.

Elain and Lucien share their happiness with their family and are immediately embraced in hugs and congratulations, joyful chatter filling every nook of the house.

Nyx and Alayla are more than excited to meet their new cousin, bombarding Elain with questions how it is possible for baby to be in het belly. And how it got in there. And when they will finally be able to meet them. Nyx is sure it will be a boy. Alayla glowers at him and tells him she knows it will be a girl. Laughing, Elain cuddles them both to her chest, their tiny hands resting atop her belly.

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

"He is kicking." A boyish giggle parts Lucien's lips, his grin spreading from one ear to the other. "I can feel it. He's strong already, his tiny foot kicking my hand."

Lucien kisses Elain's neck, his broad, warm hand placed atop Elain‘s round belly, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"He?" Elain asks with a smile, one brow lifted, a questioning look on her face.

Her mate grins in answer, purely male pride etched upon his features. "Yes, he. Little Lucien."

"What about a little Elain?"

"Two of you? Oh the mother protect me!" Lucien laughs loudly, and after shoving at his shoulder Elain joins in, laughing from the bottom of her heart. Obviously she wouldn’t be mad at him, this was a joke and she loves her mate’s jokes.

He wraps his arm around her shoulders and brings her in for a hug. "Whatever our little one will be, I will love them endlessly and I don’t care one bit about their gender."

Elain leans into him, releasing a contented sigh. He is so good. Her mate is so good. So different-minded to the standards he was born into where males always counted more than females.

"Another kick," he hums, his other hand still on her belly. "Can you feel it?"

"I can, Lu." A single tear slides down Elain’s cheek. "And it is wonderful. I wonder if they will be as active as their father." Elain sighs happily, her chest swelling with the love she already feels for the little one.

"Probably," Lucien chuckles. "But one thing I know for sure is that our little one will be as beautiful as their mother."

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

"I don’t know," Elain sobs, fisting Lucien’s shirt. "I put the vase here and now it is gone. I don't know where it disappeared to. It was here. But it isn't anymore."

"And that is so bad you have to cry about it, my—?"

"Yes, it is!" Elain steps away from her mate, glowering, hands no longer fisting his shirt, but her palms are now pressed flat against his pectorals. "How dare you not see how dramatic the situation really is?" She rolls her eyes and gives her head a shake, snarling.

Lucien calls upon all his restraints to not burst into laughter — those damn mood swings, he thinks and brings his hands up to fold them over Elain's.

"Padron, my lovely flower, I'll help you find the vase."

"You better do," Elain pulls her hands out of his hold. "And you better do it quick, otherwise the flowers die." Her lower lip quavers, tears glistening in her eyes again.

Mother save me, Lucien thinks when his mate storms out of the kitchen, leaving him behind, slightly overwhelmed with the situation. But Cassian has already warned him about how bad the mood swings can be, especially for fae females. Not only once, had Nesta thrown something at the general and then stormed off, only to return crying the next moment, worrying he might end the mating bond with her. It isn't much different with her little sister, Lucien thinks.

The male turns his head and looks at the top-most shelf and spots the vase in an instant. He has to chuckle to himself. He reaches for the vase, then puts water in it and lastly the flowers. He is about to call for his mate when she already bursts through the door, tears cascading down her rosy cheeks.

"You don't hate me now, do you?" Her lower lip is pouted and she hurdles to her mate, hugging him as good as possible with the round belly. "Please, don't hate me."

"I don't hate you, my love." Lucien kisses the top of her head, chuckling a little. "I love you and you throwing a tantrum because of a vase won't—"

"I didn't throw a tantrum. I only—"

Lucien shuts her up with a kiss, his index finger placed beneath her chin. Tilting her head up while he bends down, Lucien deepens the kiss and turns them so Elain's backside is pressed against the counter. A small gasp leaves her when he parts her lips with his tongue, gently letting it brush against hers.

"It's just a vase, my love," he whispers against her lips, his breath tingling her skin.

"But the flowers. The would have died." She presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Thank the Gods, I could save them." Lucien's lips split into a grin and Elain tilts her head to the side so she can look past him, at the beautiful vase with her bouquet in it. "Thank you," she whispers, letting her hands glide up the front of his shirt. "You are truly the best mate to ever exist."

Her grin mirrors his, her smile so radiant it lights up the whole kitchen.

Lucien's hands drop to her hips and he lets them glide down, giving her rear a gentle, two-handed squeeze that has himself groaning and Elain giggling.

Her arms curl around his strong chest, the side of her head resting against his hard muscles. She draws in his scent and relishes it. Lucien holds her tightly, listening to the soft thrumming of their heartbeats, marvelling at Elain's scent and the feeling of her round belly against his chest, the happiness about the life growing inside of her.

"Lucien," Elain mumbles after a small moment and tips her head back, chin resting against his chest.

"Hm?" He looks down at her and finds sudden fire, twin flames of passion, burning brightly in her eyes.

"I am exceptionally needy for my mate. You think you can help me there?"

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

"Bloody, burning hell!" Elain nails dig into Lucien’s hand, most definitely leaving some marks there.

Each contraction tightens around her belly like an invisible vice, fierce and harsh, her insides feeling like they are shredded apart. And somehow they truly are.

The scent of lavender lies in the air, but Elain can’t even focus on it, her whole body is on fire, her skin damp with sweat, tendrils of hair sticking to her forehead.

"Cauldron," she breathes, and squeezes her eyes shut. "This is excruciating."

"You are doing so well, my mate," Lucien comforts his mate. He leans in and kisses her sweat-glazed cheek, his hand naturally coming up to stroke his fingers over her cheek. "Keep going just like this."

Elain huffs. Easier said then done. Her butt hurts, so do her knees, and her heels — she has been pressing them into the mattress for what feels like hours. Days. Years. But nothing, absolutely nothing, absolutely no pain, compares to what it is like to push a baby out of you.

Elain’s breaths come in shallow gasps, her chest rising and falling in sync with the waves of pain that surge through her body.

Her thin nightgown is damp as well, sticking to her body like a second skin. Beads of sweat gather on her brow and before Lucien gets a chance to wipe them away, his mother steps in, gently and with utmost care, tabbing Elain's forehead dry with a soft cloth.

"How did you do this seven times?" Elain mewls, her head lolling to the side, resting on Lucien’s strong shoulder.

"Not once was it a piece of cake, but every time worth it," Imala smiles, sweeping the cloth over Elain‘s cheek before she pushes off the bed to discard of it. "And you are doing so well, Elain. Just a few more pushes, keep going. You are so strong, I know you can do it."

"Thank you," Elain wants to smile, but another contraction tears through her body, making her whimper loudly, her hold on Lucien’s hand tightening. He wonders how blood still flows into his fingers, thinking the grip Elain has on him must at one point cut off the blood flow. But it is alright. For Elain he would walk over burning coals and travel to Hell itself.

"I can't do this, Lucien! It hurts so much." Elain‘s voice quivers, tinged with desperation. Another contraction tightens its grip, and Elain feels it everywhere.

Lucien leans in closer, his voice a steady anchor amidst the whirlwind of pain and emotions. "Yes, you can, my love. You're so strong."

She whimpers again, brows lying in furrows. "It just hurts so much."

"I know it does and I wish I could take the pain away from, my love, but it is only a little more. Only a little longer."

Together with Majda, Lucien helps Elain get onto her knees, his hand resting on her back, thumb drawing idle circles on her skin.

"The baby's almost here, Elain. You're so close, you’re nearly fully dilated," Madja comforts, voice calm and nothing but kind assurance in it.

"Push!"

Elain does as told, every muscle in her body pulsating with effort. She cries out again, pure agony in the raw sound.

It’s hurts Lucien to see his mate like that, to watch her go through so much pain and not being able to help. He can’t take the pain from her, and this helplessness…

"Don’t look like there has been rain for months, Lu. You aren't the one giving birth."

A lopsided grin appears on his face and he leans in, kissing Elain's temple. "But I hate seeing my mate in so much pain."

"It will be—f-fucking hell!" The room almost vibrates with her cry. Lucien grimaces. He has never expected that his mate could curse like a sailor, nevertheless would curse like one.

But Majda ignores all the vulgar words — it is probably not the first time she hears them from a female who is about to give birth.

"That is good, Elain, keep going." She gently strokes her hand down Elain’s thigh, offering words of comfort and encouragement. "I can see the head already. Keep pushing. You are doing a great job."

So, Elain pushes again and then pain is agonising. Beads of sweat glisten on her forehead as she grips sheets below her and Lucien‘s hand on the other side, her knuckles white from the effort.

As Elain gathers her strength, her body responds to it, and despite the excruciating pain she manages to push again. Lucien seems to hold his breath, tension so high, his heart nearly bursts out of his chest, his skin clammy.

"My love," he whispers, "you are doing so well." Despite the blood flow to his hand probably being cut off because his mate‘s grip is like a vice, he strokes his thumb over her fingers. "Keep going. You are so strong. You’re soon there."

The contractions are becoming more painful with each passing minute, but Elain is encouraged by her mate’s voice. His presence alone comforts her, empowers her. Lucien would never leave her, he will always be by her side, always supports her. He will hold her hand throughout everything. No matter what. He will go every step of the way with her. And she knows that if he could take her pain away, he would. He would sit here in agony if only it meant she wouldn't have to feel any kind of pain.

"I love you." Elain’s voice is barely above a whisper, but Lucien hears her words. Feels them through the bond.

"More than anything else in this world," he answers and kisses the top of her head. Her hair is damp, so is her skin, cheeks flushed but to Lucien she is still the most beautiful female that there is.

Another contraction tears through her, shattering her insides, and Elain pushes once again. Pushes hard and many times, Lucien not once letting go of her hand. A tremor courses through her, and with her last ounce of energy, she pushes and a sound of triumph leaves Majda.

Elain slumps against her mate, crying out, exhaustion and relief washing over her in tidal waves. She is sobbing, wetting Lucien’s shirt and he is crying with her when Madja cradles the little babe to her chest after having cut through the umbilical cord. Elain is drained, feels both mentally and physically exhausted, but all she cares about is seeing her baby. She wants to turn but she is in pain, everything hurts. She shifts and tumbles, trying to keep her eyes open, trying to search for her baby, tries to hear her baby, but there is no noise. Her lids feel heavy, her vision blurry, her head pounding, a haze lying in her head.

"Lu?" she breathlessly expresses, voice tinged with panic.

"It’s all good," he says, but his own heartbeat increases, cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. But is it truly?

Lucien helps his mate lower herself to the bed before his head whips to Madja. In the corner of his eye, he spots his mother rushing to the healer and the babe in her arms. Why isn’t the little one crying? It should be crying. Lucien heart drops into his stomach.

Time seems to slow until it comes to a full standstill. Silence falls upon the room, almost like everyone holds their breath. No one dares to move or say anything until—

A piercing cry tears through the silence, and relief settles upon everyone, most importantly Elain and Lucien begin to shed more tears.

Wrapped in a soft, light green blanket, Majda hands the tiny little bundle to Elain. With a smile on her lips she says, "Congratulations on your son, Elain, Lucien."

Elain feels a sense of joyful relief when she the newborn is placed in her arms, when she feels his presence for the very first time, no longer inside her belly but in her arms.

He is so tiny, so fragile, almost as light as a feather. Tears cascade down Elain’s flushed cheeks as she cradles the little baby in her arms.

Lucien leans in, crying tears of pure joy, and pampering his mate’s head with many kisses. And enormous sense of love floods Elain and a sob rips itself free - he is beautiful. And looks just like she imagined Lucien had looked like as a babe. The little boy’s skin is dark and atop his head he already has a dusting of auburn hair. He is tiny, almost nothing in her arms, but he is warm and soft, lying on her chest, on her rapidly beating heart.

"Lu," Elain whispers and turns her head. She kisses her mate’s cheek, wet with his and now also her own tears. "He is beautiful."

Silent sobs still leave the Vanserra male when his mother steps into him, her hands placed on his shoulders, lips pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. Lucien lifts his hand, stroking his index finger (which looks absolutely gigantic next to the little bundle) over their son’s tiny cheek.

He leans in again, his eyes shimmering with tears of joy and pride. "You were incredible, Elain. I'm so proud of you."

Madja wipes the cloth over Elain’s forehead once more before she steps away, Imala following her, giving the new parents space.

"You've brought a beautiful life into this world," she whispers before closing the door behind her.

Elain wants to thank her, but the healer is already gone, so she shifts on the bed, making room for Lucien. He slings his arm around her shoulders, letting her rest against his chest, his hand moving hers. The one she has placed on the little bundle.

Lucien leans his head against Elain’s, both their eyes focused on the little wonder in Elain‘s arms. "Ash?"

"Yes," Lucien hums, squeezing her to him, his heart beating in the same rhythm as hers. "I love it. I love you."

He revels in her scent and the soft giggle that parts her lips when she moves her index finger over the babies face, almost like she wants to memorise every little feature of their baby boy. "Ash Vanserra," she softly hums. "I already know he will be a little troublemaker, but we couldn't love him any more for it."

tags: @rippahwrites @shadowhunter2003 @my-inner-crisis @ladyelain @acourtofthought @itwasalwaysaboutthetea @multifictional @moonlightazriel @brekkershadowsinger @sunshinebingo @gracie-rosee @a-frog-with-a-laptop @aayo-whatt @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @thelovelymadone

#elucien #elain x lucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #acotar #acosf #sjmromanceweek2024

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velidewrites · 3 months

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This Ends In Fire

Everything goes wrong when Nesta Archeron crosses the Wall to find her sister. Kidnapped and trapped Under the Mountain, she must now become the very thing she swore to destroy. But there is a light in the darkness—a flicker of a flame, ready to show her a way out. If she’d only let it.

Pairing: Nesta Archeron x Eris Vanserra

Tags: Rated Explicit; Marriage of Convenience; UTM AU

Notes: My humble submission for @sjmromanceweek!

Read the Prologue on AO3 or continue below!

The mercenary had run at the first rustle of wind between the trees, leaving Nesta alone and entirely at the forest’s mercy. She should have recognised the man for the coward that he was, but, as Nesta had recently found out, hope had a rather nasty habit of making its harborer blind to other people’s intentions. The last of the silver she’d brought along for the journey had gone into the hireling’s pockets, unlikely to ever be seen again. Elain was hardly the type to chase after others, not even to protect her own interests, and, well—it wasn’t like Nesta was ever coming back to do it herself, anyway.

It was cold and dark in the forest, remnants of frost still coating some of the treetops despite winter being well and truly over. The icy weather never quite melted into spring, and seemed determined to last into the approaching summer. Perhaps it wasn’t going to leave at all.

Elain was going to be fine. Nesta wouldn’t have left otherwise, though the knowledge hadn’t made her decision any easier. The Nolan boy would not have been Nesta’s first choice by any means—no man ever would be wherever Elain was concerned—but he was the best suitor their village had to offer all the same. He seemed to enjoy Elain’s company, besides, if the hours Nesta had spent chaperoning in their garden were any indication. Nesta herself was more than inclined to leave after an hour, but Greysen Nolan kept on listening as Elain rambled on about the tulip fields far on the Continent. He’d even sworn to bring them back for her from one of his travels.

It was enough for Nesta to venture out to the forest with some peace of mind. They had money now, the source of which Nesta preferred not to ponder over. Their newfound wealth certainly had nothing to do with Father’s efforts, or lack thereof, anyway. Their clothes, their food, their very survival…it had always been Feyre.

And now, Feyre was gone.

The guilt had been eating Nesta alive for months. At first, she’d pretended not to care, and for the first few weeks it worked sufficiently enough for her to drown herself in other tasks. Housework, mostly, hiring the cook and staff and even a governess to catch Elain up on the final years of education she’d missed out on. Some days, Nesta would quietly find her way into the office, a book carefully placed in her lap as she curled up by the fireplace under the pretense of the house being too cold. In truth, she enjoyed the lessons and wanted to learn alongside them, her own education left so far back in the past it almost felt as though it had happened to someone else.

There was a kernel of truth to that—Nesta had thought of her family’s lost wealth every day in that blighted cottage, and yet she still couldn’t help but feel out of place the day it returned. She never remembered it so hollow, so empty and lifeless. Perhaps it had been Feyre, stubborn and wild, who’d made the house come alive. Even before that cottage—it had always been Feyre.

It was then that Nesta decided to go. Hiring a mercenary had been Elain’s idea, and Nesta had known better than to argue. Refusing would’ve only brought her closer to Elain volunteering herself for the journey, and that simply would not do. Here, in the human lands, Elain was safe. As safe as their kind could get, at least.

For all Nesta knew, Feyre was already dead. The thought did little to stop her—her mind was made up, and the mercenary hired and equipped with the finest iron the village smith could have procured. Whether it would be enough to pierce the beast’s thick fur and reach its heart, Nesta did not know. She could only hope.

Even if she knew hope was a weapon of the fools.

She sighed deeply, turning over her shoulder to see if the man’s footprints had dried off enough for her to keep going. At the very least, they would provide a decent path back to the village, where the mercenary was undoubtedly already headed. Should the Wall prove impenetrable after all, Nesta would know how to find her way back.

The man’s heavy panting stopped echoing through the woods when the Wall finally came into sight. Nesta knew better than to call after him; she had simply sent him away with nothing but a withering look and a curse so unbecoming of a lady of her status she only dared to utter it within the comfort of her own mind. Wretched as it was, she hoped some wolf or other predator lurking near the border would find him just in time to teach him a lesson, and, if luck was truly on her side tonight, let him take it straight to his grave. Leaving a woman alone in the woods at night was dishonourable to say the least.

It was what Feyre had done nearly every night, though, Nesta realised, that familiar guilt crashing into her like a wave once more. Ever since Father failed them, her sister would go into the forest to hunt—alone in the darkness.

Perhaps Nesta had failed her just as much.

She approached the Wall with that thought, her steps heavier somehow despite her best efforts to stay unseen. The beast that kidnapped Feyre may as well have been waiting on the other side, its claws already sharpened in anticipation. Nesta couldn’t see the other side—from where she stood, the forest simply seemed to continue well into the endless night. But Nesta knew—could practically taste the metallic tinge of magic on her tongue. It reminded her of blood.

She wondered how Feyre had withstood it—that strange feeling tingling on her skin as she stood inches from the Faerie border. As if she was being watched.

It could’ve all been in her head, Nesta thought, suddenly incredibly aware of just how loudly her heart was thudding in her chest, thrashing against her ribcage in desperation. Maybe once she crossed the Wall, it would abandon the same way the mercenary had.

What now? She’d made it all the way here—in one piece, as little consolation as it was. Nesta had no idea just how the golden beast had managed to drag Feyre to the faerie lands, but she strongly suspected her chances of succeeding were significantly smaller as a human. She had no magic—not even claws to shred that thin, metallic veil separating their worlds to pieces.

Nesta needed to find an opening.

There were cracks in the Wall. It was perhaps the only useful information she’d gotten out of the mercenary before he’d fled. If she could find a crack large enough for her to squeeze through…

She began heading eastward, at least according to Father’s old compass she’d found in one of the office drawers. Once again it wasn’t lost on her just how little the men in Nesta’s life contributed to her fate. Still, she murmured a “thank you” into the sky, hoping it would find Father in whatever corner of the world he’d sailed off to and pass along the message. It wasn’t though she’d ever get a chance to speak to him again.

Nesta was bracing for her own death.

She wasn’t exactly sure why she’d opted to walk East, but there was something about the direction that compelled her forward. The blood tasted different there, less of rust and metal and more of smoke floating above a fire. There was light somewhere out there, guiding her out of that darkness.

Or perhaps she was simply going insane.

The wind whooshed again then, tangling the loose strands of hair that had managed to find their way out of Nesta’s braid, and she stopped dead in her tracks.

It wasn’t the wind that made her halt, though, but a sound rising above the cold breeze. A loud snap—like the crack of a flame.

Slowly, Nesta turned towards the Wall.

But the Wall wasn’t there.

At first, all Nesta could see was the night—the dark sky sprawling over the hills, quiet and starless. The Wall must have been where the forest ended, where the labyrinths of moss and pine finally stretched into one, singular path.

And then, a spark.

A flash of silver that could easily be mistaken for a glittering star had it not disappeared as soon as it arrived. Had it not flickered again, and again, and again, followed by a wide, curved line of others.

Nesta stopped breathing entirely as she watched those sharp, silver teeth stretch into a smile. As wings, large and ancient like withered marble stretched over a pair of horns, over a body so large she could hardly meet its owner’s blood-red gaze.

Nesta knew what the creature was—she had seen it in her book’s illustrations, the same book the governess forbade the sisters from ever touching. The pages are cursed, she had told them. Plagued with the memory of the world we used to live in. A world unprotected by the Wall, a world of magic and monsters and death.

Right now, Death was staring right back at her. Smiling.

“Are you lost, little one?” the Attor asked, its voice like gravelly sand dragging over stone.

Nesta swallowed the fear in her throat—let it burn her voice cords to near ash as she rasped, “I am looking for someone.”

The monster’s smile widened, wings rustling as they moved to embrace her whole. “And she is looking for you.”

#the demand for this fic is low but i am nothing if not self indulgent #sjmromanceweek2024 #neris #neris fic #in which eris has fire in his blood and he fucks like it too #nesta x eris #nesta archeron x erisi vanserra #nesta archeron #nesta acotar #eris vanserra #eris acotar #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #my writing

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zenkindoflove · 3 months

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Sathia x Tharion Fanfic

Title: The Art of Seducing Your Merman Husband Relationship: Sathia Flynn/Tharion Ketos Rating: E Status: One-shot, ~3,800 words Summary: When Sathia realizes that Tharion is purposely ignoring all of her attempts at seduction, she decides on Valentine's Day that the only way to finally get her husband in her bed is to make a gesture so obvious, that even a merman with one brain cell would figure it out.

For @sjmromanceweek Day 2 prompt Valentine’s Day Traditions. Thanks to @lucienarcheron for reading and giving me great feedback, especially for the ending. ;)

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Excerpt

That’s what brought her to this moment. It was not only a Friday night, but to rub further salt in her wounds, Valentine’s Day. Instead of flowers and chocolates and going out to a nice restaurant, they both stayed late at work and Tharion brought tacos home for dinner. They watched Vanir Love on the sofa, to which Tharion had the audacity to crack a joke about how it was fitting for the holiday and could be their new tradition. As they retired for the night, Tharion decided to take a shower. As Sathia listened to the water turn on from the other side of the door, the weeks of trying and failing to seduce him all culminated in her gut. She needed to do something big. A grand gesture. Something so obvious that not even he could pretend he didn’t see.

So, she stripped off all of her clothes and opened the bathroom door.

#sjmromanceweek2024 #sathia x tharion #satharion #sarion #sathia flynn #tharion ketos #tharion x sathia #sathia ketos #crescent city fanfic #crescent city #hofas #hofas spoilers

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bearbluebooks · 3 months

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Day 5 Favorite Tropes

Friends to Lovers - Gwynriel

Gwyn and Azriel will grow their friendship with banter, late night talks, and lots of patience. The safety and trust they build together results in a love neither of them expected to find in the other person. It will be so full and all encompassing it resembles the night sky. Leaving them breathless and in constant awe. Together. Friends to lovers to mates.

@sjmromanceweek

This song resembles it to me.

It’s a sense of calm in a world full of static. It’s coming home after a storm. It’s intimacy even when it’s scary.

It’s recognition and safety through repetition. It’s a blanket of warmth, offering you shelter from the cold.

It’s lasting love.

#gwynriel #gwyn x azriel #acotar #gwyneth berdara #gwyn acosf #azriel shadowsinger #a court of silver flames #sjmromanceweek2024 #sjmromanceweek #Gwynriel aesthetic #mood board #acotar moodboard #Spotify

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clockwork-ashes · 3 months

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@sjmromanceweek

Summary: Gwyn and Az go on their first date.

Gwyn had been feeling remarkably brave lately.

Just a couple of months ago, Gwyn had started going on weekly outings with Nesta and Emerie in the city, simply because she felt like it. Just last week, she’d spent several days in Dawn studying some ancient scrolls with no one but Merrill and Ananke as company. Just yesterday, Gwyn had gone with Azriel, Nesta, and Cassian to a new bookshop-cafe overlooking the Sidra.

And just that morning, when Azriel had suggested they go for dessert – only the two of them – Gwyn had said yes without a moment’s hesitation.

Gwyn had, of course, run to Nesta with the news. Gwyn had found her friend curled up on the comfortable couch by one of the library windows, reading a new book. She had thrown herself at the seat, speaking quickly and without a care about having interrupted Nesta’s quiet reading.

“I have to tell Cassian,” Nesta had said, triumph in her blue-grey eyes, her book forgotten at her side. “I knew it, I’ve been telling Cass all week that Az was going to ask you on a date.”

Gwyn had hoped that was what Azriel had been intending, but she had not been entirely sure. All the same, when Nesta had offered to braid her hair and help her find a pretty dress, Gwyn had been quick to take her up on the offer.

Az had come to her dressed in all-black, looking as lovely as ever, and acting as though there was nothing happening that was out of the ordinary.

When Az had taken her hand in his much larger one to winnow them from the House of Wind onto the still-sunny streets of Velaris, Gwyn had brushed it off as a friendly gesture. When Az had not immediately let go, and then had proceeded to interlock their fingers as he led her down the busy, pedestrian-filled walkways, Gwyn still wondered if perhaps she was overthinking and simply assuming Azriel had any sort of romantic intentions.

Perhaps Nesta’s enthusiastic claim that Cassian now owed her for always being right about everything had given Gwyn the wrong impression and had unnecessarily raised her hopes.

Two slices of cake and three cups of coffee later, Gwyn could state with great confidence that Azriel had, in fact, asked her out on a date.

Azriel was holding her hand again as they left the quiet cafe, and Gwyn’s cheeks hurt from how much she’d been smiling. His shadows were trailing lazily behind them, more coming to follow now that the sun had gone down. Azriel held her hand as they walked along the city streets, undeniably so much lovelier at night, all the way back to the House of Wind.

“I don’t believe you.”

“And yet,” Azriel said, a smile in the tone of his voice.

“Black can’t be your favourite colour,” Gwyn shook her head, a few copper strands of hair freeing themselves from her intricate braid, “Too predictable.”

“I also like very, very dark shades of blue,” he replied, amusement lacing the words.

Gwyn’s laughter was loud, unguarded, as Azriel winnowed them right to her room, just outside her door.

“I had a really nice time,” Gwyn told him, hoping he felt the same. She placed her hand on the doorknob just in case Azriel had had an awful night and she needed to escape to her room and not have to face him until training.

“That’s a relief,” Az smiled, and Gwyn thought she had never seen anything lovelier. “Nesta threatened to gut me with a soup spoon if you came home unhappy.”

Gwyn laughed and one of Azriel’s shadows darted towards the fingers she still had lingering by the door.

“Goodnight, Gwyn.”

Gwyn was planning to wish Azriel a goodnight, maybe even be forward enough to suggest they do something like this again sometime soon.

The Gwyn of a few months ago would have done just that, but she was feeling a small pull, ever so gentle, towards Azriel. And, as Gwyn had noticed, she was feeling remarkably brave lately.

Azriel was standing so close, his wings making it seem as though only the space between them existed. Holding his wrist, careful to make it quick so she would not lose her courage, Gwyn got on the tips of her toes and kissed Azriel, only for a brief moment, on the lips. She felt her cheeks burning, her heart beating thunderously in her ears.

“Good night,” Gwyn breathed, rushing into her room to rather rudely slam the door shut. Despite her best efforts not to give Azriel one last look, she still managed to catch the surprised smile on his face.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #gwyneth berdara #azriel #gwynriel #gwyn x azriel #sjmromanceweek2024 #ashes writes sometimes

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c-e-d-dreamer · 3 months

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You Are Not the Kind of Boy (Who Should Be Marrying the Wrong Girl): Part One

A/N: happy happy @sjmromanceweek! Don't you just love the first date of... (checks notes) being ruined by your older sister's lover bursting into her wedding? It's how all the great first dates start! 😉 I hope everyone enjoys this Elucien sequel to But I'm Only Looking At You! You don't have to have read the Nessian part to understand, but you do need to know that Cassian ruined Nesta and subsequently Elain and Feyre before this fic's timeline. This is the first of three parts I'll be posting for Romance Week 🥰

Read on AO3 // Next Part

Three Months Ago

The music drifts through the large, arching doorway, the sound light and lilting as its melody fills the room. It wraps around Elain's limbs, floating above into the high ceiling and the chandelier hanging there. Elain can't help but hum along quietly to the familiar tune, even as she tilts her head to admire the painting displayed before her. It's a beautiful landscape, light brushstrokes of white perfectly capturing the clouds in the sky, dots of color in the foreground to mimic wildflowers.

“My lady.”

Elain nearly jumps out of her skin at the sudden voice, even as the familiarity of that tone sends goosebumps cascading down her arms. She turns her head to the gentleman now standing beside her. His fitted waistcoat is a deep green color, the intricate gold stitching exactly the type of luxury Elain expects from a Duke's son. Still, the color compliments his red hair, the strands left loose to hang around his face. Even with the fox mask he's chosen to don for the evening's festivities, there's no mistaking him.

Lucien Spellcleaver.

He keeps his hands tucked neatly behind his back, his eyes firmly forward on the painting before them. But Elain doesn't miss the way his fingers seem to flex, the bob of his throat as he swallows, and she certainly doesn't miss the way a smirk tugs up the left side of his lips at her continued attention. Since making Lucien's acquaintance and through their continued interactions, Elain has begun to suspect he's more scoundrel than lord, all teasing smirks and snarky remarks. He finally turns to meet her gaze, his eyes practically glinting beneath the light of the chandelier, one russet and one gold.

“You look lovely this evening,” Lucien tells her, Elain swearing he sounds almost breathless as he says it. “That color suits you.”

Elain is glad for her own mask to hide the blush that crashes across her cheeks, but she ducks her head nonetheless. “Thank you, your Grace.”

She turns back to the painting, if only to break the intensity of his stare, the spell that seems wrapped up in that gaze, curling around her chest like a golden thread and tugging her into him. Perhaps, if she stares hard enough at the painted wildflowers, her face will stop being the same shade of pink as her dress. Thankfully, Lucien seems content to simply stand beside her, barely a hairsbreadth keeping their arms from brushing together.

“Thesan has good taste,” Lucien breaks the quiet to comment. “Clear from this evening's masquerade as well. Are you enjoying the festivities, my lady?”

“Yes. I have particularly enjoyed the music.”

“And yet I have not yet seen you grace the dance floor.”

“Perhaps, I am still waiting for the right partner,” Elain dares to say, turning back toward Lucien only to find his stare already pinned on her.

His hand reaches forward in the space between them, his fingers skating down Elain's arm before curling around her wrist. Elain just barely swallows down the gasp at that simple touch, her heart beginning to pound between her ribs. She feels frozen, unable to move or look away as Lucien pulls her hand closer to him, as his fingers unfold her dance card. She watches him scrawl his name, expects him to drop her hand once he's finished, but instead, he merely lifts her hand higher, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. His lips linger against her skin far longer than is proper, a fire practically burning in his eyes, but still Elain doesn't move, doesn't breathe.

It's only when Lucien finally releases her hand, when he finally steps away and vanishes back into the ballroom and amongst the ball’s guests, that Elain releases a quiet, gasping breath. She runs her hands down the skirts of her dress, trying desperately to calm her thundering heart, and when she looks at her dance card to see which dance Lucien has claimed, she finds his name written in large, looping letters diagonally across the entire booklet.

A scoundrel indeed.

~ * * * ~

Today

The carriage jerks beneath them, jostling lightly as the horse tugs them down the road. The silence is suffocating, the air tense and thick enough in the tight space that Elain feels like she could choke on it. She keeps her eyes firmly out the window, watching the shops, the houses, the people that the carriage passes.

She doesn’t dare to look at the other faces of her family, least of all her mother. The ire radiating off of Eleanor Archeron is palpable and stifling and has Elain’s whole body tensing in anticipation. And it’s not even directed at her. Nesta’s fingers are twisted tight enough in the skirts of her dress that Elain can see the white knuckles even in her periphery. Elain’s own fingers twitch with the desire to reach out, to squeeze Nesta’s hands in soothing comfort, but there’s no saving her older sister from what’s coming, not after what’s happened, what Nesta did.

Elain still can’t even wrap her head around it. She had known, of course, that there was something between her sister and Cassian MacLeod. He had practically followed Nesta around wherever they went, and Elain can still remember the night their mother had thrown a stack of letters from him into the fire, can still remember hearing Nesta cry through the wall their bedrooms share. But she never thought Nesta would do this, never thought she’d take things so far so as to lay with a man unwed.

The carriage finally pulls to a stop, and the footman has barely pulled the door open before Feyre is rushing out, clearly just as desperate as Elain to escape the cloying mood trapped within the carriage. The rest of the family clambers out in stoic silence, and finally, with a soft sigh, Elain slips out of the carriage. Nesta hesitates at the bottom of the front steps, so Elain steps around her, giving her sister the moment she clearly needs and following her parents inside their home.

But once they’re all inside, once the front door has closed with a too loud snick the echoes like a death knell, all hell breaks loose.

Elain supposes there is some benefit to them having to dismiss their staff. There’s no one to see the rage burning across their mother’s face as she whirls around on Nesta. No one to hear the slap that rings out in the front hall as the back of Eleanor’s hand strikes across Nesta’s cheek.

“You stupid girl,” their mother seethes, already raising her hand again despite Nesta’s flinch. “What were you thinking?”

“Mama, please. I didn’t—”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Everything I have done for you. All that work I put in. And for what? For you to spread your legs like a common whore, and for some filthy factory rat of all things?”

Feyre steps closer to Elain, looping their arms together as they stand tensely, awkwardly, while everything unfolds, but Elain can’t watch the way their mother explodes around them a moment longer. She swallows hard and averts her gaze, focusing on the shadows that stretch across the floors and walls from the sun spilling through the windows.

“I hope you’re happy,” their mother continues. “You’ve always been a disappointment to the Archeron name, and now, you have thoroughly ruined it. You’ve ruined us all. You’ve ruined your sisters. Is that what you wanted? Perhaps, you can teach them the proper ways to pleasure a man for when they end up on the street trying to rub pennies together.”

The words are enough to draw Elain’s attention back, to spear straight through her chest. Despite the cruelty of their mother’s words, there’s no denying the underlying truth to them. Elain doubts the Mandrays will keep quiet about what happened this morning, that word will quickly burn through the ton like a wildfire. She’s sure that the next time they go to the market, everyone will stare, will look down their noses, will whisper and gossip about the Archeron girls.

She’s sure that no respectable gentleman will want to go anywhere near them.

That thought has Elain’s heart twisting tightly in her chest, pain blooming surely enough that it takes everything within her not to press her hand against the ache. It has her stomach roiling until she thinks she might be sick, until the taste of bile starts to tickle the back of her throat. She thinks of Lucien, of the way he had danced with her all night at Thesan’s masquerade ball. Of the way he called on her almost every day before her mother sent the staff away and put an end to any and all callers. Of the way he found her in the market just the other day and teased her about her ribbon selection.

Lucien. A Duke’s son. Someone who will need legitimate heirs, and not someone whose honor will forever be questioned.

Eleanor lets out a long sigh, holding her hand to her head as if this whole conversation is tortuous and sickening to her. Their father, doting as ever, rushes forward. He curls an arm around his wife’s waist, murmuring gentle words before he leads her away up the stairs.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Feyre demands as soon as they’re alone.

Nesta crosses her arms across her chest, glancing away from her sisters and swallowing hard. “I didn’t know he was going to do that. I didn’t… I didn’t know he was going to ruin us all.”

“But why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, Feyre,” Nesta snaps, her voice exasperated. “It’s not like I asked him to do that. He’s an idiot.”

“But you care about him, and I’m quite sure he cares for you. I saw—”

“It doesn’t matter anyways.”

“Who will marry us now?” Elain whispers, cutting off her sisters’ arguing, her eyes beginning to burn with the familiar heat of tears.

“Elain…” Nesta begins, her voice gentle, but it’s as though she doesn’t quite know what to say.

Elain knows it’s silly, knows that her sisters never quite felt the same or understood, but she had looked forward to what her future could hold. She had looked forward to finding a husband. Ideally, a love match, but she would also be happy with a man who was simply kind. She had looked forward to tending to a house, to being the mistress of a manor. She had looked forward to being a mother.

And most recently, Elain couldn’t help but imagine what it might be like to be a duchess. Imagine small, running feet and shocks of bright, red hair. Imagine a certain Duke’s son with a child on his shoulders and offering her that roguish smile of his. Imagine his arms around her as securely as the night at Thesan’s masquerade ball.

Elain scrubs at her cheeks, at the tears sliding down across her skin, and turns on her heel. She ignores Feyre calling her name, making her way up the stairs and to her bedroom. She closes the door firmly behind her, crumpling into her vanity chair and sniffling quietly. The ribbon she had gotten earlier in the week still sits there, and almost absentmindedly, Elain traces along it with her finger.

If she closes her eyes, she can still perfectly imagine that day, can still remember walking through the market, the sights and the sounds of the ton soaring on the late summer breeze around her. Lucien had all but followed her into the ribbon shop, offering another of his roguish smiles and a flourished bow. He hadn’t been fazed when Elain teased him about a gentleman in a ribbon shop, insisting he was merely looking for himself, in need of something to tie back his hair with.

There was no stopping the lightness that flooded through Elain’s chest, the warmth that twined around her heart, the quiet laugh that was pulled past her lips, as Lucien held up different ribbons and asked for her opinion on each one. Elain had settled on the ribbon with gold stitching and suns woven into the lace, telling Lucien it complimented his hair and eyes well. In retrospect, perhaps she shouldn't have been so surprised when the exact same ribbon had been delivered to her the next day.

Elain’s fingers curl tightly around the ribbon, frustration beginning to spark through her veins. It burns away any numbness, any anguish, over the events of the day. It’s unfair. It’s entirely and completely unfair, and Elain refuses to tolerate it for another moment. She will no longer sit idly by. If this is to be her life, her future now, then she at least deserves to do one last thing.

With a quiet huff, Elain pushes back up to her feet, her determination solidified and her resolve hardened. She throws open her wardrobe doors, digging around the back until she finds a dark colored cloak, pulling it on and making sure the hood covers her hair and casts her face in shadow.

It’s with slow, deliberate carefulness that Elain pulls open her bedroom door, making sure the creak of the wood can’t be heard. She glances both ways down the hall, ensuring it’s all clear before tiptoeing her way toward the service stairs and following them down to the kitchen. The kitchen is quiet and dark, just as Elain expects, no one in the family stepping foot down here even with the staff dismissed. It makes it all too easy to unlatch the back door and slip out of the manor all together.

The sun has already started to set, strokes of pinks and oranges and purples painted across the sky above, blending with the wisps of clouds. The entire world is washed in soft light, glinting off the leaves and flowers. The light and late afternoon breeze turns the field just behind the manor into a rolling sea of gold, turns the willow tree Elain can see a little further ways up into a glittering fountain.

Hiking up her skirts to avoid getting mud on the hem, Elain begins her trek through the field. She keeps to the trees rather than the main road, tucking her chin down so the shadow cast by her hood hides her face any time she passes by anyone else. But soon the large, gravel pathway comes into view, winding up to the large estate that looms before her.

Three stories worth of tall windows stretch far to Elain’s left and right. The center of the estate juts out slightly further than the east and west wings, columns and beautiful arches only adding to the elegance. With the light of the fading day hitting and reflecting off the white bricks, the entire estate seems to glow as though it’s an embodiment of the sun itself.

Elain takes a moment to breathe deeply, to roll and square her shoulders. The walk here has done little to soften the resolve that hardened her spine, that fire of determination still blazing through her veins. But there’s no denying the spark of nerves low in her gut, the flutter of butterflies in her chest. Still, if Elain’s future is to be what everyone says it will be, if everything she’s ever wanted really is no longer within reach, then Elain intends to take this one thing that’s just for her.

With a decided nod, Elain makes her way up the gravel pathway toward the estate, veering off to the right before she reaches the front door. Lucien had mentioned how he loved to watch the sunset over the water from his room, so she’s quite sure that means his rooms must be in the western wing.

As Elain winds around the side of the estate, trying to figure out how she’ll identify which window is Lucien’s, she finds the man in question lounging in the grass beside the lake’s edge. He’s dressed casually, merely a pair of pants that hug the thick lines of his thighs, and a simple, white shirt tucked into the waistband, the laces around the neck loose and teasing a sliver of golden skin and collarbones. His red hair hangs around his face and shoulders, strands dancing in the breeze and whispering across his cheeks.

He has a book opened in his hands, and he doesn’t seem to hear Elain as she steps closer, so she awkwardly clears her throat, drawing the attention of those beautiful russet and gold eyes.

“Elain,” Lucien exclaims, closing his book and scrambling up to his feet. “How are—I heard about what happened. With your sister.”

“Word certainly travels fast around the ton,” Elain sighs, fiddling with the skirts of her dress. She was hoping Lucien wouldn’t know, that she would still have the benefit of ignorance on her side if only for tonight.

Lucien steps closer to her, his hand raising up into the space between them before he hesitates and drops it back down to his side. “And are you alright?”

The question takes Elain by surprise, and for a moment, she can do nothing but blink up at Lucien in confusion. She should have known. Should have known that Lucien was too much of a good man to judge her, to cast stones the way she’s sure the ton and its gossip machine have been doing as soon as the Mandrays stepped out of that church.

“As well as I can be,” Elain finally answers. “Now that my season is ruined. Now that I’m ruined.”

“You’re not ruined, Elain,” Lucien assures her, a frown tugging down his lips.

“You’re being kind, but you don’t need to lie to me. I’m not stupid. I mean, what sensible man will want to marry me now?”

“I’m sure there’s a man who would be very honored to call you his wife. Quite confident in fact.”

“Stop being kind,” Elain huffs, crossing her arms across her chest. “But it’s alright. I’ve accepted it now. It’s actually why I’m here.”

“All you have to do is say the word,” Lucien tells her, taking her hands in his own. His touch is surprisingly warm, surprisingly gentle the way his fingers curl around her own. “And you know that I will help you. Happily.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that.” Elain steps closer still to Lucien, biting her lip and peering up at him from under her lashes. “Because I could use your help. Now that the whole ton will think I’ve laid with a man just as Nesta has, I figured I might as well make it a reality.”

“Elain,” Lucien begins, taking a step back from her.

“I just want one thing for myself. One thing that I want, that I choose, that can’t be taken from me.”

“I get that, I do, but I do not want to be the one that ruins your honor. Don’t you think it best to wait until you are wed?”

“You aren’t listening, Lucien. My honor is already ruined, and no one is going to marry me.”

“That’s not true. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Elain, I—”

Before Lucien can finish speaking, Elain crowds back into his space and surges up onto her toes, crashing her lips against his. It’s a bit awkward, merely a press of lips, but excitement still cascades through Elain’s entire being, fueling her and begging for more. After a moment, Lucien starts to relax, his hands moving to cradle her jaw before they’re sliding down her neck to her shoulders, gently pulling her away.

“Elain…”

“Don’t you want me too?”

“I can assure you that’s not the issue here.”

“Lucien, please.”

Lucien sighs softly, lifting a hand to push up and through his hair. “How can you ever expect me to say no to you when I would gladly do anything for you?”

“I don’t,” Elain tells him matter-of-factly, pressing her body fully against his until her breasts press against his chest, their hips aligned flush together.

“Fuck,” Lucien mumbles beneath his breath. “If we… just promise that after, we can talk. Properly. About this.”

“Of course.”

It’s a lie. Elain has every intention of leaving after tonight, of walking away from Lucien completely. No matter what she wants. No matter the way her heart quakes and shutters at the idea. But she simply can’t stomach it, the idea of dragging Lucien down with her. She could never mar his future with the dark, roiling clouds that are now firmly casted over her own.

After tonight, Elain will ensure that she doesn’t stand in the way of everything that Lucien deserves, that’s his birthright as the son of a Duke.

But Lucien doesn’t need to know that.

—

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

#elucien #sjmromanceweek2024 #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #pro elucien #elucien fanfiction #elucien fic #elain x lucien #acotar #my fic

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mariaofdoranelle · 3 months

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Catastrophic Blues

Written for @sjmromanceweek

Prompt: Favorite tropes (exes to lovers yay!)

I wrote most of this oneshot a year ago, and I never posted because it’s so sad, and also it’s the only time I fully trauma dumped on my fics. Anyway. Enjoy this thing that was based on one of the most pathetic days of my life lol

Warnings: none?

Words: 2,2k

The low lighting the uber had at night only called more attention to the cold, churning mess that was Aelin’s stomach. It was the lack of something to focus on when what she needs right now is sensory overload. The smell of alcohol, loud music, strobe lights.

Aelin wanted to focus on anything that wasn’t her destination—or who she’d meet there.

It was fine. She was fine.

It was Fenrys' birthday. The cheeriest of Aelin's cheery friends. Aelin definitely couldn't miss his birthday. Today was about Fenrys, and not the ex-boyfriend who was also invited.

But Aelin was fine. It wasn't a big deal. It’d been more than a month since they broke up, and Rowan even texted her asking if she’d be comfortable if he brought his new girl tonight.

How considerate of him.

But Aelin agreed, with no regrets. The only thing she regretted was merging her group of friends with her ex-boyfriend when they were dating. That was something she’d keep in mind for the next time she met someone.

Out of the car and in front of the bar, Aelin let the cool summer breeze wash her nerves away. He was probably in there already, always on time. She knew this would eventually happen when they broke up and decided to stay friends for the sake of the gang. There was no need for her to freak out—good thing she wasn't. And if she acted weirdly today, what would Rowan do a month from now?

The crowded place was booming with laughter and drunken yells, busy waiters running around the place, barely paying attention to the graceless group of friends singing Bohemian Rhapsody at karaoke.

A large hand gripped her waist, turning her towards the source, and Aelin met a smiling pair of onyx eyes.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

“Fen!” She hugged her friend and handed him his present, wishing him a happy birthday.

“Everyone’s at a big table back there, and…” Fenrys trailed, trying to read something on Aelin’s expression. Whatever words he was about to say died in his throat.

Aelin crossed her arms. “Spill.”

He shrugged. “You’re hotter than her.”

Lyria, he meant. And Aelin agreed, she was definitely hotter. It wasn’t hard to find Rowan’s new girl on Instagram after she commented a red heart on his last picture like a dog peeing on the comment section for territory. She found out about it even before he told her himself.

Aelin narrowed her eyes at Fen. “I’m over him.”

He shrugged. “Just thought you’d like to hear it.”

Her smirk was met with a similar one from Fenrys. He knows her too well.

Then Aelin shook her head, chastising herself for such thoughts. She was the one to end things, due to her… distressing circumstances. She had no right to shame Rowan for settling for a less hot person.

It’s not like she cared, anyway.

Stepping onto the back of the bar, Aelin quickly spotted the table and greeted everyone—including the lovebirds.

Rowan was stiff like a robot, and Lyria was polite. Bland. Guess he lied when he said he liked Aelin’s fiery personality and the way they clashed, since his new girlfriend is the total opposite. He’d probably still be his dutiful self to her in a month, and Aelin would be in Suria with rows of men—or vodka, most likely—lying at her feet.

She sat beside Elide and ordered a non-alcoholic beer—the doctor had cleared her to drink alcohol with moderation by now, but she didn’t want to risk it. Connall decided to restart whatever work gossip he was telling to keep Aelin in the loop.

She was paying attention, or at least she was trying to, but—why did Rowan shave off his beard? God, she loved his jawline. How it looked so firm by far, but felt so soft under her lips and teeth. Aelin could still remember how his beard tickled against her skin when he decided to grow it, or even better, the feeling of it against her thighs when he--

"Ace, are you alright?" Elide whispered in her ear, "You look a little lost."

Aelin blinked, trying to focus on her friends. Apart from Ellie, no one noticed she'd zoned out. Looking back at her friend, Aelin nodded, a small smile on her lips.

Her friend arched one eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

Rolling her eyes, Aelin chuckled. "Of course."

Looking back at everyone, she caught Rowan’s eyes on her. Busted, the only thing left for him to do was send her a small, close-lipped smile and tip his head to the Heineken 0.0% she clutched. Aelin raised it and took a long swig, letting the bitter beverage go down throat, the feeling so close to the real thing.

He feels proud of her growth. Not a big deal when he keeps a perky brunette under his arm.

But she knew this feeling was just an initial clash of their lives apart. Aelin was fine, she truly was. Her feelings towards Rowan would never be the same she had to a regular friend, because the nature of their memories together was different. Erasing their history was impossible, so it was either fully leave or learn how to live in the shadows of what they used to be.

This hollowness she felt in her chest was just an initial shock, an adjustment. Aelin wasn't the only person in the world to lose the love of her life, and some of them even did great after that, with their second-best significant ones.

No one can keep every good thing that happens in their life forever. Even if said good best thing is right there, standing in front of you.

Actually, she was wrong. Aelin did keep Rowan in her life. As a friend. Which was enough, and just what she needed.

“…Right, Ace?”

Aelin blinked, being dragged out of her thoughts back into the conversation. “Excuse me?”

Elide sighed. “The birthday cake, Fenrys got it from Emrys’. Isn’t that the place you recommended to him?”

“Oh.” Aelin blinked. “Yes. Absolutely, yes. They’re the best.”

Ellie gave her a quick look that was hard to decipher, but maybe it was time for Aelin to pay attention.

And pay attention she did. She leaned on the table and held her chin under her palm. Turns out the owners of Emrys’ are regulars at the motel Fenrys works at. Disgusting news to hear, and Connall agreed with her unshared thoughts. Fenrys accused his brother of being homophobic, since they’re talking about a gay couple. Connall retorted, saying that he can’t be homophobic if he’s gay, and it’s not prejudice if he hates everyone equally.

The twins bickered on and on. Rowan watched them as if it was a tennis match, with undiluted attention, while Lyria seemed endlessly amused by it.

Aelin wished she had stayed home.

But she came here for Fenrys, and for Fenrys she stayed. And stayed and stayed and stayed until that fucking song started playing. For Mala’s sake, today was not her day.

Aelin looked around, trying not to be too obvious that she was looking at them. Trying not to look too much or too little.

He's got a one-hand feel on the steering wheel, the other on my heart.

Rowan took Lyria's hand and held it against his chest.

Just like he used to do with her.

Aelin swallowed, her chest shrinking. She was going to be sick.

She excused herself and got up, walking to another section of the bar near the restrooms where she couldn't be seen from the table, and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes.

Breathe in.

She could still feel the shape of Rowan’s lips against hers.

Breathe out.

She could still feel the weight of his body above hers.

Breathe in.

She could still feel his calloused hands caressing her bare back in bed.

Breathe out.

Her heart was beating just as much as on the day she finally got the courage to cuddle him after sex, almost two years ago. When she first rested her head on the crook of his neck, Aelin scented her favorite version of Rowan’s smell because it was completely ingrained with hers. And she did it again. And again. And again. Her hand could trace the shape of him even that long after the last time they were together. She hated how much she'd cling to those small details, and she hated even more that she cared about this. Because she did. Aelin would barely admit it to herself, but of course she did.

She took a deep breath, ignored her quivering stomach and schooled herself, walking to the bar's counter.

The man next to her leaned on the counter so much he was half laid in it, but he still managed to turn his piercing blue eyes at Aelin and smile.

"Can’t find a bartender," he complained, his speech slurred. "I need a beer."

Aelin chuckled, leaning her forearms on the surface too. "And I need water."

He raised his head a little. "I'm Dorian."

"Aelin." She looked at him up and down, from the fumbled hair to the rumpled clothes and untied shoes. “Are you sure the bartenders aren’t bartending you on purpose?”

“I’m sure they are.”

“Huh.” Aelin scanned the liquor selection, tempted. She really was doing better with this new medication, and Dr. Hafiza cleared her for an occasional drink. She could definitely use a drink now. Instead, she tilted her head at Dorian and said, “Did you lose a puppy or something? Or this is just your usual Friday night?”

He ran a hand through his hair and grinned at her, so confident it reminded her of Fenrys. "My answer depends on whether you're giving me your number or not."

Aelin snorted. She thought of how satisfying it would be to watch Rowan watch her leave the bar with someone else, but a drunk wouldn't do. Besides, this wasn't a competition. Aelin had already lost.

"Not a chance. Spill."

He sighed and slumped again on the countertop, hitting his head against it.

"My situationship doesn't see me as dating material."

Aelin grimaced. "That sucks"

He waved a hand, dismissing her pity. "You?"

Her mind went back to a year ago, how he stood by her side, red-rimmed green eyes when Aelin became a shell of herself. How his anxiety skyrocketed when hers did too. How well he was doing now that she wasn't his problem anymore.

A bitter chuckle left her lips. "My sadness is contagious."

Dorian rolled his eyes. “I just bared my soul to you, and this is what you tell me?”

“You did not!”

“I’m gonna get another drink if you don’t entertain me.”

“Is this a threat?”

“Absolutely, yes.”

Aelin sighed, looking up while she gathered her thoughts. “I broke up with my boyfriend.”

“Obviously.”

“Because I was bringing him down. No drama. We decided to not break up our group of friends.”

“No drama, you said?”

“He’s with his new girlfriend at the back of the bar and all my friends are schmoozing with her now.”

“I sense drama.”

“And we have a trip booked for next month we didn’t discuss.”

“Paid it all before the breakup, huh?”

Aelin nodded and ordered two waters before they traded stories about their pathetic love lives. She didn’t know how long they stayed there, neither if she liked Dorian or just this escape from the table from hell, but being here was a respite.

They were about six Tinder horror stories in when a hand landed on Aelin’s shoulder, making her jump, heart racing with surprise.

Rowan stood beside her with his trademark frown. “It’s been a while since you left the table.”

“Yup.” What was she supposed to say?

He jutted his chin towards Dorian. “Is he bothering you?”

“Not at all.” She squared her shoulders, trying to find a light way to describe their pity party. “This is Dorian. I’m getting funny dating stories out of him before I call an uber and send him back to his world of heartless women and tawdry men.”

“I see,” he trailed, eyes trained on them, and took a step back. “Okay. I have to go back there, but if you—“

“I know.” She waved him off. He needed to be at the table and be a good boyfriend to someone else, she got it.

Aelin was fully aware that her mind was going on a petty path, but she couldn’t help it. Yes, Lyria was nice. Yes, Lyria had been nothing but polite to her the entire night. The only problem was that Lyria was dating the wrong person. Or the perfect one, if Aelin wanted to address her issues more directly.

She banged her head against the disgusting counter, resting there to contemplate this rare moment of self-pity.

Aelin dug her own grave.

Dorian had his eyebrows raised. “Damn, he’s hot.”

“And thoughtful.”

“I wasn’t thinking about his thoughtfulness when he murdered me with his eyes.”

“He did not.”

“He did. And you know why.”

“I do not.” Aelin sipped her water. “Anyway, what happened to the guy who was cheating on his wife with you?”

Dorian’s eyes sparkled with the memory of this unfinished divorce story, and she was thankful to get the spotlight of the conversation away from her.

Unlike Aelin, Rowan had his shit together and was happy. She wouldn't—actually, she couldn't—disturb this little peace he found after she cut him off.

Her selfishness only went so far.

Read part 2 here

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#rowaelin #throne of glass #oneshot #sjmromanceweek2024 #sjmromanceweek #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan x aelin #aelin x rowan #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass fanfic

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starsreminisce · 3 months

Text

SJM Romance Week Day One First Date

Elain took a deep breath, attempting to focus on the breakfast spread before her. She scooped up a spoonful of fruit, trying to quell the fluttering butterflies in her stomach, but her efforts were futile.

She regretted teasing Lucien by jokingly asking if their outing to the Day Court was a date. What had possessed her to say such a thing, and with such bashfulness that bordered on flirtation? Yet, the mere sight of his half-smirk, a telltale sign that he was up to mischief, was enough to set her heart racing and her cheeks flushing pink.

It had only been a few weeks since they had found themselves engaged in conversation during the Starfall Ball. It felt as though fate had drawn them together, and Elain, lonely for stimulating company, couldn't bring herself to leave his side. From the moment their eyes met, she knew she was captivated.

"I find it fascinating that we, as fae, have our holidays while humans seem to revel in celebrations just for the sake of it," Lucien remarked, his tone casual.

"We weren't privy to your holidays," Elain replied, her stomach knotting with nerves.

"You don't have anything akin to Nynsar or Starfall?" another member of their circle inquired.

Elain smiled faintly, shaking her head. "No, we're not familiar with those."

"I wouldn't expect much from humans," the individual remarked dismissively.

Elain's jaw clenched, but before she could respond diplomatically, Lucien interjected.

"Which perhaps lends more significance to their celebrations," he remarked, his russet eye flashing with intensity. "We celebrate out of obligation, while humans celebrate purely for joy."

"Don't underestimate humans' capacity for using obligation as an excuse for revelry," Elain retorted, meeting his gaze head-on.

A glint danced in Lucien's eyes, a soft hum emanating from his mechanical one. "And yet, their celebrations are undoubtedly more enjoyable than this dull affair."

Elain found herself laughing, unable to stifle the sound as it bubbled up. "And how do you imagine they would celebrate?"

With a smirk, Lucien glanced around conspiratorially. "I imagine the Cavendishes would host a grand ball, much to the chagrin of the Raleighs."

Elain's laughter rang out louder, and she covered her mouth, aware of the two families' longstanding rivalry. As others in the group inquired about the families, Lucien looked to Elain for confirmation, and she eagerly supplied details, finding herself drawn into conversation. Lucien eventually excused himself, passing by Elain with a whispered tease about the upcoming nuptials between Celeste Cavendish and Ambrose Raleigh.

Hooked on his words, Elain seized his wrist, demanding more information. Lucien winked at her mischievously before slipping away.

In the following weeks, their interactions became habitual. Elain would wait for Lucien before his meetings with Rhys, and he would regale her with gossip and stories. Their conversations evolved, delving into personal matters and offering advice on family disputes.

When Lucien mentioned that he wouldn't be meeting with Rhys as usual, Elain couldn't hide her disappointment. She expressed her desire to attend the Day Court, prompting Lucien to offer her company.

"Is this your way of asking for a date?" she teased, her heart racing at the thought.

"Do you want it to be one?" Lucien replied, his smirk sending shivers down her spine.

She felt her pulse quicken, her cheeks flushing. "No, I'm just tired of being cooped up here."

"Then let me remedy that," Lucien's voice lowered, a hint of seduction lacing his words, causing her breath to catch.

And so, she found herself here, getting ready under the guise to roam around Velaris. Feyre was at work in her studio and Rhysand would be overseeing some project in the Illyrian mountains. She paced to calm her nerves but it still did little. She could feel the bond between her and Lucien tighten and stepped outside to greet him… and the pegasus he was stroking the neck.

As Elain approached, her heart leapt at the sight of the majestic pegasus, its wings spread wide as if embracing the sky. "Lucien," she breathed, her voice filled with awe.

The pegasus turned its head towards her, its large, intelligent eyes meeting hers with a knowing gaze. Elain couldn't help but squeal in delight as the horse nuzzled her hand, its warmth and presence grounding her nerves.

"Helion does have a flair for the dramatic," Lucien remarked with a snort, his gaze fond as he stroked the pegasus's neck. "You can imagine my surprise when she showed up at my apartment."

Elain turned to Lucien, surprised by his revelation. "You now reside in Velaris?" she inquired, curious.

"Not entirely," Lucien replied cryptically, evading her question with a small smile.

With a gentle hand, Lucien guided Elain closer to the pegasus. "Here, let me help you up," he offered, his voice warm and reassuring.

As Elain stepped closer, Lucien's strong arms encircled her waist, lifting her effortlessly onto the horse's back. She felt a rush of excitement mingled with a sense of security as she settled into the saddle, her pulse quickening at the proximity of Lucien behind her.

With practiced ease, Lucien swung himself up behind her, settling himself comfortably against her back. Despite the chill of the air around them, Elain felt a comforting warmth radiating from his body, enveloping her in a cocoon of safety and reassurance.

"You sounded so excited," Lucien commented softly, his breath warm against her ear. "It's infectious."

Elain couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at her lips, her heart fluttering at his words. With Lucien behind her and the pegasus beneath them, she felt a sense of exhilaration and anticipation coursing through her veins as they prepared to take flight.

A gentle nudge from Lucien, the pegasus spread its wings and leaped gracefully into the air. Elain's laughter rang out joyfully as the wind rushed past them, the city of Velaris shrinking below them as they soared higher and higher.

With an equally graceful descent, the pegasus touched down in the courtyard of the Day Court, and Lucien helped Elain dismount, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. As they stood together, facing the magnificent structure before them, Elain felt a sense of wonder and anticipation for the adventures that awaited them within the halls of the Day Court.

But their excitement was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of a striking woman adorned in the traditional Day Court attire, her kohl-rimmed eyes flashing with impatience.

“Lord Helion is unable to see you today,” the woman stated sternly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Lucien's expression remained indifferent. “And yet he sends me his pegasus to meet him,” he remarked dryly.

The woman's demeanor softened slightly, though she still appeared unimpressed. “Lord Helion sends his regrets, but you two are free to wander wherever you please,” she replied before turning on her heel and departing.

As the woman disappeared into the bustling courtyard, Elain couldn't help but suppress a coy smile. “If you wanted to ask me on a date, you don’t need all the false pretense,” she teased.

Lucien chuckled, his eyes dancing with amusement. “You caught me.”

Elain turned to face the vibrant scenery around them, the sun casting a warm glow over the Day Court. The sea sparkled in the distance, its waves crashing against the shore with a soothing rhythm.

“Since Helion can be a bit of a busybody,” Lucien shrugged, “want to see where I hide from him?”

Without waiting for a response, he hooked his arm through Elain's, and with a graceful twist, they vanished into thin air, reappearing amidst a stunning flower garden. As Elain's gaze wandered across the garden, she marveled at the intricate kaleidoscope of colors and scents that surrounded them. Delicate roses intertwined with exotic orchids, their petals shimmering in the dappled sunlight. Towering sunflowers stood proudly alongside delicate lilies, their golden hues contrasting with the soft pastels of the surrounding blooms.

"It's like a symphony of flowers," Elain breathed, her voice filled with wonder.

Lucien nodded, his eyes alight with pride. "Found this in my youth," he explained. "I believe it was a gift from the then High Lord to his mate."

Elain's gaze softened with understanding as she took in the significance of the garden. "It's a beautiful tribute," she murmured.

"It's different than the Spring Court," Elain observed, her eyes scanning the garden once more. "There seems to be flowers from all parts of the world."

"Indeed," Lucien agreed, gesturing towards a particularly exotic bloom with a flourish. "Spring is wonderful, but it's only limited to the flowers of that season. Here, you'll find blooms from every corner, brought together in harmony."

The air was alive with the hum of bees and the soft rustle of leaves, and a gentle breeze carried the sweet scent of blossoms, enveloping them in a cocoon of tranquility. Sunlight filtered through the lush foliage, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow on the ground below.

Elain felt a sense of peace wash over her as she wandered through the garden, her fingers trailing lightly over the velvety petals of a nearby rose. It was as if time had slowed to a standstill, allowing her to savor every moment in this enchanting sanctuary with Lucien by her side.

As they wandered through the garden, they marveled at each new discovery, losing themselves in the beauty of nature. They walked for hours, their conversation flowing effortlessly as they shared stories and laughter beneath the canopy of blossoms.

Finally, they came upon a majestic tree, its branches spread wide in a welcoming embrace. Beneath its shade, a picnic awaited them, laid out with an array of delicious treats and refreshing drinks.

“Did you plan for this too?” Elain nudged at him, a playful glint in her eyes.

Lucien pursed his lips, a faint smile playing at the corners. “I told you Helion can be a bit of a busybody.”

With a graceful gesture, Lucien invited Elain to take a seat, his eyes soft with affection as he poured her a glass of chilled wine. As they shared their meal amidst the fragrant blooms and dappled sunlight, Elain couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over her. In this magical garden, with Lucien by her side, she felt as though she had found a piece of paradise.

As hours slipped by, they talked and laughed, basking in each other's company as they watched the sun dip below the horizon. Eventually, as the sky began to darken, Elain turned to him with a curious expression.

“Now what?” she asked, her tone filled with anticipation.

Lucien raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I take you to the river house?”

“That’s it?” Elain replied, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

Lucien hummed thoughtfully. “Well, there is one other place I can take you.”

With a gentle squeeze of her hand, Lucien winnowed them away to a small Summer Court city bustling with life. Stalls adorned with colorful banners offered an array of tantalizing foods, the air filled with the mouthwatering scent of grilled meats and freshly baked pastries. A warm summer breeze carried the salty tang of the nearby sea, adding to the festive atmosphere.

“What is all of this?” she asked, her voice tinged with excitement.

Lucien chuckled, his arm wrapped around her waist as he guided her through the bustling crowds. “Welcome to a nighttime festival in the Summer Court,” he explained. “It's a celebration of music, food, and merriment that lasts well into the early hours.”

Elain's eyes widened in wonder as she took in the sights and sounds around her, her curiosity piqued by the unfamiliar surroundings. She felt a thrill of excitement coursing through her veins as she and Lucien wandered from stall to stall. Elain couldn't resist stealing bites of Lucien's food as they went, her laughter mingling with the bustling energy of the crowd. However, Lucien made no attempt to take any of hers, his attention solely focused on her.

In the distance, a towering structure loomed against the night sky, its intricate design illuminated by twinkling lights. Elain's gaze was drawn to it, her curiosity piqued by its imposing presence. "What's that?" she asked, pointing towards the structure.

Lucien followed her gaze, a fond smile tugging at his lips. "That's a ferris wheel," he explained, his tone tinged with nostalgia. "It's a ride that offers a breathtaking view of the city from above."

Elain's eyes sparkled with excitement as she beheld the towering ferris wheel. Eager to experience this new adventure, she turned to Lucien with a radiant smile.

"Thank you for bringing me here," she said, her voice filled with gratitude and anticipation.

With a nod of agreement, Lucien led her towards the ferris wheel, their hands intertwined as they joined the queue. As they ascended into the night sky, Elain couldn't help but feel a sense of exhilaration wash over her. The world seemed to shrink beneath them as they reached the pinnacle, the city spread out below like a glittering tapestry.

As they descended back to earth, Elain turned to Lucien, her heart full with gratitude for the magical evening they had shared.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice soft with emotion.

Lucien smiled warmly, his eyes reflecting the glow of the city lights. "It was my pleasure," he replied, his gaze tender as he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face.

Feeling emboldened by the magic of the night, Elain leaned in and pressed her lips to Lucien's, a gentle yet electric kiss that spoke volumes of the unspoken feelings between them. As they parted, a dazzling display of fireworks burst into the sky, casting an ethereal glow over their intertwined figures.

Lucien took Elain's hand, his touch sending a shiver down her spine as he led her to a secluded spot high above the bustling city. There, amidst the tranquil stillness, they watched in awe as the fireworks painted the night sky with bursts of color and light, each explosion igniting a fire within them that burned brighter with each passing moment.

Wrapped in each other's arms, they shared stolen glances and lingering touches, the air thicken with anticipation. With every beat of their hearts, the tension between them grew, a palpable energy that crackled in the air like static electricity.

As the final bursts of color dissolved into the night's canvas, leaving behind trails of fleeting beauty, Elain turned to Lucien with a gaze filled with longing. The air was charged, every heartbeat echoing in the silence that enveloped them. Without a word, she leaned in, her movements graceful yet urgent, her lips seeking his with a hunger that mirrored his own.

Their kiss was a symphony of passion and desire, a dance of lips and tongues that ignited a firestorm of emotions within them. In that moment, time seemed to stand still, the world fading away until there was only the two of them, lost in the intensity of their connection.

They clung to each other, their bodies pressed together as if trying to merge into one, each touch sending sparks of electricity coursing through their veins. The night air was filled with the soft sound of their mingled breaths, the gentle rustle of fabric as they held each other close.

And as they finally pulled away, their lips swollen and tingling with the remnants of their kiss, they were left breathless and wanting more. The weight of their unspoken desires hung heavy in the air, a promise of things to come as they stood together beneath the canopy of stars, their hearts beating as one in the magic of the night.

"Now what?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart.

Lucien's gaze burned with intensity as he met her eyes. "I take you home," he replied, his voice husky with desire.

"To that apartment you have in Velaris?" Elain teased, a playful smirk tugging at her lips.

"I didn't think you were that kind of female," Lucien chuckled, his tone laced with amusement.

Elain's laughter mingled with the soft hum of the night air. "I would figure being your mate would come with some sort of privilege," she teased back, her eyes dancing with mischief.

"Elain," Lucien said, his half-smirk sending a jolt of anticipation through her veins. "Would you like to come to my apartment for some … tea?"

"Yes," Elain breathed, her heart pounding in her chest. "I'd love that."

With a shared smile that spoke volumes of the unspoken promises and desires between them, they made their way back to the city, their steps light with anticipation for the moments yet to come.

#elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #elucien fanfic #sjm romance week #sjmromanceweek2024

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moodymelanist · 3 months

Text

meet me at the altar (in your white dress)

happy day 3 of @sjmromanceweek everyone! of course I had to get some Nessian in here, you know me!! title from Let's Get Married by Jagged Edge (the remix is much better than the original IMO)

Summary: Nesta and Cassian elope to help take the edge off planning their big, official wedding.

Word Count: 3k

Read on AO3 here!

Summary: Nesta and Cassian elope to help take the edge off planning their big, official wedding.

♡♡♡♡♡ Nesta

Nesta held in another scream as she clicked through yet another florist’s website, holding back the urge to start banging her head back against the wall. All she’d wanted was to come home from a long day at the office and relax, but instead of being able to destress with a book on her Kindle, she’d ended up dealing with more wedding stuff.

“You really should consider going with more hydrangeas,” her mother was saying. Rhea had called Nesta and essentially ambushed her with more wedding planning; today’s topic of choice was the floral arrangements. “I mean, what even is a ranunculus?”

“They’re a classic wedding flower, Mom,” Nesta replied through gritted teeth. She and Cassian had gotten engaged right before Christmas, and they were in the full swing of things planning wise. No matter how many times she emphasized that this was their wedding, though, it hadn’t stopped Rhea from being her usual, controlling self. “They look like peonies.”

Cassian appeared at the edge of her vision, his face twisted up adorably in sympathy as he came into their bedroom. He’d been as hands on as he could with wedding planning, but there was only so much he could do with Rhea as his future mother-in-law.

Cassian waved to get Nesta’s attention and once she looked over at him, he mouthed, You want me to give you an out?

Yes please, Nesta mouthed back. God, she loved him so much.

Nesta watched from her position on the bed as Cassian came around the corner of the mattress and reached for her nightstand, opening and shutting the drawer loud enough for Rhea to hear it on the phone. To the untrained ear, it sounded similar enough to a door opening and closing, and it was the perfect excuse to get off the phone and take her Friday night back.

“Sorry, Mom,” Nesta said immediately, cutting off whatever tangent Rhea was going on now about the flowers she’d had at her wedding. “Cassian just got home from work. I have to go.”

Rhea was silent for a few seconds. “Fine. I’ll speak to you about this later.”

“Okay. Have a good night,” Nesta replied. Rhea echoed the sentiment, and Nesta immediately tossed her phone away from her. “Holy shit, she drives me crazy.”

“Watching you deal with her is driving me crazy, Nes,” Cassian said. He leaned down to where she was reclining against the headboard and pressed several hello kisses into her lips. “What if we just got married tomorrow or something?”

“What?” Nesta said back, not quite sure she was hearing him correctly. She pulled back to look up at him, but he looked like he was being completely serious, which could not be a possibility right now.

“I said,” Cassian replied, speaking slowly to make sure she caught every word, “what if we just… got married tomorrow?”

She stared at him for several seconds without blinking. “You’re joking, right?”

“No jokes here, sweetheart,” he answered. He stood up to his full height before walking to the edge of the bed and sitting down, resting one of his warm hands on her ankle. “I feel like it would help.”

“How would throwing away months of planning help?” she responded, doing her best to stop her eye from twitching. Once they’d settled on a venue and secured their date, it had been divide and conquer between reaching out to caterers, bakers, florists, makeup and hair stylists, tailors – you name it, they’d talked to someone about pricing and dates and menu options and color schemes.

“We wouldn’t be throwing away months of planning,” he told her. “I can be an idiot sometimes, but not that big of an idiot.”

“...Okay.” Nesta closed her laptop and gave him her full attention, hoping that he’d eventually tell her something that made sense instead of just confusing her further. “Explain what you mean then, because I don’t think I’m following you.”

“Just hear me out, okay?” Cassian asked. Once Nesta nodded her assent, he started rubbing gentle circles into the delicate skin of her ankle. “Maybe this is dumb, but I was just thinking… maybe it could help take the edge off things. I know your family is breathing down your neck about this being perfect, and I know how stressful this whole thing has been for you. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be us.”

God, he was good at this. He always knew exactly what to say to cut her to the core in the best way, and his words combined with the way those hazel eyes were trained on her made her want to give in immediately. Even though they would be surrounded by loved ones when they got married, something in her had always cringed at the fact that they’d be putting their relationship on display for everyone to see. She loved Cassian, she did, but the idea of having a wedding as big as theirs was shaping up to be felt almost performative.

If they did what he was suggesting, there wouldn’t be anything performative about it. It would be something for just them; they wouldn’t have to go through any of the hoops that their huge, ornate ceremony was shaping up to entail. Just her, Cassian, and whoever they needed to talk to for it to be official.

“Yeah,” Nesta eventually answered, suddenly fighting back tears at how well he knew her. Even after all these years with him, he still managed to catch her off guard with how thoughtful he was. “

“Yeah?” Cassian echoed. He started to smile and it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. “Let’s do it.”

♡♡♡♡♡

Surprisingly, it didn’t take long to sort everything out. Cassian booked a hotel for the weekend in Atlantic City while Nesta dug around for a white dress in her closet, and by the time she’d found a suitable enough option, he’d also started the process to get a marriage license.

“It doesn’t take that long to get a New Jersey marriage license,” he told her as they packed their bags for the weekend. “I mean, we’ll still have to sort out the paperwork for when we get married again, but that’s a problem for future us.”

“Okay,” she replied, feeling much lighter now that the pressure for their huge ceremony was suddenly off her shoulders. “We’ll figure it out then.”

It didn’t take them much longer to finish packing, and before Nesta knew it, they were in the car and on their way to Atlantic City. It wasn’t far – roughly two and a half hours – but they stopped for dinner along the way, so they made their way into the hotel lobby about three hours later. The air conditioning was going strong, and Nesta didn’t hesitate before leaning against Cassian’s warm side while they checked into their room.

“You want my jacket?” Cassian asked once they were all squared away and heading to the elevators.

“No, I’m okay,” Nesta answered, leaning into him again while they waited for the elevator to come to the lobby. Besides, he was holding both of their bags; she wasn’t going to make him essentially play Tetris with them to get the damn thing off. “We can just turn the AC down when we get upstairs.”

Their hotel room had all the usual accommodations, including a king-sized bed, and they both showered and changed into pajamas before getting into it. Cassian made sure their room was locked up tight and the AC wasn’t blasting before they got into bed, but even though it wasn’t as cold in the room anymore that didn’t stop Nesta from cuddling up to her fiancé.

“Thanks for going along with my crazy idea, Nes,” Cassian said into the quiet darkness of their room.

“It wasn’t that crazy once you explained it,” Nesta replied softly, reaching up and pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “But you’re welcome.”

He just laughed softly, the sound of it vibrating gently against her cheek where she was laying on him. “Love you.”

“Love you too, baby. See you in the morning.”

♡♡♡♡♡

Nesta woke up the next morning wrapped around one of the hotel pillows instead of around her husband-to-be. She experienced a brief moment of panic once she realized she was alone in the room, but it quickly dissipated once she recognized Cassian’s familiar handwriting on one of the hotel’s notepads. She reached for it where he’d left it on the end table and quickly scanned the note he’d left her.

Hey sweetheart, he’d written. Don’t freak out, but it’s bad luck to see the bride on her wedding day, and I’m all about avoiding bad luck. Everything else is getting taken care of (I promise!!) so you just have to bring your gorgeous self to the altar.

Love you

xoxo,

Cassian (aka your future husband)

Nesta laughed softly to herself as she set the note aside, her heart rate immediately slowing down after she’d read it through a few times. Cassian knew how tired she was of making so many wedding-related decisions and it was such a relief to not have to make any more — for the moment, anywhere. Even if they weren’t doing things the ‘right’ way, he was still looking out for all the little details, and it was stuff like that that made her want to fall in love with him all over again.

Lucky for her, she’d get to fall in love with him every day for the rest of their lives.

Nesta let herself lounge in bed for a few more minutes until she couldn’t wait any longer. She took her time getting ready, the hot water from the surprisingly strong shower head waking her all the way up, and she was thankful she’d packed her good blow dryer after she realized the hotel one wasn’t up for the task. Cassian had always loved her hair down, so she carefully smoothed half of it up and left the other half down.

By the time she finished with her makeup and got dressed, it was almost time to go. She put on her wedges and threw the essentials — lip gloss, powder, room key, phone — into her purse before heading downstairs. She’d missed breakfast, but she managed to snag some Pop Tarts from the convenience store while she waited for her Uber.

It was a quick ride to the hotel where they were getting married, and Nesta just followed the signs for the wedding area until she found a woman holding a sign with her name on it. She was tall, with dark hair and light brown skin that looked amazing even under the strange hotel lighting.

“Hi,” Nesta said, walking right up to her. “I’m Nesta.”

The woman perked up immediately. “Great! I’m Deirdre, I’ll be officiating the wedding. Cassian handled pretty much everything he could without you, so all you have to do is follow me.”

“Great,” Nesta replied. Her love for Cassian grew even more once she heard she’d hardly have to do anything. “Lead the way.”

Deirdre and Nesta wound their way through the halls, making small talk until they ended up in one of the back rooms. Nesta picked out a small bouquet of lilies, a short veil to wear as she walked down the aisle, and signed some forms.

“You’re all set,” Deirdre told her once the last thing was signed. “Cassian said he had the rings, so really you just have to get your beautiful self out there and we can get this show on the road.”

“Okay,” Nesta agreed. She wondered if Cassian was using their actual wedding rings, or if he’d found a less expensive replacement for today. Oh well — she didn’t need to worry about it right now, and wasn’t that a relief. “I’m ready.”

Deirdre clapped her hands together and led Nesta through a different path through the halls, the two of them coming to a stop in front of what looked like a chapel. “I’ll go in first, make sure everything’s ready, and then once the music starts you can come in whenever you want. Okay?”

“Sounds good,” Nesta told her, and then she was alone.

Nesta took a few deep breaths while she waited for Deirdre’s signal. Maybe if it had been anyone else, she might have been more nervous, but it was Cassian waiting for her. How could she feel anything but excited when they were only a few minutes away from forever?

The music started earlier than Nesta had been expecting, but she took it in stride. She squared her shoulders and walked through the door with her head held high, something inside her settling the second she laid eyes on Cassian. He looked handsome as always, dressed in a white button-up shirt and his nicest pair of jeans, and she could tell he was already crying even from across the room.

There were a few people seated amongst the pews to serve as witnesses, but Nesta tuned out everyone that wasn’t Cassian. The walk down the aisle was simultaneously too long and too short, and suddenly she was handing over her bouquet so she could grip Cassian’s hands in hers. “Hi.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Cassian said, his eyes a little wide. “You look so beautiful.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Nesta said back. She squeezed his hands to help steady them both before turning to Deirdre with an expectant look. “We’re ready.”

Deidre must have gone through all the usual wedding talk, but all Nesta heard was that she and Cassian were promising themselves to one another. Good days and bad, they’d show up for each other no matter what, no matter what kind of fancy ways people wanted to describe it.

Before Nesta knew it, it was time for the vows. Deirdre turned to her expectantly, and she nodded before she took a deep breath.

“Cassian,” Nesta started, her eyes tearing up at the force of what she felt for him. They’d both promised to not prepare anything — something about it coming from the heart — and part of her wished she had, just for the sheer difficulty of describing what he meant to her. “You’re the love of my life. My best friend in the entire world. You know me better than anyone else, and I’m so — I’m so thankful to have you. You make me so happy even when you’re being a bastard and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She took another deep breath to steady herself, shooting Cassian a watery smile as he reached up to wipe some of her tears. “You’re the one I want to laugh with and argue with and spend all my time with until we’re old and gray. I promise to choose you every day, no matter what. I love the life we’ve made so much, and I promise to fight for us for the rest of our lives. I love you, Cassian. So much.”

“Jesus, how am I supposed to follow that up,” Cassian muttered to himself.

Nesta laughed. “I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Nes.” He took a deep breath of his own and met her eyes again. “Nesta, I knew from the minute I met you that you were special. Maybe it’s cheesy, but from that very first glare, I knew I’d be chasing after your attention for the rest of our lives. I’ve never been so happy to be right.”

“You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about when I go to bed. You’ve made my life better in so many ways, and I’ll never stop thanking the universe for putting us in each other’s lives. You’re an amazing woman and the fact that you chose me — well. I’ll never take that for granted. It physically hurts me when we’re apart, so the fact that you’re agreeing to be tied to me forever makes me feel pretty damn good. I promise to choose you every single day, to always respect you and cherish you and all the other things that you deserve. I love you so, so much, Nesta. You’re my world.”

They were both crying now, and Nesta squeezed Cassian’s hands so hard it was a miracle he didn’t lose circulation. She swore she could feel the thread that connected them wrap around them even tighter; there was no telling where one of them began and the other one ended. It was just them, and it was beautiful.

“Those were wonderful,” Deirdre told them. “Now, the rings.”

It seemed Cassian had brought out their wedding bands early after all. Both of their hands were shaking as they exchanged rings, but they managed to get through it without dropping anything or putting their rings on the wrong fingers.

“With that…” Deirdre took a deep breath and beamed at them. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Cassian didn’t need to be told twice. Nesta barely had any warning before he was grabbing her and dipping her, but he was so strong that she didn’t think he’d drop her for a second. She just threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, clutching him to her as tightly as she could and not planning on letting go for a good long while.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Deirdre said, smiling brightly. “Congratulations!”

“Thanks,” Cassian said with a wide grin once he’d brought Nesta back up. He was so beautiful when he was happy, and part of her still couldn’t believe she was the one to consistently put that smile on his face. “Hey, wife.”

“Hey, husband,” Nesta said back, smiling just as widely as he was. “You ready to get out of here?”

“Like you even have to ask,” he told her. He offered his hand and she took it without hesitation, squeezing tightly as they made their way back down the aisle.

#sjmromanceweek2024 #acotar #acosf #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #cassian acotar #nesta x cassian #cassian x nesta #pro nessian #pro nesta archeron #pro cassian acotar #moodymelanistwrites

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theladyofbloodshed · 2 months

Text

SJM Romance Week - Day 6 - Romantic Gestures

@sjmromanceweek When a grouchy man starts haunting her coffee shop, Nesta's romantic gestures come in the form of insults on his coffee cups.

A drizzle had misted the glass and as the world darkened, the yellow streetlights were blurs on the other side.

At the opening of the door, a brisk wind blew in. The man it carried with it was sharp-faced in a finely made dark pea-coat with an umber and orange patterned scarf tucked into it. It contrasted starkly with his red hair and pale complexion.

Emerie nudged Nesta in the ribs: target acquired.

He’d turned up a couple of days ago, coming after the evening rush and poor Gwyn had the displeasure of serving him. His first coffee had apparently been too cool despite being close to scalding. Then he’d summoned Emerie to wipe his table despite the evidence of the previous wiping still evaporating as he sat down. Nesta would handle him today. The best part of her day was to offer up the same rudeness that was given to her friends.

‘Yes?’

The man’s odd, amber eyes snapped from the signage to her. ‘Black coffee.’

Of course, he had needed to scan the entire menu for that difficult choice. Nesta ensured he could see how hot the water pouring from the machine was lest he complain that the temperature wasn’t warm enough.

‘Anything else?’

‘A little bit of customer service wouldn’t go amiss.’

Nesta shrugged one shoulder in response. ‘When you rediscover your manners.’

He stalked away to pounce on one of the vacant, highly-popular armchairs tucked away amongst the tall shelves. It was slow that evening; they were staying open later, trying to offer an alternative to bars for the non-drinkers, but it hadn’t quite taken off the ground.

There was no need to do it, but when his coffee was ready, rather than deliver it – as she might do for anybody else – Nesta called out, ‘Black coffee for the man with no manners.’

Emerie was wide-eyed. He’d reduced Gwyn to a stuttering mess when he’d pressed her for the details of suppliers for their snacks and refrigerated drinks. Emerie had simply called him a dick at the end of her shift when she got home.

To Nesta’s surprise, he pulled himself away from his book to saunter to the counter.

‘Thanks.’ His eyes glanced at her cleavage then noticed there was no name tag pinned there. There was a slight flush to his cheeks when he realised that he’d simply looked at her breasts.

‘Want my name to complain to the manager?’

His brows raised. ‘Not interested in your name.’

‘Oh, just my breasts.’

The man didn’t dignify her with a response, merely took his coffee then strolled back to his table, plucking a different book off the shelf as he went.

‘His name is Eris,’ supplied Emerie.

‘His name is a pain in my ass.’

As the evening wore on, the shop became more subdued. With only four people left – a group of three plus a solitary Eris – Nesta ushered Emerie home for the evening.

‘I don’t like you walking home alone so late,’ she complained.

Nesta held out Emerie’s jacket to help her into it. ‘Well, I like my dinner cooking when I return home, wife.’

‘You wish.’

‘Sometimes I do,’ she replied.

Emerie leaned back against the counter, arms folded. ‘It’s Gwyn’s turn to cook tonight.’

‘Get home, immediately.’

She gave a laugh and tossed her dark braid over her shoulder. ‘If there’s anything left of the house. If a fire truck is there when I get home, I’ll call.’

‘Such a beautiful woman but she cannot cook for shit,’ said Nesta with a shake of her head.

Emerie placed a hand on her heart. ‘Thank goodness she’s got us. See you at home. Be safe. Call me if you need.’

When the group left, Eris called her over with a beckon of his fingers as if she was a hound.

‘Can I get a camomile tea?’

Nesta gestured to the counter on the other side of the store. ‘Have your legs stopped working?’

Eris gave a pinched smile in return. ‘You don’t seem particularly rushed off your feet.’

That was true, she’d give him that. Nesta swept an imaginary cap through the air, collected his cup then set to brewing a tea for him – and one for her. She dimmed the lights in the coffee shop although the candles were still illuminating the tables and soft lights were on in the bookshop area. It had been an idea that had come as a result of burnout in corporate life. She’d climbed the ladder almost ruthlessly, soaring to the top, giving hour after hour to her job then her sister almost died in childbirth and she’d not seen Feyre for nearly her entire pregnancy. Work always took precedent. After that, it felt pointless. Her life revolved around work and she didn’t enjoy a single moment. Nobody ever woke up with the dream of spending twelve hours a day in an office. With the money she had been hoarding, Nesta lived her dream. Maybe it was a little dream, but she made the place she wanted; a cosy bookshop with good coffee and better cakes. It wasn’t a fortune maker, but Nesta loved it. Emerie and Gwyn worked with her to help out in its first few months of existence, but it was going well. Nesta had made something that she was proud of.

When she carried the tea over, Eris had swapped books. She knew that merging a coffee shop with a book shop would result in patrons reading while they drank, but it wasn’t a library – so she told him as much.

‘What if I chose one book and only read that when I’m in here?’

‘Again, not a library.’

A shrug was offered, but that shrug gave her pause because she’d been there before, been that person without a spark. As Nesta went through the motions of cleaning out the coffee machine and washing up the last few mugs, her eyes continually flickered to Eris. He hardly read the book in his hands. His eyes kept drifting to the wall then he’d skip a page or two and try to focus like his heart wasn’t in it. Not once did Nesta see his attention stray to his phone. He was somewhere else – a bad break-up maybe plaguing his thoughts.

Taking pity, Nesta plated up the last few sugary items – the three of them wouldn’t shrivel up and die if they didn’t polish off the stock for once – and set them down on his table with a paper bag.

‘Yours, if you want.’

‘Oh.’

‘Thank you, Nesta. You are welcome. There, manners.’

There was an elfin quality to his face like the bones of his face was sharper, more pointed than others. ‘Your name is Nesta?’

‘No, the other person working right now.’

Her sarcasm usually cut the skin, but Eris snickered. ‘Thanks, Nesta.’

By the time he left, Emerie was blowing up her phone with calls asking why she wasn’t home yet along with a picture of the charred dinner Gwyn had made then a message asking her to pick something up on the way home for them to eat. She’d stayed open later than usual because she felt too guilty to kick Eris out when his mind seemed occupied elsewhere. He’d thanked her again before he left along with returning his plate and mug to the counter – and a hefty tip that she was not expecting.

***

Eris came in every single day that week. He’d stand, stormy-faced in the queue, awaiting his black coffee. Depending how snappy or short he was, depended what name she scrawled on his cup. Grumpy man in the coat. Man who looks like a drowned rat. Mr. Miserable. He never took much offence by it, just raised his brows, paid for his drink then stalked over to the books to sit alone. By Friday, Nesta began preparing his coffee the moment he came in from the rain. When his lips parted, she pressed the cup into his hands. Eris scanned the writing on the receipt.

Mr Can’t-even-crack-a-smile-on-a-Friday.

‘I’m going to touch your newest books with greasy fingers.’

‘You wouldn’t dare,’ she said.

His lips quirked. ‘Try me.’

When he retreated to his favourite corner, Emerie cleared her throat. ‘Excuse me.’

‘You may be excused,’ replied Nesta.

She rolled up a tea towel and whipped Nesta across the thigh. ‘What’s that? Were you flirting?’

Her jaw dropped. ‘That was not flirting. That was me warning a customer that if he ruins a book, I will beat him with it.’

Emerie gave a slow nod, not believing it for a moment. ‘I wish I had that shield. I go home feeling bad if a customer is rude. Gwyn cries. You grow more powerful.’

‘When they ask to speak to the manager, I hit them with the uno reverse card.’

Once the coffee shop had cleared out, Nesta was left alone again with Eris. Like the previous nights, he was unsettled. No book truly held his focus.

‘Camomile tea and a brownie. If you get crumbs on the books, I will bill you for the damage.’

‘This music is awful,’ he said, not tearing his attention from the novel – although she’d been watching and this was the most focused that he’d been all evening so it was likely a façade.

‘Take it up with the manager,’ she replied.

‘I wish I could,’ he muttered.

While he drank, Nesta changed the window display. New stock had arrived that morning so she was eager to have it on show ready for the morning. Through it all, Eris murmured that a book was wonky or the colour schemes clashed.

‘Would you like to do it?’

‘Not particularly,’ he replied, sipping at his tea – but for once there was some life behind his eyes, a slight brightness that hadn’t been there all week. ‘What time does this place close?’

Nesta mimed looking at an imaginary watch on her wrist. ‘Oh, about seventeen minutes ago.’

Eris screwed up his face. ‘I thought you’d be eager to kick me out.’

‘It’s a Friday night. You’re a young, presumably single, handsome man. If this is the only place you have to go on a Friday night then I feel bad to kick you out.’

‘Well, I sound pathetic.’ He drained his tea. ‘Sorry. Your boss won’t be mad?’

‘Yeah. She’s a bitch. Don’t mess with her.’

Surprising her entirely, Eris asked if there was anything he could help with to ease the lock up process. She’d already put the day’s takings in the safe, so she handed him a cloth and spray to wipe down the tables again. Dutifully, he set to the task.

‘You after a job?’

Eris gave one low chuckle. ‘I have a job.’

This was a man that she simply could not work out. From the exterior, he seemed sour and irritable, but he took her sniped words and parried them back.

Even when Nesta locked up the door, Eris remained nearby, watching over her shoulder as revellers began to emerge for the night and stumbled down the pavements.

‘Can I give you a ride?’ He gestured to the rain then pointed to a car worth more than any she’d ever sat in before. It was a massive, gas-guzzling beast that could plough down anything in its path. If the four horsemen of the apocalypse upgraded from horses to vehicles, it would be this one.

‘I don’t make a habit of getting in cars with strange men. Goodnight.’

It was a twenty-minute walk, fifteen if she moved her legs a little quicker to avoid the drunken idiots staggering around the streets. Nesta zipped her coat to her chin then steeled herself for the walk.

Eris turned his car around and she heard it roaring behind her.

It crawled along the road beside her, keeping pace with her walking.

‘If you won’t accept a ride then I can at least make sure you get home safely this way.’

‘You’d be so cut up if something happened to me,’ she scoffed. ‘We’re strangers.’

‘True,’ Eris admitted, an arm resting on the wound-down window. ‘But it's difficult to find a decent cup of coffee around here.’

Each night, Eris had given a generous tip to the pot which was at odds with his prickly demeanour. He could continue to come and be miserable if a fat tip was pushed into the jar at the end of it all.

Nesta made a tutting noise. ‘Will you stop this? You make me look like a woman of the night, driving along beside me and calling out the window.’

‘Ah, a jezebel,’ he said with a laugh. ‘It’s pouring. I’ll drop you off. Get in.’

She slipped her phone from her pocket and hastily flung a badly typed text into the group chat telling them she was in the car with Eris and shared her location. At the sensation of the heated seats, Nesta eased out a satisfied noise. The car was not what she expected on the inside. A blanket was strewn across the back seats and it was covered in muddy pawprints and dog hair. More of it was on the upholstery.

‘You have a dog?’

‘Uh. Yeah. I did,’ he replied, face tightening. ‘Tell me the way.’

‘I’ll give you five stars if you don’t talk to me,’ she quipped but the sadness had already leaked into his expression like those first couple of nights that he’d come to the shop. Maybe not a break up at all.

In a silence that was only interrupted by her directions, Eris drove her home. He was a good driver, never speeding, never taking risks despite the engine that thrummed with power. At the house, he pulled up.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Nesta nodded. ‘Sure. Eight 'til eight tomorrow, but we have shorter hours on Sundays.’

‘Thanks for the heads up.’

Her fingers stilled on the door handle. ‘Are you alright? You’re spending every evening until close in a coffee shop. Don’t you have a home to go to?’

‘Yeah. I don’t want to be there,’ he said without expanding on it. ‘Goodnight Nesta.’

***

That weekend, they continued their strange dance. Nesta called out orders for the dude with the stick up his ass, the guy who needs to get a library card, and the neat freak who keeps re-arranging the books. Each time, Eris sauntered to the counter or waved his hand through the air expecting table service, not at all bothered by her insults.

‘You’re definitely flirting,’ murmured Emerie as she hung up her apron for the afternoon.

‘I’m harassing him,’ countered Nesta.

Gwyn shook her head. ‘He seems to like it.’

Eris was sprawled out in a chair, shoes off, socked-feet resting on the chair opposite as he read. A cookie had chunks bitten out of it sporadically as he remembered its existence. He looked well and truly at home in the alcove cut into the wall. It was Nesta’s favourite part of the shop – the main reason she’d purchased the building. They’d pinned a lattice to the wall and wound fake ivy and fairy lights through it to make it something special.

‘Are we kicking him out to close?’

Nesta chewed on her lip. ‘I feel guilty every time. He’s got nowhere else to go.’

‘It’s not a shelter for waifs and strays. It’s a business,’ said Emerie.

Sunday was meant to be a chill out day with the coffee shop closing just after lunch to at least give Nesta a little bit of free time away from it. Eris seemed far too cosy to turf him out. She convinced Em and Gwyn to go on ahead in the gloomy weather and she’d catch up. Then, Nesta plopped down on the stool beside Eris.

‘Closing time?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

Eris heaved a sigh as he closed the book.

‘You know you can buy the books,’ she said, raising a brow. ‘That’s how we make money.’

‘Sorry. Tell your boss I enjoy the ambience too much.’

She gave him a half-sigh. ‘I am the boss.’

He reached back to the shelf to slide the book – a fantasy one – back into its place. ‘I was wondering why the manager put the grumpiest member of staff on every single day.’

Nesta choked on a laugh. ‘Me, grumpy? You have an aura like a sad, wet cat around you. It sucks me in like a black hole. That’s why I stay away.’

Eris slipped his long feet back into his shoes and tied up the laces. He wasn’t particularly dressed down for a weekend. All of his clothes screamed money.

‘So, what’s the story? Why do you spend every minute here?’ Nesta scanned him from head to toe. ‘Bad break up? Don’t want to pay for heating at your own home?’

‘I just don’t want to be there.’

Under her piercing stare, Eris crumbled. He pulled his phone from his pocket and slid it across to her. She was expecting a gorgeous woman there or a cute couple’s photo. Instead, Nesta was met with a massive, black dog with masses of shiny fur.

‘My boy,’ said Eris, wincing as he spoke. ‘Fifteen years old. Put to sleep last week.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s so quiet at home. I can’t bear to get rid of his bed – or that blanket in the car.’ Eris shook his head. ‘I know, just a dog. Get over it.’

Nesta clenched her teeth together then, ‘That’s not true. Fifteen years is a long time to love something. It’s natural to grieve a pet. Sorry for insulting you for the last few days. If I knew there was a reason for this mood, I’d have left you be.’

‘It’s alright. It was fun. I just needed a place that was open late so I didn’t have to go home. Then I found you. Your insults stopped me feeling sorry for myself.’

His words, though not deep, still had her heart giving a flutter. ‘I’ve still got to kick you out, I’m afraid.’

Eris dipped his chin then buttoned up his coat. He carried his own tray to the sink and loaded the items onto the dishwasher because he was practised enough with the closing routine.

‘Black coffee tomorrow for the dog lover?’

‘Ask your manager when you can get the night off.’

‘Drop me home and you can talk to her.’

#neris #sjmromanceweek2024 #sjmromanceweek

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